Difference between revisions of "9183/The Birthday Blues: Blow Out the Candles"

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Latest revision as of 03:59, 14 September 2019

The Birthday Blues: Blow Out the Candles
Date of Scene: 13 September 2019
Location: Campsites - Breakstone Lake
Synopsis: Sabretooth brings Wolverine a birthday gift of violence. Domino and Wolverine return the favor in kind.
Cast of Characters: Sabretooth, Wolverine, Domino


Sabretooth has posed:
Peace and quiet. It's what people are seeking when they hike the trails around the lake. It's what they need when making a home for themselves away from the immediate hustle and activity around the mansion proper. It's peace and quiet that Logan may have sought but tonight is where any brief notions of comfort and normalcy are dashed against the lake rocks and bled out into the waters.

People think that you have to be a brilliant tactician or some variety of super being not of this world to get one over on Logan or even the X-Men he surrounds himself with but in the end, the simplest of plays can go unnoticed in search of larger concerns and threats. Victor Creed knew damn well what he was signing up for when he put his event in motion for his long time 'friend'. Distance was key. Cheap drones, burner phones and patience gave him everything he needed to get insight to habits and schedules. He'd mapped out routes, laid down deterrents that would sway foot traffic away from Logan's territory. There would be no interruptions... This is a special night, after all.

The wind and humidity work against Logan as he's coming back to the cabin. The scents all natural and expected. Then he smells it. Faint but not unexpected. It's been three days since he's seen Domino. Three days since anybody has so much as even heard a whisper from her or about her. Professionally. Socially. Not a peep. It wouldn't be the first time that Neena has gone to ground after a contract and from what word in the market was saying, she was last seen entering Madripoor.

So it may not be of much surprise when Logan catches the hint of her scent. Her perfume. On a tree twenty yards off trail. Then another. Thirty paces out, back toward the path. Again and again... he'll know it's a trail. He'll feel the horrible truth dawning on him long before he gets to the cabin.

Wolverine has posed:
"When my life has en-ded, and time has run out," Logan half-sings, half-mutters to himself as he trudges up the winding dirt pathways that lead to his cabin in the woods. An evening spent in a bottle somewhere other than his cabin, by the smell of it thick on his clothes, "My friends and my love-d ones, will lea -"

He pauses for a moment, sniffing the air at that faint hint of a familiar scent. His lips quirk slightly at the corners, a smile that creases the corners of his eyes like worn leather. He follows it - almost compelled - until he's closing in on the cabin. But something is off. Other scents mingled in there that don't belong. The way the scent seems to die off almost entirely before it springs forth again, keeping him on the trail. Dragging it out.

A trap?

As he steps into the clearing at the base of the wooded hill that his cabin sits upon, Logan's head shifts slowly to look this way and that. Keen eyes pierce the murky evening, ears listen to the faintest shuffle of small creatures in the grass and trees, nose picks out the individual colors of this grim tableau's palate.

SNIKT.

Three claws, blood-soaked and almost glowing in the pale moonlight, pop free from his knuckles as though they were spring-loaded. His smile shifts into a pained grimace, the red pit-pattering against the dead leaves and underbrush at his feet.

Sabretooth has posed:
It's a game, right? The thrill of catching a scent familiar to you. Welcomed even. Following it to the source and moving to the next and next. Nothing more natural. Pure. This game is not one with pure intentions. As Logan goes to the next tree, there's the dab of her sweat. The next... lipstick. Then a scrap of leather from her holster. A strip of her usual work attire.

This is absolutely a trap.

Logan breaking the clearing, the familiar sight of his cabin has been twisted into somethibg out of nightmare. His kitchen table brought outside, a red checkered cloth held down by a store bought birthday cake. So many candles jammed into the top that wax has pooled and dripped, ruining anything even remotely edible. The stink of diesel fuel plays Hell on his keen senses. The smoke of candles... and beneath it all... Blood. So much blood.

