Joined: 29 Jun 2012
|Posted: Fri Oct 26, 2012 1:39 pm Post subject: Winter, part one
|Winter in Manhattan
Winter pushed her bare feet up against the top of the dumb waiter, her head craned up as she looked out into the dark storage room, the dusty boxes sitting on old shelves. Winter gritted her teeth as she gripped her pistol, a Glock Twenty- One, held out extended into the dark room. She clenched her teeth, feeling the vicious rows of a predator's teeth perfectly meshing against each other. As she did this, the pressure her teeth exerted in her muzzle, in her jawbone causing something to come alive in her mind, something dark, something that was as much a part of her as the desire to live- it was something that her kind had tried to suppress, over years of becoming civil.
But here, upside down inside of a small elevator designed to carry supplies to various levels of the U.S. Embassy, she felt that part of her come alive. Something inside of her longed to have the throat of an enemy in her jaws as they clamped down, piercing his arteries, crushing his windpipe. Though it was against her training, Winter closed her eyes, which would have given the Secret Service a decided advantage against her, if they were in that dusty room, the light barely filtering in through a single, small window, on the other side of the shelf that sat almost directly in front of her gun.
As she regulated her breath through her lupine nose, exhaling silently, inhaling to test the air for the scent of human adrenaline, Winter opened her piercing light yellow eyes as she slowly relaxed her feet, the pistol still extended out into the dark storage room. Slowly, she drew her long, white digitigrade lupine legs down as she felt her body become loose, bringing an arm out to steady herself, to prevent her body from haphazardly flopping out of the elevator.
Winter stopped- suddenly- and listened. She heard nothing. But that didn't mean there wasn't an Agent behind the shelf she was directly in front of. With a smoothness no human could ever match, she thrust her body from out of the dumb waiter and landed on her feet, the pads absorbing the impact and making a soft noise. Her toe- claws trimmed so that they would not make noise on hard surfaces as she walked, but still long enough that she could use them as weapons. They were also carefully painted light pink. Carefully painted to ensure no pink fingernail paint stuck to the delicate, hollow strands of fur that covered the top ¾ of her lupine toes.
Winter had an advantage as a spy for a far away Soviet country. Born in Brest, Belarus, Winter was the daughter of Meredith and Jake Greypaw. The Greypaws had migrated from their home in Sorren, a planet that did not exist in any known galaxies. Any known to humanity, anyway. Thanks to interdimensional technologies developed by the military based on Nikola Tesla's hidden patents, Naakaanee like the Greypaws migrated to Earth, settling into any country that would have them. The Greypaws were one such family. They wanted a better life, to start afresh, to leave their alfalfa farm on their native planet, to have a future for their offspring. They had named her Winter because she was born in the coldest part of the winter, in January- and she was all white, like the snow. Pure, and beautiful.
However, they discovered, along with countless other Naakaanee, that while the humans strove to maintain an outward appearance of concern for them, that the humans were indeed as rotten as many of their own kind were. It led to an isolationist attitude that only caused the chasm between human and Naakaanee to widen. Humanity had enough difficulty with skin color- seeing walking wolves was another thing entirely.
Desperate for her security, they enrolled Winter in the ranks of the Belarusian government when she was just barely able to speak.
Spurned by a love for her beautiful country, Winter gladly went through the grueling training of becoming a spy for her government. Though the Soviet empire of Russia collapsed over a hundred years ago, it had reformed decades ago, shortly after the collapse of America. America fell under the weight of the corruption of the people her own people elected into office. America eventually reformed after years of brutal civil war, and became a target of other countries, once again.
Winter was among the ranks of female spies who were trained to have a mind within a mind, who were as deadly with their hands and feet as most men armed with a blade. Layers upon layers of training were absorbed by Winter's young mind. Her intelligence, heart, and physical as well as mental strength helped her accelerate through the ranks, far excelling past even the most astute human student of the spy trade.
