2474/Faster, Sabretooth! Kill! Kill!

Faster, Sabretooth! Kill! Kill!
Date of Scene:	16 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sabretooth, Wolverine, Gambit

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Sabretooth has posed:
Place: A Few Hours From Vancouver
Time: Back In The Day

"You know something? I never liked you. Not just because you're a grade A douchebag... THAT I could probably learn to live with."

In the drivers seat of a beat-up old Range Rover, Sabretooth has left all the windows down. There's nothing especially unusual about this; the air at the foothills of the Canadian Rockies is fresh and clean. Compared to the air back at the Marauders usual hideout spot, it's downright pristine.

But this is in the middle of winter, and it's freezing outside. Sabretooth doesn't seem to notice.

Reaching one of his massive, bone-clawed hands out to turn down the Willy Nelson's Greatest Hits album he's been playing on repeat, Sabretooth looks at his travelling buddy. It's clear from the expression on his face that he would have rather been paired with literally any other member of the Marauders. Scalphunter was always a good travelling buddy, after all. Even that chick who makes people nauseous would have been pleasant.

"No, the reason I never liked you is because of the smell! Like a trailer park hooker after a gang bang.... only covered with Axe body spray and cigarette smoke. I thought it was the worst odor I'd ever smelled in my entire life..."

But there's a 'but' coming...

"BUT! All that was before Sinister insisted you'd somehow be useful on this mission. So now I gotta ride twenty more miles to a shithole town in the middle of nowhere, just to kidnap a guy that I hate... which means I'm gonna be driving back to America with TWO guys that I hate, both of 'em stinkin' all seven hundred miles back!"

Looking once again at his travelling partner, Sabretooth's eyes are practically bloodshot with hatred.

"So THAT is why we can't roll the windows back up. SO STOP ASKIN'!"

Wolverine has posed:
    Logan was having a good day today. The sky was clear, the breeze was nice, the landscape was pristine. Sighing, Logan smiles and exhales the smoke that then goes to form a slight ring around his head, a testament to the cold temperatures in British Columbia.

    What was to come, Logan did not know, but nothing could replace the calm of the day as he views it. Walking into the bar, if that is what it could be called, Logan sits down and orders a beer.

    With a nod, the bartender places the beer in front of him and holds out a hand. With a look of distaste, Logan hands a blue fiver to the man, who looks at it carefully, nods, and places it in the cash. He then moves on the continue scrubbing the deck of the bar with a dirty dishcloth.

    Taking a long drink of his beer, Logan frowns. Quirking his head, he hears the sounds of a vehicle coming down the road. Something was coming...he could feel it.

    With a sigh, and a quick gulp as Logan downs the beer in one breath, he gets up from the bar, and moves to the doorway. Pulling his cowboy hat down over his eyes, he heads out, and turns right, heading down the street and away from the Range Rover.

Gambit has posed:
    Remy looks over the scarf he has triple wrapped around his face to combat the cold, even if it is just barely and stares at Sabretooth with daggers in his ruby eyes. He doesn't want to respond too much and just squints at the foul man that he too has been forced to work with. "At leas' Ah don' smell like an abandon'd dime bar what someone knocked over wit' a cheap molotov cocktail."

    Remy says with a soft sigh before slumping as low into the seat as he can to try and hide his face from the biting wind. Hoping the door panel was somehow taller so he could find some respite from the constant rushing into the cabin.

    "What was our target again Saba-toot'? Ah don' wan' any mo'e suprises t'day if'n Ah can avoid dem."

Sabretooth has posed:
"Grrrrr......"

The actual growl goes on quite a bit longer than that. It's not the sort of growl that a human might give off to vocalize frustration. Instead, it's a deeper, more primal sound that rumbles deep in Sabretooth's chest. Very much like a tiger who's about to let out a roar to scare the ever-loving shit out of... whatever it is that tigers eat.

Gazelles, probably.

"Our 'target' is a real piece of shit." Sabretooth lays special emphasis on the words 'target' and 'shit', but most especially 'shit.' "He's the kind of guy that you just want to strangle on principle. You know how sometimes you'll see a guy, and you just know that he needs a good punch in the face? It's like... who do you even think you are, with that bolo tie? You're from CANADA! Where'd you find a bolo tie anyway?"

None of this directly answers Gambit's question, but it certainly doesn't cast their target in a very positive light. Still, it's unlikely that whoever their target is will be wearing a bolo tie NOW, so perhaps he should give a few more helpful details?

Turning the Willie Nelson down a bit more, so that his deep, snarling voice can be heard over the engine noise, wind noise, and Willie noise, Sabretooth keeps his eyes on the road for now. He seems to be getting more and more worked up the closer he gets to his target, as if something in the air is driving him crazy.

But not in a good way.

"And he thinks I don't know that he uses hair gel. But how else does he get his hair to look like Klaus Nomi? It's ain't the eighties anymore, bub. God, I just wanna... RAAAR!"

