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Another day, another bar, another futile attempt at getting drunk. Hadn't worked yet, but persistence was a virtue right? The thought was enough to make the large scruffy figure of Victor Creed give a slight 'huff-chuckle' of amusement before he tipped back the beer bottle in his hand, downing a considerable amount in one gulp but still managing to leave a few cast-off flecks of the alcohol in his beard. It didn't taste great, but it tasted a hell of a lot better then anything he'd got on the other side of the world. Less likely to get stabbed for the drink too…if only slightly.
For the past hour he'd been holding up one corner of the bar, several beers in and not really looking like he intended to slow down. Not exactly the friendliest looking figure, he'd tossed a few ball-up notes he'd 'gathered' recently towards the bartender and otherwise? People had so far been leaving Victor Creed the hell alone…
*
Harry's was a great location. It was out of the way and 'homey' to some, as there was a good share of wilderness and not much else around the building. Down the road was civilization, and up the road were extensive grounds for a number of posh schools. Each of them had a smell, too, some which Victor knew all too well. Another great benefit for being so tucked away was that one could simply rest here. It was shelter from the snows outside, now that winter had crept up early on New York, and a calming stillness made the inside of the wooden buildy all the more appealing.
The TV was a white-noise broadcast of this and that. Mostly local commercial mixed in with the evening news. 'Food' was produced in the back, but at this time of night it was usually nothing more than snacks, or a sandwich if you were really lucky, and someone gave a damn. Soon enough, it would be 'last call', and then everyone would have to exit back into the real world.
A lanky figure bounces down the steps before giving a visible shudder and heading toward the bar. "Jesus, kid. You're gonna catch your death out there." The tender warns as his hands move over a glass, drying it off. The kid in question is a dark skined waif, wearing a vividly red, woven hair cap. "Don' worry 'bout me. Jus' c'n' sleep. C'n I get a coffee dough? Please?""You sure? Taste's like shit at this hour.""Jus' make it hot." She grins, moving up to the bar and slipping onto a seat.
*
Out of the way was good enough for Victor. The large man in an equally large and twice as beat up coat set down his empty beer bottle with a thud, pushing it aside and slapping his hand down on the counter once to signal that he wasn't quite done yet while the tender strikes up conversation with the young woman. Not the politest move, but at least he wasn't yelling for it. The scents of the area were thankfully dulled, drowned out a little by the beer, smoke and who-knows-what-else that comes with a bar.
His gaze moves now, looking the waif over with those eyes of his that carry their own vaguely slitted irises, a light 'sniff' of his nose coming out of habbit as he catches the scent of the new arrival. Tends to tell him more then most people can see with their eyes anyway. "Freezin' to death might be preferable to drinkin' that crap Darlin'." he comments. He can smell the 'beverage to be' from here. It ain't pretty.
*
The tender sets a fresh brew down infront of Victor before pouring the pitch in a white mug and setting it before Lynette. Without delay, she starts filling it up with as much sugar as possible without turning it into a cup of crystals with a dash of liquid. Scoffing, and smirking, the girl turns her head to address Creed, only to lose her words and just stare at the beast of a man. A low whistle later, she clears her throat and looks back to her drink.
"S'warm, n'dats all I need right no. Don' do much drinkin'." The girl confesses once her words return to her. She knew she wasn't going to enjoy this, and that was one of the downsides to having your sense of taste heightened via your tongue. A newscaster on the TV comments about the pending weather. More snow was on the way, threatening to blanket Salem County with at least three inches of the beautiful white stuff. Once the weather was done, reports begin about new acts of 'hate' toward those carrying the 'x' gene. Tonight's topic is about an older woman who simply 'acted weird', which led to her house being broken into, and the woman being severely beaten.
From behind Victor and Lynette comes the slurring voice of a man who had taken up residence at one of the tables. "Could y'turn that shit off? God…every fucking night…same old-same old." The man grumbles.
*
"Your choice," Victor shrugs, taking a gulp of his newly arrived drink but seeming to smile at the woman's responce. "S'pose that sugar can't make it any worse for ya." Chuckling, the man lazily nudges the sixth empty bottle over to the small collection the bartender had yet to clear, likely because he didn't really want to go near the drinker any more then he had to. He looked mean enough without getting drunk…come to think of it, he didn't really look drunk at all. 'Course he was a pretty big guy.
The news gets a glance as Victor's ears pick up on it, the slightest grumble from the back of his throat. He wasn't exactly a stranger to violence, but the 'witch-hunt' beating of an older woman just for acting weird? Didn't quite sit right with him. The complaint from behind them? That has Victor looking back over his shoulder through his scruffy mess of long hair. Watching for just where the man's grumbling complaint might go. "Shit's happenin' out there, every night."
