2642/Chasing a Trail

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Chasing a Trail
Date of Scene: 29 September 2017
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Feral, Sabretooth




Feral has posed:
    Friday night - the start of the weekend. A time to eat out, party, cut a sleep deficit, and maybe turn a few questionable decisions into a good story. Well past dark, with the sidewalks only illuminated by street lamps standing sentinel, one woman seems to have done at least three of the four.
    
    Ambling with the lazy, wavering swagger that comes from a gut full of food marinading in liquor, Vanya's battered red pants swish too and fro as she walks without seeming to have too much destination in mind. She's heading north, towards Prospect Park, and perhaps beyond. A rare sight, the wild-haired woman is even wearing a beat-up pair of sneakers. Trailing in her wake further back than her unkempt and tangled hair, the scent of beer - and faintly of cats - wafts down the sidewalk behind her.
    
    Pausing at an intersection, the orange-eyed woman stops to belch into her hand. Her pupils catch the light and shine yellow before she tips her head just slightly and the effect passes by.

Sabretooth has posed:
"Agent Creed? Agent Creed? It's... uh... time to wake up. Sir."

The voice is masculine, though a bit on the nervous side. It's hard to fault him though, since he's been given the unenviable task of waking up Sabretooth from one of his frequent (and noisy) naps.

Sabretooth's eyes slowly open, the catlike slits narrowing as they're exposed to light for the first time in several hours. His eyes focus on the nervous young man who interrupted him from a dream about Jean Grey, and he has to fight back his immediate instinct to do grotesque amounts of violence to the poor guy's fragile human body.

Instead, he slowly sits up on his cot, and wipes the drool from his mouth with his bare, hairy arm.

"Ugh... This mean we got a location for This Week's Freak of the Week?" His grogginess starts to fade pretty quickly, he's a very experienced napper. However, he immediately thinks of an addendum for the the question that he just asked.

"Hang on... 'Fore you answer, grab me a beer like a good boy. Unless there's any whiskey left?"

The agent doesn't have to go far for the beer, the minifridge is only a few feet away from either of them. Actually, there's nothing in the room with them that isn't extremely close. That's one of the blessings (and the main curse) about having your 'office' in the back of an old black van.

"Er... no sir. You drank all the whiskey before you went to bed. Including the very expensive bottle that I bought for my..."

With a wave of his clawed hand, Sabretooth cuts him off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah... I know what I did. I ain't senile yet. Personal note though: You overpaid for that whiskey."

He takes the beer from the hand of the younger agent, flicks the cap off with his claw, and guzzles it with such speed that one might think he was trying to pledge for a fraternity. Only after he tosses the bottle into the corner does he seem willing to tend to official Weapon X business.

"Okay. Give me the lowdown on this freak again. Skip all the boring stuff though, and just tell me if I'm bringing it back in chains or a body bag."

The agent flips through the manila folder, his lips pursing as he tries to sort through everything that Sabretooth would likely find 'boring.'

"Looks like this is a 'Dead or Alive' situation, Agent Creed. Central just wants this asset off of the board, by whatever means you deem necessary."

Looking down at his claws, Sabretooth's groggy expression slowly widens into a grin. "Guess we'll see what kinda mood I'm in..."

Less than half of an hour later, the black van is idling by the side of the road, parallel parked right near an intersection. Several feet away from the idling van, an enormous yellow-haired man is urinating on a traffic signal. The very same traffic signal that just changed over to the 'Walking Man' sign right in front of Vanya.

Feral has posed:
Look left, look right, time to cross - and glance left again. With what might be an odd presence of mind, the brown-haired woman across the street checks that the night's traffic has stopped before making her way across the intersection. She frowns at the sight that greets her at the next patch of sidewalk and wrinkles her nose at the acrid ammonia smell, grumbling in Russian.

"Ty gryaznaya sobaka, find a bush for that. These sidewalks stink enough," Vanya shoots sharply as she draws near.

Sabretooth has posed:
"Yeah, but I already own a lotta bushes."

The sounds of fluid splattering against against the hollow metal of the traffic sign slowly soften, until there's just the sound of a few drops hitting the cement. The man shakes (twice), and turns around while in the process of zipping up his fly.

"See? Now this whole street corner belongs to me. If I keep up this pace, I'll own the whole world sometime around next century."

There are supervillains who've had way whackier schemes. Sabretooth's actually sounds... borderline plausible. But if the smile on his stubbly face is any indication, he's probably joking. She's right though, the sidewalk is far smellier than it was a few minutes ago.

"Technically, that means yer trespassin' on my turf, frail. Unless you know the secret handshake?"

Feral has posed:
"Frail?" Vanya scoffs. Sleeveless as she is in her tanktop, the feral woman looks anything but, at least by human standards. A kickboxer maybe, judging by the well-proportioned muscles and thick core - or someone with access to some less than legal training aids. Even for what might be early 30s, she has an impressive set of traps.

Pushing her way through as much as past the mutant, Vanya moves to step around and away from the stinking pole. "You should work on your manners, house cat. You act more like a dog," she derides, flashing a slight but fanged grin as she passes and trailing the distinctive scents of tiger and porter.