Sabretooth's muscles reflexively tense at the very thought of their target. Unfortunately, he's holding the wheel of a beat up old Range Rover, which comes off of the steering column effortlessly in his hands. This would probably be a lot funnier if the SUV wasn't doing close to ninety miles an hour, and pointing straight at an old dive bar at the edge of a backwater town in British Columbia.

Wolverine has posed:
    *Sniff*. "Hmmmm..." Logan grunts, and looks over his shoulder. Range River. Windows open. Coming this way. Fast. That can't be good. Turning to face whoever it was, Logan gets ready. Just in case. "It's prob'ly nothin'. Ma' imagination s'all."

    Logan growls, and leans against the wall. His eyes scanning the jeep for any sign of who was inside. The windows were pretty dirty, and this was too far away, even for his enhanced senses. It was this feeling of something, something...that was bothering him.

    At least there were very few people present in this town that were outside right now. The weather was pretty cold, even for the lower mainland. It was a clear day, which allows Logan a better vantage point...but allows Sabretooth and Gambit to see him as well.

Gambit has posed:
    Remy gasps and his eyes snap open as the wheel comes off the machine that he happens to be riding in. "Toot'... TOOT'!" Remy bellows, his hands start groping this way and that in search of something, anything to hold onto in the vehicle but dangit if their speed doesn't give him just enough time to do much other than brace his body as tightly to the hull of the foreign vehicle as much as he can.

Sabretooth has posed:
What follows is what might have happened in an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard if the guys from Dukes of Hazzard had been slightly more inbred.

Sabretooth's eyes are fully bloodshot, neck muscles tensed so hard that veins are popping out, his face contorted into a manic smile as he grips the dashboard so hard that his claws are almost completely buried in it. One of his eyes twitches reflexively, and a long strand of drool trails behind him.

Some of these details will probably be burned into Gambit's mind for years to come. As will the song that's playing on the SUV's soundsystem: 'Always On My Mind' by , uh, Willie Nelson. Not 'by' him, obviously, but this is the version that he sang.

The vehicle slams into the side of the ramshackle old bar, completely demolishing the side of it as it tears through. Tables and patrons get ploughed through like a panes of glass in the way of a wrecking ball.

And all the while, Sabretooth's eyes are open, and the noise he's making can only be described as a joyful howl.

Wolverine has posed:
    Logan watches as the vehicle careens down the street at 90 km/h. As the vehicle gets closer and closer, Logan notes that it doesn't look like it is going to stop anytime soon. Frowning, Logan watches as the vehicle veers suddenly towards the bar that Logan just vacated...and crashes into it! Wait, was that Sabretooth at the wheel? And Gambit in the passenger's seat?

    The impact completely demolishes the side of the building, and with a loud crack, the rest of the building crumbles..onto Wolverine. Looking up, Logan tries to scramble away but he is too late! "Dammit you hairy, overgrown, buck-toothed..." As Logan screams in frustration what would have been an insult for the ages, the rubble completely envelopes him!

    As the dust clears from the impact, the only evidence that Logan was even there is one arm sticking out of the rubble. There is no movement, as Logan has been rendered unconscious by the rubble and the accidental impact.

Gambit has posed:
    Remy's teeth are as clenched as they possibly can be, the young man's face bouncing off the dashboard when the car slams into the building and then the cajun finds himself rolling out of the car door and forgetting to shut the thing. He has a black scarf wrapped tightly around his face thankfully it padded the blow just slightly and he's stumbling around in the bar. He bounces off a bar table as he reaches into his duster's pocket and clumsily pulls out a couple of playing cards into his right hand and charges them, but spins around looking for a target.

    "Toot'y, where dis guy at?" He asks sounding almost drunk.

Sabretooth has posed:
Both the horn and the alarm system are going off simultaneously, and the air bags are slowly deflating. Well, Gambit's is slowly deflating, Sabretooth has already ripped through his in his attempt to scramble out of the totaled SUV. They won't be taking this heap back to America after all.

That'll teach him to plough into a bar.

It's fortunate that the bar was pretty sparsely populated, because just about everyone who was in there is either dead or dying. All except the guy they came her to grab in the first place. Sabretooth takes in a deep breath, ignoring the massive amounts of dust from the demolished wood, drywall, and concrete. His nostrils quickly fill with the scent that he'd recognize anywhere, and he pounces toward it in a manner very reminscent of his namesake.

"Put 'em back in the deck. Looks like I did all the work, just the way I perdicted it'd all go down." His tone is dismissive, but mostly delighted. He clearly wasn't expecting this mission to go quite this smoothly, not after trying to kill this man for more than a hundred years.

"Maybe you can be useful after all though. Be a sweetheart and see if you can find me a beer." Digging through the rubble, Sabretooth seems to be propelled by some sort of frantic obsession, as if he's working against a very limited amount of time. Little does Gambit suspect that he's only got a few seconds at most before Wolverine wakes up, which will make it a lot more difficult to keep him subdued.

He probably would complain less about Sabretooth's music choices though.

"No. Wait. Make that a whiskey."

