Cain Marko (cainmarko) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-02-21 23:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | dawn summers, juggernaut |
Who: Cain Marko and Dawn Summers
What: Cain goes down to get a snack and finds Dawn. Then we find out that Juggernaut’s not a totally bad guy.
When: Sometime after the freaking out over Glory.
Where: Communal kitchen.
Why: Juggernaut wants some cookies damnit.
Rating: PG-13 at least, Juggernaut does not censor himself in speech or thought.
Status: In Progress
Cain sighed, one hand coming up to scrub his face as he carefully made his way down to the communal kitchen. One of the downsides to his power? His metabolism was like a damn furnace, and that furnace was always on. He’d been eating significantly less than he usually did, because these people were cool and he wasn’t going to eat them out of house and home, even though he very easily could. That often ended up with him being hungry, which wasn’t really a new thing for him.
Starvation hadn’t been uncommon at Weapon X.
The truth was, he was eating better than he had at Weapon X, so he couldn’t complain. Sure, it wasn’t the Brotherhood, with its massive storehouse of food to keep Blob’s blubber up, but anything beat where he’d been literally just before that, which was still only a handful of weeks ago for him. The Weapon X stuff was a lot fresher than he’d let on, but he didn’t want pity from anyone, least of all people he actually kind of liked. He wondered idly if they knew how fucking miraculous that really was. He was the Juggernaut, he was known for trampling people into a bloody paste and enjoying it, not liking people. But they’d been kind when no one else in his life had ever been. Even Rogue, his cellmate and secret crush, had been kind of a bitch to him. But these people…they were different. Even the humans.
He had no fucking clue how it had happened, but Cain had gotten attached to these people. That was why he’d volunteered himself so readily to Buffy earlier. Sure, it was the right thing to do, but that was really sort of coincidental. The fact was he liked most of these people, with certain notable exceptions, and he would be good god damned if he let somebody hurt them when he was still exploring just what the hell this meant.
He ducked and hunched and slowly worked his way into the communal kitchen through the tiny doorway, once again in his jumbo plaid pajama bottoms, with a cloth sack he’d modified into a sleeveless shirt to cover his upper half. He still had his plain brown slippers from when he’d first shown up, and was wearing those as well. He had sort of a weird look. Despite his 9’4” size and 900 lbs. of toned, grotesquely large muscles, he looked pretty young. No more than eighteen or nineteen, the former being his actual age. He’d recently gotten a haircut, and his fiery red hair was now buzzed close to his head.
Given how much of a hassle it was for him to get through the door without totaling it, it took him a second to notice he wasn’t alone. Initial evaluation indicated that it was some chick, eating…what the fuck was she eating? He glanced up from the food to her face and his brow furrowed. Wait. That face was familiar. Why…?
Oh. Fuck, right. He recognized her from the little pictures on Buffy’s post. He’d only skimmed, admittedly, but he distinctly remembered her freaking out. He couldn’t quite remember why it was, though. When he recognized her, part of him wanted to turn around and get the fuck out. What did he know about hanging out with people? He’d spent his life cowering in a trailer from his drunken father, tortured in a black ops military base, and then a few brief weeks putzing around while a member of a mutant supremacist terrorist team. Worse yet, what did he know about hanging out with freaked people? Hell, he’d probably just make it worse. He wasn’t exactly an unimposing figure.
So it surprised him when instead of leaving, he took a step – a small one for him – further into the room, crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk, and questioned, “You playing mad food scientist, or something?” His voice was pretty much what you’d expect from a guy his size, deep and gruff, but there was a note of amusement in it.