Owner Pose
Monet St. Croix Shopping. A competitive sport. A challenge. No matter what anyone might -say- in public or polite company, that was what it boiled down to at it's core. Shopping was competitive and cutthroat. Of getting that -perfect- outfit. Of showing one's wealth and prowess. At least.. Normally.
    But for the ever-vivascious and eternally perfect Monet St. Croix, this was not one of those days out in public. At least.. As there was no one to flaunt her social supremacy to.
    YET
Micola Maximoff From the looks of Micola, she is not on the wealthy side. Or she might be one of those undercover millionaires who just likes to dress in thrifted clothing and call it quirky. The neon haired woman is carrying a guitar case over her shoulder as she stops to look at some of the outfits in the windows along the malls pathways. "Not your color." she muses over some pastel pink prom dress.

For the moment she is caught in her own thoughts and looking over dresses with a curious look on her pale face. They probably cost a ton. And she didn't have anywhere to wear it!
Monet St. Croix One could almost -hear- the Wicked Witch theme playing from wherever Monet's walk mihgt take her over. Then she would glance over at the thing in the window and then over at Micola, "That is a monstrocity. whomever designed it should be taken to a back alley and be properly disposed of."

No matter what age one was, gender, lifestyle, etc, pink looked good on NO ONE
Micola Maximoff Micola gives a look over to the sudden arrival of a voice, "It looks like something you'd wear to a dystopian Easter party." she gives a chuckle to that. She wasn't sure who the woman was, but she did have a point. It wouldn't look good on her. "What color do you suggest as a go to for parties?" she asks her. She wasn't really sure if asking a stranger a question like that was a good thing...

But she was going to do it anyways. Sometimes strangers were far more honest than others!
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would glance at Micola, "The mere fact that you appear to have been considering that makes me question.." She would shrug over and move to cross her arms, "It's about portrayal, dignity, composure, and charisma."
Micola Maximoff Micola gives a look to Monet and there's a chuckle, "I'll admit I'm not the fashionista that others are. I'm probably hopeless in that realm." she admits to that. "You look like you've got some experience in these things though." she tells her. "I don't have much on the charisma side." she shrugs to that. "Plus I don't see a dress like any of these getting used on a regular basis...unless you've got a lot of social engagements." the woman states.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would shrug, "Merely as you are not a fashionista does not mean that you cannot take time and pride in your appearance." She would tsk over. "Unless you feel that the image and persona you are projecting is acceptable in it's current state."
Micola Maximoff Micola gives a look over to Monet and there's a thoughtful look given to the other woman, "Ah, that is true." she tells her. She looks down at herself and then back to Monet, "I dress in what makes me comfortable. I don't think there's anything wrong with my style, but it's not what everyone would wear." she states. "Which is alright. A lot of us are different in our likes and dislikes." the neon haired woman states.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would shrug, "You are presenting yourself to the world in what you wear. How you present yourself. ou are neglecting a very important thing if you merely go in what is comfortable. Clothes are the way you express youreslf to the world."
Micola Maximoff Micola's colorful head turns slightly to look at Monet, they were very stark in contrast. "And my expression of myself is that I'm perfectly comfortable with the way I look and the way that I am, but we are all taught differently on the ways of appearance and things I'm guessing." she states. She's not argumentative. It's actually very cordial on her end of things. "Since you seem to have a lot of knowledge of appearance, what is the first thing you'd recommend if someone were wanting to change their style or self image?" she asks her.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would glance at Micole and would do a light shrug of her shoulders. "In such a case, ultimately you are allowed to present yourself the way you wish to with the understanding of what the results will be. You could always do better.. but ultimately it is at your own decision."
Victor Creed Creed looks passing for a civil human being today. His long hair has been combed and pulled back into a pony tail that is tight against his scalp. He wears a long sleeve maroon shirt that is snug against his muscular torso. A pair light brown jeans similarly hug his thighs and calves ending in a pair of military style boots. His facial hair is neat having faced a razor at some point within the last week yet the stubble has formed to rebel against the clean lines.

The large man inhales deeply and takes in the scents around him, his gaze slowly scanning the sidewalks. What was he looking for? A look that could kill? Or just his next victim?
Micola Maximoff Micola gives a nod to Monet, "Very true words." she tells her. She looks back to the dresses in the window and she chuckles, "The pink one isn't that great now that I look at it more." she admits. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, sliding her guitar case from her left to her right shoulder as she does. That causes her to look in the direction of the very huge looking dude with the long hair. What were they just talking about? Judging appearances. She goes a bit quiet as she looks back to the window.
Monet St. Croix The presence of Victor Creed gets a low, low irritated glance from Monet. A slight swiveling of her posture, the eqiuvalent of looking over her shoulder. M is relaxed and continues to speak to Micola, sitll watching Creed cautiously but not blatantly.

