15321/Byron The Bull

Byron The Bull
Date of Scene:	06 July 2023
Location:	An Expensive Home in a Cul-de-Sac, Georgia
Synopsis:	Byron
Cast of Characters:	River Banks, Victor Creed

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River Banks has posed:
    Byron "The Blood Bull" Buller was a major player in the Dixie Mafia, a loose band of organized crime lords in the Deep South. Some time ago he had made a loan to a desperate young thief to cover the medical costs of her step father's sudden hospital visits. With interest compounded, it'd been a tidy sum that the thief had been robbing banks to pay back. And usually things went smoothly.

    Until they didn't. And payments got missed. And he didn't believe a lick of 'a titan showed up' and interrupted the heist.

    So he sent A Problem her way in the form of Sabertooth and told him to 'have fun'.

    And then she disappeared off the radar again after being loaded into a vintage mustang and taken out of New York.

    SO Byron Buller, called The Blood Bull for his blood money enjoyment, was smoking an expensive cigar in his nice study in his very nice house in a gated neighborhood after bullying his rented maids around for a couple of hours, feeling rather good about himself as he kicks his feet up to watch the evening's baseball game.

Victor Creed has posed:
    The Blood Bull was not /entirely/ stupid. He had had the presence of mind to engage with his particularly vicious mercenary through intermedaries, to keep himself away from the menacing mutant. And ordinarily, that might have been a sound idea.

    Unfortunately for the Blood Bull, having to go through a series of intermediaries to track him down had done nothing more than make Victor Creed even angrier. With all of the effort that the Bull had put into covering his own tracks, just a little bit of that extra effort provided to his contractor might have been nice. Not that Sabretooth had not appreciated the extra challenge of his target's mutant abilities, but it is nice to go in knowing about them ahead of time.

    Victor waited until the maids had departed (he had no interest in ruining the day of those who were just hired for a job), and then slipped into that very nice house. It did not take long for his nose to make out the scent of a cigar wafting down the hallway. He wrinkled his face up, and slowly makes his way towards his employer. Perhaps soon to be former employer.

River Banks has posed:
    Lots of middle people. Sometimes information gets lost, but not a one knew that the robber was a powered individual.

    CRACK! Someone on TV had a great hit with a bat, and the ball goes sailing, just inside the foul line. The crowd goes wild! The man in the big, leather easy chair gives a hoot and hollar, chewing on his cigar as he reaches for a glass that he neglected to fill with alcohol -- well. That's going to be fixed.

    "Hey, Rosa!" he calls out, "Rosa! Did you bitches leave already?" he hollers, then grumbles as he rouses himself up. He's a big guy -- buy normal standards. Five eleven, wide in the shoulders like he played football in the heyday of his youth, and a beer gut. He has all the charming presence of a used car salesman.

    He grumbles under his breath about hired help and how he ahd to do everything himself as he makes his way towards the bar in his study, reaching up for a crystal decanter of brown liquor. He doesn't have the situational awareness to know he's in danger.

Victor Creed has posed:
    As tempting as it was to appear as Rosa, Victor instead decides to settle for another one of his favorite entrances. He listens to the large man amble in the direction of the bar and then slips into the room. For a big man himself, he can move rather quietly. The catlike part of him, perhaps.

    "They all left already," comes the voice in a near growl from just behind the Bull. "Just you and me now." He jerks his hand over behind him to indicate the tv. "And the Mets. But they suck."

River Banks has posed:
    "JESUS CHRIST!" Byron yelps unchraacteristically high-pitched, and he wheels around, the whiskey decanter held in his hand and spilling a little on his shirtsleeve as he turns to look up -- and up at the *creature* in front of him. He didn't like mutants. He didn't like metas. He didn't even like most plain humans, but his eyes go wide realizing who's standing in his study.

    "They said you were big -- but didn't realize they meant physical, too." he trie to recover himself, sets the bottle back on the bar and runs his hand over his charcoal hair, sweeping it back.

    "What can I do for you, Mr. -- how do you prefer to be addressed?"

Victor Creed has posed:
    "What the fuck did you think they were talking about, my dick size?" Victor laughs a bit as he regards the man, watching him try to regain his composure. Knowing that that is likely a valiant effort, but unlikely to succeed.

    His voice retains that guttural sound as he continues. "/You/ can call me Sabretooth. I reserve Mr. Creed for those who treat me professionally." He tilts his head, the hair atop his head flopping a bit as those yellow eyes narrow on the Bull's. "Have you been treating me professionally, 'Mr. Bull?'"

River Banks has posed:
    "Look, I don't judge what people judge on." Buller states gruffly, trying to appear tough -- but he's not fooling anyone. He turns, and pours two glasses of whiskey -- one for himself, one for Sabretooth himself, which is offered up to him.

