MidwayLives
"What's your favorite scary movie...?"
It'd been a long and arduous road. It was difficult enough to get work normally, let alone when you were being pursued by the law, bounty hunters, and whatever criminals your foolhardy brothers had betrayed or infuriated in one way or another. But no matter how many hardships got in his way, he'd never falter. Wearing a green duster over a plain black shirt, the left sleeve left blowing in the breeze and a bundle of some kind tucked under his right arm, the man walked through the grassy field towards what could only have been described as a house that even the whores and scum wouldn't touch. Windows were busted out or boarded up with such half-assed effort, one would possibly stop to think and consider 'why even bother??' It may not have been luxury or paradise wrapped in a clean bow but for all intents and purposes, it was home for those that he cared about and had sworn to protect.
As he stepped one boot on the porch, he heard all too familiar of a gun's hammer being drawn back.
"Hold it, partner."
The man did as he was instructed. He didn't move nor did he step back from the porch. He didn't even so much as turn his head to face the stranger who was currently holding him up at gun point. "Can I help you?" The man asked, his voice firm and lacking even the slightest traces of fear or uneasiness given the circumstances. The stranger snorted and tugged at the brim of his hat. "Shoot, they didn't tell me you were French! What's one of you Euros doing over here anyway, huh? Last I checked, this was America." It was true enough. The man had originally been born in Paris and raised among a loving family on a continent away from the scoundrel threatening him with a firearm. "Your accent sounds thick enough to split a tree in half, what? You think you're too up and good to even TRY fittin in here, huh??" The stranger reached into a satchel tied to his waist and tossed down a paper. The face on the poster had a sickly pale complexion, unkempt and shaggy white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a cold dead stare.
Above it was the following text:
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
Rene 'Zeke' Moreau
"The hell kinda nickname is Zeke anyway??" The stranger snickered as he took another step forward and noticed the bag this 'Zeke' had been trying to hide. "What you got there? That food in that bag?" Zeke still didn't make any sudden moves nor did he turn to acknowledge the man but he did speak again. "Yes. It's supposed to be rationed among my siblings. I had to work hard to get this. I hope you'll understand that I cannot share. I am sorry." The stranger sneered and spit on Zeke's pantleg. "The hell you say! Like I'd want some scraps from some European jackass! Your hide's the only thing I'm concerned about! You and those brothers of yours. Bunch of freaks is all you are. Drop the bag and face me. Now."
"If I drop the bag, it could spill open and all that dirt would contaminate the food. One of my siblings is four years old. Would you be so heartless as to pull the food away from a hungry babe?" The gunman took another step closer and raised his gun so it was about at eye level with Zeke. "Don't give me that bullshit, mister. That 'hungry babe' you're talkin about may as well be Satan's spawn hisself from what I've heard. Now, you can go ahead and drop that bag like I ever so kindly asked ya to..." He slowly lowered the gun and held it out towards Zeke's hand. "Or I can blow it and your hand clean off. Seems like you're already down an arm. How you plan on wipin your ass without either one, huh?? Hahahaha!"
Zeke wasn't this man's chosen name. It'd been forced upon him by Pinkerton Agents that'd torn him away from his loving family. The United States was a country that was very well coming into it's own. It'd defeated the once mighty Spanish Empire and conquered it's remnants. it'd taken land from Mexico, and driven off who knows how many Natives from their land? If he'd had any choice at all, Rene Moreau would NEVER have come here. But it'd never been up to him. He could only control himself and be the 'big brother' figure that he aspired to be every goddamn day. You could spit on him, steal his money, or even stab/shoot him. He'd take it all on the chin and give it back ten fold if he had to.
But insulting those he'd loved enough to call his family?
Zeke's blue eyes flashed a bright shade of yellow, his pupils vanishing for a second, as he finally turned to look at the man.
"You'll have to kill me before I let you taste even a crumb of this food. For your continued health, I suggest you turn and go back to whence you came. You'll find nothing but death on this route, sir."
