xsnowxgardenx (xsnowxgardenx) wrote in roadsnevertaken,
xsnowxgardenx
xsnowxgardenx
roadsnevertaken

Into the mouth of the lion. [Riddick storyline]



Unlike the rest of the dominating majority of the human populace with their irrational reasoning and short supply of common sense, Riddick did not persuade. When he asked a question [the few rare times he gave people a choice] he quite frankly expected an answer which he suspised would normally take him in one of two directions. Regardless of his own gut feeling on which answer was the right one he decided a long time ago against influencing the actions of others. Sometimes it got them killed. Sometimes worse things happened. Being an affiliate in even the smallest, most remote degree was sentencing yourself to death in the eyes of the entire universe - from that point onwards you're known as nothing but 'Riddick's accomplice' and your only bargaining chip to piecing back together a normal life was to swap information on him. That was Jack's only ride out of Hell, now, and he half hoped in a desensitized way that she'd sell him out and disappear. Then maybe the nightmares would stop. They'd come back full force with a team of friends, and his mind had become plauged by ghosts and bitter words the entire time he was locked in a half-state of cryosleep, to the point that when he awoke he didn't need to be told that Jack was alive.

Doubt be damned, he knew they had her somewhere. God knows what instinct this was that informed him that she was suffering. When had the whelp of a kid burrowed so deep beneath his skin, anyway? Normally he'd have walked away from the entire mess - things were a lot easier that way - but something happened on that dead, deadly planet, something he couldn't place. Something Carolyn said to him when he was closing her exit on her, while she stood there panting and exhausted watching him abandoning them all.


C'mon Riddick. There has to be some part of you that wants to rejoin the human race!"


Something in the way the skiff's highbeams slipped across her eyes, something in the desperation to go back to the others even though it meant her own death. It was nameless, but he'd adhered to it. No one had ever had the gahonas to stand up to him before, let alone a slip of a woman ready to strike him in the face with her fists. And then, at the most crucial moment when he could barely walk on his own two feet she'd pirouetted his heavy frame and been impaled by one of the monsters for him. He'd watched her eyes the whole time, nothing else, and they said Don't let them die. The woman had ceased to be a human being that night and transcended all else to become the sharp, ever present painful reminder of the small, growing conscience developing inside of him. The conscience that was Caryolyn. And damn him, he cared if Jack died. At least, it was the closest to what he could figure caring was. Just a sensation like a shard of glass being twisted through his chest. It happened whenever he stood still long enough to comprehend the situation Jack'd fallen into thanks to knowing him, and it ate holes through his defenses like a draught of splashback of rancid battery acid in his face.

So now he was going to go find her. The hell with who thought they'd stand in his way. The hell with the secretive military operation that sought him out endlessly and even recklessly. The hell with the entire fucking galaxy, as far as he was concerned.

Yeah, the best thing to do with people was to allow them choices. The freedom of choosing their own disasters instead of him interfering and complicating everything and then riding it out from there. Yeah, the simple life was the best life.

Not that he knew anything about that anymore.

Stoic milky-bluish eyes lifted from the small object he held in his large, murderous hands. A miniature pair of black goggles forged from pieces of material found back on the Hellish eclipse planet. The night that the only three survivors slept, or rather two of them slept, Iman had taken them off of Jack's sleeping face, regardless of Riddick's intense stare. If anyone had of done that to him, he'd have woken up and snapped their wrists. But Jack, no Jack kept right on sleeping, and even if she had of woken up, she was too much of a tenderfoot to hurt anyone. Riddick brushed a thumb over one of the scratched lenses and tucked them nonchalantly into the pocket of his jacket before typing in a few commands to his mainframe.

A slight nudge hastened the girl beside him to a state of slow, sleepy consciousness again, but Riddick's eyes were already back on the large blue screen and the tasks at hand.

"We're landing in three minutes. You're Valentia Wright, sister to Devlin Wright. Here's your card, and make sure you know that if anyone asks. There's a very short list of things for you to grab up while we're here, but I want you back at the ship at o'six hundred hours. Don't make any unneccesary scenes. We're landing in Minerva, and there might be trouble."

The instructions were prompt, but less harsh and disembodied than they'd been the first time they'd met. It was more of safety precautions, anyway, and the card he'd filtered money onto he'd made sure to have a false ID for, just in case he ever had to use it in an emergency for Jack. Another thought of her, another sharp stab. The conscience-that-was-Carolyn insistantly reminded him of the danger of being there, especially for yet another young girl. Soon Riddick would develop a rap as being a kiddie molester.

That'd just be a perfect add on to his repetoire.
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