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Star Wolf (WIP)

Just_A_User Mar 15th, 2019 493 Never
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  1. Pilot Chapter
  3. “Another day, another mission, another success”
  5. Are your very pleased words after another successfully completed mission out there in the cosmos. You’ve been on a roll lately, getting well-paying jobs from all manner of contractors, from officials and military to the lowest of the low, and you feel like a little reward is in order. You’ve got the money, and you definitely got the time to spare, so why not indulge in one of mankind’s greatest inventions?
  7. So here you are, on this end of the world, a shitty, dirty, old bar built on a space station in the middle of nowhere, far away from the Lylat system and very out of Corneria’s jurisdiction, allowing for all kinds of weirdos and scum to just sit back and chillax without Cornerian military on their ass all day.
  9. You called it shitty, dirty and old, but it’s not so bad, because there’s no pressure from any officials, the place is surprisingly lighthearted despite the regulars being the likes of bounty hunters and mercenaries much like you. And the booze is pleasantly excellent quality, so you got nothing to complain about, other than the fights that some time break out, forcing you to stand up and move to a corner with the rest of the patrons while the two or more fellows beat themselves like they owed each other money, which sometimes they do.
  11. But hey, they also come with the added bonus of being great free entertainment, few things beat the sheer stupid fun of drinking with a bunch of strangers while live drunkenly commentating about two or more idiots punching each other’s lights out and betting on who will win.
  13. Of course, it’s not funny when you lose the bet and your money.
  15. And funny of you, wanting to stay away from Corneria’s officials, you did graduate from Corneria’s Flight Academy as an ace pilot. Why CFA? Well, other than because that’s the place where the best fighter pilots in history came from, it also has the best education in flying of all the currently charted territory in the universe. One would think that you, being a student from CFA would affiliate yourself with Corneria, similar to the likes of Star Fox, right? But nope your only affiliation with them is the logo on your certification and license.
  17. If there is one military or government you’ll ever affiliate yourself with in a long lasting contract, it’ll be Earth’s, because, you know, it’s your home planet and you have a soft spot for that hellhole no matter how shitty is.
  18. After graduating, you went back to Earth and modified your Arwing III into something that suited your tastes better. Made it look like a fighter ship from an old ass sci-fi movie from way back when your planet was even shittier.
  20. “Heh”
  22. You laugh to yourself, you pity the dead from hundreds of years ago, who never had the chance to experience the wonders of technology and space travel, all they could hope for was getting cock teased with movies and other media entertainment to quench their thirst for space travel and exploration, while you just take what you have for granted because in today’s age this shit is as normal as walking.
  23. Next, you became a freelancer mercenary. Got a job? You’ll do it, doesn’t matter who, the only thing it matters is how much they pay, highest bidder and all that jazz. If shit ain’t worth your time, effort, and life, you’ll pass. You’ve done jobs for Earth, Corneria, Zoness, Sauria, Papetoon, Venom and etc. You’ve had contractors ranging from Corneria’s very own government, to CEO’s of small and big corporations, to PMC’s in need of an extra pair of laser canons, to criminal groups.
  25. Your areas of expertise are dog fights, scouting missions, and escort missions, but sometimes you’ll do simpler shit like deliveries or guard duty on ground level.
  27. *BLAM*
  29. The thundering sound of the bar’s doors blasting open interrupts your inner half assed recapitulation of your life. Every head, including yours, turn to the entrance, were a dark silhouette stands by the door frame. However, unlike its bombastic door opening skills, the entry is as anti-climatic as it can get as the person just walks into the bar with no further hype.
  30. You do, however, get to see who got everyone’s attention once it walks into the bar. A wolf, a Cornerian wolf to the exact.
  31. With a grey fur coat and a white muzzle, the wolf strides into the bar with heavy stomps, wearing a long brown coat over the shoulders, and simple button up white shirt, alongside beige trousers, a pair of black aviator sunglasses, courtesy of yours truly’s planet, because Earth makes the coolest sunglasses, and to top it all off, flip flops.
  33. Yes, flip flops.
  35. But what really catch your attention are two things. 1: It’s a she, that waistline can’t lie, and neither can these boobs. And 2: she looks FUCKED UP.
  37. You eye her up and take in the state of her appearance. The sleeve of her right arm is pulled up, revealing a Hydro Cast, a sleek silver metal cylinder of a cast with blue neon lines along its length. The cast fills itself with a special liquid containing vitamins and medicine to accelerate bone regeneration and are absorbed through your skin.
