Friday story

3

“Well, Mr. Parker, to be quite honest, I doubt Peter has more than a month in him.” Dr. Reed Richards spoke quietly, standing outside the Parker home on the porch. The doctor was tall and lanky, the man he spoke with stocky and older.

“Damn it.” Ben Parker clenched his fist. “I told his daddy I'd do all I could to see he grew up to be a fine man, and now he won't even have a chance.”

“There's one thing, I think maybe you can try.” Dr. Richards held his hands out as he spoke. “It's a long shot, and not something I would normally suggest, but I just don't see another alternative.”

“What is it? Tell me, I'll do anything. Thirteen is just too young, and I'll be damned if I give up on him now.”

“Lets go in, have a cup of coffee, let your wife hear this too, see what she thinks. 'Dr. Richards suggested.

The three of them gathered around a small dining table set in the cramped kitchen, steaming tin mugs of coffee sat untouched in front of each. May Parker was Ben's wife, fatter and shorter by a fair share than her husband. She spoke after a moment of silence had crept in. “Well doctor? What is it?

“I can't believe I'm going to suggest this, they should really have my license for this, I really-”

Ben cut him off. “With all due respect, get to it.”

“yes, yes, right.” I know of a man, a former colleague of mine, a Doctor Stephen Strange.” Dr. Richards stammered, he looked as though he had begun to sweat, though from the heat in the kitchen due to the preparation of coffee, or from some other factor, it was unsure.
“he left a normal practice, and went with the savages, and devoted himself to the study of the, well, strange arts.”

“Doctor Strange is strange, is what you're saying? Ben growled.


“Well yes, but I think he may be able to help. I keep a correspondence, and I've heard multiple accounts from him of his having healed many, and overcome much that a normal doctor such as myself could never dream of.”

“So, he would do some damned hocus pocus, and my nephew would be healthy?” Ben asked, his voice rising. “That is the absolute dumbest damned shit I've heard from a learned man, and I'll be damned if I don't want to just knock your ass out my door!”

“Ben!” May stood. “I don't believe you! I'm so sorry Doctor!”

Dr. Richards merely raised a hand.

“You're right May. Doctor, I'm sorry.” Ben leaned forward, clamping a hand on Reed's shoulder. “This has just been more than I can handle. Just last year Peter was fit as a fiddle. And now, he's knocking on heaven's door.”

“I understand, Mr. Parker. I do. I just want to try everything we possibly can.”

“Where is this Doctor Strange?” May asked, sitting back down.

“Two days ride from here. It won't be an easy trip for Peter, but it may just be worth it.”

“Okay.” Ben said. Let's try it.

Three nights later found the Parkers and Doctor Richards in the company of Doctor Strange. Reed had been insistent that he go, both to care for Peter on the journey, and perhaps experience one of Strange's miracles first hand. Strange had agreed to help Peter as soon as he had seen him, and was adamant that he be started right away. The day had been one of oddness for everyone but Strange, with salves and lotions rubbed into Peter's chest, he had been hung from a tree by his ankles for exactly two minutes and eleven seconds at a time, and had had his head wrapped in a blanket made of wool for four hours. The final step was the most important, Strange had explained, and would be done in secrecy. So now, Peter, barely on the verge of consciousness after a trying day, lay naked in a tee-pee, and Doctor Strange chanted with closed eyes as he mixed a motion with ingredients from various stone bowls set before him. Across the dirt ground a spider scurried, making for one of the bowls. It used it's impressive abilities to scale the inverted incline and fall over the lip of the bowl into a mixture of crushed berries just as Dr. Strange reached for it. He lifted the bowl to a stone mug and tipped it's contents, including the spider, in without opening his eyes. Using his fingers, he mixed it with the other ingredients, crushing the spider and contaminating the contents. Strange opened his eyes, which were traced with paint, and lifted Peter's head with one hand. He spoke in English now, at the end.

“Let this bring the strength and vitality to the one who needs it.” The mug was tipped, it's contents pushing past Peters lips and down his throat.

Friday Writing Thing

2

The sun hung directly overhead, but try as it might, it just couldn't burn an angry red into the back of James Howletts neck. James was guiding his big black horse through a winding valley with a small pathway that was surrounded by cacti and brambles on each side. He wore a large black hat and black trousers, his chest bare beneath and unbuttoned vest made up of animal skins. Large chops grew down his jawline, and they were heavy with sweat. James pulled quickly on the reigns, and his horse stopped.

