Iron
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Paranormal/Supernatural › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
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856
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Paranormal/Supernatural › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
856
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Scrap--Lucy
Let me tell you about this chick, Lucy. White-blonde hair, pretty grey eyes, a fantastic little body, and the cushiest job in the world. She was this singer, see? Not like a pop singer or anythin', just this gal who did stage stuff for this crew, like broadway and shit. Man, the pipes on this girl were amazin', simply amazin'. I mean, she coudn't make angels weep or nothin', but she sure could make ghosts laugh and cry. One of her biggest fans was this creepy civil war era guy who followed her from stop to stop till this hunter got rid of him. Skeevy one eyed bastard--
The hunter? You wanna know about the hunter? Skinny bitch with dirty blonde hair and scar on her head longer than my hand. Liz somethin', O'Connell I think. Scary motherfucker, that's for sure. Fantastic in the sack, and I'm sure Lucy'd agree with me. Man, the two of them hit it off. Liz followed Lucy like a moth to light, all across the country and back with her kid left behind in Chicago.
But all stories gotta have a dark part, am'miright? One week, Liz goes back to Chicago to spend some time with her kid. Lucy gives her a nice ol' send off--one for the record books from the soundait--then goes back to her flat. They were hold up in San Fran, see, and seeing as our fair-haired gal originated from the City by the Bay this was like a little vaycay for'er. Tired out from her late-night send off, Lucy goes to sleep inner room.
Now, the papers tell it like it was an accident, faulty wirings or some such bull. Truth is, accident it mighta been, but it weren't from no faulty wirin'. Salamanders. No idea to this day how they got in that gal's apartment, or what set'em off, but they burned the place down sure enough.
Lucy didn't get burned or nothin', but it might've been better if she had. Between the smoke and the super-hot air she was breathin', the poor girl ruined her pretty little voice. Liz blames herself, o'course, no matter how many times Lucy tries to tell her not to. Hell, she can speak again an' everythin'. But there's no tellin' a hunter not'ta take blame; I oughta know, I am one.
AN: Written 08.07.14
Wanted to tell Lucy's story, and that's it in a nutshell. A while back I think I mentioned that I took Liz from another story; Lucy was a character in that story. A musical singer, Lucy's favourite roll was Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd (yes, that's also what the name's from, ya damn hippies *shake fist*). Lucy does go back into show biz after the fire, taking much smaller roles even after her voice more-or-less comes back because her lungs are too scarred for strenuous use.
And now we're caught up. Constructive Criticism is always welcomed.
The hunter? You wanna know about the hunter? Skinny bitch with dirty blonde hair and scar on her head longer than my hand. Liz somethin', O'Connell I think. Scary motherfucker, that's for sure. Fantastic in the sack, and I'm sure Lucy'd agree with me. Man, the two of them hit it off. Liz followed Lucy like a moth to light, all across the country and back with her kid left behind in Chicago.
But all stories gotta have a dark part, am'miright? One week, Liz goes back to Chicago to spend some time with her kid. Lucy gives her a nice ol' send off--one for the record books from the soundait--then goes back to her flat. They were hold up in San Fran, see, and seeing as our fair-haired gal originated from the City by the Bay this was like a little vaycay for'er. Tired out from her late-night send off, Lucy goes to sleep inner room.
Now, the papers tell it like it was an accident, faulty wirings or some such bull. Truth is, accident it mighta been, but it weren't from no faulty wirin'. Salamanders. No idea to this day how they got in that gal's apartment, or what set'em off, but they burned the place down sure enough.
Lucy didn't get burned or nothin', but it might've been better if she had. Between the smoke and the super-hot air she was breathin', the poor girl ruined her pretty little voice. Liz blames herself, o'course, no matter how many times Lucy tries to tell her not to. Hell, she can speak again an' everythin'. But there's no tellin' a hunter not'ta take blame; I oughta know, I am one.
AN: Written 08.07.14
Wanted to tell Lucy's story, and that's it in a nutshell. A while back I think I mentioned that I took Liz from another story; Lucy was a character in that story. A musical singer, Lucy's favourite roll was Mrs. Lovett from Sweeney Todd (yes, that's also what the name's from, ya damn hippies *shake fist*). Lucy does go back into show biz after the fire, taking much smaller roles even after her voice more-or-less comes back because her lungs are too scarred for strenuous use.
And now we're caught up. Constructive Criticism is always welcomed.