It was not without it's hardships, though. Because she was so different... Six feet tall not counting her pointy ears, piercing yellow eyes that would glow when she was training in combat- actually they reflected light, giving the appearance of glowing- her entire body covered in a thick coat of fur that insulated her body from the harsh Belarus winters, and a set of teeth that were similar to a wolf's. She was also singled out by many “Teachers”. Whenever Winter made a mistake, or did not memorize something the way they wanted her to, they would beat her. With far less mercy than they showed even the most rotten human student.
Winter would close her eyes and grit her teeth, enduring the beatings, that sometimes did not end until the punishers were too tired to pick the bat up again. She would go to her barracks with the human females and bite down on a wooden stick as the tears flowed from her eyes from the pain in her body. But she would not give up. If they wanted to beat her to death she would not resist them. She had long ago resolved to die in that dark schoolroom located deep underground, if her human masters had willed it.
Those days were dark... But not so dark that she had no light. Matvey, one of the teachers there- an older human man, his hair nearly white with worry for his country, for his sordid way of life, but a way of life he had grown used to. Matvey would dismiss his students, then call Winter up to his desk, having her shut the door to the dimly lit classroom, after all the human students left. Matvey would take a wooden rod and beat a pillow he kept in his desk while yelling insults at Winter, who stared at him, her yellow eyes betraying so much emotion, so much intelligence, that Matvey hated to do what he did- to even so much as insult her. When she would leave he would extend his hand out to grab hers, Winter looking into his old, grey eyes- his eyes telling her he understood, that he harbored no hate for her at all. Winter never smiled, though something that was disconnected in her psyche longed to smile for Matvey.
Winter would limp out of his classroom, feigning the pain of a phantom beating, and in doing so- was spared more beatings from those who would actually bring the wooden rods down on her body over, and over again. But Winter harbored no resentment for these humans. She recognized in them the pain that she felt, a pain so deep in her soul that she pitied them. And she loved her country of Belarus. She loved it a great deal. Winter had no desire to travel to Sorren, where things were in many ways worse- a sort of monarchy now centered around the human technology that had filtered into her native world. Executions were still held there, brutal, awful, agonizing executions that she read about, and saw photos of- killed any desire she had of seeing that planet.
During her missions abroad, Winter had a decided advantage. Because she was a six foot tall walking wolf, her fur all white from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes, her eyes so light and different from others of her kind, and a body- that had she not of had the features of a wolf- would have been highly attractive to any red blooded man, she attracted a great deal of attention from people- the exact opposite of what any spy wanted. But there was a psychological element to her obviousness, amplified by the fact that the Naakaanee saturation in any given area was usually less than five percent, oftentimes less, per capita. While she turned heads, both human (Although rarely out of attraction) and Naakaanee alike, no human ever dared to stop her, to exchange pleasantries with her, to ask her the time, or even to ask her for directions. When a Naakaanee male would stop her to ask her for her number she would grimace, and tell them she had a boyfriend. A human boyfriend. That always made those curious, amorous males recoil in disgust, the disgust turning to a sort of mild hatred for her deviant ways, as they turned and walked away with a huff of a snort.
Of course, it was not true. Winter was alone. The code of her country was that so long as she was a spy, she could never marry unless it would help her duties, and even then, only to a pre- approved mate. A mate she would have no choice but to accept and love- in a way- but never a way that came naturally from within her heart, or her soul.
Winter would return to her apartment in New York, touch up the bright pink paint on her finger and toe claws, brush her fur (This took quite some time) and sit and read the newspapers, both human and Naakaanee. Sometimes she would smoke a cigarette, the smoke she exhaled through her nostrils, it billowing out in twin swirl patterns thanks to her black lupine nose, her scent receptors dulled for about ten minutes after, but the nicotine lingering in her nasal passages, creating a mildly uncomfortable but highly addictive sensation. It was a guilty pleasure she indulged in, which was not required of her from her duties, but she had found to relax her, to satiate and numb so many repressed emotions that sometimes burned deep in her Naakaanee heart.
When those repressed emotions would come bubbling up to the surface of her mind, her eyes went dark, her head low, her eyes looking down on the ground as she struggled to maintain herself. She was only a Naakaanee, after all. The thoughts of the never ending lush green forests of her country, the warmth in her parent's home, always brought her cool back.