"You wish something that compliments you and your style, your persona. It's how you present yourself. It's part of who you are. Clothes are part of your persona."
Victor Creed Creed continues along the side walk and grows closer to the pair as they discuss style and fashion. Head tilting to the side, he follows their gaze to the pink monstrosity and wrinkles his nose. "Might well go all the way red. Pink also seems like a... very weak crimson t'me."

No one asked him, but he volunteered anyway. Another pedestrian walks past him, an older woman wearing entirely too much perfume. Creed pinches the bridge of his nose in pain and growls. "Do y'have to bathe in that shit? Some of us need to breathe."

This response gains a startle from the woman who quickly speeds up, a small dog pops its head out of her bag and barks defensively at Sabertooth. This seems to amuse the large man. "Eh, brave but stupid. You remind me of someone."
Micola Maximoff You didn't need a third eye or danger sense to tell that the man was trouble. Or at least Micola didn't. She looks to Monet and there's a soft nod, "I've not heard it put that way, so thank you for the information." she tells her honestly.

Then the big guy is talking to them and she looks to him as he speaks, "Red, like...bright blood red or some muted red?" she asks him. The dog barking at the man makes her shake her head, "It's always the little ones that are crazy and think they can take things that outweigh them." she muses quietly.

"Are you looking for dresses too?" she asks Victor.
Monet St. Croix Creed's presence is noted and filed away, M keeping track of his positioning and slowly facing him, shifting her stance by a few degrees, arms going up to cross over her chest and despite the difference in bulk and height seemingly attempting to match him.

It likely wouldn't work.

Then the comment from Micola has her smrik upwards just a litlte bit in approval.
Victor Creed Creed nods his head in agreement to Micola regarding the little ones and then shrugs his broad shoulders. "Bright blood red or muted red. Ain't against the various shades except pink just feels like someone didn' use enough dye."

He shakes his head, "Nah. Only person I'd buy a gift for doesn't seem like the dress wearin' type. Besides, she'd probably split me in half for thinkin' I'd know how to pick one out for her."

Monet gets an up and down, Victor taking in her body language. "Are you ever not pissy? I'd say you'd look prettier if you tried smilin', but that old... and ain't really true. You'd probably get gawkers while snarlin' and climbing outta a trash can. Still... mind not directin' that at me? Gets my back up."
Micola Maximoff Micola gives a nod to something that is said, but the more she looks at Victor...the more she realizes that she's seen him before. His talk of bright blood red coincides with a flash of memory and she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment as she tries to not feel sick. "Blood red is a good color depending on the canvas." she states.

"At least you know what she likes and what she'd do if she didn't like it." she chuckles.

There's a look between him and Monet, both of them being strangers to her, "You two know each other?" she asks them.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would go to not quite squeeze her fists together, maintaining a relaxed, yet alert state. It would be hard to read her body language - but Creed could probably pick up the suppressed 'throw him into the sun' instinct that was for now restrained.

"Then she has you well.. Aware of how she prefers to be treated." So, so close to snapping out with something pointedly barbed but that would be held fast. They're trying to be on good terms.

"we're acquainted with one another."

Informative!
Victor Creed "She's like a daughter and a bit o' a mom. Not many I'd call a friend anyway. Don't make it sound like she's got me tamed, more like... She just knows what to do to help me take the edge off." Victor gives Monet a look of mild exasperation. "Stop coilin' up like a snake. Either chill out or do what you want to do. Standin' there middle of the ground just... ugh.. grates."

He nods at Micola. "Met a few times in passin'.. and Blood red is gorgeous on the right canvas. I'm partial to seein' it spackle the clothes of... Oh what do they call 'em these days? Deplorable Yea, I think that's the word. Nothing prettier then a bloody faced mutant hater. 'Specially after I just broke their nose."
Micola Maximoff Micola looks between the two of them and there's a bit of an awkward smile, "I'm Micola Lykaois. Nice to meet you both." she dips her head. She hefts the guitar case back up onto her shoulder since it was slipping a bit. She didn't want to get into the middle of the thing that was going on.

"Well...mutant haters should get punched in the nose if they are being snots. We get them a lot down in Bushwich." she frowns at that.

Then she looks to Victor, "And yes, I've seen you covered in blood before." she states in a cryptic tone.

"Welp, if you guys ever need a tattoo just look for Hunter's Moon, we aren't that hard to find! I've got to go get strings for this guitar and make it back before I have to open." she waves cheerily at them before she turns to head off to the music store in a hurry.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would just give a flat look to Creed with a 'how dare you tell me what to do' expression that seemed to pass as her default. Etiquette would simmer with the -gall- of him to.. Well, he was -telling- her how she should present hereslf.

"What I would quite enjoy doing is inappropriate for this area." Oh yes, resisting urge to lecture. Creed was after all being polite, they were in public, and the Brotherhood and Xavier's were for now cooperating.

