6428/When Your Best Isn't Enough

When Your Best Isn't Enough
Date of Scene:	03 June 2021
Location:	Central Nexus
Synopsis:	Clarice tells Mystique and Sabretooth about her Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Whiskey and beer is consummed. Murder and torture is discussed. She makes her day worse by nearly driving away the only family that she has - before they manage to patch things up.
Cast of Characters:	Clarice Ferguson, Raven Darkholme, Victor Creed

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Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice sits at the bar. She's showered, she's changed - and she's been to see the medical clinic. Apparently she'd taken a shot through the shoulder without realizing it, at the moment - but the best of medical care backed with mutant healers had her well on the way to mended.
    In front of Clarice sits a whiskey sour - made extra strong, at her request - which she sips at periodically. Her features are covered by a cool, almost expressionless mask - giving fair warning about her mood to any more used to seeing a more jovial expression on the usually youthful and energetic mutant.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
The moment Clarice was in the medical center, Mystique was contacted. She waited however, waited for the woman to be healed, calm down, shower and head out for a drink. That is when she sauntered into the bar like she knew nothing at all had happened, "Evening Clarice," she offers.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Mystique," Clarice greets the woman simply - lifting her glass to her lips for another drink. It's not dainty sips tonight. No - it's a fairly sizeable swallow, before she sets the glass back down. There's no snacks in front of her - and it's questionable whether she's eaten or not this evening. Perhaps she's simply planning on a liquid diet?
    "How are... things?" she asks vaguely, without any real interest in her tone or expression.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique doesn't sit, she leans with her back against the bar so she can face Clarice a little easier. "Platitudes accepted Clarice," she comments softly. "How about you tell me what happened, before you are too drunk to talk about it." She waves the bartender off again, not about to let the man in on Clarice's private shit.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice frowns slightly at the question - directing the expression stolidly down at her glass of whiskey sour, rather than at the often-intimidating woman beside her. An answer isn't immediately forthcoming. "It was... and X-Force job," she admits. "So I'm not sure how many of the details I should go into." It's best not to talk too much about X-Force ops with the Brotherhood - or Brotherhood ops with X-Force, after all.
    "But it went a bit sideways. It was supposed to be a fairly straight-forward rescue. It wasn't. A... a lot of our brothers and sisters died today. I tried to- I couldn't take the bastards down fast enough. I tried, but-" So many lives wasted. She picks up her glass again to take another swallow.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Her head cants slightly, amber eyes watching the plethora of emotions washing over the woman in that short amount of time. "You don't have to go into the details of the mission, but if it involved our people Clarice, and clearly it does, would it be possible to get just a little bit of information? How did our people end up dying?"

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice picks up her glass again - idly swirling the contents in silence. It's clearly she's piecing together what to say - and how much. She let's the silence drag on for what seems like an uncomfortable amount of time before taking another drink. "They were using enslaved mutants to hunt our own kind," she explains quietly. "They deserve to die. Every last one of them. If I knew where they were, Mister Creed and I-" It would be a blood bath, but one they brought on themselves. "I'd sleep better. Even if we couldn't free the slaves. Death is better than- than that life." Her voice remains relatively flat, and quiet as she speaks, her gaze never lifting from the counter.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique walks around behind the bar to pour herself a drink, it is taking a lot of her will not to lose her shit about that right here, right now. It wouldn't do any good and would likely lead to broken furniture. "I see," she offers, adding whiskey to some coke, really it was whiskey with a few drops of coke in it. "I assume that X-Force and the X-Men are continuing their investigation into the matter then?" She is already starting to think of places to search for information through the computer, dark places, secret places, the sort of places that most don't dare to go. Mercenaries might have information as well, human mercenaries, she knew a few she let live, perhaps they would know something.