  38. Pretty damn handy piece of tech, it’s especially useful for the likes of you, whose line of work guarantee getting some broken bones and many other injuries from time to time. And because it’s so practical and light, a sling is hardly, if ever, necessary, confirmed by the lack of one to hold her arm.
  40. Continuing the visual appraisal, the wolfess has bandages visible on every part of her body that isn’t covered in clothing, which is impressive because she is very much covered from neck to bottom in clothing, but her remaining hand has bandages on it, so does her paws in those dumb looking flip flops. From her neck and down into her shirt also have bandages wrapped, and the top off her head is wrapped in the same white cloth, almost looking like a turban if it weren’t for the pointy wolf ears coming out of little holes.
  41. On her face, there’s an angry red cut on her upper lip on the right side of her muzzle, giving it quite the contrast against the white fur of her snout.
  43. You don’t know why, but she looks kinda familiar.
  45. The wolfess continues to stomp her way through the bar. And rather than weave her way through the tables and patrons, the patrons themselves pull themselves, their chairs, AND their tables out of the way to let her pass.
  46. Looks like you got a regular badass here if all these suicidal chuckle fucks would rather give way than be in the way.
  47. Unaffected by any of that, she keeps going until the bar’s counter is on sitting range, where she settles down on the stools. The wolfess sits there in silence for a good minute, everyone staring at her back with apprehensive looks, as if expecting shit to go down at any minute, with the exception of you, who doesn’t know anything about here, and the old, grizzled German Shepherd of a bartender, who looks as unresponsive and emotionless as ever as he wipes the shot glasses clean with a white rug.
  49. “Give me your strongest shit”
  51. She orders quickly, no chit chat or beating around the bush.
  53. She’s got a gruff, battle hardened voice, very natural, doesn’t sound like those of women who want to sound tough and destroy their throats forcing their voices to be as rough as possible. You guess it goes well with the battle damaged looks she has going for her.
  54. The old dog nods and sets down the shot glass for her, before preparing a mad concoction of multiple of his strongest drinks in a cocktail shaker that would most definitely kill any weaker man just from one sip. While he prepares his death potion, the wolfess crosses her arms over the counter and slams her face on her elbow pits, wallowing in her frustrations.
  56. Now you’re starting to feel sorry.
  58. Finishing with the death potion, the old dog was about to pour it for her when she swipes her free hand and snatches the whole canister from his fingers. She shoves the tip on her muzzle and tilts its, and in an impressive display of experience, downs the whole poisonous concoction in one go, no shudder, no shake, no flinch.
  60. “Another”
  62. In a perfectly clear cut tone, no tipsiness or slurry talk whatsoever, she slams the end of the canister down and pushes it across the wooden counter toward the as emotionless as ever bartender, who just shrugs off and proceeds to pick it up, re-adding all the drinks previously mixed together to make another round of the alcoholic suicide recipe.
  64. Again, you see her shove her face between her arms, burying her snout the inner side of her elbows, this time with the added witnessing of a big breath expanding her torso from behind, and then shrinking back as she sighs out loud.
  66. When the drink is ready for the second time, she allows the bartender to pour it for her, but tells him to leave the canister; that she’ll fill the glass herself. So, he leaves the wolfess to her own devices and goes do whatever he was doing before she showed up.
  68. The wolf in turn continued to wallow in her seeming self-pity, taking shot after shot, one after the other, all in one gulp, and looking very miserable while doing so. You can’t see her eyes from beneath those sunglasses, but if you have to take a guess you’d say they look tired. You’ve been to this bar many times in the past and have seen many people acting just like her, usually mercenaries who failed spectacularly at a mission and ruined everything for them, and she looks just like them, but maybe not with the same life shattering circumstances.
  70. And because of that you can’t help but continue to watch the wolfess drinking her sorrows away, your own drink forgotten on the table, the least of your worries. You don’t know why, but the sight just makes you sad, and it’s not like you’re some knight in shining armor who can’t handle the sight of a damsel in distress, you had seen your fair share of chicks being miserable and not a one of your fucks was given to them, but this wolf, she’s different.
  72. So much so that you surprise yourself when you stand up from your chair, leaving your moderately expensive drink behind, and stride towards the downtrodden girl sitting in the counter. Some of the patrons turn their heads and look at you like you’re stupid or have a death wish but you ignore their asses because they’re not important enough for you to care about what might be swirling through their heads.
  74. As you approach the possibly volatile wolf, you notice how short she is, although that’s to be expected from Cornerians. They have a botched up metric system and somehow seem to think that they’re the same size as humans with their average of around 6 feet height. But the truth is that they’re all the size of teenagers and barely come close you’re your pecs with your real 6 feet height.
