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Freedom. Sweet freedom. Creel has had to lay low since getting out, spending the majority of his time within alleyways and underneath bridges, merging with the homeless population. But the power he has now… he doesn't know where it came from or why he has it, but he can sense it's big. Really big. He's still not even decided what to do with it yet, but such things can wait for the time being. The world's in chaos, with the incursions only just lightening up. Not the best time to make a meaningful debut. So he's found his way to another in a long line of random bars, pushing into the Cigar Factory. He's a large and well-muscled man, currently wearing sweatpants, an old shirt, and a heavy sweater with the hood drawn up. He brushes rudely past a few people to get to the middle bar, thumping down into a stool and resting his large forearms upon the counter. "Gimme the best you got."
*
Lynette glances up from behind the counter at the new arrival. She offers a hand up in greeting, but it starts dropping once the large figure pushes himself about. Brows furrowing, the flooftastic girl eyes the figure now sitting across from her with persed lips. "Sure, sugah." Turning down toward an icebox, she sets out a cold brew for him and pops off its cap, the metal and air pressure creating a crisp 'pop-hiss-clink'. "Ain't runnin' out, chere. Y'don' gotta go pushin' dese folks 'round." The Creole girl then warns in a passive comment.
Thin, scrawny even, the dark skinned youth moves around behind the bar, offering her 'have a good one' and 'good night's to those exiting the bar and back out into the cold, Harlem night. With wet glass in one hand, and towel in the other, she sets about drying off vessel after vessel. "Y'wan' s'mt'ing harda, y'lemme know."
*
The glass bottle is pulled over and drank. Quickly. His throat ripples, liquid descending more and more until it's empty. A hearty clink as it settles back on the counter, before Creel's chin twists until it pops. "I don't gotta move for nobody anymore. They gotta move for /me./" His thumb thumps into his chest at that one. A sneer of raw arrogance spreads across his face, shadowed by the hood and dim light of the bar. "What about you, girl? Kinda young for this sorta place, ain'tcha?" He raps knuckles again. "And I said the BEST. Gimme your most expensive liquor you got."
*
"Non', chere. Dat ain't workin' here. Y'cause trouble, y'gonna be takin' it up wit me, y'hear?" The girl warns without an inch of fear, giving the man the once over with her dark eyes. "Ain't sayin' y'gotta let people push y'round, but y'ain't gotta be de pusher, neitha. Dese folks? Dey been t'rough 'nough." Setting the empty bottle away, she sets down a glass and pours the man something amber, heady, and with a rich aroma. The decanter down before him, she finally returns to his question. "Me? Don' gotta drink t'work. M'jus' workin'."
*
The lack of fear makes Creel narrow his eyes, leaning forward. He's an imposing person even naturally, and someone the size of Lynette shouldn't be quite so inoculated to such things in his mind. "Babe…" he grunts out, fingers slowly flexing. "I'm in a good mood right now. If you know what's good for you, you'll respect me. I'll earn it if I have to. You couldn't stop me in your wildest dreams…!" He slips his hand out to take the glass and pull it over, slit eyes daring her to defy him!
*
Lynette was a good tender. She rests her rump on the edge of the rear counter, and crosses her arms under her petite chest. She waits, watching, allowing Creel to finish his top-dollar booze without interuption. When the last drop is gone, however, the pretty girl's face goes from smiling sweetly to one of a sly smirk. A flicker, a flash of her eyes phases them from normal obsidian to something more snake like. There's a sudden pressure on his chest and shoulders, like the feeling of hands pushing him off center, off balance and back tilts his stool with him along for the ride.
*
The large man doesn't even bother to savor it. He just drinks heavily, tilting it back and letting out a hiss of satisfaction before thumping it down. "Thought so—" And then he's tilted backwards, caught off-guard. Arms pinwheel, and he crashes on the floor, stool clattering away. Rolling over and standing up, he pushes to his feet while whirling around. His hood falls oven, revealing his bald head. "WHO DID THAT?!" The closest person, who probably looks rather confused, gets grasped by the front of the shirt. "You think you can mess with me?!"
*
"I did it." Lynette explains, vaulting over the bar to get between Creel and the scared witless man that was being yanked up by his collar. "Let de man go. I tol' y', y'ain't pickin' on m'people while m'here." Glancing around the bar, as scarcely populated as it was, the girl then calls out. "Y'all clear out now. Go on home." And, they do. Downing the last of their drinks in a hurried fashion, they don't think twice about getting away from whatever show this was about to become.