"Drink tonight," she then says, lifting her glass. "Because come tomorrow, I join you on this hunt."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Yes," Clarice answers - and though her voice has remained relatively flat and controlled, venom seeps through that simple, one word answer. Yes, the investigation was ongoing. People don't get away with this. "We have to free them," she insists - looking up at Mystique. "One way or another. We can't let them continue like that." The pain of her own past is reflected in her gaze - it was no wonder she was so shaken by what she'd witnessed. Lifting her glass, she knocks back the rest of the contents, then sets the glass back onto the counter.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique knows exactly why Clarice is drinking, what she is thinking and feeling, not because she has experienced herself on that level but because it is written all over the woman's face. The cobalt mutant has known imprisonment, she has known torture as well, but this was a level far worse than either of them had endured. "I will begin my search tonight," she states, taking a drink of her whiskey. "There are places to look, questions to ask, people to threaten for information."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice offers a silent nod of her head. Has she just betrayed X-Force's trust? Did she //care// - when it came to something like this? Atrocities needed to be answered for. "If you're pouring..." she says instead - pushing her glass towards Mystique. Then fill 'er up.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique adds more whiskey to Clarice's glass. "I will make you a promise," she says as she takes another sip. "I will say nothing, do nothing, make any more against X-Force for the duration of this. I will work with them, within their set of rules when they are present, and help find who is responsible... and then you and I will destroy them."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "It'd be better if you made no move against them - in general," Clarice says drily. A small spark of humor appears for a moment, but it quickly fades. She lifts her glass towards Mystique as she adds, "But I'll take what I can get." Then she takes another deep drink from the glass. It certainly won't take the slender woman long to get drunk at //that// pace.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique offers Clarice a grin, taking the bottle with her as she moves around to lean against the bar again, "One step at a time dear, this being 'nice' thing is new to me." She takes a large drink from her glass, setting the bottle on the bar in reach of them both. "Perhaps if they don't all piss me off, this will be the beginning of 'reforming Mystique' and it will have all been because of you."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice lets out a snort. There's a chance the liquor's already getting to her. "Right. Because of me," she repeats. "They're not- they're really not that bad, you know X-Force. You'll like them. Some of them? Most of them?" She considers this - staring at her glass. "They're not as- none of them have a stick up their ass, you know? And they get it. That you can't always - that sometimes the expedient choice is the //only// choice." She drinks again. "Like today. Get as many of 'em down, as quickly as we can. It was the only way to //save// lives. Mutant lives."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique hmms softly, swirling the whiskey in the glass, "Interesting. I may get along with these X-Force mutants after all then, that is if they don't have enormous issues with me." She finally takes another drink, then pauses to add more to Clarice's glass. The way she figures it, the woman wants to drink to drunk, so she will get her there, then put her to bed when she passes out. "Don't get me wrong, I understand why the X-Men are the way they are, I just refuse to accept it. If you hurt mutants, you die."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Some of them might," Clarice answers - amusement briefly flashing across her features as she ponders what each of them would make of Mystique. Maybe it was the alcohol - maybe it was the slight shift in conversation - but her mood seems to slowly improving. She takes another drink from her glass. "I mean - what did you think they were like? Why did you think I was //with// them?" she asks - and she seems genuinely interested in the answer to this question.

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique shrugs, "I really didn't give it much thought. I assumed you were with those at Xavier's school, which mean X-Men and their cutsie, do-gooder ways. Beyond that, I never really gave it much thought." She takes another sip from her glass, then walks back behind the bar to find the grenadine cherry flavoring, which she pours into the glass with the whiskey... strange woman. "X-Force is something fairly new, but I prefer not to poke my nose into anything related to that school."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice shakes her head. "That's not me," she answers. Mystique should know this. She takes another drink from her glass that, thanks to Mystique, was now destined to always have something in it. "I mean - sure there's times when a softer approach is better, but you can't entirely- you can't take away the other options. You need to- we do what it takes to defend ourselves. To defend the ones who can't. You do what you have to."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Honestly the older mutant had not bothered to think about what it was Clarice did there, or for that matter what Lorna does there. She has never been welcome there and never would be, so it wasn't something she thought of that often. The only thing that played through her mind was that most at the school would rather live in peace and harmony with humans, when that simply would never be an option. There will always be some humans who feel threatened by Mutants and thus they will seek to destroy anything that mutants try to build for themselves. The fact that after all this time, Mutants still had /no/ voice in the United States was clear indication of that.

"Softer approach, by that you mean let a human live who clearly was attacking a mutant because they might be 'rehabilitated' or do you mean something else?"

