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Inspired by Ximon's awesome Star Wolf picture of him in the shower, this story is my attempt to depict that scene in a literary sense.\n", "description_bbcode_parsed": "This is one of my all time favorite stories. Inspired by Ximon's awesome Star Wolf picture of him in the shower, this story is my attempt to depict that scene in a literary sense.
", "writing": "Ten Minutes Alone…\n\nIt had been a rough day. It had been damn rough. Usually, Wolf ( Star Wolf to his comrades and employers) would take his crew to the nearest bar, buy a few rounds of the house booze, get completely toasted and waste the night, talking of past adventures, maneuvers, and trying to pick up females. Those were good nights. Wasteful nights. But good nights. But not tonight. Tonight he only had one thing on his mind. Only one thing he wanted to do… \n\nHe bid farewell to Panther, and Leon, whom left for the bar- one where Andrew was. He had told them he was going to stay in. He had some things to do. Important things. Things only he could do. He didn’t waste anytime at all once the crew had flown off in their respective ships. He made his move. \n\nDown the twisting, turning, and dizzying hallways. Down passages of metallic tunnels with glowing lights and meters. Down, down, down he went until he finally made it to the bowels of the ship, and to one small room in particular: the bathroom. It wasn’t much. A toilet sat silently in the corner and a large shower dominated the middle of the giant, circular room. The walls were rusted and the place was falling apart- but to Wolf- it was perfect. Of all the things one did after a hectic day: it was the shower he wanted the most. It didn’t take him long. It didn’t take him long to shed the dirty pilot’s suit, soaked with dirt, grime and muck, and caked with dried blood for battles gone wrong and sweat of hot and heavy tension. It didn’t take him long at all to crawl free of the clothing, the hot, filthy suit that labeled him a pilot wherever he went. Without it on, he could bask in the glorious sensation of freedom that only came to someone when all the labels were removed, and they could be themselves. \n\nHis arms were first. They weren’t huge. There were no powerful rippling muscles, or mountain sized biceps. No, they were long, thin and dexterous. He was a pilot, and it showed. His chest was thick- not as thick as Panther, not as thin as Leon. He was normal. A normal male trying to lead an abnormal life. Taut, six pack abs came lower. He was –if he had to be- particularly proud of his abs. They showed very well though the thick, gray colored fur that surrounded his form. Hips, lean and muscular, taut round rump, firm and strong, and a plump sheath with a heavy set underneath. His thighs were a bit on the thin side, but Wolf didn’t do a terrible amount of running. Most of his jobs were done in the air. Thin shins, large, gray feet. He was Star Wolf. Mercenary. Bad guy for hire. The damned villain. \n\nThe wolf twisted the thin crank that kept the water at bay in the shower and instantly, he was pelted with a forceful blast of hot water. The pellets of H2O stung his chest and bit into his fur, striking him relentlessly- but he didn’t care. He wanted it. He needed it. \n“That’s it…. Take it away.” He muttered quietly, his head down, the torrent of water splashing over his neck, over his hair. Unlike most wolves, Wolf’s eyes were not a piercing yellow, or deep, threatening black. He didn’t have the shadowy ebony, or the color of the moon. He had blue eyes. That is to say, he had A blue eye. And accident long ago- took the other away from him The water grew hotter. Wolf welcomed it eagerly.\n\nOver his left eye, he usually wore a targeting monocle. When flying, he could see a dozen different readouts faster then his onboard computer could. He could plan with it, measure lengths, distances and detect missiles, lasers, and incoming fire. But he couldn’t see color. He couldn’t see people, the way a normal eye could. Never again would he be able to look into the eyes of a lover with two eyes and be equal. Never, would he be equal again. The moment he lost that eye, he thought his career would be over. No one would hire a pilot with just one eye- certainly no one would hire a merc, whom needed to handle delicate jobs: such as murdering others. But he had proved himself. He’d proved himself to others and proved himself to himself. He could do it. He was still the best damn pilot in the galaxy, even with a “Handicap.” Those whom thought different met early graves, and the crew praised him for his excellence. \nBut oh, how he longed to be himself again. To be normal. To blink. To squint. To not feel the itchy sensation of rough leather over his eye when he was at home, and not in the air. Gods above why him?! He turned around, head down, letting the water fry into his back. The showers had to be hot. They had to be. He couldn’t relax if they weren’t….