*
Creel lets go, mostly out of confusion. When Lynette settles herself in front of him, the large man is more incredulous than anything else. "You? What're you talking about?" People start to leave, and with them most of his interest. "One of them Mutants, huh? Well, I ain't interested in some tiny lil' broad." He sweeps out his arm in an attempt to shift Lynette backwards, and turns towards the door with a derisive snort. "Get outta my way. You're lucky I don't bring this place to the ground!!"
*
Lynette shrugs. "Don' know what I am." She confesses before glancing at the bar and then back toward Creel. "S'mbody get de drop on y' and y'jus' walk 'way? Still barkin'?" The girl was light, no match for a man like Creel, and his arm moves her back, skidding against the floor without much effort at all. Her arms rest by her sides, her tiny hands become small fists, her entire form tensing. "N'y'payin' f'de drinks! I don' serve free booze, specially t'bullies. Y'wan' m'respect? Den y'earn it, big-boy."
*
"No. I ain't paying." Creed sneers back towards Lynette, dismissing her ambiguous statement about how her powers work. Although when she starts poking at his pride, he stops and twists back. Although the look on his eyes betrays his showboating attitude; he's mad, but there's no real sadism or cruelty there. He's trying to resort to intimidation to settle things, although it's not working. "You wanna bring some big bad security guards here, and I'll gladly floor'm. But you ain't worth my time!" He then spits on the floor. How rude!
*
"Baby, we ain't got dat here. Y'ain't…wait. Why ain't I worth y'time? S'cause m' a girl?" She questions, taking a few steps forward as her own ego seems to be tugging at her emotions, and getting in the way. Spit was spit, but money is /money/, and the booze she gave him wasn't cheap. Business is business, after all, and…it wasn't her business. "I push y'out y'chair n'it don' matta?" Blinking, her expression changes, softening almost instantly. "Y'don'…y'don' really wanna fight, do y'?" Like a quick slash of water, the girl's tense demeanor suddenly becomes one of concern. "Why y'blusterin' den?"
*
"I don't hit girls who can't take one." Creel growls, still glowering down at Lynette. This really hasn't gone the way he intended. Although it's true; if she had been a guy, he'd already be trying to slug her in the face right now without even the slightest compunctions. Hell, if she was a costumed female HERO, then that's nice and fine, too! "I won't gain no honor. No respect. People'll just call me a coward." He finally realizes his hood is down and pulls it back up over his head a touch quickly. "Don't get me wrong, babe. I wanna fight. You just ain't what I'm looking for."
*
Victor has arrived.
*
Lynette stands, dumbfounded and without words. Her eyes wide set to blinking as she's not exactly sure what to say, how to say it. "De hell y'know 'bout me takin' a hit?!" She finally calls out, her tiny gears starting to lose their cool. Both were proding at the other, it seems. "Y'pushin' folks 'round n'y wan' honor? What de hell type a't'inkin' is dat?" Arms crossing once more, she glares out over the figure and shakes her head, causing some of her curls to bounce and way. "I t'ink y'scared. S'mbody stand up t'y', and y'runnin'."
*
"Your a goddamn pipsqueak!" Creel responds, sounding more exasperated than anything else. Although she's rather nicely pushing him into a corner where he's in a lose-lose situation. Suddenly he steps forward with a growl, and although he doesn't go for a swing, he /does/ try to shove Lynette backwards. It's not done with any particular effort, but it'd send her clear off her feet if she didn't skip backwards. "You some kinda mas… maso… girl who likes being hit? Huh?!"
*
"THE HELL IS ALL THE YELLIN'?!" From the back room steps the rather irritated and still slightly sleepy figure of a very large man. Currently pulling his shirt over his head, Victor Creed sniffs as he steps out…just in time to spot Creel shoving Lynette.
Well…timing is everything isn't it?
With a snarl there's a sudden arm gripping Creel's own before Victor attempts to shove him back and away from Lyn. A lot harder.
*
Unmoving, stubbornly, the girl stands her ground as Creel comes her way. Those meaty hands do send her back without much effort at all. A few feet back, and now on her rump, she hisses and moves to get back onto her feet, rubbing at the now tender cheeks. "No! I ain't like dat, I jus' ain't lettin' y'leave wit out payin'. I don' know y', or like y', well 'nough t'pay for y'." Then, there's Creed. Skittering closer to the pair, she pulls on the beastial man's arm and trys to lead him way. "I got dis. Dis ain't y'fight. M'jus' havin' words with de man here."