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice shrugs her shoulders. "Well - it depends, doesn't it?" she asks. "What did they do? Were they forced? Were they manipulated? It we treat every offense against mutants as a capital crime we're just going to breed more fear, and more crimes against us. It's... it can be complicated. Somethings are straightforward, though. X-Force is really for the straight-forward stuff. Where it's okay if you blink someone in half because... damnit, that was the only way to save lives."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique smirks, "Mixed messages dear, drink more." She stirs the drink in her hand by swirling it again. "Even I don't kill everyone I come across simply because they are there and pissed me off, and yet that is all that anyone sees or remembers, because that is the 'evil'. X-Force will get that reputation in time, because that is what happens when you do what is right."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice considers this - sitting on a stool beside Mystique at the bar. She has a glass of whiskey in her hand, and juuust enough of a slouch to her poster to imply she might not be entirely sober. There's a faint scent clinging to Blink - antiseptic, a bit of blood - someone was visiting the medical clinic earlier, but is well on the mend.
    "Yeah," she muses quietly. "Yeah. Maybe. Probably. I don't know. What we did - what //I// did today - there's plenty that would call that evil, but it was- I didn't have a choice."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor Creed emerges from the hallway leading to the living quarters moving with his usual animalistic grace. Even though he's been warned to be on his best behavior when he's here, the other mutants still tend to give him a wide berth. He just carries an aura of violence wherever he goes, even when he's not actually planning on killing anyone. He's in his normal relaxed clothing.. tank top, faded camo pants and unlaced boots. Looking around, he catches a flash of blue from the bar area and heads that way, grinning a little when he also sees Blink there.

Coming up to the two women, he nods his head to Mystique, one of the few people he has respect for, "Heya Mysti, how's things? Got anything fer me ta do yet? It's boring up here." Slitted pupils shift to Blink, "Heya kid, what's got you drinkin with tha boss?"

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Watching Victor approach, Mystique is amused by how everyone seems to find another direction to go, or another place to be when he walks by. It's sort like watching rats abandoning a sinking ship.

"I'm afraid there is nothing presently, but very soon your nose will be put to good..." she stop, looking to Blink for a moment one brow raising. "Tell me Victor, how good /is/ your scent tracking precisely?"

Uh oh, Mystique is thinking again.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Mister Creed." Unlike almost everyone else on the asteroid - who doubtlessly would studiously avoid this part of the bar now - some of the tension that was still lingering in Clarice's form eases away as she flashing him a brief, small smile. It was a shadow of how she often lit up when seeing him for the first time in a while, however. "Job went a bit sideways today," she explains. "Just- couldn't take the assholes out fast enough. I tried. We could have used you, there."
    Right. //That// would have flown. Mystique - maybe. Sabretooth...?
    Her eyes flick towards Mystique - a frown briefly flashing across her features - but she offers no comment on the woman's plans.

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor leans over the bar and takes possession of a bottle of beer, then plants himself on a barstool. A taloned thumbnail flicks the cap off and he takes a drink. He shrugs a little, "Not like ya didn't know where I was. One of your gates an I coulda been killin them no problems. Could use the exercise anyway. Who were they, an why were you killin people? Thought you were goin all soft at that school of yers." He grins, flashing yellowed fangs, and takes another long drink from his beer.

Looking to Mystique he simply replies, "Real good, you know that. You've seen me follow guys fer days by scent. Big boss said I was like a bloodhound once or twice."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique hmms softly, swirling her strange mix of whiskey and grenadine cherry syrup. "I wonder how much you could glean off the battle field that Clarice just left. I don't know all the details, but I do know that as of this time, we have no idea who they are or where they came from."

Now she takes a sip of her drink, "If we could get any information off their scent, or any other strange scents, we might be able to help find these mutant enslaving and murdering bastards."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    As Victor takes a seat, Clarice's posture shifts - almost unconsciously - so she's leaning in towards him as she takes another drink of her whiskey. "It's not my school," she protests. "It's Lorna's. And I'm not soft." There's a hint of pique at the suggestion. "It all happened so fast I- I guess I didn't have time to think."
    Mystique's suggestion earns a faint frown from Clarice. That was exactly the suggestion she was worried might be made. Taking them there - to the battlefield - seems like it might be a step too far. She takes another drink from her whiskey which - let's be honest - isn't going to help her think this out clearly. "Maybe I could..." she starts uncertainly, "there'd be scents on my clothes," she suggests. They're just sitting on the floor of her room, in a heap.

