2392/Just a stray

Just a stray
Date of Scene:	09 July 2020
Location:	Domino's Safehouse, NYC
Synopsis:	Creed and Domino have a merc meeting about potential targets.
Cast of Characters:	Victor Creed, Neena Thurman

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Victor Creed has posed:
There aren't any lights on in the small two room, efficient safehouse currently in the possession of Domino. The new visitor doesn't need lights at all anyway, so there would be no reason to turn them on.

He took his time to snoop around, to look at things, to glean formation mostly through scents: there's a vast wealth of knowledge to be pulled just from other people's scent markers on clothes and objects.

Now, though, the big man has heard the return of the owner, and has settled to recline in a leonine lounge in the kitchen, seated on the counter. He's dressed in 'civvies' today; a mix of desert camo and leather. The only chair he found wouldn't take his size or weight, so he lounges near the sink, with one of his long knives out, using it to slowly and methodically scrape reddish flecks from under the extended talons on his other hand.

In the darkness, Victor is just a big, obvious mass in the darkness of the kitchen; even low ambiant light is very reflective off of the amber gold of his eyes.

Neena Thurman has posed:
Back in the barrio, spanish food is definitely all the rage, as in, it's the cheapest and easiest to get. And it's better here than anywhere else in the world, as far as Domino is concerned. As a result, the spot-eyed albino has a 'to go' package of rice and beans (arroz con frijoles!), and taking the stairs two at a time, appears to be looking forward to just hanging out and doing absolutely nothing for a few hours, at the very least.

One, three, five steps, her footfalls are easily carried in the echo chamber that is the walk-up. To the door, then, and she puts a hand on the door before all the little hairs on the back of her neck start to rise. It's a prickly feeling, and while it's not 'spidey sense', it's something of a hint, perhaps?

The feeling is summarily dismissed, however; she's got friends on the street, and all is quiet. The door is still locked, and shifting her package to the opposite hand, grabs her set of (mostly useless) keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open with a boot. Stepping into the place, she kicks the door closed with a hind-push, and starts the walk into her safehouse. The lightswitch is clicked on, and the step in falters and halts before a soft swearing can be heard, followed swiftly by the sound of a pair of pistols being drawn.

Domino smells like.. merc. Hoppes 9 and gun oil, leather, sweat, and mexican food. The guns are well cared for as they glint in the dim bulbed light, and she's moving forward, light on her feet, blue eyes narrowed in quick threat,

"What the hell are you doing here?" Notice, it's not the 'who'.. "And quick... so I can eat my goddamned dinner."

Victor Creed has posed:
"Y'shoot me, it's /your/ bloody floor and waste of time," snarks Victor coolly. There's only a mildly intolerant narrowing of eyes at the sudden arrival of the light, as his pupils constrict down from dark pools. He scrapes a little more with the knife, and flicks some of the crud he presumably removed with a flex of fingers into the sink to his side.

Victor settles a little, resting the side of the blade against one knee, rapping it there with a thoughtful manner. "Did ya take the Telmeco job?" he asks, tone chilly, but not specifically directly threatening. Most of Victor's statements are threatening just because of who he is, but he isn't going out of his way to appear so. This isn't a barbed question.

"G'damned dinner, huh. Smells good, what'er we havin'?" Victor questions, gaze sliding over her cargo.

Neena Thurman has posed:
It's strange, the meeting of mercs... the meeting of deadly mercs. There's a certain dance, a certain sort of conversation that must be had that is just as choreographed as a fencing match. Thrust, riposte.. and at the end of it, maybe blood, maybe a beer.

Domino grunts once and warily eyes the man even as the pistols are slowly holstered. She's never unarmed, even in her own little spot.

"Why, you jealous?" She shrugs lightly as she leans over to pick up her food, and walks it to the sparse table set up in the kitchen, not far from the large man. Gesturing towards a worn couch over her shoulder, she mutters, "That'll hold Cable. So should be fine for your ass." She gets a little louder with, "I'm having rice and beans." There's a brief moment when black lips form a quirked smile, "Not paid yet."

Pulling out a chair the moment the food, still in the bag, is set on the table, she thinks twice and spins to grab a beer. Two.. and tosses one at the large man.

"Sure you didn't show to ask, but now I gotta know why the interest."

Victor Creed has posed:
"I've got a follow-up for it; Telmeco's got a real taste for th' shit now," Victor says, without dancing around the subject at all, since she chose to answer him straight about it. Straight enough, really: she didn't try to manuever or trade, so he doesn't do it either. "Wanted scope o' what y' found; I don't trust this dirtbag to pay in full, considerin' a /counter offer/ against his ass. Doin' my /due diligence/," Victor snickers.

He drops off the counter with a low thud that will annoy the downstairs apartment; he weighs a lot and isn't trying to be silent or light on his feet. He slips his knife into the sheath on a thigh, catching the beer thrown at him. A still-extended talon on left thumb makes short work of opening it with a low click. Victor doesn't go to the couch yet, just looms near the counter a little longer.

"Not paid, huh. Funny, that. /Disrespectful/."

Neena Thurman has posed:
Dom opens her own beer, and with a brief, lifted gesture of a toast, takes a good sized swallow before setting it aside and on the table. She makes a show of pulling the food out of the bag, and there's the styrofoam container with sections cordoned off within. Sure enough.. rice and beans with a couple of empanadas tossed in for good measure.