\n\nIt was one of his first few encounters with the notorious team “Star Fox”. Fellow mercenaries- whom took jobs directly from Cornera. They were the ones who got the best jobs. Them and the “Arwings.” They piloted. He had to admit, they had talent. Wolf’s team had been contracted by some hotshot scientist looking for defense against StarFox’s Team. Wolf didn’t generally follow politics or any other sort of galactic news, but the man whom had hired them was “The bad guy” He was the one raging war on the helpless planets of Lylat. He was the one killing so many innocents. But as far as Wolf had been concerned- he was the one with the paycheck. \n\nHe had run into Fox’s team one fateful day, on a planet called Fortuna. His fault, really. It was Wolf who wasn’t paying attention. It was Wolf whom had underestimated his rival. Fox was every bit as good as he was, even if his tactics were unorthodox. He hadn’t thought to take better precaution. Team Fox wasn’t like the pointless armies and squadrons that tried to stop them before. No, Fox were mercenaries- and it showed. Wolf winced- feeling the memory of the crash burn at his eye. He reached around himself, gently rubbing his furred arm and sighed deeply, shaking away the memories that tried to crawl their way back into his mind. At times, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. The nightmares he had. The missions he did. Just for money. Always for the money. Panther never seemed to have that problem, nor did Leon, Pigma, or Andrew. He never heard them scream in the night. No, it was always him. It was him, screaming, wondering why he couldn’t see out of his left eye. Or him screaming, watching a young boy being crushed under a building they were commissioned to destroy. There were so many nightmares. So so many nightmares, so many horrid images. So so many screams…\n\nWhat was the point of all of it? For the money. That’s what he used to tell himself. Money was what was important. Growing up in an orphanage, growing up without a dime, or respect from anyone, A little scrawny pup who didn’t have anyone to give a damn. He had two things he was good at- he could fight, and he could fly. He put them to use. At one point he was in the army, he was a solider. He learned to fly, learned maneuvers and learned tricks. He was good at what he did…and then there was an accident…And now…now he flew for a price. He flew for who paid the highest and didn’t ask questions. He flew for himself.\n\nWolf fell to his knees, breathing heavily as the water slammed into his back, rolling down his spine and onto the hot tiles below. Gods, why. Why him. How did he end up here…How could he continue to judge…What was worth it? Five hundred thousand credits to kill a wealthy man’s family. Was it worth it? Was that the right price? What was the price of a life? What was the price of his? Never in a million years would he had ever believed someone, if they had told him “Tomorrow, you are going to lose your eye.” \nWhat if someone told him he was going to lose his life. Tomorrow? What if tomorrow was the last time he ever sat in a Wolven space fighter. What if tomorrow was his last fight? He would never again taste the sweet glory of victory. Never again to fly off into the sunset after a job well done. Never again to feel the freedom of flight under his fingertips, soaring high above his fears, hate and tears. Damn it. What was it that let him put his crew in danger? What allowed him to take the missions he took, that forced him to kill innocent people and not even flinch. Was it strength? Was it a lack of conscious? Was it some twisted version of enjoyment? He had chosen a fool hardy path and others had followed. He was in charge now. He was the leader and now it was his responsibility. Everything was on his shoulders…\nOh Gods….\n\nThe water did it’s work though. Soothing the wolf, spraying him, splashing him, a searing heat of relentless fluid that rained down, washing away his sins, his fears, and every bit of self doubt that existed inside of him. Idly, he wondered if Star Fox felt the same way some times. He wondered if his double had the same doubts, or fears, or pain that he had…There was a heavy knock on the door that shook him from his thoughts. \n\n“Wolf?” The scraggily voice of Leon- The mechanic and the group’s best assassin. The shower stopped. Wolf stood up, and regained himself. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down, watching the water swirl away, disappearing into the deep darkness of the drain on the bottom of the floor. Swirling with his tension, anger, and malice…\n“What?”\n“You’ve been in there for ten minutes. What, are you doing?!”\n“Whadda think he’s doin’?!” Came another voice. Andrew. They had returned with Andrew. \n“I’m takin’ a shower.” Wolf grumbled. There were snickers behind the door. \n“With your left paw, or your right? Hey, listen man, It just wasn’ the same withoutcha. Come get drunk with us man!” Andrew called. Wolf watched the last of the water swirl away- leaving him cold, naked and wet, and feeling considerably better about his existence. Funny thing, showers… \n\n“…Ok.” He called out. There were cheers. He smiled in spite of himself. They were idiots- sure. But they were his idiots. He reached for a towel next to the shower, and began to dry his face, listening to the ramblings of the other’s outside the door- whom were chatting about what to do and which bars to visit. \nOne day. One day, he would remember why he was doing all this- and what he was looking for…and that’s the day peace would visit him once again. \n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Ten Minutes Alone…