"W-What??" The gunman seemed absolutely flabbergasted by Zeke's reply. The glowing eyes currently burrowing a hole through him probably didn't fail in leaving him a little weak in the knees either. "Y-You got some kinda screw loose or something?? I KNOW what you are! You're a walking sin! A monument to mankind's sins! Lay a finger on me and condemn yourself!" The gunman shrieked as Zeke looked down at him and leaned forward-
*BANG*
The gunman had worked up a nervous sweat but he'd done it. The second that freak took a inch towards him, he'd gotten a shot off at him. But, wait a second...something didn't seem right at all! He'd HEARD his gun go off! He'd heard it hit SOMETHING so why was this freak still up and standing like nothing happened. Zeke shook his head from side to side and continued staring at the man who'd so casually attempted to murder him. "I pity you. I hope you don't leave a family behind. You'll have doomed them I'm afraid." What the hell was this freakshow going on about-hey, wait, was it just the air or was he struggling to breathe? Putting a hand to his throat, the gunman's eyes shot open so fast they nearly shot out of his head. His palm was absolutely soaked in blood. But he'd been so careful! He'd kept an eye on this freak the entire time! When had he even a chance to strike out and attack him?? Looking closely at Zeke, the gunman noticed far too late how he'd messed up. There was a nearly translucent wall of ice separating the two men and a bullet-shaped crack in the ice. So that's what had happened. He'd fired, the bullet had ricocheted off the ice at such an angle that it instead tore through his own throat.
"Whoever sent you after me. They clearly did not care for you." Zeke started to move away back towards the porch. "Or else they might have told you more about my Gift than just 'being a freak'. I hope you can forgive them as you drift off, mon ami." The man dropped to his knees, blood spilling out from his ravaged throat, reaching out in vain as Zeke stepped onto the porch, set the bag down in such a way that the bag itself didn't come undone and in doing so preserving it's contents and unlocked the door. The gunman's last images in this life were of Zeke quietly kneeling down to pick up the bag once more and shut the door.
Then it all went black.
"Took you long enough this time, Zeke. I dunno why you wasted so much time hee-hawing around." Another voice called out as Zeke glanced around his 'home.' It was much more of a hovel than anything else. Clothes strewn about, broken or cracked floorboards, mice scurrying about every now and then. A few dim lights hung overhead as Zeke slumped into a seat and set the bag on the table, pulling the drawstring back as he did. It wasn't food at all. But gold coins that spilled out. Stepping out from the shadows were a man and a woman. The man was Native American, Zeke had never bothered to ask what tribe, he didn't want to know more than he had to about this man. Two braids splayed off to the side were dyed red and the sides were shaved. His eyes glowed a dark red and folding his arms across his chest, he pointed accusingly at the coins. "That's all you managed to get? You've been gone practically all day."
"The widow you 'hired' me out to did not have much to give. I did not begrudge her." Zeke replied. It was a nasty business and one he would have absolutely loved to have washed himself clean of. In exchange for not ratting him and his siblings out to the local authorities, Zeke and his siblings(at least the ones old enough to fight and do what was asked of em) were used more or less as hired killers. Client reaches out to Curt Wells (the bloke 'renting out' this shack to Zeke's family), he lets Zeke know what needs to be done and how much money he is supposed to get at the end of the job. If the client comes up short? Curt would make sure he and his boys got their due. Whether it meant going over there himself to ransack or burn their home/farm down and reap the insurance money or just straight up intimidation. Whatever worked out the best. He wasn't too picky. But seeing that pitiful display of coins clinking across that dust-covered table got his blood boiling. "You mean to TELL me that you went out and took out an entire GANG of thugs and lowlives and you're ok with getting short changed like that?"
"I said I would not begrudge her. So I didn't and took what she could afford to-"
Zeke felt a pressure overtaking him, threatening to force him to the ground if it grew any stronger. Much like himself, Curt was what was colloquially known to the common folk as a 'Gifted.' Government didn't much like to acknowledge or hear much talk about them at all if they could help it. Science couldn't really explain them and most laymen just assumed them to be freaks, runaway from circuses, demons, etc. Zeke was an 'ice elemental' and his Gift was known as [ALICE IN CHAINS], Curt's was a bit more different. He didn't have to wear a pretend visage like Zeke did. He could control gravity itself with [UNDER PRESSURE]. "You don't got a clue do you, Moreau?? I'm not letting you and your brothers live it up here for FREE! Your job is to go out, do what's asked of you, and make sure you GET what the client AGREED to PAY. If little miss don't got it?? Well then that's just too bad, ain't it?"