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor snorts, "Thinking just slows ya down in a fight. Ya just do, and think about it later. Instinct is what ya need in a fight, ya gotta know what to do without stopping to think, cause stopping gets ya killed. And I'm just having fun with ya kid, I know yer not soft. Hell, you've even taken a chunk outta me to get my attention before."

He nods to Mystique, "I can sniff around, never know, I might pick up something that stands out an gives an idea where they came from."

Raven Darkholme has posed:
Mystique looks back to Clarice now, "She's too drunk to attempt teleporting, I would prefer not to end up half in the ground. Perhaps tomorrow will pop down and see what remains, if there are any scents you can still pick because clothing," she pauses there to set her glass on the bar. "is nothing compared to the actual site."

Stepping away from the bar one hand brushes over Victor's arm, a friendly gesture and nothing more, "For now I am going to go sleep and dream about maiming who ever is behind this."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I'm not soft," Clarice says again - this time in agreement. "You wouldn't stand for that. That's not what you taught me." She takes another drink from her whiskey - then reaches for the bottle to attempt another refill herself, this time. There's very minor spillage. "And I was - all instinct. I think you'd've been proud. It was awful, but it was a good fight." Both at once. "I wish you'd been there," she says again.
    She lifts her glass towards Mystique as the woman takes her departure - a faint frown crossing her features at the repeated mention of going to the site of the battle. She still isn't sure if that's a good idea - but she isn't thinking straight. "I'm not dumb. No blinking - not tonight."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor nods, "That's right, I know what you can do. You got good instincts when you let go and just use them, and you know how to use yer powers real well. But I wish I'd been there too, as I said.. boring up here. All metal and computers and everything's so proper. Nowhere to get in a fight, or have any real fun. Gotta be nice to everybody, they're all Brotherhood."

He laughs and takes another long pull from his bottle, "Yeah, I'm thinkin drunk teleporting is prolly a real bad idea. Dunno how good I could recover from bein in a wall or something."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Or a rock, or a tree," Clarice agrees. "I knew you'd hate it up here - but I'll take you down whenever you like. Except for tonight, of course. And I'm real glad you're here, Mister Creed," she adds, flashing him a smile. She takes another drink from her glass, and leans in towards him to such a degree that she's now resting on his arm - doubtlessly to the surprise and consternation of some of the other passing residents. "We could go down and have a tussle. Or find something worth hunting."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor Creed grins, flashing this fangs again, "Now yer talking my language. I bet we can find something worth doing and have some fun. Everyone up here is so careful to avoid me." He snorts again, "Course, people down there avoid me too, but there are so many more and it's not so easy to see me comin in a city or something. Can find people with the right attitude down there, hit a biker bar or something where they all gotta be tough in front of each other, then they don't bail when they see me."

He takes another drink, then pats her back heavily.. he's not trying to be rough or anything, he just doesn't have a light touch. "So what was so awful that ya gotta be drinking over it? You been though tons of stuff before, you've told me about it."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "We'll find something," Clarice promises, gesturing with her glass. Whether it's her own gesture, or the rough pat on the back that causes some of it to splash out is a moot point. It does - and she doesn't seem to care about it as she takes another sip. At his question, however, her smile fades and her form goes still against him. "It was... It was like what they did to me. Humans controlling mutant slaves. They were using them to kill other mutants. We have to set them free - we can't just... We can't leave them like that," she explains in a quiet voice. She knows, even the barest whisper and he'd pick up every word of it.

Victor Creed has posed:
A growl rumbles through him, "That kinda crap is why I follow Magneto. People who do that gotta be killed, ain't nothing worse than taking away our freedom. You know I don't think much of humans ta start, but when they do something like that it makes me wanna _play_ with them. Give them lots of time to realize what a shitty idea it was to ever think they could control mutants."

