Claymore Fan Fiction

Pecking Order

By Kraven Ergeist

A/N: Crack fic wrote in a fic trade with Antiassassinguy. His stipulations were a Claymore fic that incorporated both Miria kissing Raki and causing a commotion amongst the Claymores, and the inclusion Clint Eastwood's Magnum Monologue.

This probably could have turned out better. With all the crap I've been taking about making the Claymore's overly sexual, this might receive a few complaints. Just remember people, this is a work ofcomedy.

Hope it satisfies, Antiassassinguy.


He had been with the group of Claymores for six weeks – six weeks! – and he had never seen them this heated up over something! And what was more, for the life of him, Raki couldn't figure out what the issue was about (or whether it even mattered anymore at this rate). But whatever the issue, Clare and the quiet Claymore with long hair (Was her name Uma?) were hacking and slashing at each other in what was supposedly a "friendly duel," though at this rate, it looked as though it would be to the death.

"Next!" Clare shouted, blood dripping from various wounds here and there – a couple gashes, some scrapes and bruises, a few protruding ribs – nothing serious by Claymore standards. The way Clare held her sword, and the way her eyes glowed yellow with a kind of crazed animalistic desire, Raki almost feared for his life.

But not so much as he did a few moments later when Clare set upon the shaking, shivering Cynthia with about as much reckless abandon as a rockslide. The poor girl never stood a chance – Clare drove her to her knees within a matter of seconds, knocking her senseless.

Raki almost swore that he saw little birds and stars flying in circles above her head, her eyes being little more than rotating spirals.

"Next!" Clare hollered, panting and gasping for breath.

Tabitha, while somewhat more confident than her erstwhile companion was about as skilled with a blade, went down like so much dead weight.

Helen was next, who looked that could be interpreted as being ready to take on wild bull, devour it whole with a side of chips, or possibly fuck it depending on which thought came to mind first.

"This fight's in the bag, Forty-Seven!" Helen crowed, sweat already dripping down the (now that Raki had his attention drawn to her) taught sinew of her neck, licking her lips in preparation.

Both fighter's seemed to vanish, though Raki had enough presence of mind (though the impromptu cat fight had caused a bit of a dampener to all general thought in the boy) to realize they were simply moving at speeds that made a hummingbird look like it was frozen in place.

"Look at them…fighting like wild animals," came a voice. "There are simpler ways to get what you want."

Raki's attentions snapped away entirely from the fight when he felt a pair of hands come around his shoulders. He had precisely an eighteenth of a second to turn his head around and recognize Miria's face before it descended upon him, latching onto his lips like hungry animal that hadn't seen a decent meals in days.

For what seemed like an eternity, Raki was granted the privilege of what he would later describe to be a wash of affection, punctuated by the heated (and creative) usage of both tongue and teeth upon his lips, a sensation that caused his eyes – and heart – to flutter, something he was honestly unsure had not caused a brief heart attack within his now thundering chest.

What he had thought to be an eternity was about nine and a half seconds, which was precisely the amount of time it took for the rest of the Claymore's to notice Miria's (and Raki's) sudden inexplicable absence. Within the seconds following this time, something occurred which could only be described by Raki as an explosion of vocalization, the culmination of which consisted of Helen's exclamation of disbelief, Tabitha's cry of shock, Cynthia's wails of jealousy, and Clare's roar of pure, undiluted rage.

Raki knew true fear at this moment in time.

As the boy silently made peace with God, the physical assault that would have most likely followed suit from the verbal one was halted by Miria's drawn sword (her free hand, everyone noticed, remained possessively around Raki's shoulders).

"Now, I know what you all are thinking…" Miria said smugly, leveling her blade at each of them. "Why did we even bother fighting Clare for her prize if Miria was just going to take him for herself? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've lost all care for such stipulations. But being as I'm the former number six, and could probably tear each of your heads clean off, you just gotta ask yourselves…" she cocked her head to the side, smirking menacingly. "Do you feel…lucky?"

Raki, now totally confused, could only flinch as she tugged him closer.

"Well, do you!?" Miria crowed. "Punks!?"

The rest of the Claymores looked a combination of astonished, incensed, and downright pissed at their leader. Raki, for his part, had just about had enough.

"Alright, hold it! Hold it!" he hollered, pushing against Miria to little avail. "Could someone please explain to me what exactly is going on here!?"

There was a turgid silence, where each of the Claymores (some of them blushing, Raki noticed) remained utterly still.

"Isn't it obvious?" came a voice. "They're establishing a pecking order."

The voice had come from Deneve – the only member of the group who had abstained from the odd competition of sorts, the reasons for which she had yet to expound on – from her carefree position leaning against a nearby tree.

"For what!?" Raki demanded, incredulously.

Deneve cocked a smile that was dripping with schadenfreude. "…For you."

Raki's eyes widened. He wasn't given much time to ponder the implications of that revelation before Miria lead him (dragged really) towards the mouth of a nearby cave.

"W…w…wait a minute!" he blared in protest. "Don't I get a say in this!?!"

"Quit your bitching," Miria scolded. "You and Clare had more than enough time to do whatever you wanted together. It's not our fault you move as slow as molasses. You're lucky the rest of us lasted six weeks as it is!"

Cynthia fidgeted anxiously. "Aww…no fair!"

Tabitha stumbled, with no shortage of pained winces and curse words, to the tree that Deneve was leaning against. "So explain to me why you weren't involved in this?"

Deneve snorted. "Men do not interest me."

Tabitha decided to find another tree to lean against.

"Man…" Helen complained, sheathing her sword. "I hate sloppy seconds…"

Clare blushed heavily, her eyes hidden behind her hair.

Raki gasped in disbelief as he watched the other six Claymores disappear from sight as Miria dragged him off towards a fate that could easily be the height of mortal pleasure, or – what was frighteningly more likely, given her strength – his death as a living, breathing human.

Though as Miria dragged him away, he found himself wondering: Where had he heard that little speech she'd made before?