“Easy now.” His voice was gruff and low. His nose twitched as he inhaled. “Someone close.” He grunted. He kicked softly, and the horse continued on. Her turned a curve, and halted the horse once more. Sliding one short leg over the horses back, he slipped off his saddle, his booted feet finding purchase easily on the rocky ground. James crouched and moved forward, heading to his left, towards a thick patch of brambles. He stopped, and with a slight tearing sound, three sharp bones pushed out of his fist from between his fingers. On the ground before him, a pair of bare feet could be seen beneath a bush. With his unclawed hand, Logan grabbed the ankles and tugged a man out. He had obviously been sleeping, and shouted as he was pulled out, twisting around on his side.

“What the hell?” The man shouted, pulling from James' grasp and jumping up on his feet. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Easy, bub.” James let his claws find their way back into his hand as he held up his other one, palm outward. The man he had woken had brown hair, to his shoulders and very peculiar eyes. “You a mutant?”

“What's it to you?”

“Well, we have something in common.”

Remy looked down to James as he spoke. “What's the big idea? Disturbing me like that?”

“If I hadn't, the red skins would of. Though they may have already came by and were laughing too hard to do nothing 'bout ya. Not exactly the best hiding place.”

“I wasn't hiding, I was sleeping.” Remy crouched down and felt beneath the bush, pulling his boots out and sitting as he pulled them on.

“Pretty weird place to sleep.” James grinned

“Yeah well, not much of a choice.”

“On the run?”

“Something like dat.”

“Well, I know a place, about four days ride from here, pretty kind to folks like us.”

“Well I ain't got a horse hiding under that bush, so how long to walk?”

“Eight days or so, maybe a little less for a man being chased. Man called Xavier owns a ranch, right up on the outskirts of the county, out near West Chester lake. You know it?”

“The ranch no, the lake yes.” Remy stood

“You go about four miles south, there's a little farm with a few horses in a barn next to it. Take one and make for the lake.”

“That your place?”

“No.” James replied walking back to his horse. “But it's no ones

place now, they took in the wrong drifter, and it cost em.” James kicked his horse in to motion, speaking softly to it “Let's go Logan.” He then spoke to Remy once more. “You watch yourself kid.”

“You too. And thanks.” Remy lifted his hand in parting, and watched James ride away.

A new thing for Fridays

I thought on Fridays I would start posting ongoing stories I've written or will write. I'm starting with a Mavel Fan Fic, a what if instead of modern day New York, the Marvel comic universe had been born in the Wild West. Enjoy!

Marvel 1878

1

Remy LeBeau had been playing cards at The Thunderbolt for ten minutes when trouble came looking for him. It almost always did, and it always found him. Remy wasn't quite twenty, with brown hair falling from beneath a bowler hat to his shoulders, and smoky round lenses hiding his unique eyes from view.

“Well I'll be damned.”

Tony Stark sat across from Remy, twice as old and a hundred times richer. Well, ninety-nine times richer now, as Remy tossed his cards to the dealer and scooped a pile of money from the center of the table to a position in front of him.

“Now, now, I warned you when you sat down.” Remy spoke, his Cajun accent thick and unmistakable. “You play wit' me, you ain't gonna leave with heavy pockets.” Remy smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white. “Dat goes to everyone at this here table, but I reckon you got the most to lose, Mr. Stark.”

“That I do, young man, That's why I'm always sure to leave some at home, otherwise my sporting nature is likely to get me into some trouble.”

The dealer dealt five cards each to Remy and Tony, and the other three men at their table, and they took turns wagering with cash, coins, and pocket watches. There was even an old six shooter thrown onto the table. Behind those glasses, Remy's eyes moved past Tony's shoulder, to two approaching men, both looked furious.

“Trouble is a comin'.”

Harry Osborn stopped at the table, standing behind Tony, but he only had eyes for Remy. He looked much like his father, his hair brown with flecks of red, though his was missing the grey at the temples.

“Baby Osborn.” Remy grinned.

“You got some brass ones, you son of a bitch.” Harry's voice was booming, causing the heads of the gamblers, drinkers, and whores alike. The man beside Harry was a Russian named Alek, who spoke much less than he broke bones. Harry continued, as Tony slid out of his way. “You come into my casino? When you owe me as much as you do.”