Those slitted golden eyes look down at her with something unusual in them... maybe concern? She's actually one of the very few people he feels something other than contempt for, and it's been years since he's seen her this affected by something. One large hand ruffles her hair as he says, "Hey, don't let it get to ya. We'll find them, and we'll kill them. Then we'll get the mutants they took out, an the smart ones will join us, and we'll keep going from there. Brotherhood grows a lot faster than baldy's school does."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "We'll kill all of them," Clarice agrees, her head leaning into that touch as she breathes his scent in deeply, and lets the breath out slowly. It helps - immensely. "I hope we can free them," she adds quietly. "They killed the slaves - rather than let us free them. They implanted them with explosives." A growl enters her own voice - and there was no doubt where she acquired such a mannerism, though she rarely shows it. "They're the worst kind of monsters." And look at the company she keeps!
    "We'll kill them all," she repeats.

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor nods, "Well, now we know, maybe Magneto can do something about the explosives. Gotta have a detonator, those are usually metal, he can disconnect them or something." He does, after all, have over a century of war behind him, he knows how these things work. People often forget that behind that animalistic exterior there's actually a rather keen mind. It's just, well, kind of broken in scary ways.

A little awkwardly, he puts an arm around her in an attempt to reassure her. At her words, he grins a little, then says quietly, "Well, I can be pretty bad myself, and you better believe we'll kill them." His eyes narrow, "When I find the ones in charge, they'll _beg_ me to kill them after a while. And I'll let them beg for a long time so they can realize how unhappy we are."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "You are?" Clarice asks in a teasing tone. See? It can't be //that// bad if she can joke about the situation. She finishes off her glass of whiskey, then sets it aside as she asserts, "I get one of them." It's not fair if Victor gets all the kills, after all. She takes another deep breath, finding comfort in his scent, before remarking wryly, "You really know how to put a spin on things." It doesn't seem like she has any attention of moving from where she is - tucked securely against and yes, reassured by the weight of his arm over her form. "I'm glad you're here."

Victor Creed has posed:
Victor shrugs, giving her a little smile, "I think you know I am. And sure, you wanna be there for it, you're welcome to be part of it. I know you can do what needs doing when it comes down to it. Just remember, it won't be quick or neat. This ain't just killing someone, this is teaching a lesson in pain and fear. Most people don't wanna be around when I do this kinda thing. And I don't wanna make you look at me different. I mean, you know what I am, but you've never really seen me at my worst. I don't wanna scare you away."

Another long pull at his beer empties it before he continues, "Ain't nobody else who's comfortable around me, hell, I think you even like me. I don't wanna lose that." He seems to be grasping for words. He can do twenty minutes on how to keep someone alive while removing their intestines, but admitting he actually has emotions other than rage and hatred is new ground for him. He pats her back again, "I don't have anyone else like you."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "You couldn't ever lose me, Mister Creed," Clarice promises in a quiet voice, her eyes closing as she remains relaxed in the one place - strangely enough - that she feels safest in this world. Or perhaps it's not strange - who would dare mess with the pair of them? "I owe you too much. And these men... they deserve every inch of pain we can give them."

Victor Creed has posed:
He nods, "Well, that's good. Just remember this ain't gonna be pretty." He looks down at her, then his look changes a little when she speaks the next part, "Is that all it is, you feel like you owe me?" That is surely not a hint of hurt in his tone, this is Sabertooth, after all. His gaze goes flat, "Don't you worry about that, don't have to hang around just cause you think you owe me something. We'll get the job done, cause I always finish my jobs. Then you can stop worrying about hanging around me and go back to following Lorna around or whatever." The arm is withdrawn from around her, and he starts to sit up straighter where he had been relaxing a moment before.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    He withdraws and Clarice's eyes open again - surprise, confusion and concern all warring on her features. "Mister Creed?" she asks. She's tired, and drunk, and it takes her a moment to run back through the conversation, and figure out what she did wrong. "What is it? What did I-"
    Is that al it is, you feel like you owe me?
    "No. Nonononono, Mister Creed, it ain't like that, I didn't mean it like that," she says hastily - almost desperately - as she wraps both of her arms around his. "Please. That's not what I meant."

