![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
athersgeoI'm supposed to be programming a website. I'm going to be for the absolute highjump on Monday when the boss comes back unless I get some actual work done today. Yet, here I am, rewriting the Elektra movie.
*headdesk*
Just kill me now and save me the painful evisceration on Monday.
Title: Elektra
Author: Rach
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: This is in draft form; no-one's seen any of this yet, so any/all mistakes are emphatically my fault. Also may contain bad psycology...
Explaining Elektra
"One, two, three, four…"
The statuesque brunette standing in the prow of the ferry kept the near silent count going during the whole crossing. A couple of her fellow passengers had wandered over, intending to make small talk with the undoubtedly pretty woman, but the mumbled numbers had put them off.
"One, two, three, four…"
It was a litany; it gave her some measure of control over a life that had long since run beyond her means to actually control it. That loss had started early in her life. So had the counting.
"One, two, three, four…"
An ambitious father, determined that his daughter would not be one of life's victims, had forced her to spend countless hours training. The only buffer between father and daughter was the beautiful wife; but she died when the daughter had barely been five and her death, under suspicious – if never proven – circumstances had only hardened father's resolve.
"One, two, three, four…"
And as if all that had not been sufficient, she had died. Not "for a moment, clinically speaking" but actual death. She remembered it with a clarity that would have frightened most people. Stabbed by her own weapon, a sharp, three-pronged sai, by one of the men who had murdered her father. She had felt her heart beat slow; felt the blood slowly leak from the three gaping wounds in her chest… And then there'd been nothing.
"One, two, three, four…"
Until suddenly, she hadn't been dead any more. Stick – the man who'd brought her back – had called her soul back to her body, forcing her to return to this existence. He'd never explained why he'd done it. He'd never apologised. He'd just done it.
"One, two, three, four…"
She hated him for it. She hadn't really liked this life the first time round; the one person who'd made it bearable, for just a while, had been lost to her. She had no ties. No friends. No family. Just Stick. And then he'd thrown her out, too.
"One, two, three, four…"
He'd told her she couldn't learn. That she had too much anger. Of course she had anger! How would he have felt being dragged back into a life that had rejected her? But that argument held no sway with the irascible Stick. And six months after resurrecting her, he cast her out.
"One, two, three, four…"
The ferry's coming in to dock now. Time for her to grab her bag and make her way to the holiday home McCabe rented for her. "You need a vacation," he'd said after her last job. "I'm not taking no for an answer." So here she is. Ready for a vacation she doesn't want, on an island she never wanted to come to, in a life she didn't want to live.
"One, two, three, four…"
But she's stuck with it.
"One, two, three, four…"
All of it.
"One, two, three, four…"
And as the ferry's ramp descended onto the island's slipway, the first person off the boat was the statuesque brunette known and feared in many circles as the assassin Elektra.
*headdesk*
Just kill me now and save me the painful evisceration on Monday.
Title: Elektra
Author: Rach
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: This is in draft form; no-one's seen any of this yet, so any/all mistakes are emphatically my fault. Also may contain bad psycology...
"One, two, three, four…"
The statuesque brunette standing in the prow of the ferry kept the near silent count going during the whole crossing. A couple of her fellow passengers had wandered over, intending to make small talk with the undoubtedly pretty woman, but the mumbled numbers had put them off.
"One, two, three, four…"
It was a litany; it gave her some measure of control over a life that had long since run beyond her means to actually control it. That loss had started early in her life. So had the counting.
"One, two, three, four…"
An ambitious father, determined that his daughter would not be one of life's victims, had forced her to spend countless hours training. The only buffer between father and daughter was the beautiful wife; but she died when the daughter had barely been five and her death, under suspicious – if never proven – circumstances had only hardened father's resolve.
"One, two, three, four…"
And as if all that had not been sufficient, she had died. Not "for a moment, clinically speaking" but actual death. She remembered it with a clarity that would have frightened most people. Stabbed by her own weapon, a sharp, three-pronged sai, by one of the men who had murdered her father. She had felt her heart beat slow; felt the blood slowly leak from the three gaping wounds in her chest… And then there'd been nothing.
"One, two, three, four…"
Until suddenly, she hadn't been dead any more. Stick – the man who'd brought her back – had called her soul back to her body, forcing her to return to this existence. He'd never explained why he'd done it. He'd never apologised. He'd just done it.
"One, two, three, four…"
She hated him for it. She hadn't really liked this life the first time round; the one person who'd made it bearable, for just a while, had been lost to her. She had no ties. No friends. No family. Just Stick. And then he'd thrown her out, too.
"One, two, three, four…"
He'd told her she couldn't learn. That she had too much anger. Of course she had anger! How would he have felt being dragged back into a life that had rejected her? But that argument held no sway with the irascible Stick. And six months after resurrecting her, he cast her out.
"One, two, three, four…"
The ferry's coming in to dock now. Time for her to grab her bag and make her way to the holiday home McCabe rented for her. "You need a vacation," he'd said after her last job. "I'm not taking no for an answer." So here she is. Ready for a vacation she doesn't want, on an island she never wanted to come to, in a life she didn't want to live.
"One, two, three, four…"
But she's stuck with it.
"One, two, three, four…"
All of it.
"One, two, three, four…"
And as the ferry's ramp descended onto the island's slipway, the first person off the boat was the statuesque brunette known and feared in many circles as the assassin Elektra.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-18 12:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-18 12:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-18 12:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-18 12:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-02-18 12:18 pm (UTC)