Walking through the streets of New York, a smile on her white lupine face, a sultry air about her that she never tried to conceal, people would watch the wolf dressed like a human party girl, pink nails and all, go to clubs and go shopping, Winter's mannerisms joyful and just slightly flamboyant, convincing everyone around her she was your typical party girl, er, wolf. “HUH!” Winter would exclaim, her clear, exotic yellow eyes wide when she would see a dress in a window that she thought would compliment her eyes. It was the part of her duties she enjoyed. Yeah, she liked to shop. And her training never restrained her natural desire to look good.
Winter would stomp her bare feet on the ground as she held her arms close to her chest, her tail subconsciously swishing behind her as she pressed the pads of her hands and her eyes against the glass of the boutique store, her muzzle pointing straight down to the ground as she pressed her face against the glass- causing the retail worker to yell and jump when he saw a huge white wolf's face pressed against the glass. “Do you have this in size ten?” Winter would say, tapping the glass with a pink claw, her soft white head cocking a little, the warmth and vulnerability in her eyes partly unfeigned as she asked the man behind the counter. Winter would enter the store, her hands clasped together as if pleading with the man. Winter would close her eyes tightly as she smiled from cheek to cheek, being careful not to show any teeth, except for her two canines that extended down from the end of her lupine muzzle.
There was nothing she could do about that.
“Thank you thank you thank you!” Winter would say, holding the dress so close to her chest as she sighed. That part was fake. She even would let out a squeal in excitement if it would make the man behind the counter nervous and she wanted to grin about it later.
Walking into the back of a restaurant, walking through an embassy, getting caught in a restricted area- these things would have gotten any human jailed. But not Winter. As much as the human men who had gotten to know her hated to admit it, her beauty, her charm, and the warmth that was part of her personality were universal. She could sell ice to an Eskimo. A human Eskimo.
If she was memorizing documents in file cabinets, her sharp eyes and even sharper ears telling her if there were cameras about, and telling her when people were running to her from down the hall. When she was caught, she would pretend she was drunk, her long, thick lupine tongue lolling out of her muzzle as she laughed, her speech slurred as a string of saliva dangled from the side of her muzzle, her arms flailing out randomly, no human would even touch her when she was in this state. And when she would look one in the eyes, and say something naughty to them, they would slink back and tell her to leave. No questions asked. Ever.
Another routine was to act like she was a ditz. Winter would chew on a pink claw, her eyes looking up, and around, never focusing on anything. “Ummmmm...” She would say. “I thought this was the bathroom, they said to go up the stairs aaaaaaand to the right, then, um... Like... there would be a dooooor and uhhhh...” Usually they didn't let her finish. The just told her to leave. “But I have to pee!” She would say, frustrated, which would freak the security guards out even more, telling her to never come back, ever. “Uh! Jerks!” Winter would say, twirling some gum she was chewing on with a furry finger, being careful not to allow it to get it stuck in her fur.
And now she was in a dark storage room, the years undisturbed dust tickling her sensitive lupine nose, an entourage of American Secret Service after her, her “Valley girl” routine not working on them. They did recoil when she held held her crotch and squinting, said she had to pee. That always worked. Ten minutes ago, she squealed, feigning the pain of a full bladder, pushing past the Agents, her arms flailing as she desperately tried to find a bathroom to complete the rouse. But she had entered into a kitchen that looked like it had not been used in years. Thinking on her feet, she jumped in a dumb waiter in the wall. She had to maneuver herself upside- down to reach into the access panel and still fit her entire body inside. Hoping it still worked, reaching through the maintenance panel and touching two wires she ripped out of the “Down” button, touching them together ten times, hoping it would put her at ground level. The small blue spark that snapped softly as she touched the wires gave her a sense of relief as she looked through the window- and saw no agents.
The Dumb Waiter shuddered, having difficult with her two hundred thirty five pound lupine body. Her legs thick from years of exercise- her arms less so to maintain the appearance of an attractive female, but still able to bench press four hundred twenty pounds, the long, soft and hollow fibers of her fur covering the sheer tonal definition of the muscles in her arms. Brushing her fur carefully helped hide her strength as well. Winter was fast. And strong. When she went from valley girl or drunk to killer it was instantaneous. It was such a terrifying thing to behold, it often paralyzed all but the most hardened humans and Naakaanee.