*
Lynette took to her coffee like it were a shot. She only wanted the heat, just as she had said, and so, with a pinch of her nose, she starts drinking down the sludge as her face twists up against the bitter fluid rolling down her throat. Mug down, she coughs and pats the flat of her chest. "Merde…" She mutters and sighs. The massive figure that was Victor gets a glance or two from the girl that he easily dwarfs by more than a couple feet. She doesn't allow those dark eyes to settle, for too long, and the news broadcast steals her attention rather quickly.
The tender lifts a finger, motioning to both men. "Don't start anything. It's almost closing time and I'll be damned if I have to deal with a messed up room." The man behind Victor notices that glare, and at first, he seems to shrink away. Yet, when this cowardly lion visit the wizard of booze, he presses up from his table and shuffles closer to the large fellow. "Yeah? So what? They talk about it like it's a fucking crime or something. Know what I think? I think they d-hic, deserve what's coming to them. F'aliens, and freaks."
*
A pause, Victor lowers his bottle for a moment, looking at the girl, then the bartender. Another little 'huh' escapes his lips, the slightest curl of amusement before he digs into his coat once more, pulling out the small collection of crumpled notes and quickly counting over them before giving a quiet 'tsk'. He didn't have enough to pay for the door, or the window, or the barstool…and he might actually want to come back here sometime.
Slowwwwwly he stands, bringing his impressive frame to full height and easing that coat off his shoulders, bundling the garment up and holding it out towards the cold woman with the bad coffee. "Look after that for me Darlin'?" he asks, but even if she doesn't answer he pretty much dumps the clothing that's about as big as her into her lap before turning to face the man.
The movement is sudden, a snap of impossible speed before he seizes the man by his throat, gripping tight enough to hoist the man into a height where his feet dangle off the floor. Baring a snarl with his noticably elongated canines Victor brings his face within inches of the drunk's. "You an' me? We're gonna have a 'talk' outside now welp, about who deserves what's coming to them." With that he starts to move, clearly intending to carry the man out by the throat into the cold night outside and toss him down to the pavement.
*
Lynette sets her hand on the coat, then the other, gripping at it tightly so the garment's weight doesn't cause it to fall on the floor. She watches with wide eyes as the man stands at full height and moves away from the bar. In a blink, he was on the lush. There's a shattering of glass as it crashes to the floor, along with a slick of half finished beer and the unmistakable aroma of urine. Away the two go before the tender can say anything, and with a quick turn of her head, the girl is tossing down her own cash. "M'sorry! 'bout de glass!" More cash down, she runs out, lugging the jacket with her.
Outside the world is peaceful. The chill in the air sets the senses electric with a crisp, clean sensation, and the wind that whips about quickly sucks away any warmth one might have. The man in Creed's grip is kicking, and screaming, by now. His hands hug around the man's forearm, desperately trying to break his hold. "L-let me go! You're one of them, aren't you?! Let me go! You won't get away with this!"
*
"I don't see anyone stopping me," Victor snarls, casting the man down towards the ground like he were something dirty and then flexing his hands, the slight 'itch' in his fingertips felt as he resists the urge for his claws to extend. No…not yet.
"You wanna try little man? Not so brave when it's not a little old lady you can beat up in her house. You pick a fight, but we fight back and there you are, layin' in a puddle of your own piss." He stands over the man, smirking, baiting. He -wants- the man to give him an excuse, if he even needs one at all. It's just more fun that way.
*
"Wait!" The girl's voice calls from the door as she exits into the cold. "Don'! Don' hurt'm. S'jus' stupid." She explains, not really doing much for the drunk now sprawling in the snow, staining patches of it yellow. "Don'…s'drunk n'stupid. Let'm talk, dat's all 's good f'r." Lynette protests, still holding to the man's heavy coat and keeping its slack from touching the ground. She shivers and watch, her dark eyes moving from Victor, to the drunk, and back again.
The man on the ground crawls for a second before pushing himself up and panting. Each breath catches the air, turning into heavy white puffs before twisting away into nothing. He's silent, for a moment. Perhaps, just maybe, he's thinking this is a good time to walk away. But before he can think, his words move faster than his brain allows. "I don't need your help, bitch. Oh, is that how you fight? You try and rough me up and then let your coon finish the job? Fucking cowards. Both of ya."
*
A sneer, that's about as close as one could approximate to the facial expression that comes over victor at those words. He did actually seem to pause at the girl's call, looking back at her for a moment before turning back to the man and striking out, a slash of his hands tearing flesh from his face and ripping open his cheek. That was gonna need more then a few stitches The large man isn't done yet however, stomping down with his boot on the man's ankle with enough force to bring a sickening 'pop'.
"Y'ain't much good at talking either," he snarls, teeth bared he grabs the man by his shirt and hoists him back to his feet, not caring for the weight he was leaving sitting on a now broken joint. "So the next words out of your dumb-shit mouth better be an apology to the lady…or I'm gonna rip your tongue out and shove it so far up your ass you'll be tasting your own tonsils." His words are practically snarled, a audible waver of all that beserk potential bubbling -just- below the surface while he traces a bloodied claw down the man's remaining 'good' cheek.
Well…speak up."
