8053/A Tale of Cats and Spiders

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A Tale of Cats and Spiders
Date of Scene: 25 June 2019
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Summary needed
Cast of Characters: Spider-Woman (Drew), Sabretooth




Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
Lowtown Madripoor is one of those cities that you don't visit unless you want to make a difference. You go in with empty hands, ready to pick up burdens, or you don't go in at all. That's why Jessica is here.

Trying humanitarian relief through to those who need it is nearly impossible. It is helpful to have a cape to be able to clear a path and transport food and water to the masses. THAT is where Jessica comes in.

Three days of running food, water, and medical supplies through underground systems and back alleys has begun to wear on her. But it's all worth it when she arrives with aid for the children and families. And Jessica is determined to get this last run of medicine delivered safely. THEN, she can rest.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Lowtown Madripoor is one of those places that you don't visit unless you're destitute or you've got the gumption to exploit the destitute for all they're worth. You go in with a yoke, ready to make easy cash on the backs of the impoverished, or you don't go in at all. That's why Creed is always here.

    Madripoor is a hub, for Victor Creed's smuggling operations. Operations that give him well over half of his yearly income. It's a business that is even more lucrative than killing people. It might not be as glamorous or fun, but it is rewarding. Honest work.

    But it seems like someone else is trying to horn in on his game. He's heard the talk. Of the hero, an Avenger, even, sneaking in supplies. Medicine. Water. Food. He's heard it all. And while Creed might not feel strongly about the contents of what is being brought in as aid, he does, in fact, have a problem with the fact that he's not received a cut.

    And so, as Jessica makes her way through the maze of back alleys that seem to comprise a whole hidden city unto themselves, led along at the urging of two small, dirty children, she is led around a corner and into a small courtyard.

    The courtyard seems to belong to three different tenements that surround it, with a rusty and clearly ill maintained jungle gym and swingset in the corner. A few picnic benches reside here and there, and the outer perimeter is strung up with paper lanterns that cast a warm, red glow throughout the rain slicked area.

    However, none of that is what should draw attention. No. The most interesting aspect of the courtyard is smack dab in the center of it. There, a huge hunk of scrap metal sits. Clawed and jagged, it is difficult to discern, but it swiftly becomes clear that this is the decapitated head of a rather large Sentinel unit. Parts of the face have been gouged out. Shaped. Turned into a grisly throne, where the hulking figure of Victor Creed now sits.

    Creed is an imposing man by any measure. Even seated, he seems impossibly tall. Larger than life. His muscles teem, straining against both flesh and fabric alike. His blonde hair is a tangled, ratty mess atop his skull, spilling down his shoulders, which are draped in thick wolf fur. His beard is thick and bushy, his eyes searing with barely restrained rage as he looks upwards at her with his chin tucked to his chest. His large, meaty hands, tipped with wicked, razor sharp talons, drum along the grisly trophy that he sits upon, those nails creating a tinkling sound as the click upon the metal surface.

    "I hear there's been an itsy bitsy spider climbing up my water spout," He says, his voice a deep, growling thing but possessed of just a trace of derisive humor. His fist slowly closes, nails loudly screeching in the metal as they tear through it like tissue paper, and he rises to his feet. "You been running things in Lowtown, frail. That... that ain't workin' for me."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
Jessica halts, stopping on a dime, as the three round a corner. She stops sharply, looking the giant of a man over with panic raging in her mind. She takes the two children and quickly ushers them behind her, nevermind the fact that they led her here. And quickly, she ushers them away, somewhere beyond this hateful place.

"There's no profit to be had from humanitarian aid," Jessica says with heavy conviction. "A few handfuls of antibiotics? What's that going to do for someone, when they aren't even being paid for?"

Jessica is dressed in traditional garb - tan fabric, not unlike burlap, creating a shapeless form to mostly cover her classic uniform, red air a golden yellow inset on the abdomen. Her matching mask, with its white eye lenses, bears a communications device that got busted two days ago. "You can't have a cut of something that I don't have. So what do you want from me?" she inquires, squaring up her body with him.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Creed, standing at his full height, moves with all the sensual grace of a stalking predator, despite his bulk. It is very much as if one is staring at the human personification of regal savage. A lion among the wildebeests. As he stalks forward, he shrugs off the tattered old leather duster that is lined with the heavy fur that crosses his impossibly broad shoulders. This leaves him in a stained tank top that looks like it might have once been white, but has become yellowed and streaked with stains of oil and blood over time. It strains against his powerful flesh, stretched to the point where the seams seem like they might burst. Across the chest is a faded kitten face caught in mid-meow to look like it's laughing, with the words "Check Meowt!" scrawled underneath it. His pants are thick, tan Carhartt work pants, with rust colored speckles here and there that silently betray a grisly history. His boots were once black, but wear has eroded them to expose the white-ish raw leather underneath, while the rest has been mostly worn to a mottled thing of various shades of brown.