*
Attention is drawn towards Victor when he decides to intercept. He's braced himself somewhat, and the shove sends him staggering back badly. Surprised, but the pleasant sort. His hood's sent off again, but this time he doesn't bother to put it back up. "Ohhh… yeah. THIS is the kinda stress relief I wanted. You look like you can take a punch. Don't let me down!" He then shifts to assume a boxer's stance. It's actually very competent. Sliding forward, he then twists into a forward straight at Victor's chin. Sure, for him it's probably going in slow motion, but at least there's nothing TECHNICALLY wrong with his form or attack… might be something to a mundane opponent!
*
"Darlin' it just became my fight," Victor says, not really seeming to be all that bothered by the weight of the slender woman on his arm trying to draw him away. Besides, the man was coming back at him and looked like he might half-way know how to fight. Good.
"No gutting," he quick-promises Lynette, then the man is bringing his arms up, blocking the straight punch with a rising arm while his other hand balls into a fist aimed at the gut off the large figure.
*
"No guttin'." Lynette repeats, holding the man to his word. She wasn't a fighter, she knew that, but even scrawny girls have pride now and then. Releasing Victor's arm, she stands away from the pair and watches. Her body makes way to be behind the bar, so that it could be used for cover should that be of need. the words 'stress relief' settle in her ears from before, lingering, and soaking away any rage she seemed to have for the bald man. Now she was simply a spectator.
*
"I see how it is. Gotta protect your girlfriend, huh? Tch. She sure can't protect herself!" Now he can start talking it up again, at least. This is the natural state of things. Meaningless chatter and violence. That's comfort. Victor might be a touch surprised to find that Creel shifts forward, muscles tensing as he takes the solid slug to the midsection. He's lifted almost off his feet, but at the same moment is launching a brutal short left hook, aiming to return the favor with a hard SMACK to the side of his face. "You think you can gut me…?! I'm just PLAYING AROUND!" Ignore the pained wheeze.
*
"Yer lucky…," Victor says as he staggers back, having worn the full force of the counter punch with little more then a stagger back and already seeming none the worse for it. "She's not as 'cuddly' as I am when she gets going…" The man's comment about playing around just makes Victor smirk, the sort of smirk that bares the slightest hint of fang and might give away his 'less-than-human' nature. "Let's play then."
With that he launches into a combination of punches, straights, swipes and backfists that would probably have the average human looking dumbstruck (and pummeled). Creed is a big guy, but he's fast as hell even when he wasn't using his claws.
*
That was a solid hit. Creel is absolutely sure that he struck Victor as good as he got, but he barely even seems affected. He notices the fang, eyes widening in surprise before the onslaught begins. All he manages in the midst is to bring his forearms up and cover his face and neck, but before it's even done he crashes backwards, hitting the ground hard with a crash. Bruises cover his forearms and a couple blows that snuck past to his face, and he's wheezing heavily. "No…" he hisses out, shifting to slap both hands upon the floor. His expression is anything but defeat. "No. I don't lose… I DON'T LOSE ANYMORE!!"
*
"Get used to it," Victor smirks. He's enjoying this, a chance to cut loose a little even if he has to keep his claws and teeth to himself. Plus there was a little sadistic joy in fighting someone who can hit basically as hard as him. "I can do this all night…yer' look like like we should be askin' *you* if you can take a punch."
*
"You don't get it…" Creel growls, before suddenly his hands begin to shift. They take on the oaken color of the floor panels, running up and across his shoulders. His clothing assimilates into his body, and when he pushes back to his feet, he seems to be constructed entirely of solid wood. A fist slams into his open palm, as his newly oaken face grins towards Creed. "You want to try Round 2…?!"
*
Lynette blinks then, watching as Creel begins to 'shift' into his new form. Glancing between the pair, she nibbles into her full, lower lip, and waits to see what 'round 2' will bring. "Y'all wanna drink after dis s'ova?" She questions the pair as she moves to the register and slips in a few bills. Was she now paying for Creel's drinks?
*
Victor? He actually has the wrong reaction compared to most when that wooden exterior spreads over the man. He's grinning. "I could use a new toothpick or ten!" he nods, flexing his hands and letting his claws extend. You can't 'gut' oak after all, you can just make firewood!" Lynette's offer for drinks? He just shrugs. Might as well ask a fish if it'd swim later."