Victor Creed has posed:
He's not exactly sure how to react to this. Normally someone who grabbed him like that would be flying across the room, possibly minus an arm. But this is Blink. At the same time, his emotions are about as broken as the rest of him, leaping from one place to another with very little encouragement. But really deep inside... everyone needs somebody. So she remains where she is and in possession of all her limbs as he growls, "So what did you mean? I don't need someone to pretend to like me cause they think they gotta, I been alone a long time, I can manage on my own."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "It's not pretend," Clarice pleads - fighting against the fear rising in her. Not a fear of what he might //do// to her. No - this is a very different fear. She struggles to find the words - despite her inebriation. Despite not having the healthiest relationship with her emotions, either. "I do owe you, but that's not why I- I owe the Brotherhood, and Magneto too, but I don't- It's not..." These are not the right words, Clarice.
    "You raised me," she finally says. "I don't have any other family. You're all I've got. Please, Mister Creed. I never meant it like that." Still she clings to his arm, her unnaturally green eyes locked on his features and expression anxious with worry.

Victor Creed has posed:
Looking down into her eyes, even he can see the emotions on her face, can tell it's more then the words she used. Blinking, he repeats the word that hit the deepest chord, "Family? You really think about me that way?" He considers the young woman currently attached to his arm... hanging on to Sabertooth's arm with all she can muster in her current state, and he lets out a deep breath, some life coming back into his eyes. "I mean.. Ah, hell kid." He _hugs_ her. Yeah, nobody else in the area believes it either. His ears pick up a mutter from one side, and the empty bottle whips across the room and smashes in the guy's face. He bolts, but Victor pays him no further attention.

After a moment, he lets her go and settles back again, pulling her against him with one arm. "I'm not so good with this kinda thing. But you're like family to me too. Nobody else takes the chance of spending time around me, you know that." Conveniently ignoring that he doesn't really give anyone the chance, and she just somehow snuck into his life while he was helping her recover from the Mutate program. But that's probably a little too complex for his rather basic and tempestuous emotional state. "We're good, don't worry. I ain't had family in a long, long time."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Don't you?" Clarice asks back. It's not something she ever would have thought in doubt - but in this moment? She's terrified.
    She relief, as he hugs her, is palpable as she practically collapses into his arms - a few tears managing to snake down her cheeks. She's not usually one for tears - but the day's been rough on her.
    "I really didn't mean it that way," she murmurs softly - relieved to be settled against him once more. "Don't scare me like that. Huh?" He can no doubt sense it - the way her heart was racing in her chest. Little by little, though, it begins to slow back to a more normal rhythm.

Victor Creed has posed:
He lets out a sigh, "Sorry, but I been fooled before, people I thought liked me, but just wanted ta use me or something. Might be I'm a little touchy about that kinda thing, I don't let myself get close to many people." One large finger wipes the tear from her cheek (yes, the claw is retracted) and he says, "Aww, don't do that. We're good, you put it wrong, I took it wrong, we figured it out. From now on, we know we gotta watch out for each other even more, that's what family does."

He considers her position against him versus the fact that now he needs another beer, but doesn't want to dislodge her. He stretches out his free arm and points a clawed finger at the nearest person growling "You. Get me a beer now." The target of his attention nearly bolts to the bar and grabs a beer, bringing it over to him and then retreating quickly. He pops the top and takes a drink, then returns to talking to Blink, "I think you need to get some sleep, you're a little bit of a mess."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    There are no more tears, thankfully. Clarice'll feel embarrassed enough about tearing up - even for a moment - if she remembers that part of the evening at all. "I'll always watch out for you," she promises - back to using that soft voice again - her eyes falling closed again.
    At the suggestion that she needs sleep, her only response is, "Do I?" Honestly - in her current state, the way she's collapsed against him as she breathes in his scent, and her heart rate continues to slow? She's at risk of falling asleep right there. It's probably all the whiskey.

Victor Creed has posed:
It's a strange picture for passers-by... The young woman comfortably falling asleep on, well, the Brotherhood's resident boogeyman. Victor holds her in place as she drifts off and finishes his beer. There's something strange in his expression as she sleeps against his chest. It's almost soft, like the raging beast that normally lives behind his eyes is taking a little break for a change. Once he finishes his beer, she is gently cradled against his chest as he stands and heads for the living quarters. When she wakes up, it will be alone in her own bed, fully dressed except for her shoes.