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When he had first heard the details of the job, Kraven was ready to dismiss it out of hand. A teenage girl runs away from home, and they call this a hunt? But the more details unfolded, the more intrigued he became. What this girl had done, and to whom. Kraven was no stranger to the magicks they spoke of, though he did not practice them himself. Yes, he could find this girl. And the payoff, or at least the promised payoff, was a bonus.
So he had set to the task some time ago. Asking questions of those who may have seen her, following up on stories, and investigating locations she had possibly visited. Though time had long since faded the scent of the girl on the bit of cloth they had given him, his senses were sharp enough to pick it up; if he came across her, he would recognize it. And so the search has brought him here, to a bar in Harlem. He steps in through the large doors, surveying the gathered patrons, and taking in a deep breath to measure the scents of those within. There is something here, that much he is certain of. He takes another step, shaking snow and water from his shoulders and hair. There is no reason he can't work and drink, right? Kraven moves toward the bar.
*
Reasons are rarely given as to why things happen. Sides are taken, lines are drawn, and the girl had always feared someone would come after her one day. Often nomadic, just months ago she had decided to stick around New York for whatever reason, and she wasn't the only one. The smell that lingered on the cloth was youth, and a mixture of sweat, summer lilacs, and honey-suckle. There was something else to it, too, something of iron, copper, and something chilled and reptilian.
The bar was sparsly populated that night, probably due to the snow storms that continue to flood the city with inch after inch of perfect powder. A few regulars dot their tables, but the room is mostly full of the aromas of booze, cheap food, and of course, smoke from both cigarettes and cigars.
"Well, 'f y'stayin', I t'ink y'should help m'work, amore." A girl's voice muses with a smirk as she directs her commentry toward the massive figure sitting across from her, all scruff and pelts. Before he can answer, she reaches over and caresses his bearded jaw. "I get y' n'otha beer." Dressed in a sweater, jeans, and boots, the dark skinned girl with flooftastic hair shuffles behind the bar, setting the fresh brew before Creed and then noticing a new face bellying up to the counter. "Evenin'!" She greets kindly. "What c'n I get y'?" She asks Kraven.
*
"Hey, I'm workin'. I'm bouncin' folks. Remember that…uh…toothpick guy?" protest comes from said figure, but his voice carries humor and amusement as he sits at the bar, a drained mug still in his hand passed away as she offers to replace it while the scruffy man sits. He'd shrugged out of his coat, leaving it folded (sorta) and resting on the stool beside him, but it was unlikely he'd need to take any active means of stopping people sitting down next to him. Victor Creed was the textbook example of 'kinda mean lookin'' and then some.
The sound of the door opening doesn't get an immediate reaction, Victor doesn't turn around right away, but the man shifts a little in his seat, a frown on his bearded face as he raises his drink to his lips before it's sat down once more and the man sniffs the air.
*
"Stolichnaya," Kraven says, his deep voice practically booming, the accent clearly Russian. He doesn't offer a smile in return, or even a kindly greeting. "A glass, and the bottle." His eyes cast about the room, falling on Victor for a moment. That one could be a challenge. Perhaps. Something about him screams 'apex predator'. Just the kind of fight Kraven might enjoy. But his purpose here tonight isn't to flex his muscles or dismember some random man, no matter his size. "And I am looking for someone," Kraven continues, eyes bearing down on the girl again. "A young woman. Dark skin, lithe figure. Family name LaCroux." Yes, he knows it's her. Her scent gave her away. But he'll string her along for now, perhaps try to make her uncomfortable. This might be more fun than he initially thought it would be. "Do you happen to know such a girl.. I am sorry, I did not catch your name?" He gives a grin, but it's not a nice one.
*
"What now?" The girl blinks, the name not meaning much to her, or else it's something lost with the boom of the man's voice. A few more blinks and she turns, studying the names of the booze that line the wall, trying to find something similiar to the word given to her. "Ah! Found it." She beams, setting a glass down, and bottle, as requested. Even if he doesn't smile, Lynette keeps her own; her full lips curling pleasantly. Then, he starts talking, and her smile begins to fade. "M'dat girl." She answers, solidly, but doesn't give her first name when requested. "What y'wan' 'n' why y'lookin'?" That grin is enough to make her shiver, and turning her attentions toward Creed, she murmurs out to him. "Honey, could y'go tell Jimmy ova dere dat we closin' up? Be nice dis time, non?"
*
"Vodka darlin'," Victor answers, but it seems that Lynette found it herself. Her request? It's heard, he'll probably even do it, but first? The big man turns, drawing himself to full height as he stands opposite the man who smells of scents 'Sabertooth' is all too familier with. "You're a long way from home 'comrade'," Victor speaks, but his words are in suprisingly clear Russian. "Best not be making a mess in other people's houses."
Switching back to English he steps forwards, moving towards 'Jimmy'. "Hey!" he backs, "lockin' the door, time for you to get out!"
*
He wasn't expecting her to cop to it immediately. "Well. That is interesting," he says, moving to pour himself two fingers of vodka from the bottle. Kraven lifts the glass toward Lynette, and gives a toast, not bothering to check his volume. "Zazdarovje," he says, and slams the liquor back. Victor gains his attention, the Russian language a surprise coming from the large fellow. But the use of 'comrade' seems to be what strike him the most. "Your Russian is very good, my friend. I am surprised to hear it from your like. But if you call me 'comrade' once more, I will rip your tongue out of your throat and feed it to my dogs." He gives Victor a toothy smile, and pours another glass of vodka, before turning his attention back to Lynette. "You are a girl with an interesting story, Miss LaCroux. You did not think to run forever, and that no-one would come looking? Pour yourself a drink, little one, on my bill. It may be the last one you enjoy."