*
It seems that Creel is a good bit heavier, given the footsteps going forward. Presumably he's a mutant or something similar; no real way to tell. Also, Victor's nose no longer detects ANYTHING organic. As far as his superhuman senses can tell, everything living about the man is fading away now, and it's just oak through and through. "BRING IT!!" He swings. Surprisingly, he's not any slower now. Not that he was really near fast or technical enough to threaten Victor in the first place, however!
*
That oak would probably hurt Victor. It -does- hurt when he gets hit. Problem is, his healing factor tends to make it go away pretty quickly and he's not really standing still. Raking claws that can cut into metal slash across those oaken arms, leaving rents in their wake before he crouches down almost cat-like and launches himself in a big, hairy, angry cannonball at Creel.
*
Creel continues to strike with speed and skill, swinging around his arms viciously. Horrible gouges rake into him, but there's no real reaction from the large man, just an impotent snarl. The grazing blows he manages are harmless, and he's slammed backwards. Heavier, but not so much that he's not launched into a wall, thumping down on the ground and looking over his wounds. "Tch…!" Wood's not going to cut it here at all. He glances around to see what everything else is made of, pushing to his feet. "Claws, huh. So you're both freaks like me, eh?"
*
"Don' t'ink 'freak's dey right word f'it. S'not a nice word." Lynette warns with a maternal waggle of her finger. Two brews are set out now, both ice cold and ready for the taking once the pair are done with their dance.
*
"Better to be a freak then an idiot," Victor sneers, but he does withdraw his claws for the moment. He'll turn, back towards the man still on the ground and picking up his drink. "Now drink yer drink, say sorry to the lady and pay for it, or get the hell out of here before I practice my wittlin'."
*
"Nothing wrong with being a freak." growls Creel. But when Victor backs off, the wooden man looks a bit conflicted. Sure, he could keep rampaging. Tear the building down. Probably win in the end. But he's not particularly gain anything from it, outside letting the cat out of the bag… he hadn't intended to display his power at all yet. Instead he marches forward, first few footsteps tearing up hunks of oak beneath, each one regenerating the clawmarks on his body. "Sorry about the floor. Your boyfriend plays rough…" He then moves to thump himself back into a seat, causing it to creak beneath his weight. "The hell are you? You don't move like nothing I've seen before…"
*
"N't'ing wrong at all wit it. Y'right 'bout dat. N' don' worry 'bout it, chere. Y'gonna be nice t'me n'mine now?" She questions with a soft smirk before setting Creel's own drink down infront of him. "Don' worry 'bout de drinks. I payed 'ready." She explains to Victor and leans over the counter, taking a gander as said floor. Her lips bunch from side to side, as she silently wonders what to do about said damage. Stepping away from the bar, she flips the sign to 'Closed' and starts cleaning up the tables. She did still work here, after all.
*
"Not like anythin' else," Creed answers, taking his own drink to his lips and draining a good portion of it before shrugging his shoulders. Rough? That actually makes him give a rumbling laugh of amusement. "You should see the last guy."
*
With an exhale, the wood is dismissed. Flesh ripples over Creel once more, his clothing settling back into place also. He still has the bruises, however, and winces in pain now that sensation has returned. Taking his offered drink, he sips at it more gingerly. Outside the footprints on the floor, there's no real lasting damage… luckily. "Heh. I'd have hated to piss you off a few weeks ago. And I woulda tried. But I ain't so weak no more. Not a nobody…!"
*
"We don' t'ink y'nobody, sugah." Lynette promises the man after coming back around and tossing some trash. The fresh dishes, however, are slipped into a sink that gets a wash of hot water and suds. "Y', well, y'seem t'got s'mt'ing to prove." The girl murmurs, glancing over toward Creed and then back to Creel. "Y'got'a name? M'Lynette." She offers without hesitation and then tosses a few bouncy kinks Creed's way. "'n dat's Vict'r."
*
"Only a nobody if you let yourself be one." That's about as much words of wisdom as Victor offers on the subject, but given the rate of drinking he's attempting? Maybe he thinks he'll find more at the bottom of the glass.
*
A fist slams on the counter. "Damn right!" Creel snarls in agreement. "But you need POWER, too. Some are born with it. Others earn it. Others…" Creel turns his hand into glass for a few moments past his drink, grinning. "Just get lucky." He finishes it off, setting the glass down as his hand returns to normal once more. "Call me Crusher. Crusher Creel. Might of heard me on the news, slipping out like that…"