churbooseanon

Wyoming’s story is one about family and loss, and the justice one man might seek for closure. This is a VERY violent story, and the chances are it might get gory. I’m not sure yet and I intend to try and avoid that, but stories might go places I don’t intend. So take this one with caution.

The Informant always has a story to tell, and secrets to uncover. Too bad York is made of secrets.

York adjusts to life on a new world, and learns a way to make his life work there. And sometimes that goes wrong.

Data secured, David now needs to get out.

So David is sent off to meet another individual that keeps mercenaries in action: a black market weapons dealer.

Today we introduce new faces, both familiar and not. Starting with someone we should boo.

Something All Our Own - Supervisory Position (A Guns For Hire fanfic)

    There were a number of reasons why this room was the perfect one. On the outward facing wall was another bay window, this one facing out east, where there will be warm light from the rising sun. Of course there were other things they had considered the room for. They were going to need an office for Florida processing his information web, the remaining part of his mercenary work. Then there was the fact that her family visited more than often enough to warrant the guest rooms they were going to have to work on in the future. Florida could even imagine turning this place into the master bedroom, even with how much smaller it was than the proper master suite, if only for the bay window for Tex’s use. His lovely Beta, framed in the morning sun.

    “You missed a spot.”

    Of course, when it came down to it, there were times that his beloved could be a horrible person. In fact, he’d use the word ‘bitch’ if it were not for the fact that she seemed to know whenever he the word came to mind. It didn’t even matter if he was praising the attitude she used with those people she faced on the other side of a contract. So he very pointedly didn’t think of the word as he turned and smiled his widest and most completely not actually annoyed smile. Better not to start a fight, because even with the reduced endurance and the occasional back pain, she could still kick his ass if she put her mind to it. Which she would enjoy and then laugh about.

    So Butch took a deep breath, smoothed himself down to a normal, fond smile, and he tilted his head briefly to the side.

    “Where would that be, love?”

    He met those beautiful, nearly violet eyes across the room, and his smile grew warmer still. Of course it did. The look of his beloved wife sitting there on the floor on a tiny pile of cushions, a socket wrench in one hand and screwdriver tucked over her ear, the pieces of the soon to be crib on the floor before her, well it made him feel so warm. Of course the amused curve of her lips only told him how serious she was. Such a beautiful…

    “Don’t you even think that word,” she warned him, and then gestured toward the wall. “About three inches to your left, there is a light spot.”

    Of course she would be wrong, but Florida wasn’t going to chide her just yet. His poor beloved just had trouble with some things now that she was so far along. Her tempers were deeper, harder to control. Yet they came less often, replaced with a pensive fondness that Butch thought might melt the heart of the man he had been in the years before he had met her. Still, there was a tension to her shoulders that he longed to rub away. To bad paint was splattered across his hands.

    He turned his attention to the spot she had indicated and, ready to be triumphant, he wilted at the sight. Sure enough there was a spot in the emerald green band he was painting around the whole of the room. The days before had been dedicated to the room itself being coated in a softer blue that she had selected for the room. The emerald green band would soon enough be covered with stencils of playful black bear cubs, the motif they had chosen for the den of their own cub. But if that was going to happen he had to have everything, including this middle section, perfect.

    “Dammit,” he cursed lightly under his breath.

    Which, of course, drove her to giggling. Texas, Beta, his queen, giggling. It was a beautiful thing to see, and more beautiful to hear. At least his failing had pleased her. Still, he turned around to regard her, a pout on his lips.

    “And what about you, huh?” he asked, looking pointedly at the instructions at her side. It was quite clear from the crumpling of the booklet that the construction process wasn’t going nearly so well as Texas would want to insist it was. While she couldn’t stand long enough to paint, she had insisted on being helpful in setting up the nursery. The task of constructing the crib had seemed fitting, and now he was quite certain that it would definitely keep her occupied tonight, or at least until she decided that it was time for her to sleep. Then Florida would quickly clean himself up, help her to bed, and return to his painting work.

    The crib, though, was no more progressed now than it had been ten minutes ago. Apparently she was having some serious problems, either because of the instructions being far more complex than should make sense, or something else was up.

    “The instructions are in Portuguese!” she protested. “How the fuck am I supposed to read them?”

    “Follow the pictures, dear,” he suggested, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

    Texas rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

    “I would, but it’s still slow going because all of the holes and joints are marked, but with tiny ass stickers,” she growled, her foot snapping out to kick one of the pieces aside.

    He could tell she wasn’t actually angry, but the little pouting gesture was still wonderful. Back when they’d first started dating she never would have admitted frustration with something like a bit of construction. Nor, he supposed, would he have been so upset over a bit of uneven paint. They would both have to do better, though. This sort of behavior wouldn’t possibly be acceptable around a little one. But maturity would wait for another day.

    “Want some help?” he offered, already knowing just how she would respond.

    “Want your hair to be green?” she asked, her voice that special sort of sweet that she saved for when she was threatening him or her brothers.

    “Perhaps,” he laughed. “But I think that should wait until I’ve got all this painted first. Matching paints after they’ve been mixed can be so imprecise.”

    “Then you better hurry up and get it done,” she cooed at him. “Because I see green in your future, whether you’re done or not.”

    Florida laughed, shaking his head, and returned to his task.

    Thing was, he wouldn’t put it past her to do just that, and so he returned to his painting with a will.