“Well two points, I think.” Remy answered. It's you daddies casino, and I don't owe you shit.” A few laughs emerged from the crowd.

“You stole money.”

“You lost money. I won it fair.”

“Bullshit. Who knows what tricks you have up them dirty Cajun sleeves.”

“I'll show you. Let me deal you in.” Remy picked up one of the cards from the table before him, and it starting glowing, a soft pink. He flicked the card forward, and it stuck into the heavy oak table by a corner.

“What the hell is this?” Harry laughed, looking over to Alek. As he did, the card, and in turn a large part of the table, exploded. The force and chunks of woods pushed Harry back and off his feet, and even the overgrown Alek had to take some steps back. Shrieks from the women, and a few of the men who would never live it down rang through the air as Remy was on his feet and pulling his long duster from the back of his chair and on. He picked up another card and this one was charged and thrown into the chest of Alek, who had been drawing his gun. The large man flew some feet back, crashing into a roulette table. Remy gathered as much money from the ruined table and stuffed it into his pocket.

“He's a mutie!” Someone yelled. “Send for the Sheriff!”

“Until next time, Mr. Stark.” Remy flashed that grin and turned to leave when a fist caught him in the jaw. More of Osbornes goons had shown up. Remy let himself fall, rolling with the punch and coming up next to a still seated Stark in a crouch. Stark drank liqueur from a glass.

“Nice eyes.” Tony laughed, and Remy realized his glasses had come off in the hit. His eyes were black where most were white, and his irises glowed with the same pink that the cards had. Grabbing the glass from Tony's hand, Remy charged it and threw it at his attacker, it exploded and sent him flying. With a last look to Tony, Remy turned and charged fro the front door, dodging fists and chairs, as the place had been turned into a full fledged brawl. Through the large swinging doors, and Remy was in the streets of Marvel City, Arizona, being pursued by a handful of men.

Sheriff Steve Rogers sat at his desk, his deputy on duty Clint stood at the door to one of the cells, passing a tray of food into a prisoner. Through the front door, a man burst. “Sheriff! A mutie down at The Thunderbolt is causing trouble! He attacked Harry!”


“Norman ain't gonna like that.” Clint spoke, reaching for his bow and quiver. He was a white man in his early twenties, but had spent some time among the Indians, which gave him an affinity for the bow and a tomahawk. “Want me to take care of it, Boss?”

“I'll ride along with you.” The Sheriff spoke, grabbing his hat from his desk as he stood. He wore a blue vest, his shining sheriffs star pinned on the chest. He slung his gun belt around his hips, and he and his deputy were out the door.

Remy crept along an alley, darting to and from wooden crates filled with some stinking mess. He was pretty sure he was alone, but wouldn't take any chances until he found a horse he could steal and get the hell out of downtown. Remy paused at a corner, took a deep breath and stepped around it. An arrow came from the darkness, whistling through the air and imbedding itself in the wall by his head. “Shit!” Remy cursed and threw himself forward in a roll, then he was up and running. He heard another high pitch whistle and dove forward, shielding his head with his hands. Remy rolled over twice and was up again, hurtling around another corner, and found himself skidding to a halt in front of the Sheriff. “Shit.” He said again.

“You the one causing trouble in my town?”

“I don't cause it, it finds me.”

“Well, I reckon you might want to get out of here, I ain't interested in taking you to the station and having a mob outside the door all damned night. So you just do me a favor and leave and don't come back.”

Remy didn't need to be told twice, he turned and was ready to run again when Sheriff Rogers grabbed his shoulder. “I wouldn't go that way. Hawkeye missed you twice, and he don't like missing.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Down there and take a left, straight shot
and stick to the shadows, then out over Grimms' farm. You leave his horses well alone, but I don't think he would mind if you grab corn.”

Remy opened his mouth to speak, but The Sheriff jabbed him with a finger in the ribs. “I know, I'm a swell guy. Get going.” Remy nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

“ I hate missing.” Hawkeye turned the corner, sliding his bow onto his back.”

“Well, I guess I owe you one.”

“Why'd you let him go?”

“I don't got nothing against em, but a lot of people do. Mutants I mean. I'd rather they just weren't here.”