If the pressure made Zeke uncomfortable, he didn't voice it. Instead he merely, with some visible effort, rose to his feet and stared Curt down. "I do what I have to do. My actions are regrettable, vile even. But I'll not murder those who can barely provide for themselves. If you wish to combat me, then...so be it."
"You icy son of a-"
"Okay, okay! Zeke, Curt! That's enough, huh?? You're gonna get lil Multi here ALL upset." The woman exclaimed, finally speaking up. She wore a sleevless red button up top with a black hankerchief wrapped around her neck, her mouth filled to the brim with razor sharp teeth. Situated amid her short blonde hair were two elongated ears that looked more at home on a rabbit than any human. Her sclera were black, her pupils red and tucked under her left arm was a little boy-couldn't have been older than four-squirming and giggling. His bright red eyes with spirals laden in his irises peeked out from under his shaggy dirt blonde hair and straight at Zeke. "Zeeeeeeeeke!!!~"
"Multi's been waiting ALL day to see him. Can't we just cut him a little slack, just this time, Curt?"
"Ugh..." Curt released the pressure he'd been building up on Zeke and turned away. "I KNOW what you're doing, Trisha and I'm getting mighty sick of it. You keep stickin your nose in like this and-" Trisha quickly closed the distance and bared her fangs. "Or WHAT???" Multi stuck his tongue out. "Yea or what???" Trisha leaned over and ruffled the little boy's hair before setting him down on the floor. "Auntie Trisha's gotta talk to Curt, honey. Why don't you go say hi to Zeke, okay?" Multi nodded his head up and down and raced over to his big brother's side, giggling as he went, clad in his bright blue pajamas. "Zeeeeke! Zeeeeeeke!!" Zeke couldn't help but smile as he scooped up his brother and set him gently on his lap. "I'm glad to see you too, Multi. I apologize I took so long."
"it's ok! it's ok!!"
"Were you a good boy for Trisha?"
"....yea!!"
"Multi."
"...I was, Zeke! Honest! She just got mad because I wanted to go out and look for you..." Multi admitted as he sheepishly looked away. Zeke exhaled and gently ran his hand up and down his brother's back to comfort him. "...Multi. What I and the others do. It's not good work. It's not something I'd ever want for you. But-"
"..I know I know. Until we can make enough money....i wish money wasn't so...so..i don't know.." Multi threw up his hands in frustration. Life tended to do that for both him and the adults he looked up to. "It won't be much longer, Multi. I promise."
Multi puffed his cheeks out and looked away. 'you said that yesterday...'
'D-Did I...?"
'yea, i NEVER forget, zeeeke. never ever.'
"...I'm sorry, Multi. But this time I mean it. I do.' Motioning for Multi to climb down, Zeke sighed and looked around. "...Where are the others, Multi?"
"oh! oh!! ink's in the backyard, m..mister shade is upstairs, frank...franken...he's upstairs too. i think he's napping!"
Zeke's eyes narrowed.
"Where are Butch and Rostov, Multi?"
Multi frowned and couldn't meet Zeke's gaze anymore.
"Multi."
"...promise you won't get mad?"
"Multi, I-"
"promise!"
Zeke loved his siblings, every single one of them. None of them were blood related or even all from the same country. Multi was from Belgium for example. But that never mattered. They'd all been through the same tribulations, the same struggles. But those two in particular just constantly kept pushing the envelope. Zeke wouldn't have been surprised if that assassin from earlier had tracked this place down by following them. "...I promise. Where are they, Multi?"
"...buwch and rostov said they were going into town. they told me not to tell you..."
Zeke immediately rose to his feet and headed for the door. Multi quickly tried to follow after him, only to stumble and trip. "Don't tell them I told you, Zeeeeke! They'll never EVER talk to me again!" Zeke could hardly even hear his baby brother's pleas as the door slammed behind him. He was going to town and dragging those two idiots back by their balls if he had to!
ALetterForYou
(feel free to post both for your OC with John/it'll give me an in and you can also have your other OC bump into Zeke if you'd like!!) 