  76. Closing in, like the master Casanova you believe yourself to be, you lean on the counter right to her left with all smooth moves of a Michael Jackson wannabe. However, the moment your hand touched the smooth wooden counter, a claw shot up from beneath her downed head and straight into your jacket’s collar.
  78. You look down at the furry, partially bandaged hand holding your collar of your open jacket, and gulp as you watch it’s clawed fingers angrily clench harder around the leather fabric, the rubbery sound of leather being pulled echoing throughout the now completely silent bar. The hand pulls your collar up near your face only for it to blur down towards the counter, taking your face along the momentum.
  80. You see everything going brown for a fraction of a second before-
  82. THUD*
  84. You head is slammed on the counter so hard the entire cacophony of cringes and groans from all the patrons who felt the pain themselves. Yes, that’s how hard your head hit the table.
  86. “Ow… that’s gonna leave a mark” – You mutter yourself between pained grunts, that’s definitely gonna leave a dump, if not, at least a cut on your forehead.
  88. “Ya know, just because I’m sinking my face in whatever the fuck I’m drinking, doesn’t mean I’m free for picking”
  89. She says in a very clear cut, sober tone, still holding you down against the table through your collar, yet without even have the decency of taking her head off the crook of her casted arm to look at whoever she’s talking to, which is your wood merged face at the moment.
  91. “I had a really shitty day, and really I’m not in the mood to deal with any horny dudes looking for easy game”
  93. Her claws grasps your jacket’s collar even tighter, pushing you and your quickly forming forehead bruise onto the hard and surprisingly smooth wood. Hissing in pain, you open one of your eyes, mainly the one not glued to the counter, and notices she’s not even looking at you, not even one of her eyes to face you behind those sunglasses, she just keeps muzzle buried on her cast’s crook.
  94. You mean; she could at least turn her head when addressing you.
  96. “You sound surprisingly sober for someone who’s been downing shot after shot for, like, five minutes straight”
  98. Is the first thing to come out of your mouth, smooth moves, you devilish human you. Could’ve said anything else to the clearly angry wolf who’s about to claw and/or bite your face off, like a ‘sorry, it wasn’t my intention’ or ‘I’m not that kind of person’, but no, you had to be a smart ass about it, well, at least you stayed in character you guess.
  100. “Tch, heha” – She laughs a little bit. The grip around your jacket’s collar goes loose and you watch her retracting her arm from your person and crossing it back with her other arm.
  102. Oh shit, it worked? Your sass actually worked? That’s a first, looks like your charming personality and unmatched sense of humor got her in enough high spirits to not go through with whatever she might have had planned for your precious head.
  104. “High alcohol tolerance” - She huffs in annoyance, raising her face just enough to down yet another shot of pure undiluted lava in one go like a total pro “It’s a pain in the ass, I wanna get drunk and I can’t without wasting all my god damn money”
  106. “Really high, you mean, that shit’s not healthy” - You say, lifting your head from the counter and rubbing the sore spot with a hiss. Feeling something wet, you bring your hand down and look at the blood covering you2r fingers, ah shit “Ay, this counter is clean, right?”- You call the bartender out.
  108. The bartender turned from the random dog filler, whose breed is not worth remembering, he was serving to at you like you’re completely retarded or have some mental disorder before going back to filling another soul with liquor, so you’ll take that as a yes.
  110. “Huh, If I wanted healthy I wouldn’t have picked a bar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere” - She huffs, as she pours another shot for herself and gulps it down, in the short distance you see the bartender looking at her with an annoyed glare “What about you?” –  The wolfess pours another glass for herself “What brings you here to this anus of the universe spot?” her drink sloshed as she nurses it with amazingly skilled movements, not letting a single drop fall or drip down the sides of the glass.
  112. “Me?” – You ask, sitting up and going back to the position you were forcefully pulled from, this time leaning your elbow on the counter like the casanova you thought you were “I was here to reward myself for a mission well done” – You close your eyes and smugly place a hand over your chest in self.
  114. A crack and a splash later, you open your eyes to see the wolfess with her sharp teeth slightly barred, her hand clenching hard on what was left of a shot glass before it shattered and punched through her bandages and the skin of her palm, spilling blood and alcohol on the table.
  116. “You’re gonna pay for th-
  118. “Yeah whatever, I’ll pay, give me another glass” – She rudely interrupts the bartender, who huffs in disdain, but obliges anyway.
