A Small-Town Story [Back-Alley Shadow x ThomasRHellsing]

[The Waiting Disaster]

With a tired huff, Virginia Saenz had watched as the beautiful city lights of New York had faded in to the distance when her plane had taken off from the tarmac. The flight itself was relatively uneventful, and totally unenjoyable. Of course she had been flying before, on family vacations, so she had known what to expect, but that didn't mean she liked it. She had been stuck next to some overweight, white-collar business-type prick, who she was pretty sure had a nasal problem with the way he was breathing, and he had been rambling at her from the moment he said "hello" about what he did for a living. The exciting life of a lawyer. Just the kind of prick her mom and dad would have been happy to see her marry. She put up with it, though. She put up with a lot during that flight. Even the wining kids a few seats ahead of her who didn't seem to know when they needed to shut up.

The worst part was that she couldn't even enjoy a cigarette. The airline had a smoke detector in the bathroom and, surprisingly, she didn't want to risk the trouble from tampering with it.

Dressed in her usual attire, the attractive young seventeen year old girl had clothes and style that fit her personality. Her hair, raven black, was contrasted with dazzingly bright pink highlights, and the wavy and rebellious hair had been pulled back in to a ponytail that morninng because -- well, she just hated having it down most of the time. Her matte-black bra, too loose for her modestly sized C-cups, had straps that almost constantly needed readjusting, but the bra itself was kept in place by a white undershirt that was covered with a hot-pink shirt that she had gotten at a skating memrobilia store a year or two ago when she and her family had gone down to Florida.

She had a simple-looking black leather belt holding up her pants, faded denim filled with a variety of holes (as was usual for her), and a far more decorative black leather belt with polished metal square studs rested loosely about her hips. She had black and white skating sneakers, and her wrists were adorned with a variety of bands and jewelry collected over the years, as well as a pair of rings on her right hand. At the moment she was wearing a dusty and worn-looking black leather biker's jacket: a gift from a motorcyclist ex-boyfriend that she had "forgot" to return that was decorated with an incredibly wide variety of patches. Not to mention the buttons across her jeans, the eyebrow lip and tongue piercings, or the aviator sunglasses hanging from the neck of her shirt at the moment.

Of course, on the ground she would have had her skateboard with her, but that was stored in her carry-on luggage.

Touching down in the airport in, appropriatelly, the state of Virginia: she had found a comfortable seat in the terminal, set her bags down, and waited tiredly while waiting for her ride. The uncle she hadn't seen in a good year now.

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"Hey!" Uncle Slim called out, walking through the house, "Are you ready yet?" He called out for his one and only farm-hand, "She's probably waiting at the airport right now."

The large house on the ranch was, well -- large. Two stories, two guest bedrooms, a master bedroom, two full bathrooms, a half bathroom, a large kitchen, a dining room, and a large living room with fireplace and expensive entertainment center. Uncle Slim, a short, stocky fellow, with broad shoulders, snow-white hair, and a face with wrinkles of time and hardships of a ranch; walked through the kitchen. His boots clicked on the tile floor as he pulled on his dark brown leather jacket and double-checked to make sure that he had his keys with him. As he entered the living room, he called out again for his farm hand.

"Are you even listening?" He asked.

 

[ThomasRHellsing]

RE: A Small-Town Story [Back-Alley Shadow x ThomasRHellsing]

Thomas hissed at the older man, "Yeah you old coot, trying to make my damn arm quit hurting, now quit your damn hollering you old coot."

Thomas Alexander Hellsing had been born and raised on ranches and farms. The young man had excelled at it, able to break even the most stubborn horses, like they were child's play, able to rope from a hundred yards, able to shoot a butterfly's wings off. Unfortunately that had all changed just over nine months ago.

Slim's barn had been hit by a lightning strike, and it would have been horrible for the ranch, had Thomas not been making out with a local girl in the hay bails at the time. At the height of breeding season the horses had been locked away in a barn on the back pasture to keep any half breeds form polluting Slim's stock. Had the fire reached the horses it wouldn't have meant the end for Slim's ranch or at the very least a very bad few years. Fortunately depending on your views, Thomas had moved into action releasing all 30 of Slim's prize winning horses. However this hadn't come without a cost as one of the horses spooked by the fire had knocked the young man over and the hot metal gate it's supports already weakened by the flames had fallen on his face and arm. His elbow was shattered, his arm broken in three places deep muscle burns and second degree burns on his face and side.

Almost over night, the young hand of a well known and respected ranch's life had changed. Ten percent functionality remained in his arm and his ounce handsome face was now marred with nasty cars. Thomas's personality hadn't survived unscathed either, where before the young man had ounce been well known for dark blue eyes that glittered with mischief and always more than happy to add a sarcastic comment Now his eyes were always serious, and almost cold. It didn't hep that periodically he'd tense his arm to try and relieve the pain from the damaged muscles. Doctor's said such pain would probably never truly end.

Most would have forgotten Thomas a ranch wasn't a place for someone Handi-cappable but the boy was still as good as a oral farm hand even with one arm. A crack shot with a pistol, and decent enough with his good arm to work what needed to be worked. The truth was the boy just didn't have the same drive as before After all what ind of ranch owner could only use one arm. Thomas knew this was his life now all because of some cruel joke performed on him by god. Slowly the boy tensed and untensed his arm as he nodded to slim and headed out to the "old man's" truck.

The young man stopped as he looked at himself in the mirror. Taking in his features, a white button up shirt both sleeves rolled up. his right arm the skin a bit pale however the left a mess of scars from burs and surgeries afterwards. Almost ashamed he he rolled the sleeve down buttoning it he pulled out a pair of leather roping gloves and pulled the on using his teeth to get the right one on and strapped. Looking in the mirror he sighed, "Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't wear a mask, like that Opra Phantom Slim, keep from scaring the straights."

Running a comb through his white blond hair he adjusted a black cowboy ht. It made his left ice blue and right dark blue eyes stand out even more he thought but he shook it off. His eyes had always been that way, the sun had bleached his light blond hair It was the nasty burns on the left side of his face that worried him Everyone in town new about the accident the "Poor farm hand who sacrificed himself for his boss" the pity was worse than the insults. Shaking it off, he pulled on a brown duster. A colt single action revolver rested on his right hip was useful for things that might prey on the herd. He had permits for carrying it. He felt the dull pain spikes that was his left arm sharpen again and bit back a grunt of pain testing it and relaxing it until the pain passed he headed out to Slim's truck.