    "People pay for medicine. They pay for water. They pay for food. Nothing is free, darlin'. Not in this world," He says, giving a derisive sneer as his steps bring him right up to her. Those eyes, fierce and almost shock white, focus on the white lenses of her mask, as if they might peer right through them to the green pools below. As his upper lip curls, a hint of glistening eyeteeth is laid bare. "But more importantly, if something is coming in under the radar here, it comes through me. You wanna be a bleedin' heart do-gooder, that's fine, but if you're tryin' to run anythin' through Lowtown, I get paid."

    He lifts one hand, fingers curled to draw emphasis on those wicked, animalistic talons. He gives a singular snort that serves as a bitter chuckle, his brow, bearing a scar that cuts through it, lifts, and he says, "So let's get to negotiatin'."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
Jessica stands stoically before the feral, and she shakes her head. "The aid that comes through Lowtown already costs more than it is worth on the fair market. Much less the black market. If you try to stop it one place, I'll just bring it through another hole. You're out of bargaining chips..." Jessica's breath is slow and steady. Even under the threat of a feral, with all those claws and teeth. "And I don't negotiate."

Sabretooth has posed:
    When she gets defiant, Creed turns his back, nodding his head and letting his lips curl into a lopsided smirk. "I don't think you understand what it is I'm tryin' to tell ya, punkintits. You came here. You try runnin' things through here, and it goes through me. That's the end of the story. You try bringin' it in through another hole? I burn it to the ground. Ya try another? I kill every half bit smuggler in this entire city, and string their families up on the corner by their intestines. That don't work? Then I start in on the families of the people takin' your meds. Make 'em watch all the not so pretty things I do to their wives, their sons, their daughters... An' I keep doin' it, until ain't nobody gonna be willin' to even so much as look yer way, much less take whatever it is you're tryin' to offer."

    He turns back around to face her, lifting his chin and breathing in as he rolls his shoulders, creating a rippling effect down each of his densely corded muscles. His fingers flick, as if his claws themselves are itching to bite deep into flesh and drink deep of the warm red blood underneath. "So, it ain't much of a negotiation. More just you offerin' me money to take care of the logistics of this operation. You wanna give these people help? Do it. Pay me. My people will take over the whole operation for ya. Gettin' in from offshore, past the harbor masters and docking agents, and we'll distribute it. But this is how things are done here. Ya don't get to come in to my backyard an' think you're gonna go over my head, frail."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
"So you don't negotiate, either. Fair enough. You tell me what it is you want, to let the aid pass through to the people who need it, and I'll consider the options. You can't squeeze out what isn't there. I will do what I can, but if it has to stop, I'll take up the distribution in another country. Lives saved are lives saved..." She doesn't buckle beneath his gaze, or his threats. She removes her mask and shakes out her dark hair. Her own gaze flits to those claws, but she doesn't give voice to the fears welling up inside her.

Sabretooth has posed:
    She doesn't have to give voice to her fear. He can smell it. Smell it so thick on her that it makes the tip of his tongue tingle like he had pressed it against a nine volt battery. His nostrils flare, and his eyes actually roll closed as he lifts his head, rolling it as if he were swooning. He even makes a close lipped "mm" of pleasure.

    "There we go," he says, practically purring the words that spill forth from his lips like saccharine sweet battery acid. When his eyes open again, his countenance lowers, his slit-pupiled eyes casting their pale blue-white stare up at her as his lips adopt a razor blade smile, all sharp fangs and just a glistening hint of spittle running from his bottom lip, into the coarse sandy blonde hair of his beard. "I can smell it on ya."

    Reaching up, Creed's massive hand presses the tip of a single claw to the underside of her chin, just enough to dimple the flesh, and lift her face towards his own. Which now hovers dangerously close to her. Has he blinked his eyes even once during their exchange? His eye contact is so intense and unwavering. When he sniffs again, he makes a show of it, dipping in near her cheek and inhaling loudly through his nostrils as he sweeps up to her temple. "It's good to be afraid. Smells nice. Makes all'a this that much sweeter..."