  120. The wolf, in turn, brings her hand up to her mouth and bites down on the glass shards stuck on her palm and roughly pulls it off with a sickening, yet silent squelch, spilling some more of her crimson bodily fluids on the counter, then spits it out. That must’ve hurt, and yet she didn’t even flinch. You wonder if she’s just that much of a badass to tough it out or the booze is getting into her system enough to give her some good old alcohol induced pain tolerance.
  122. She continues to bite the rest of the shards stuck on her palm without a care in the world, each making a sound that’d make any weaker man queasy, all the while you watch fascinated at how uncaring she is about just having cut open her hand. She doesn’t even register the bartender coming with a new glass until he put it down right in front of her, where she stopped to look for a moment, before returning to her task at hand.
  124. “You’re one tough bitch, ain’t ya?” – You speak out before you could even think your words through.
  126. “The toughest one you’ll ever find” - She spits the last glass shard from her palm before clenching it slowly “So” - She rips the bandages with her teeth and licks her palms clean of the blood “You were saying?”
  128. “Yeah, right” – You take a seat on the stool by her side and raise your hands chest high to explain yourself “So, I was here to reward myself with some good booze, when I saw you entering the bar all grumpy and miserable and though, maybe I should go cheer her up”
  130. “Uhum” – The wolf audibly responds, sounding unimpressed, and not at all convinced in your story. “Yeah, well, if you wanna cheer me up, you can start by paying for my drinks” – She sips her drink, before finally turning towards you.
  131. When she does however, two bushy white eyebrows shoot up past her sunglass’ frame. Said eyebrows then furrows as she leans left and right, and eying you up and down before the right thick eyebrow raises above the frame again.
  133. “What the fuck are you?” – She asks bluntly, drink currently forgotten as she continues to take in your appearance from behind those black shades of hers.
  135. “I’m a human; we’re kinda new around here in the Lylat System”
  137. “Oh yeah, humans” – She turns back to her half finished shot and nurses it a bit “Kinda forgot you existed” – And takes a sip, finishing the glass.
  139. She forgot? Wow, you mean, yeah, humans aren’t exactly common in the Lylat system or on this corner of the universe, but they’re common enough that a Cornerian wouldn’t just fucking forget. And you thought you had no fucks available to give, this girl is on a whole new level of no fucks given.
  141. “We’re not very common around these parts, only recently did our planet got accepted into the Ly-
  143. “Yeah, I don’t give a shit about that” – Taking the cocktail canister in her hand, she pours herself another glass, filling it to the brim once again, and showing her impressive drinking skills, clearly built through years and years of getting shit faced, by not letting a single drop fall despite manhandling the poor cup.
  145. “Okay…” – You respond, a little bit disappointed that she doesn’t care enough about your race, but eh, what can you do about it? “Well, one cheer you up coming up” – You fish your wallet from one of your jacket’s inner pockets and pull from it a Credits Card, not to confuse with Earth’s Credit Cards, valued in 1.000 credits and slide it by her drink.
  147. “Oho” – She laughs, gulping down the shot in one go and picking the money between her fingers “Now we’re talking” – The wolf smirks while inspecting the card, showing off her pearly white, super pointy fangs and serrated line of teeth “This is cheering me up alright” – She flicks the card up, and catches it as it falls down.
  149. “Hey, barman!” – The wolf calls out for the bartender, who turns sharply to look at hear, from the small movements of his face you can already see that he’s getting up there with her antics “Make another round for me, will ya?” – Waving the credits card to catch his attention “Actually, make three, and leave them on the counter for me” – Then she throws the card like a ninja star, and surprisingly, the German Shepherd catches it with a precise swipe of his arm.
  151. German Shepherd, wolf… huh, you never noticed until now that despite being from planets millions of kilometers away from Earth, they share the exact same names as the feral animal species from your planet, how conveniently curious.
  153. “So, what got you down in the dumps?” – You ask, leaning back against the counter and watching the bartender pick up all the drinks he needed to create hell booze as well as three cocktail shakers like the wolf lady asked.
  155. “Star Fox” - She snarls, taking another shot in one gulp. Welp, there goes that cheering up.
  157. “Star Fox?” – You ask “What about them?”
  159. “Everything” – the wolfess pours the rest of the canister’s drink into the glass, and waits for the bartender to finish his alchemy.
  161. “Everything as iiiiinnnn” – you stretch the last word, hoping she’ll fill in the rest with info that you don’t need, but want nevertheless.