*
Lynette frowns at Victor barks. "I said nice!" She exclaims, only to see Jimmy heading out as instructed. He offers a way toward her, promising to see her tomorrow, 'Miss Lyn'. "Y'stay warm t'night, ok sugah? Be seein' y'." Then the shop is closed. Moving toward the door, she sets the lock and turns off the 'OPEN' sign. The threat tossed toward Victor has her glancing at the massive figure, and back to Kraven. Then, she's spoken to. "Jus' a story. Non, I t'ink 'bout it all de time. I jus', well m'tired 'f runnin'. So, I ain't." The comment about the drink has the girl quirking a brow. "I don' t'ink y'should be treatin' me eitha. Speak y'peace den get outta de bar."
*
A laugh, an actual bark of a laugh comes from Victor as he turns. Seems he carries some doubt to the threat, even if he likes the spunk that brings it. "See," he says slowly, moving back towards the bar and rolling his shoulders lightly. "She actually wants you to talk. Me? I'm all for guttin' some fool who comes in and starts by threatenin' me and mine. Better talk fast before her patience runs out and we move on to my approach." He smiles, but it's a vicious smile, eyes narrowed and the slightest hint of fang visible in his expression. "Very fast/"
*
"Prey always tire long before their predators," Kraven muses, before lifting his glass again and drinking. The vodka won't affect his reflexes or his senses, not in these small quantities. And then Victor approaches again, showing those teeth. Kraven grins right back, turning so he can keep his eyes on both the girl and the very large man. "If I see a fool, I will direct you to him," he retorts. "You're wanted back home, Miss LaCroux. I have been asked to return you to your family. I was hoping to do this with as little violence as possible, but it seems your friend is set on making a mess of this place. I have no doubt that he is very strong, and those teeth.. well, I have trophies that bear a striking resemblance." He pours another. "And I know better than to try to take you by force. I know what you are, little one." And quick as lightning, Kraven whips a dart from inside his jacket, hurling it the short distance at Lynette, aiming for her neck. Not poison, but a tranquilizer. If it doesn't hit, well, he'll be in trouble. But if it does, it'll take only seconds to knock her out. The other hand moves in concert, drawing a large blade from inside his jacket; a twelve-inch curved kukri blade, his weapon of choice, and kicks a bar stool at Victor with enough force that if it misses and hits a wall, it would splinter. And he's ready for the inevitable attack from the guard dog.
*
ROLL: Lynette +rolls 1d10 for a result of: 3
*
"M'family's dead. Dey all gone, n' I ain' goin' back dere. Neva. Eva." She explains flatly, her own teeth starting to grit as she hisses through them. Tense, visibly so, she moves toward the edge of the bar, only to feel that sudden 'prick' of a needle sinking into her flesh. Growling, she reaches up and rips at the dart, looking at it before feeling her head swim. He eyes flutter and before long, she glances Victor's way and crumbles onto the floor, out cold.
*
Well, he better be ready, because it certainly comes his way fast. The moment the dart impacts, Victor's already moving. Hell, he was probably moving while it was still in flight. The noise that comes from his throat isn't really human, odds are Kraven would recognize it as remarkably similar to a jungle cat. A -very- pissed off jungle cat. That chair? He actually seems to leap onto it and -off- it before it even passes him in flight, sending the object deflecting into the ground with a shower of splinters from the force of the throw and the redirection all in one. Victor's arm comes down in brutal fashion, training and savagery built from both nature and a near century, but he doesn't try to 'gut' the man like he'd promised, instead he moves to sink claws into the man's wrist and forarm in a way that would cripple most human beings. He'd had enough limbs hacked off lately, so he wasn't going to let this fight start with that.
He does of course, have two hands, the other? It comes flashing up towards the man's face to try and rake it viciously. Kraven's got a choice being pushed at him. Loose the weapon or lose some eyeballs.
*
Kraven lets out a gutteral roar of his own, seeing Victor coming at him like an enraged tiger. And as fast as he is, which is fast, Kraven doesn't manage to avoid the clawed hand to his wrist. He's reluctant to drop the knife, but that other claw coming toward his face makes the choice clear; the Hunter moves to deflect the incoming blow, releasing the blade and twisting out of Victor's immediate reach. The evidence of the wound shows as blood drips from his arm. It isn't useless by any means, but damage has been done. He growls, and drops to a lower stance. He'd fought animals not unlike this one before, hand to hand, and won. Their heads were on his walls. This would be no different. Break the arms, cut off the air supply. Finish it with the knife. Simple. Clearly, Kraven is not prepared for this kind of fight. He knows better than to rush the beast, instead waiting for it to come to him.
*
Victor doesn't leave him waiting long, a fury of claws and teeth, but he's an odd beast. Wild and savage as any, but showing all the signs of a trained fighter. The mutant moves like he intended to rip Kraven apart piece by piece, but he's starting at the limbs. He wants to disable the man first, ask him who had sent him before he ends him. The strength and speed of his opponent does actually suprise Sabertooth, but he doesn't seem to slow down on his attack in the slightest. Human? Superhuman? Everything bleeds. The arm wound was first blood and Kraven was right, prey tended to tire before predators…and Victor Creed hadn't counted himself as prey since the day he'd gutted his own father.
*
TO BE CONTINUED.