    There's something else he smells on her. Something even more enticing than the fear. It lingers int he back of his sinuses, persistent. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck and forearms stand on end. She might even see the sudden shudder of his powerful chest under the too-tight shirt. But he chokes that down. He steps away, lowering that threatening claw. "Fifty grand per shipment. Ya got that Stark money, right? Shouldn't be a thing. Otherwise, I can keep half. Half of whatever ya bring in goes to my people directly."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
Jessica breathes a mirthless laugh. "No deal. I don't have Stark money. And I certainly don't have that kind of bank on my own. I'll change directive: I can deliver aid in Sudan for free," she explains. "I don't need you, any more than you need me."

Sabretooth has posed:
    "Fine by me, frail, as long as ya ain't underminin' my business in my own home, you do what ya gotta," He says, his own voice rather full of mirth, practically holding back a chuckle. He turns to take a few steps away, his shoulders shrugging, his arms out to either side of him. When they drop, he slides his fingers into the back pockets of his Carhartt pants, and kicks one boot against the rain slicked stone. "There's just one problem. Ya kinda already racked up some debt by movin' around without me. That's gonna be a problem."

    Here, he turns around, letting his head cant to one side, spilling over a tangled mass of dirty blonde hair. His eyes draw down the length of her, and back up, slowly. It's hard to tell if he's admiring her womanly form, or maybe the meat that lies under the skin. Either way, he looks hungry. "So what do you plan on doin' 'bout that? All you Avenger types should have Stark money, and if ya don't, then you're doin' it wrong, and he's holdin' out on ya. Somethin' that you'd take up with him, if you were smart."

    He casts his head to one side, indicating to one of the wane people that linger like wraiths in the darkened windows that surround the courtyard. The people that work for him, be it by choice, or by force. Hungry and gaunt, their cheeks and eyes hollow and their skin looking pale or jaundiced. It's clear that these are not healthy people. They're not much different from the rest of those that live in this section of Madripoor City. Everyone does what they can to survive, but not much living happens.

    "Ya don't really wanna duck out that quickly, do ya? On them. Big hero like you? Can ya really let it go just like that?"

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
Jessica seems...taken aback. For the first time since she arrived in this dark and spoiled kingdom, Jessica allows herself to see past the posturing and bravado. Her eyes move to the windows where gaunt figures haunt the arches and hallways, the shadows and the streets.

Moving her hands to unwrap her garb, dropping it down off her shoulders, and to the ground. She removes gallon zip lock bags that are taped securely around her waist and hips.

"This shipment is yours. There are antibiotics, vitamins, and over the counter pain medications here. Take them all. Help your people." There is no negotiation. Only an expression of pity, and compassion. "But it is my hope that you can learn compassion and empathy, because that is what we all need. You. Them. Me."

Sabretooth has posed:
    Creed doesn't respond to Jess' magnanimous gesture with any real sort of shift in posture or demeanor. He doesn't speak. He simply turns, face lowered, walking in a large, lazy half circle, as if the lion were toying with the prey. His eyes do not leave the Spider-Woman, though. Focused solely on her, as if she were the earth itself, and he just the moon held in her orbit. Though only if the moon might as soon devour the earth as simply keep it at arm's length.

    But, he does left his arms up overhead, a silent gesture to the people lurking in the periphery. They come spilling out from behind screen doors, out of the dark, open portals of the surrounding tenements. Even those two small children that she had ushered off come brushing past her hips as people move to the discarded bags of meds.

    Creed allows the people to distribute them among each other as they will. He's unconcerned beyond the fact that he HAS procured them. It will keep his workforce productive. His job here is complete. And so, the savage beast takes to his makeshift throne, where he claims his seat once again.

    "When will we be expectin' your next shipment? I'll set ya up a contact among my people. Make the trade offshore, in the sea. We know better ways to get in an' outta the ports here. We got the infrastructure to distribute it. Better than just walkin' around with 'em hangin' off your hips."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
"I have a small storage building where I have stored rations, water, and more medicines." Jessica looks back to Creed as he circles her. "The next shipment comes in four days. I am willing to offer the supplies in storage, if the next shipment can be distributed in whole, to the intended recipients. There is enough in storage to keep your people supplied for a month."

Sabretooth has posed:
    "I expect it to be refilled every month, then, frail," Creed retorts, as he settles his weight back in to the seat formed from the hollowed out Sentinel head. His palms glide back and forth over the rough, gouged metal surface as if he were indulging himself in the feel of the very lacerations that it bears. It doesn't look altogether unlike a cat kneading on something soft when content. "If it ain't, then your business in Lowtown is done. You can bring all your lil' Avenger friends if ya want, but it ain't gonna change a thing."