Winter's head looked up at the ceiling as her sensitive ears picked up the footsteps of about twelve men as they sprinted somewhere, probably looking for her. Winter's mind reset itself, and she pinched the slide on the Austrian pistol, pulling it back just far enough to see the golden round in the chamber, pulled back against the slide with the extractor. It was a pressurized tungsten impregnated hollow point round that could penetrate four inches of solid steel.
Winter's eyes had already adjusted to the darkness as her muzzle was slightly agape, the fear undeniable. Winter closed her eyes again, thinking of the small cabin deep in the woods of the Belarus forests, seeing it covered in a foot of snow, Winter inside all alone, drinking a cup of hot tea. It would be the reward for retirement. It was all she had left to hope for. Her parents had perished years ago when her parents had purchased a Soviet built antigrav vehicle, when the bottom thrusters failed, and it went plummeting to the ground, killing them both. The loneliness gnawed at Winter's heart, a heart that was still soft, the cruel training never fully breaking it as it beat in her chest.
She just wanted to be alone. To live the rest of her life by herself, the sights, the sounds, the memories of the things she had done, the terrible things... Never haunting her again- or so she thought. Something in her told her she would never forget... Winter knew there could never be a mate for her. Not now. She was too scarred, too cold, too ruined inside.
Winter took a step forward, and as she did, she felt something soft trickle down the fur under her right eye. Wincing, angry, she wiped the trail the tear left on her fur, seeing the light that managed to filter in through the small, filthy yellow window glisten on the saline fluid on her finger. Winter again gritted her teeth and breathed purposely, her mind pushing out the pain. Again.
Winter turned her head and found the door, holding the pistol to her side, her short shirt revealing the fur between her waist and the shorts she wore. It was designed to purposely distract anyone, and disgust any human male who looked at it as they struggled to fight the attraction that naturally occurred in their minds. But it was only getting in the way. It was too loose. Winter put the pistol back in the SmartCarry holster in her jean shorts that hugged her body tightly. Another subconscious trick to get human men to fight in their minds over whether or not she was attractive... but she was a Naakaanee... But the jeans, the way they hugged her body... But she was a Naakaanee! A friggi'n wolf! Winter brought her hands up to her head and rubbed her fur the wrong way, spitting into her hands and rubbing the saliva on her face and her arms, the matted and sticky fur making sure nobody tried touching her, then reached for the doorknob.
It turned, Winter glad she didn't have to kick down the door and go sprinting down the hall, mowing through people as she knocked them down with ease, her lupine face contorted into a vicious snarl, terrifying anyone, who would later say: “All I saw was teeth!”
The door opened with a creak she could have lived without- but it opened inward, which was good- if anyone was looking, they wouldn't see her until the last moment. It was likely the door had not been opened in some time and so would attract a lot of attention if she was being watched. Once her bare lupine foot popped through, yeah, there'd be no avoiding the attention. But she could not retire in this storage room. She was going to have leave- preferably before the place went into full lockdown.
Winter walked out of the room into a dimly lit industrial hallway. Tight piled and well worn gray carpet with two heavily tarnished aluminum runners went the length of the hallway, on each side of the carpet. Winter had to pay specific attention to the carpet. She had trained without shoes, her pink toenails would provide even more of a distraction for anyone who wanted to ask her just why she was rifling through their private, secured files.
Because the pads on the bottom of her toes were designed to tread unpaved bare dirt roads, if she exited an area where the floor was smooth, she would have to radically adjust the way she walked just to gain traction. She would also have to use her wits, because there would be no patent Naakaanee lope that could reach thirty- two miles per hour. Terrifying for most humans to behold.
The low pile industrial carpet was ideal. The teachers had shown her pictures of the bottom of Naakaanee foot pads. There were millions of small, pointed “Scales” that could gain massive amounts of traction if the surface was right, as they dug into any tractable flooring. Carpet was just about the best thing for her lope. It was worn, but her lightning quick mind could find the spots where there still was enough carpet for her to gain a good lope.