*
Screams, high-pitched and fearful ring out into the night sky as the man's flesh parts freely from itself. A gurgling of crimson rolls down his chin as his foot goes sideways and he now dangles as he had before. Hands on the man's arm, his eyes wide as fat tears roll down his face. The girl stands, shell-shocked, even though she was no stranger to brutality or violence. Shivering on her spot, she mouths something, but the aura of fear created by Creed seems to have touched her, too, turning her mute.
The man tries to say something, but all that comes out is a sobbing mess of inaudiable words. More scarlet washes down his jaw and throat, and soon it reaches his shirt's collar, and starts to spread through its fibers. He tries again, and again, but all he can do now is cry. "S-stop…" Lynette finally speaks, having taken steps closer to Victor and reaching out a timid, trembling hand, she rests it on the man's back. "Don'…s'not worth it. Y'won, ok? Don'…y'don' have t'do dis." She murmurs, fearful for the drunk more so than herself, it seems. "T'anks, f'stickin' up f'me, but let d'man go. Please…"
*
It's a long pause, long enough that Lynette might consider the possibility the Victor was going to kill the man regardless, but eventually he tosses the drunk aside once more, a good few feet further then when he'd first thrown him down. "Crawl home welp, and remember this next time you go runnin' your mouth. Because the next time I see you? Hear you talking like that? She might not be here to appeal to my 'loveable nature'."
With that he gives the man one last disdainful look, no doubt in the world as to how lowly he rates the drunk before turning back and pushing right past Lynette back into the bar. "Napkin," he practically barks at the poor bartender, gesturing for the item to be thrown to him as he stands near the doorway, wiping his fingers clean.
*
The man starts to crawl, and before long, Lynette is rushing his way to see if he needs help. He does, but doesn't accept it from the girl. The blubbering mess that he was just continues to crawl until he finds his way to a beaten up wagon and slips inside. Left standing in the cold, the girl looks back to the bar and follows after Creed.
The napkin is given, the glass had been cleaned up, along with the brew and human waste on the floor; but the smell still lingers to those who could detect it. Staring into his back, the dark skinned girl parts her lips to speak before closing them again. Making soft sound, she reclaims her thoughts and holds out her arms. "Um…'scuse me. Y'jacket?"
*
A grunt, the man does reach out to reclaim the jacket, but he pauses after a moment and lowers the hand, giving a little 'sniff' as he does so. "You walkin' home darlin? It's cold and there are dangerous folk about, didn't y'hear the news?"
The curl of his lips suggests he does find the dark humor in his warning, even if he was threatening to gut a man a few minutes ago. "Wouldn't want you gettin into trouble."
*
"Ah, non'. Was t'inkin' 'bout walkin' t'de city. C'n' sleep so…n'I don' wanna go back t'de school jus' yet." She explains, resting her hands down into the slack of her baggy pockets. Scoffing, she glances down at her boots and then up again. "Where y'headed? If it ain't out de way, maybe we c'n walk t'getha or y'drivin'?"
*
"School?" he repeats, another noise of amusement given at that answer and then he takes the jacket into his hands, only to open it properly and offer it to her. It was absolutely going to drag on the ground, but it looked beat up enough that he probably didn't care. "Dangerous times to be seekin' higher learning."
He didn't actually give her a destination or answer, but it doesn't seem that he's intending to seek out a car when he gestures for her to go ahead and start walking.
*
"Hey, don' laugh. S'best m'gonna get. Safe place, too." She murmurs gently, seeming a bit hung up on the word 'safe'. At the offer of the coat that will drape and ripple behind her without question, she stares at it for a moment and then steps forward. Slipping her arms in, she feels its weight on her shoulders from the hide and fur it was made from.
When he motions out, she heads out of the bar and back into the cold, this time with a bit more protection. Hugging the massive thing around her front, she joins up with Creed, matching his long-limbed strides as best she can with her tiny stature. "Um," she begins anew, glancing up toward her beastial companion. "M'Lynette, by de way." A pause, "M'assumin' y', well, diff'rent. 'm diff'rent, too."
*
"Can smell it," Victor nods, as good an admittance to his 'different-ness' as anything else. "Victor," he offers in returned introduction. The cold? It doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest despite the lack of his own weather protection. "Y'often go wandering the streets at night Darlin'?"
*
Lynette nods. "Nice t'meet y' Victor." Glancing behind them, hot puddles of piss and blood start to fade as fresh powder covers them. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. S'mtimes. I don' sleep much, n'm'use t'walkin' 'round. Jus' startin' t'stay in one spot, y'know? S'weird." His path was of two booted feet, while hers was of the solid drag of the man's coat. "M'sorry 'bout y'coat. S'gonna get wet like dis."
*
"It'll dry," he shrugs his shoulders, looking down at the shorter figure beside him. Her words? They make him smile and nod, giving a full bark of a laugh. "Weird? Might be the first thing anyone's said to me in a while that made perfect sense Darlin'."