    The people have more or less congregated, and now divvied up the offerings, before retreating back to their shelters. Two young men, barely in their teens but already showing the wiry strength of hard living and the marks of a life of criminality, linger nearby, watching as if awaiting orders. Creed's eyes roll off of Jessica as if his gaze and her body were oil and water, and drift instead to the pair of youths. "Give them the location of the storage unit. They'll handle that. In three nights, meet me here. I'll be takin' a... personal interest in this operation from here on out."

    His lips part with a sadistic smile, those ice blue eyes glistening in the warm red light of the courtyard and its paper lanterns. Again, his massive fingers curl, and there is the soft sliding sound of his claws, easily piercing the metal of the "throne" and burying themselves there. "Unless ya gotta problem with that?"

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
"This is my endeavor. I have not entreated the Avengers to assist. The shipments if aid will come every two weeks. Every other shipment will come to your people. I have one stipulation. If you find your people well-supplied, I will trust you to distribute your surplus to those who need it." Jessica pauses for a moment, her eyes intent on the feral. "And, of course, I'll need to know your name."

Sabretooth has posed:
    Her confession that this is a side project, not affiliated with her superpals does seem to catch Victor off guard. He had truly expected that this was some sort of sanctioned humanitarian act, backed up by the rest of the team. Outwardly, that surprise doesn't show. He just looks the part of the content cat who just ate the bird.

    "There's never enough to go around, little Spider," Victor parries, though he lifts one shoulder in a careless gesture. "But if by some twist of fate, ya manage to single handedly give us a surplus, I'll see it gets put to good use."

    After all, there's profit in selling off their excess. If she thinks he's going to go all soft and philanthropist all of a sudden, she has another thing coming. He will make good money selling off antibiotics. Especially with all the dockside brothels around here that cater to the seafaring types.

    She doesn't know his name? Creed almost laughs at that. Almost. He's one of the most wanted men on the planet. A known mutant terrorist. A mass murderer. Serial killer. Mercenary. He stands side by side with Magneto himself, and is granted a public pardon in Genosha. And this little spider doesn't know him.

    "Victor Creed," He rumbles forth, letting that name draw off of his tongue with weight. "Though I got other names. The Slasher. El Tigre. Der Schlächter. Most people just call me Sabretooth. It gets the point across mighty fine."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
And just like that, Jessica's world comes to a halt and stands still. The roar of the rush of blood in her ears is deafening. "V-Victor Creed." Everyone knows that name. But Jessica had no idea he was here. She'd been too focused on resistance cells. Too focused. And now...she is standing in the presence of Victor Creed. Making demands. She takes the deepest breath of her life, and exhales, trembling. Terror in her heart...she simply nods.

Sabretooth has posed:
    That stumble over his name is soothing. The quiver in her voice. The sound of her heart beat in her chest, sudden. Wet. Juicy. That fear, acrid on the air once again, and the look of shock and dismay on her pretty face. He feels that sudden rush of excitement in his chest, the fluttering of butterflies in the pit of his stomach. His mouth begins to salivate.

    "Yeah," he manages to say without sounding too smug about it. He turns his face to the side, peering at her with one light blue feline eye, and a rueful curl to his lips under the bushy blonde beard. "I'm guessin' ya heard that name before. And I'm guessin' that by now, you just might be realizin' what it is that you just narrowly escaped. I ain't the kinda guy who cares none 'bout your powers, or your friends. As long as ya keep provin' useful to me, I'll keep you around. Let ya live. Might even let ya do some of your hero business around here. Could always use a few upstarts knocked back down a peg or two."

Spider-Woman (Drew) has posed:
Jessica shakes her head, keeping her eyes on the feral. "At the end of the day, I'm the same woman I was when I walked in, Creed. I haven't changed who I am. I haven't changed what I'm doing. I'm here because I want to be. You haven't changed me..." Even with her defiant tone, the edge of fear is still audible in her voice.

Sabretooth has posed:
    "An' I ain't askin' you to change nothin' either. Just tellin' you how things are here. How they're gonna be," Creed retorts with a sneer visibly tugging at his upper lip. Once more, he rises from his seat. This time, his movements are not just graceful and powerful, but they're seemingly inhuman in their swiftness. Within the blink of an eye, he's up on her, hunched over so that his hulking, mountainous figure casts her in his shadow.

    "I don't care who ya are, who ya might be, or what you want. As long as you obey," Creed says, his voice sounding, paradoxically, soothing. A content purring rumble. Pleasant, despite its baritone and the heaping of gravel that rests on it. "Be a good girl, an' you'll find I ain't an unreasonable guy."