Winter thrust her hand out, grabbing the threshold of the doorway tightly as she staggered out of the room. Her light yellow eyes glowing with an excitement she could not tame as she folded out of the room, acting drunk. Two quick glances and she realized she was alone. The long hallway looked like it was for maintenance personnel, and possibly for record keeping and archival purposes, as there were numerous bland government grey doors on each side.
Winter's left ear perked up as she kept her head still, to listen to the doorway at the end of the hall as she heard people run past it. Damn. They were already down here. Winter had no choice, the police would be arriving there any minute, now. Winter sprinted towards the door, and opening it, swung it open with such force that the high pressure Doorman door closing unit broke, the steel door twisted just slightly as it slammed against the wall.
At first, their expression was a fearful one. Their eyes wide, their mouths gawking at the insane wild animal that was wearing a short tank top and short jean shorts, the look on her face like an animal straight out of a National Geographic special. Slowly, their training kicked back in as one of the five Agents pointed to winter and said “THERE SHE IS! GET HER!”
Winter automatically turned her head the other way where six men charged down a stairway, Winter knowing that that was the only way out. She only had one choice- through those six men, two of which had guns drawn.
Winter bolted. The floor here was smooth, and she purposely, although excruciatingly denying every urge within her to begin sprinting- put her feet down on the smooth ground softly, achieving little more than a jog as she lunged into the group of men. One, who had his pistol drawn, had his eyes locked on her pink toenails, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he cocked his head, looking up just in time to see the face of a massive, furious wolf lunging straight towards him- her muzzle beginning to open, her eyes cold and enraged, her lips curled up revealing long rows of hideous teeth.
The man emptied his bladder and dropped his gun, being bowled over by Winter, Winter digging a foot into his chest and using his body as traction, then using the top of his head as a stop to push her body up the stairway. Winter slammed the large pad behind her toes down against one of the worn gray railings and pushed herself sideways, midair out of harms way, onto the platform just outside of the door. Jumping up, Winter grabbed the door handle and burst through the door, into the hallways where thankfully there was carpet, Winter tearing the fiber as she loped past terrified secretaries, jutting her arm out to shove the head of an Agent against the wall, knocking him unconscious as she flew by him.
It happened so fast nobody knew why the Agent fell, unconscious. They heard the bump, and saw his head fall numbly, and then his body crumble, but nobody saw Winter push his head into the hardwood wall.
Winter brought her arm up to smash through a door that was threatening to hinder her momentum, when the air around her suddenly became pressurized, her eardrums pounded mercilessly from the report of a medium caliber pistol, and though she was trained to ignore the pain of the sound pressure, the bullet tearing into her back pushed her body forward, past what her legs could compensate for, Winter's body smashing through the hollow door that was essentially for show.
Winter tumbled into the reception area, where people began to scream and hug the walls, as if Winter was an escaped zoo animal, Winter rolling, then recovering, jumping up and kicking one of the glass doors open, her foot pads making traction with the concrete as she achieved that lope she had been hungering for deep within her soul the entire time.
Winter turned corners with inhuman precision, making enough turns to where she was confident that she wasn't followed. She stopped running when she reached an alleyway. The forty- caliber hollowpoint had drilled it's way under her shoulderblade, and stopped when it hit bone. Winter could feel the bullet grating against the cartilage in her arm as she tried to move it, it making a hideous popping and grinding sound, though she wasn't sure if part of the noise was her powerful arm grating against the bullet, the reverberation vibrating her bones all the way up to her head. Winter dropped to the floor, her butt falling into some discarded cardboard boxes that had been cut up and laid flat in front of a dumpster. Winter could feel unconsciousness nipping at her mind as she realized she might very well be captured, and then executed as a spy.
As Winter closed her eyes, she heard footsteps to her left, and turned to look lazily as the black began to creep into her vision. A scruffy looking human with a goatee, who looked in his late thirties happened to be walking by, and just before Winter passed out, seeing his eyes, felt that she could probably add stab wounds to her gunshot wound, as he would surely probably stick her while she was out, as he looked like that type. Just before the black carried her under, Winter smiled at that irony...