It had been a rough day. It had been damn rough. Usually, Wolf ( Star Wolf to his comrades and employers) would take his crew to the nearest bar, buy a few rounds of the house booze, get completely toasted and waste the night, talking of past adventures, maneuvers, and trying to pick up females. Those were good nights. Wasteful nights. But good nights. But not tonight. Tonight he only had one thing on his mind. Only one thing he wanted to do…

He bid farewell to Panther, and Leon, whom left for the bar- one where Andrew was. He had told them he was going to stay in. He had some things to do. Important things. Things only he could do. He didn’t waste anytime at all once the crew had flown off in their respective ships. He made his move.

Down the twisting, turning, and dizzying hallways. Down passages of metallic tunnels with glowing lights and meters. Down, down, down he went until he finally made it to the bowels of the ship, and to one small room in particular: the bathroom. It wasn’t much. A toilet sat silently in the corner and a large shower dominated the middle of the giant, circular room. The walls were rusted and the place was falling apart- but to Wolf- it was perfect. Of all the things one did after a hectic day: it was the shower he wanted the most. It didn’t take him long. It didn’t take him long to shed the dirty pilot’s suit, soaked with dirt, grime and muck, and caked with dried blood for battles gone wrong and sweat of hot and heavy tension. It didn’t take him long at all to crawl free of the clothing, the hot, filthy suit that labeled him a pilot wherever he went. Without it on, he could bask in the glorious sensation of freedom that only came to someone when all the labels were removed, and they could be themselves.

His arms were first. They weren’t huge. There were no powerful rippling muscles, or mountain sized biceps. No, they were long, thin and dexterous. He was a pilot, and it showed. His chest was thick- not as thick as Panther, not as thin as Leon. He was normal. A normal male trying to lead an abnormal life. Taut, six pack abs came lower.  He was –if he had to be- particularly proud of his abs. They showed very well though the thick, gray colored fur that surrounded his form. Hips, lean and muscular, taut round rump, firm and strong, and a plump sheath with a heavy set underneath. His thighs were a bit on the thin side, but Wolf didn’t do a terrible amount of running. Most of his jobs were done in the air. Thin shins, large, gray feet. He was Star Wolf. Mercenary. Bad guy for hire. The damned villain.

The wolf twisted the thin crank that kept the water at bay in the shower and instantly, he was pelted with a forceful blast of hot water. The pellets of H2O stung his chest and bit into his fur, striking him relentlessly- but he didn’t care. He wanted it. He needed it.
“That’s it…. Take it away.” He muttered quietly, his head down, the torrent of water splashing over his neck, over his hair. Unlike most wolves, Wolf’s eyes were not a piercing yellow, or deep, threatening black. He didn’t have the shadowy ebony, or the color of the moon. He had blue eyes. That is to say, he had A blue eye. And accident long ago- took the other away from him The water grew hotter. Wolf welcomed it eagerly.

Over his left eye, he usually wore a targeting monocle. When flying, he could see a dozen different readouts faster then his onboard computer could. He could plan with it, measure lengths, distances and detect missiles, lasers, and incoming fire. But he couldn’t see color. He couldn’t see people, the way a normal eye could. Never again would he be able to look into the eyes of a lover with two eyes and be equal. Never, would he be equal again. The moment he lost that eye, he thought his career would be over. No one would hire a pilot with just one eye- certainly no one would hire a merc, whom needed to handle delicate jobs: such as murdering others. But he had proved himself. He’d proved himself to others and proved himself to himself. He could do it. He was still the best damn pilot in the galaxy, even with a “Handicap.” Those whom thought different met early graves, and the crew praised him for his excellence.
But oh, how he longed to be himself again. To be normal. To blink. To squint. To not feel the itchy sensation of rough leather over his eye when he was at home, and not in the air. Gods above why him?! He turned around, head down, letting the water fry into his back. The showers had to be hot. They had to be. He couldn’t relax if they weren’t….