At the mentions of 'blood' she would shake her head. "Messy, it mixes with few things, and it's so trite and overdone. One might call it a cliche for how oversaturated it is. Fashion is intended to stand out, be unique."
Victor Creed Creed raises an eyebrow at Micola, looks her over, and then sniffs. He looks a little puzzled. "Well, isn't... too uncommon for a thing, but I don't recall smelling you before."

He wears his confusion on his brow, skin wrinkling beneath his hair line. "Good huntin' for your strings."

Victor listens to Monet and offers a low chuckle. "If I were just a little dumber, I might take that in entirely the wrong way, but I reckon either meaning would be pretty damn fun."

"Nuthin' wrong with messy. And every blood splatter is like a snow flake. Unique in its own beauty. Violence is the oldest art." He raises a hand, fingertips punctuated with claws and covers a yawn.
Monet St. Croix As Micola would go to head off to her own pursuits, Monet St. Croix would just engage Creed in a more direct stare. "You should know, you've spilt enough of it. So I suppose that makes you a rather.. Uncreative artist. Repetitive, working on but a single canvas with no further way of expressing yourself or anything to define yourself by."

Her tone is dripping over with M-ness.

"Why, I'm almost sorry for you to be so much in a -rut-."
Victor Creed Creed seems to stew over the thought of her almost being 'Sorry' for him for doing what he enjoys most. "Nah. You wouldn't call Johnny Cash uncreative for only playin' music. I've got... ummm... nuance? Yea, nuance as an artist. Thousands of ways to spill it with thousands of brushes."

He grins at her, fangs coming on display. "Besides, you aren't a stranger to that art. Hell, I can smell the want of it on you. Wantin' to break out and let loose the steam. That cathartic release. Y'know there's people needin' killin' in this world."
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would just look at Creed with faux sympathy. "I would call him an artist that can take ways of expressing himself passionately in various mediums. I fail to see any remote equivalency in creative drive from your own performances."

Monet would just look up at those fangs. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But why lower myself to something so -crass- and banal?"
Victor Creed "I think the bigger question is... why not? Sounds t'me like you are lettin' the world define you. Who decided it was 'crass' and 'banal', huh? Some priest? monk? guru? Are you really lowerin' yourself by being true to yourself? Never understood all this celebration of denyin' your instincts." Victor rolls his eyes and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"You ain't really seen my performances. So how can you judge? Ah. Anyway. Everyone's a critic. I think it cause I do what they really want to do every time someone cuts them off in traffic, slings a insult, or steals someone's lunch money. I just refuse to let anyone tell me what to do." He offers her a smug look.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would maintain a flat, but amused look at Creed. "I handle things in my own way, and that which I prefer. And I see not the slightest appeal in such -ridiculous- little things." Her casually speaking over in complete sincerity as far as her body language, posture, and presentation went.

"Your files are quite adequate when it comes to displaying your talents. There are others that engage in the same -impulses-. They're all rather repetitive."
Victor Creed "Well, I guess you are lackin' the sophistication to understand the more subtle notes. Lot like someone tastin' wine for a first time. You ain't much of a sommelier for violence. Now are you? That's fine. No one's perfect on the inside. No matter how perfect their figure or how pretty their face." Victor offers her another eye roll.

"Roll with me sometime, and I might teach you somethin' about it. Show the beauty and the undertones of violence. More epics written about great battles then most things. No two fights a really alike unless you count those fightin' sports. On that I'd agree with ya. Fightin' in a cage... huggin' it out with rules. That's repetitive, but what I do... Its honed. Like each of my strikes are... the practice paint stroke of a master." Creed reaches out and attempts to give her a patronizing pat on the head.
Monet St. Croix Monet St. Croix would finally give Creed her full attention, "No." The tone flat and casual. Final. "I see no need to lower myself to such a level. There is simply emptiness to it. A void, a nothingness. No satisfaction. Merely endless repetition. I find repetition -boring-. You are still in the end simply doing something that can only be done so many ways."

There would be a casual dismissal in her tone of voice. "You should try branching out to some subjects beyond your focus. You clearly have potential. So why not expand your horizons with things more -difficult-?"
Victor Creed "There's an endless scale of trouble, and always someone better at fightin' then you are. So I can't figure what you mean by findin' something more difficult. There's always a tougher fight around the corner." Victor shrugs at her and offers a little sigh of frustration at her lack of understanding.

"Branch out into what? Water colors. I'm quite content in bein' myself and not lettin' someone else dictate it. Figure we are all searchin' for what we were meant to do... and I in my wisdom have figured it out. Just because you haven't figured it out for yourself... doesn't make me borin' or fallin' short of my potential. You want to turn a critical eye to somethin'... go stare in the mirror. You want to show a little modesty and curiosity, come with me on a hunt sometime. Otherwise, enjoy window shoppin'." He resumes his way down the side walk, sniffing occasional then adjust in his trajectory.