    "You were commissioned through some handlers to scare the shit out of a girl who thinks she's a bank robber. You did. You got paid. If you didn't get paid you have to take that up with Luke Wyndham. I sent the money." he states. "Professional as we get in this business." he drawls, and shoots back his whiskey. It burns.

    "You *did* get paid, didn't ya?"

Victor Creed has posed:
    As the glass of whiskey is handed to him, Sabretooth takes it and instead leans forward, the bulk of his mass getting very much in the personal space of the Bull as he carefully sets the glass back down on the bar. "I find it's rude to drink with a man and then gut him."

    He straightens back up and then looks down at the Bull, his face still showing some contempt. "Oh, I got paid. I'm not sure if you had planned on that or not. See, in my business, we like to be prepared. If you're not prepared, things go sideways." He lifts up one hand and curls all but the index finger, and pokes the Bull in the chest. "You did not provide all of the information on the target. Which, at best, means you are incompetent. And at worst..." He tilts his head. "Maybe you were hoping I wouldn't come to collect, if your little thief caught me by surprise with one of her tricks."

    His fangs glint as his mouth twists into a grin. "So which is it, Bull? Are you stupid, or a cheat?"

River Banks has posed:
    He stares. His jaw slacks, but his mouth doesn't open as he regards Creed and tries to hide the fear in his eyes.

    "I was told you were one of the best trackin' down slippery types. She went from Miami to Mobile, to Charleston to Chi-fucking-cago, to Philly then to New York City. She doesn't operate in whatever city she's hidin' in. So I needed to know she could be found. And if she could be found, that she couldn't cheat outta what she owes."

    The man looks up at those fangs, and there's a little shudder.

    "Only thing I cared about was that she got scared enough to pay. Which -- she hasn't." he points out, and then he narrows his eyes. "Which means you got paid to deliver a message. Which, considering I'm still out the money she owes me, means she didn't heed it. Not my fuckin' problem you couldn't handle someone with a little water party trick."

Victor Creed has posed:
    "There's a bit of an urban legend out there," Victor begins, and then he chuckles. "Well, maybe it's kind of a rural legend, if you think about it." He just looks down at the Bull, without showing much in the way of emotion.

    "Says that if you are every in a forest, and come upon a grizzly, you should put your arms up and yell, and growl, and that if you look scary, you intimidate it back, and it goes away and you can survive." Victor looks down at the Bull, and then back up to his eyes. There is a bit of a growing sneer on his lips.

    "You buy into that legend, too? That when you're facing a stronger animal that has you dead to rights, you puff out your chest and act aggressive, and that somehow it'll cow the animal into place?"

    Victor laughs. "Because that's just fucking stupid." He reaches out again and pokes the Bull in his chest with one finger, this time letting a bit more of his natural strength come out. "I ain't Rose, or one of your other 'bitches'. You can't intimidate me with your pretend tough guy act." He snickers. "We both know you're about two seconds away from wetting yourself."

River Banks has posed:
    It's true. Byron is used to bullying with backup. There's no one to save him now.

    He swallows, nervously, and blows his breath out through his nose. He can feel the strength behind the claw, feel the claw dig through his button-down shirt, his undershirt, and into his chest.

    "All right. What do you want then, Sabretooth? More money? Money I can give you." he chokes out. "You want a cut of the loan?!"

Victor Creed has posed:
    "All of it."

    Victor leans over towards the Bull, his breath hot against the man's face as he lets the full animalistic grunt out with each word.

    "You leave what she owes to me to collect, and I walk out of here." A pause. "More importantly, /you/ walk out of here, too."

River Banks has posed:
    "A-all of..." Buller blinks. He opens his mouth, the cigar having long abandoned his mouth and left on the floor, slowly smouldering away.

    "You know what? Sure. Loan transfered to you. Five hundred thousand dollars, minus seventy thousand for what she's paid back already. Great!" he chokes out. "Solid. She's your problem now."

Victor Creed has posed:
    There is a certain grin on Victor's face as the Bull accepts the terms. He takes a step back away. "Wise choice. Better her be my problem than me be your problem." He snorts a bit, and then turns to head out, slowly.

    "If I come across you again, 'professionally', you won't walk away."

River Banks has posed:
    Byron watches as Sabretooth leaves. It's not a retreat, no, it's a warning. He could turn and gut him like a fish... but Buller's satisfied Creed's desires for the moment.

    And once Creed's left the room, he counts to one hundred, standing perfectly still, and then collapses to his knees. How's he going to explain the missing money to his own bosses?

    Well. That's not Creed's problem, is it?