It was one of his first few encounters with the notorious team “Star Fox”. Fellow mercenaries- whom took jobs directly from Cornera. They were the ones who got the best jobs. Them and the “Arwings.” They piloted. He had to admit, they had talent. Wolf’s team had been contracted by some hotshot scientist looking for defense against StarFox’s Team. Wolf didn’t generally follow politics or any other sort of galactic news, but the man whom had hired them was “The bad guy” He was the one raging war on the helpless planets of Lylat. He was the one killing so many innocents. But as far as Wolf had been concerned- he was the one with the paycheck.  

He had run into Fox’s team one fateful day, on a planet called Fortuna. His fault, really. It was Wolf who wasn’t paying attention. It was Wolf whom had underestimated his rival. Fox was every bit as good as he was, even if his tactics were unorthodox. He hadn’t thought to take better precaution. Team Fox wasn’t like the pointless armies and squadrons that tried to stop them before. No, Fox were mercenaries- and it showed. Wolf winced- feeling the memory of the crash burn at his eye. He reached around himself, gently rubbing his furred arm and sighed deeply, shaking away the memories that tried to crawl their way back into his mind. At times, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. The nightmares he had. The missions he did. Just for money. Always for the money. Panther never seemed to have that problem, nor did Leon, Pigma, or Andrew. He never heard them scream in the night. No, it was always him. It was him, screaming, wondering why he couldn’t see out of his left eye. Or him screaming, watching a young boy being crushed under a building they were commissioned to destroy. There were so many nightmares. So so many nightmares, so many horrid images. So so many screams…

What was the point of all of it? For the money. That’s what he used to tell himself. Money was what was important. Growing up in an orphanage, growing up without a dime, or respect from anyone, A little scrawny pup who didn’t have anyone to give a damn. He had two things he was good at- he could fight, and he could fly. He put them to use. At one point he was in the army, he was a solider. He learned to fly, learned maneuvers and learned tricks. He was good at what he did…and then there was an accident…And now…now he flew for a price. He flew for who paid the highest and didn’t ask questions. He flew for himself.

Wolf fell to his knees, breathing heavily as the water slammed into his back, rolling down his spine and onto the hot tiles below. Gods, why. Why him. How did he end up here…How could he continue to judge…What was worth it? Five hundred thousand credits to kill a wealthy man’s family. Was it worth it? Was that the right price? What was the price of a life? What was the price of his? Never in a million years would he had ever believed someone, if they had told him “Tomorrow, you are going to lose your eye.”
What if someone told him he was going to lose his life. Tomorrow? What if tomorrow was the last time he ever sat in a Wolven space fighter. What if tomorrow was his last fight? He would never again taste the sweet glory of victory. Never again to fly off into the sunset after a job well done. Never again to feel the freedom of flight under his fingertips, soaring high above his fears, hate and tears. Damn it. What was it that let him put his crew in danger? What allowed him to take the missions he took, that forced him to kill innocent people and not even flinch. Was it strength? Was it a lack of conscious? Was it some twisted version of enjoyment? He had chosen a fool hardy path and others had followed. He was in charge now. He was the leader and now it was his responsibility. Everything was on his shoulders…
Oh Gods….

The water did it’s work though. Soothing the wolf, spraying him, splashing him, a searing heat of relentless fluid that rained down, washing away his sins, his fears, and every bit of self doubt that existed inside of him. Idly, he wondered if Star Fox felt the same way some times. He wondered if his double had the same doubts, or fears, or pain that he had…There was a heavy knock on the door that shook him from his thoughts.

“Wolf?” The scraggily voice of Leon- The mechanic and the group’s best assassin.  The shower stopped. Wolf stood up, and regained himself. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked down, watching the water swirl away, disappearing into the deep darkness of the drain on the bottom of the floor. Swirling with his tension, anger, and malice…
“What?”
“You’ve been in there for ten minutes. What, are you doing?!”
“Whadda think he’s doin’?!” Came another voice. Andrew. They had returned with Andrew.
“I’m takin’ a shower.” Wolf grumbled. There were snickers behind the door.
“With your left paw, or your right? Hey, listen man, It just wasn’ the same withoutcha. Come get drunk with us man!” Andrew called. Wolf watched the last of the water swirl away- leaving him cold, naked and wet, and feeling considerably better about his existence. Funny thing, showers…

“…Ok.” He called out. There were cheers. He smiled in spite of himself. They were idiots- sure. But they were his idiots.  He reached for a towel next to the shower, and began to dry his face, listening to the ramblings of the other’s outside the door- whom were chatting about what to do and which bars to visit.
One day. One day, he would remember why he was doing all this- and what he was looking for…and that’s the day peace would visit him once again.
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