cozzybob (cozzybob) wrote in cozzybabbles, @ 2008-03-03 02:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | drabble, gen, howard |
[GW] Veteran
Veteran
by cozzybob
Pairing/Characters: Howard
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, torture, old man abuse
Note: For gw500's "captive" challenge. Also dedicated to Ralphiere.
Summary: Howard is captured by White Fang agents, who want him to design another gundam.
Boots to the gut was a bad thing when you were in your upper sixties, Howard decided. Back in the day, he could take three of these and keep on truckin', but he was an old fart now, and things weren't the way they used to be. These days, he had to wait and be saved by the new child terrorists, and if that wasn't a truly fucked up rite of passage, he didn't know what was.
Coughing up the blood that welled into his mouth, Howard gave a harsh laugh to the punk that had chosen to screw with him this time. He might've been old, but was he was still a tough sonuvabitch when he needed to be, and no scrawny little asshole from White Fang was going to intimidate him. He dragged himself back to his knees with shaking hands and spit the blood in his tormentor's face.
“Fuck you.”
That earned him another boot, and then another, until Howard had no choice but to curl up in an old man ball and hope to die. He couldn't even tell when the blows ended, but he heard the distant shouting of two men having a pissing contest. Of course they didn't like him getting beaten, he still had to work, didn't he? They hadn't kidnapped him because he looked gorgeous when he bruised, although he did. They kidnapped him because he was the last surviving designer of the gundams, and they wanted his brain to make them a new one. Or at least something equally as powerful, they didn't seem too picky on that part. Psychotic dumbasses...
Bad Cop pulled him up by the few hairs he had left, and shook him around like a wrinkly rag doll. “You'll do what we want or I'll cut your fucking tongue out, old man! You don't need it to draw us a fucking picture, now do you?”
Howard laughed. He couldn't help it. They called this intimidation? Clearly, they never met the business end of a Shinigami glare. Five years knowing the gundam pilots had permanently changed his perspectives on the word 'terrifying.' Even Relena could do better.
Boot to the head, then the hand was yanking his hair back again. How the hell could the little punk grasp it, Howard was half-bald anyway. Damn. By the time this was over, he wouldn't have any hair left.
“You think this I'm being cute, do you?” He felt the knife prick his Adam's apple as he swallowed. The punk pinched the nerves at his upper jaw and Howard's mouth automatically opened with a groan. Good Cop attempted to interfere.
“Do you really think this is necessary?”
“I'm sick of this shit! I'm not going to be lead around by an old fucking man! Now help me get his tongue out.”
“We really shouldn't--”
Bad Cop put the knife on Good Cop, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Don't wuss out on me, Fuller.”
There was a very long pause while Howard caught his breath and admired the manly showdown. Finally, Fuller lowered his eyes, and Howard let out a soft snort. Typical.
Bad Cop turned and grasped him by the throat, slamming him into the wall. Good Cop reluctantly helped him open Howard's mouth, and yank his tongue into perfect cutting distance.
He didn't know why he wasn't afraid. Maybe it was because he'd seen J lose both eyes, his legs and an arm, and just keep going through life like it never even gave him pause. Surely one measly little tongue wasn't that bad? It'd hurt like fucking hell, but hey, he'd invented Tallgeese and he was head of the Sweepers, he could take it. Some bitter ex-White Fang bully wasn't going to get his panic on.
He struggled, of course, but he glared with a calm coldness that dared either of them to touch him. He wasn't even afraid that coherent words might be permanently removed from him for the rest of his life—he was an old man anyway, he'd already lived his life, had already shed blood in the name of it. He'd rather die than create another mechanical monster.
The knife pricked his tongue and he convulsed, closing his eyes. The blood began to pool at the back of his throat. He swallowed, and the knife cut deeper.
And then the alarm sounded.
“Fuck! Gotta be one of the pilots. No one else would've found us.”
The knife was gone, and Howard's tongue was still attached, even if it was bleeding. He swallowed again, and laughed. Bad Cap kicked him in the face.
“Secure him. I'll deal with it.”
Another kick, and Howard was out cold.