The chair that she'd pulled out is used, and she sits on it backwards; something she naturally does with most chairs, and digs out a plastic spoon. Brows rise, and those blue eyes look sharp and keen as, "Reaaallly," exits her, long and slow. "He's always hemming and hawing about payday," is admitted. "But, I've known the guy, and he usually makes good." A shrugs lifts her shoulders and it's not until after she shoves a spoonful of rice into her mouth, chews and eats it, does she push the box over in offrance. Swallowing finally, Domino nods, "Okay, talk to me. What are we lookin' at?"

Domino is obviously interested.

Victor Creed has posed:
Amber, reflective eyes analyze the offering with an initial catlike distain, but he rolls his shoulder and releases the counter to step forward and take an empanada out of the offered container. Midway through the extension of hand he retracts his talons most of the way; not entirely (he still has nasty claws), but they aren't terrifying meat-rippers when he retracts like that. He leaves them out quite often.

"I think he's in deep shit, not payin' /lots/ of debts. Got two different ex-pals o' his want him and 'is whole 'empire' crushed. Maybe somebody wants his turf too: I don't really give a shit," Victor says honestly, eating the offering, and taking a very deep draught of the beer.

"If he's done payin', I'll make money off his hide." That's just fine with him! "You want vengeance for him stiffing you?"

Neena Thurman has posed:
Domino doesn't seem too afraid of those claws; she respects them, and there's a glint of something in those blue eyes that -likes- the danger it represents. She likes dangerous men.. which leads to amazing things or very, very bad things. Either way? The talons impress her.

There's the quirked smile again, in wry amusement and she reaches for that other empanada before it's gone. "Last week, I'd have killed you for taking that empanada," she says cooly, in partial jest. //Or tried to..// "But, wouldn't mind havin' a little chat with him." And taking out his buddies. "Thing is, I don't feel like bein' a kingpin right now. I got other things I gotta worry about instead of some upstart idiot thinkin' he can put a target on my back and collect."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor is a very, very bad thing with talons. This could go any number of ways, but 'dangerous' is always a cloud that stays around the man like a bloody aura.

The jesting 'threat' gets a cold sort of stare from Victor, a sort of disinterest, in a way. He's threatened so often it's not really worth a rise most of the time. Unless it's Logan. Then.... well.

"I wasn't suggestin' a chat, really. More a disemboweling, amidst screaming." There isn't really a joke there, Victor prowls finally to the couch and does sit. Seems it can hold him as well as Cable, though Victor is lounging a lot, making himself at home instantly. He's one step away from marking his new territory. All of Victor's presence is just that of a big, feral predator.

"Other things to /worry/ about? /You/?" Victor snorts, disbelieving that she worries about anything, lip curling up. He's famed mostly for his large saber-like fangs rather than claws, and one's in full view now.

Neena Thurman has posed:
The albino is more than happy about 'dangerous', and really, who would have someone like Sabertooth hanging out in her apartment and //not// be worried? Other than her, anyway.

Domino sighs one of those 'infinite patience' sort of sighs, and shakes her head, "No.. that's what I meant. I don't 'chat' with anyone I won't end up killing, ultimately." Geez! "Shall I say it a bit louder for the folks in the back, or have you gone informant and lookin' to set me up with the guys in black?" She's joking, really.

"C'mon, Creed." Domino shifts in her seat and takes up her beer again, swallowing another good draught before setting it down. "Yeah, worry about. Damned fools interrupt enough time and I feel like an old gunslinger with all the upstarts tryin' to take down the quickest draw just to make a name for themselves." Not. Happening.

"They're like little gnats."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor has never been /extremely/ quick on the uptake; he's sharp, but only when it comes to a hunt. Clever banter isn't his strong suit, but he isn't taking things personally either.

Victor does, indeed, recognize she's joking, and there's a snorted rumble of a laugh out of him. Victor's laughs are ragged and heavy, and usually make people uncomfortable. His humor usually leaves a lot to be desired for most people, but they're both of somewhat dark humor, in this room.

"Send me some. I like the little gnats," Victor offers, roving his free hand to the arm of the couch, pricking at the cloth absently with his claws. Can't have nice furniture with a cat in the house. "Speaking of gnats. Much 'fun' with the X-fuckheads lately?"

Neena Thurman has posed:
If he pees on the couch, Dom is going to grab the biggest hose she can and...

Dom's wry smirk turns a touch broader but never quite straightening out from it's quirk. Finally pushing from the table, the albino merc grabs up her beer and pulls her chair a little closer so there isn't quite so much between them. Still she sits backwards in her chair, allowing for more room to sit while armed, it turns out.

Leaning her chin on her hand as it drapes across the back of the chair, her other hand still holds the beer. "Actually," and the word is drawn out again, "They might be comin' to their senses." Is there hope? Nah.. more like a grudging respect for a freaking OMEGA mutant. "They're tryin' to find their way to actually agreeing that killing might actually be the only solution to some problems." She offers this with a touch of amusement again. "I'm not holdin' out much hope that it'll actually hold."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor scratches his bearded jawline, up against the side of his long dirty blonde hair, teeth still exposed due to his expression. He's baffled by her news about the X-Types, deciding what exactly to make of that.

"Doubt it. The guilt alone'll kill 'em," Victor comments, snorting. "...which I'd love to see." He's being nasty, but also honest. He's not much of a liar, really; there's not much point to him. He likes his straightforward style.

"What ELSE is goin' on in the X-camp?" Victor wonders, curiousity evident, as he returns her approach with a slight lean-in as well. She wants to share, he'll listen... and store away a lot of it for later, no doubt.