  163. “As in my last mission when to shit, again, thanks to their meddling” – she slams the half-filled glass shot on the counter in anger “Meaning I got no pay again, my space crafts are wrecked, again, and my team’s reputation is dropping harder than a meteor, AGAIN!” – and BLAM, she slams her forehead on the counter.
  165. Oof, that’s a hard pill to swallow. You know who Star Fox is, probably the best mercenary squad in, like, ever. If you’re doing a mission for someone and bumping into them on the opposite side by a competitor, usually Corneria, employer, shit’s a guaranteed fail.
  167. Unless you’re Star Wolf, the only team that can match them toe to toe, and the baddest motherfuckers around. No one messes with Star Wolf, they’re a big part in your decision to become a fighter pilot and mercenary, their leader specially, Wolf O’Donnel, was your main inspiration. She’s just the coolest, rocking that purple and grey combat get up adorned with all kind of blades; she looks like a walking weapon.
  169. “I’m tired of being hired by low paying, underground employers” – Rather than refill her glass shot, she snatches the first ready cocktail shaker takes a big gulp of it, gasping and slamming it down on the counter, sloshing its contents around.
  172. ”I’m an ace pilot too, dammit, even better than Fox, but his ass and his team are always there to fuck with my missions” – she growls in frustration, hand clenching around the steel canister, bending it under the pressure of her grip “So my team’s record gets shittier, and no employer worth their salt will waste their money on a squad that doesn’t get results” - She takes another big gulp directly from the canister.
  174. “If you’re even better then Fox and his team, then how come your streak against him so negative?” – You ask, genuinely curious about this wolf’s claim, you kinda doubt that this nobody is just as good as Fox fucking McCloud.
  176. “Most times Star Fox is hired to intercept my ass while I and my team are busy carrying out a mission for some criminal fuck, so of course they’ll ambush us before we can have a chance to counter” – this time she takes a small sip, but a very angry small sip.
  178. “To add salt to injury, the Cornerian Army just gifted them brand spanking Arwing IIIs, the newest model on the market, while we have to make do with our outdated Wofen IIs” – for a moment, she decides to completely forget her drinks, and spins on her seat to face you, fully dedicated to her rant.
  180. “And since Fox fucked with Macbeth Weapon’s Factory, the only supplier of Wolfen fighter ships in the fucking universe, there’s no new models ever, and no one manufactures Wolfen parts either” – She slams her casted arm on the counter in anger, denting not the cast, but the counter, getting a glare from the bartender a few feet behind “No other planet wants to manufacture Wolfen ships because they were designed for Andross’s forces, and no one wants anything to do with Andross even if indirectly, when if it could very well strengthen their military might or make them a ton of money, the fucking dumb pricks ”
  182. “Well…” – You start, placing a hand on your chin “Why don’t you just grab an Arwing then?” – You ask.
  184. “Nah, fuck that” – She breathes out after her lengthy rant, and grabbing the dented canister to fill the rest of the half-filled glass shot “I ain’t getting an Arwing on principle, that’s the enemy’s weapon” – She says, picking up the drink and nursing in her grip “And it’s not like I got the money to get four Arwing IIs, let alone third generation, shit’s expensive and I’m not butt buddies with Corneria’s military to get some for free like fox boy”
  186. “If anything Corneria hates my guts” – You hear her muttering as the takes a gulp of her drink.
  188. “So, all I have are outdated Wolfen IIs that have seen and fought more than their fair share of battles” – She sighs despondently “And looks just the part too, like rags full of rudimentary patches” – She finishes the shot in her hand.
  190. “Why not grab some generic star fighters then?”
  192. “Huh” – She huffs, like she was insulted “That shit’s the worst, I’ll tell ya, they can’t handle a single dogfight before tearing themselves apart; I’d rather stick with my beat up Wolfen. Generics are better suited fight simulations in academies, not real dogfights” – and more of that deadly alcohol goes inside the glass “Even busted up my Wolfen is still more reliable than a generic Phoenix Industries, you either go Space Dynamics or go home, no inbetween”
  194. “Well shit” – You lift your arms in exasperation, this bitch is making it harder for herself out of pride. That’s stupid, you gotta give it to her to sticking to her guns like that, but that’s stupid, she’s gonna die one of these days because she doesn’t want to let go of her Wolfens.
  196. Wolfens… Hmmm…
  198. “Yeah, well shit is right” – She sniffs hard, and spits a gob of mucus on a space spittoon “And now after another failed mission, I’m here to drown my sorrows in alcohol and hopefully forget that today even existed”- she pours more
  200. “Wait a minute” – you interrupt her mid drink, and she pulls the glass from her mouth to glare at you “You said your team is just as good as Star Fox, right?” – You point at her.