Gambit has posed:
    Remy squints again at Sabretooth, the distaste between the two mutants is not hidden, but Remy does as he is told and slips the cards back into his pocket with a soft sigh and an anguished look crossing his pained face before his attention follows Sabretooth's attention towards the bartop with a sigh. Yeah, he's going to go looking for a beer and the clanking of broken glass and debris is pushed away.

    "What's your brand?" The cajun asks as he stoops down to start rumaging through the fridge.

Sabretooth has posed:
Clearing off the rubble as quickly as possible, Sabretooth sets to making sure that Wolverine stays unconscious long enough for him to get safely wrapped up. How he does this is probably a bit too extreme for the tastes of our readers, but we're going to go into detail anyway.

Claws fully extended, Sabretooth rips the sleeping mutant's stomach open, and shoves his hand inside, pushing the guts out of the way. Tearing through all sorts of important stuff, he makes his way all the way up behind his rib cage, slashing open his lungs, and eventually wrapping his gigantic hand around the still-beating heart.

With Wolverine's heart in his hand, and blood spraying literally everywhere, Sabretooth looks more like Carrie's Prom Date than a highly-trained assassin.

"Screw it, swamp rat. Just grab all the liquor you can carry!"

Moments later, Sabretooth is carrying the limp form of the recently-deceased mutant formerly known as Wolverine over his shoulder. The body has been wrapped in plastic from the bar's freezer, and tied up well enough to keep him from struggling free when he inevitably gets better. Should be a few hours from now, if Sabretooth estimates correctly. In one of his hands, he carries what's left of a half-eaten heart, while a set of keys dangles from the claw on his pinky finger.

"Alright... let's see what the Runt was driving..." He presses the button on the keys, and a headlight flashes. Wouldn't you know it? It's a Harley-Davidson Softail. It takes only a few moments for Sabretooth to tie the 'package' to back of the bike, slung over the cargo rack that should be carrying a helmet, if Wolverine ever bothered with those.

Gambit has posed:
    "Uh, I t'ink Ah'm drivin'." Remy says as he walks past Sabretooth, snatching the keys rather deftly and holds at least three bottles of whiskey in his off hand with an unsteadyness in the way he walks, still likely dazed from the massive crash the two of them just survived.

    Remy turns the keys over in his hand and stops at the parking lot and just simply sighs while lowering his hand and his shoulders. The cajun is standing in front of a fairly sizeable Harley Davidson. "Ah'm not ridin' dis wit' de two o' us..." Remy retorts in his normal smart ass manner, voice still muffled by the scarf on his head.

Sabretooth has posed:
"Like hell you are! You can barely walk. You're floppin' around like Johnny Depp in that movie where he played a lady pirate."

Sabretooth managed to partially repress one of his trademark growls when the keys were snatched unceremoniously from his hand. To make a point, he finishes eating the rest of Wolverine's heart while staring at Remy as intimidatingly as possible. Which is pretty easy for someone who's got heart blood oozing out of his mouth.

Swallowing, he picks at his teeth with one of his long brownish-colored claws. "Scalphunter said you were supposed to be some kind of tooty-frooty burglar or somethin'. So... howzabout burglin' yerself another ride home, before you end up wrapped in plastic with Ol' Jimmy here..."

Sabretooth pats the plastic-wrapped package strapped to the back of the bike. He seems to like Wolverine much better this way.

Gambit has posed:
    "Dat's fair." Remy says, tossing the keys from his left hand towards Sabretooth. See if the man can catch keys while holding a body and then some how get that body back to headquarters on a motorcycle.

    "But Ah'm still taken de booze." Remy says with a smirk as he walks over to one of the few cars that was merely scratched by the arrival the two Marauders made a few moments ago. "You'll have'ta figure dat out yaself Sabre." The young thief teases.

Sabretooth has posed:
Wobbly as he is, the Cajun's throw isn't exactly a perfect pitch. But it's easy to catch things when you've got hands the size of catcher's mitts. Sabretooth puts the keys in the ignition switch, and looks back at the body that's strapped to the back of the motorcycle. "Fine with us. Jimmy ain't drinkin', and I'm drivin'."

Sabretooth's smile is a bit less manic now. It's as if he's actually experiencing a moment of happiness, rather than simply in the throes of a homicidal frenzy. One could be forgiven for thinking that he actually just made a joke, rather than an insult in joke form.

But apparently he's serious, and doesn't intend to drink and drive. Let that be a lesson to the kids out there: Even supervillains know better than to mix alcohol and high-speed vehicles.

"See you back in Arizona, Gumbo! Try not to stop in Vegas for too long, Sinister's got a mission for us in New York next week!"

The engine roars to life as Sabretooth swings a leg over it. Immediately, he starts cursing Wolverine for his stumpy little legs. This isn't going to be a comfortable ride for someone who's over six and a half feet tall.

"Screw it... beats sharing a car with Gambit." Sabretooth mutters under his breath. Putting the bike in gear, he pulls back on the throttle, and rockets away from the bar.