  202. “Yup”
  204. “And your spacecraft of choice are Wolfens, correct?” – You now point to an imaginary fighter ship.
  206. “What about it?” – She takes another swig of her drink.
  208. “Who’s your team?” – The wolf pause mid swig and slowly removes her glass from her lips, before looking at you incredulously, at least that’s what you assume from the skin wrinkling on her muzzle.
  210. “Are you serious?” – She leans her head a little and stares at you for a few good seconds before realizing you’re not pulling her leg, she tilts her head back sighs in disappointment and annoyance “Star Wolf!”  - She exclaims in annoyance, like you were supposed to already knoWHAT?!
  212. “Star Wolf!? THE Star Wolf!? You’re Wolf O’Donnell!?” – You jump off your seat and stares at her in shock, pointing your arms directly at her. The entire bar stops what they were doing to stare at you, the retard screaming at Wolf O’Donnell, now you get why they looked at you that way before, holy fuck!
  214. The she wolf, in turn, looks surprised at your reaction, before smirking to herself.
  216. “The one and only” – She raises her sunglasses and rests them on top of her head, showing off her red right eye, and the scar over her closed off left eye.
  218. “Hah, holy shit, no wonder you looked familiar!” – You hover your hands over your head in disbelief, the Wolf O’Donnell was right in front of you, the baddest bitch in the universe “I’m big fan, I’ve read of all your stories and achievements, you’re like, the coolest ace pilot ever”
  220. “Oh really? Nice to know” – She takes swig from her drink, despite the uninterested tone of her voice, you do get a tiny bit of pride in having a fan “But only now you noticed it was me? Big fan you are” - Wolf huffs sarcastically, a small smile at the corners of her mouth.
  222. “I mean, no offense” – You raise your arms in surrender “But you kinda look like shit” – Your raised hands point towards all the bandages, the sling, her bloody hand, and her disheveled appearance.
  224. “Eh, none taken” - She comments, before jabbing him on the ribs. You grunt, but just laugh it off along with her “A fan, huh?” – She looks at the empty glass in front of her, ready to be filled again “First time I hear that” – She places it down and reaches for the second canister in line.
  226. First time?
  228. “Nah, that can’t be” – You wave your hands down dramatically “No way no one ever told you that, you’re too cool not to be a fan” – You see the corners of her lips go up a little again for a fraction of a second before they go down.
  230. “It’s true, Fox boy’s and his team the one who gets all the fans” – The wolfess rolls her one functioning eye in annoyance.
  232. “They’re all tasteless fags then” – Wolf snorts on her drink at that statement, and holds back her chuckles “Your team was a big part in my decision into joining Corneria’s Flight Academy, and you were my main and biggest inspiration into becoming a mercenary”
  234. “So you’re a mercenary too, huh?” – She spins on her seat to address you directly, taking a swig of her drink, before pointing a finger at you, glass still in hand “You better watch yourself then, get in my way and I’ll shoot you down” - She smirks.
  236. “Not if I shoot you down first” – You lean forward and smirk back.
  238. “Oho, didn’t you say you were a big fan?” – She huffs, eyebrow lifted, the smug smile never leaving her face.
  240. “I am” - You place a hand over your chest “And it would be a massive boost to my ego to best my idol in a dog fight”
  242. “Tch, you’re one cheeky brat, ya know that, kid?” – Wolf laughs and shakes her head, pouring another shot for herself.
  244. “Brat? I’ll have you know I’m already 20 years old” – You proclaim proudly, pointing a finger towards the ceiling.
  246. “That’s pretty young from where I’m looking” – She gives you a side glance, tilting her head up so that she can look down on you. It doesn’t really work because you’re taller than her, you’ll give her points for the effort though.
  248. “How old are you to even be saying something like that?” – You ask genuinely, leaning your head to the side. And she doesn’t respond; Wolf just looks away, mildly annoyed and sticking her lower lip out a little before taking another sip of her drink.
  250. “Shut up” – she mutters to herself while you hold back your chuckles.
  252. And just like that, you two continue to shoot the shit, talking about missions, achievements, comparing feats. You tell her how you graduated top of the class in the Cornerian Flight Academy and have been involved numerous high risk missions all around the Lylat system and beyond. Though that pales in comparison to the tales Wolf has shared with you.
  254. Like you, she too graduated top of her class during her time in the CFA, however she had scored so damn high that she got recommendations to join not just Corneria’s military, but many conglomerate and multibillion corporations as their personal flier and fighter, but she rejected it all for the sake of having the freedom of working with whoever she wanted. And of course, she had fought in many big wars, including the Lylat Wars and the Aparoid Invasion, while your ass only managed some small, only nation-wide wars.
  256. Hell, she even started talking mad shit, like, literal nonsense was coming out of her mouth, and she touted it with just as much conviction as her real stories. Shit like how she was twice invited to an interdimensional fighting tournament where she fought stuff like dragons, people that turned into dragons, little kids, robots, robots that looked like little kids, monsters, plumbers, and some bitch with guns on her heels.
  258. Headed by two, giant disembodied hands.
  260. “Yeah, I think you had enough” – You motion to take the drink off her hand but she quickly downs it before trying shaking her head off the dizziness that was finally claiming her mind.
  262. “Yesh, my crew’s probably… getting themselvesh killed without my… my… without me” – She slurs, and staggeringly pushes herself off the stool, barely maintaining herself up.  
  264. “Need help?” – You offer a hand but she slaps it away, or tries to, twice, before giving up with a lengthy, heavily telegraphed wave.
  266. “Naaah, I’m… I’m good” – Only when she takes a step forward falls face first into the floor, it stand there not knowing what to do, she doesn’t want your help, and will probably get pissed if you push it.
  268. “Ow” – Oh wow, that was a delayed response, nearly ten seconds, she really needs help. So you ask again
  270. “Need any help?” – You squat by her side, resting your elbows on your knees. Wolf just turns her head to the side you’re on so her one eye can glare at your face.
  272. “I don’t need any… help. I’m fffucking Wolf O’donned, the only… the only bitch on this side of the galaxy who can… who can…” – She slurs out against the floor, her voice fading away as she succumbs to pull of dreamland.
  274. Great, now you have an asleep Wolf O’Donnell on your hands, from your spot you look left and right to see the same people who before were scared shitless of her, now looking at the downed wolf with a certain glint in their eyes, a glint that you’ve seen many times before from mercenaries and bounty hunters alike, and the glints of cowards too, who wait for a moment of weakness to strike.
  276. Well shit, can’t let them take a crack at your new, famous friend, can you? Hell no, not on your watch. You flick your jacket’s flap just enough that you’re packing heat and aren’t afraid of fighting back, even the ever emotionless bartender is looking at them with a heated glare that would promise pain if any of them decide to stir shit up in his bar.
  278. And while they’re busy having a stare down with the German Shepherd, you pat her down in search of a communicator. Wolf has a team, so she must have some sort of communicator, phone, or anything she can use to talk to her crew from long distances, and sure enough, you find it, a round holo-communicator inside of the pockets of her trench coat.
  280. Turning it on you search for the list of connections or contacts saved, her crew mates are probably here somewhere, but before you could even find any specific names, you find a contact named the Wolf’s Lair. You can only assume it’s the name of Wolf’s mothership, if she has one, much like Fox has the Great Fox.
  282. Kinda of an in your face name, but you can’t say it isn’t accurate.
  284. Calling for it, you have to wait for a few moments before the face a chameleon pops up in the holographic display in full 3D.
  286. “Finally decided to bestow upon us the visage of your mug Wol- you’re not Wolf, what’s going on?” – From a sarcastic, condescending tone, to a dangerous one promising pain, Leon Powalsky answers the communicator, and shit, it had to be him. It could’ve been Panther or even that fat pig fuck Pigma, but no, you got the psycho.
  288. “Your captain had one too many and is passed out on the floor” – You  turn the handheld device toward the sleeping wolf, and see a hand showing up in the hologram, going directly toward Leon’s forehead as he sighs in displeasure.
  290. “But of course she has” – He shakes his head “If it wouldn’t be much of an inconvenience, would you kindly bring our dear captain back to our ship?” – He politely asks, but you can hear the undertones, he’s not asking, he’s ordering you.
  292. “Yeah, sure, just tell me where it is” – Yeah, well, you were gonna do it anyway, but he doesn’t need to know that.
  294. “The Wolf’s Lair is located at hangar number 7. You’ll know it when you see it” – You nod and prepare to turn off the communicator when Leon cuts you off
  296. “Oh and one more thing” – His golden eyes grow cold, as they narrow into slits “Don’t try anything funny, lad, I’ll know” – And then he turns off the communicator from his side.
  298. Ooookay
  300. You know enough about Star Wolf to know that Leon is by far the most dangerous right next to Wolf. The difference being that, as already mentioned, he’s an actual psycho compared to Wolf’s more ‘façade to instigate fear’ psychoticness, making his threats carry a lot of weight. And no matter how much of a fan you are or how cool you think they are, except Pigma, you definitely don’t want to be on Leon’s shit list.
  302. Shaking yourself from the fear crawling up your spine, you crouch down, and put the communicator back where you found, before picking up Wolf and slinging her over your shoulder. Unsurprisingly, she’s quite light, and fit, you’re not groping or anything, but her form is built and you can feel the hard muscles through the baggy clothes.
  304. With yours and her drinks already paid, you move out of the bar and head towards hangar number 7 with a sleeping infamous mercenary over your shoulder. Many stare your way incredulously, stopping on their tracks just to watch the human carrying the infamous Wolf O’Donnell.
  306. They probably think you captured her or some shit.
  308. In a few minutes time, you reach hangar number 7, and much like Leon had told you, you would know the ship when you see it, because it’s fucking massive, colored purple and grey, and has Wolf’s Lair written on the side. It’s literally impossible to miss it even if you tried, you’d have to be blind to not see it, and even then the sheer presence of that thing would make sure even a blind person could feel it.
  310. And by the ship, next to its cargo ramp is Leon himself, who on person looks a hell of a lot more intimidating, despite being nearly two feet shorter than you. Approaching him, you carefully unsling the sleeping woman from your shoulder and gently hands her over to the alien chameleon.
  312. Who, with all the care in the world, he unceremoniously slings her over his own shoulder like a sack of potatos, giving his shoulder a good shrug to keep her stable, before wordlessly nodding at you, and waking back into his ship.
  314. Well, guess this is it then.
  316. -----
  318. “Aww, fuck, my head” – Is the voice of none other than Wolf O’Donnel, upon waking up from her alcohol induced short coma with a killer headache, also known as feeling like death “What the hell happened?” – She groans to herself.
  320. “You sank your face in that poison you call a drink again, and lost consciousness… again”- She hears the irritatingly posh and smug voice of one Leon Powalsky from her room’s doorway and sees the smug chameleon leaning there with an annoyed expression.
  322. “And I guess one of you guys carried my drunk ass back to the ship?”- To her surprise, Leon shook his head, making her sit up on her good elbow.
  324. “Not this time, no, this human lad had the decency of actually bringing you here” - Wolf blinks in confusion, what the hell is he talking about?
  326. “Human? I don’t remember any human”
  328. “Can’t remember anything, figures” – He laughs and shrugs.
  330. “Fuck off, Leon” – She growls, before groaning and closing her eyes, damn headache.
  332. “I gladly would, but unfortunately this crew is the only decent pay for a fellow such as myself” – She slams her head back onto the pillow and sighs harder, placing the back of her hand on her forehead, feeling her headache growing worse by the minute.
  334. “Oh, and I almost forgot, the lad who brought you back left this in your coat” – He takes out a crumpled note and throws it to Wolf, where she catches it midair.
  336. “Groping girls when they’re conked out? Didn’t think you’d stoop that low” – She smirked smugly at him. He huffs and gives wolf a condescending smirk
  338. “Huff, please” – She turns to the exit to see the chameleon walking away “I’m attracted to real girls, not troglodytes” – Finishing what he had to say, Leon walks out, the blast doors shutting close right as he leaves. Wolf glares at the spot Leon occupied
  340. “Tch, asshole” – She mutters under her breath, before inspecting the crumpled note in her hand- “Who the hell uses paper nowadays, anyway?” – She wonders out loud, before unfurling it.
  342. It’s a letter from his human guy Leon was talking about. Maybe she shouldn’t of have gotten so shit faced, she’d at least remember the guy. Or maybe it’s for the better, for all she knows he could be some creep, after all, who the hell leaves notes on an unconscious girl’s clothes? Either way, she straightens the unfurled piece of paper and reads it to herself. Foggy memories of the day before creeps back into her mind bit by bit. She remember entering the bar extremely fucking pissed and ready to melt her brain, then meeting some guy who was actually kinda fun to hang out with, especially when he agreed to pay for her drinks and even said was a big fan of hers.
  344. When she reaches the end of the letter, it reads “If you ever find yourself needing an extra pair of hands, or just a drinking buddy, give me a call” with his contact number written right next to it.
  346. “Give him a call, eh?” – She smirks, smashing the letter into a ball and lazily throwing it on the floor “Who knows? Yesterday was kinda fun, and free booze is always welcome” she stretches her arms and crosses them behind her head, before drifting off to sleep.
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