The flickering canlde light casting a ghoulish light on the once peaceful lot. In the front window of the cabin, a shadowy X is emblazoned against the glass. A sickening realization bubbling to the surface that the X... is Domino. Crucified to the mans window frame on grisly display.

"Happy biiiiirthdaaaay toooo yoooouuuuu..." Croons the savage growling tone of Victor Creed standing in the doorway.

Wolverine has posed:
There's a thing about Logan's healing factor that even he does not truly understand. It heals any kind of injury - psychical or psychological. As the harsh imagery coalesces before him to form a narrative in his mind, his mutant gene revolts. It fights to push them into the depths, to callus over them like so much mental scar tissue. The side effect of it all being that the beast within him - the beast he works tirelessly to contain - threatens to break loose.

It could so easily be a violent bloodbath. A whirlwind of death and blood that he wouldn't even remember clearly come the next morning. He could protect himself from the pain that's waiting around the corner here, if only he were to just give in.

There are two dogs within me, he thinks to himself, one is good and one is evil. They fight tirelessly. Which dog wins? The one I feed.

He remains here. Present in the moment. His teeth bare, sharpened canines glinting. His shoulders hunch, clawed hands held at his sides. The weapons he knows best. The weapons he has used all his life. Inside, he calms himself. He quietens himself. Pushes that ravening bloodlust down deep where it belongs.

But it's still there. Still growling.

"Creed."

Domino has posed:
    The world is a haze and coming out of a rather long unintentional sleep, Domino is hit wtih the aches and pains of one dealing with a nasty hangover. A hangover when you mix all the wrong things together. Her body feels like dead weight but then she goes to move and there is a catch in her throat. Pain seers like fire from her hand and down to her arm, pale flesh splattered and painted her own blood. The ache of old wounds made before this day of days are stitched, closed up and given some time to repair themselves.

    "Unngh," is the only sound she can make. Sure it was meant to be a word but then those are hard to come by. Tongue and lips not yet willing to form them as she rests there in the window. Where is she? That is not important at this stage in her mindset, its the pain and the discomfort from how she is set at an angle to make that X. One hand is definitely far more strained than the other as she lets out a shuddering breath. Nerves are firing and reaching out to other nerves to shake them away so that soon she's just flesh made of pain and pinned to a crooked cross. Blazing blue eyes open, perhaps not as keen as they usually are but there is definitely focus to them as the garish birthday hat atop her head definitely stands out against the dark of her hair.

    The world is a blur outside that window and her foot, not bound starts to move, the sole of her boot squeaking against the glass - yep, she's alive here. To top it off, there is a collar about her neck and a steady bright BLIP of a light goes off.

    SQUEAK SQUEAK..SQUEEEEEAAAAK goes that boot against the glass.

Sabretooth has posed:
It's why Sabretooth does this. It's the whole reason for all this planning. All this violence. He did this for Logan. It's the gift that keeps on giving. Every twelve years. The day may change, the bait may be different but the gift is ever the same. A chance at -honesty-. The opportunity to let the leash go and run screaming into a whirlwind of hate and fury.

Massive. That's one way to describe Victor Creed as he dominates the doorway with his inhumanly powerful frame. A simple white tank top. Clean and new. Tucked into durable canvas pants. Hideously large belt buckle with an etched image not suitable for anyone under the age of 26. It's vile. Bare feet and in that clawed hand of his... a home made trigger.

"Logan. C'mon, where's your birthday cheer, runt?" He asks while waggling that remote mockingly between two fingers. "Sit down, Logan. You know why I'm here." Rolling his shoulders, the animalistic brute pushes away from the cabin. Pausing to slap his dinner plate sized palm against the glass window. "HEY! We're having a MOMENT, Neena!" Laughing, he shakes his head and approaches that little cake and table with an all too cheerful smile on his scruffy mug.

"Now don't you go blamin' me for all this, runt. You know damn well it's your fault. You. Got. Soft."

Wolverine has posed:
"Yer a maniac," Logan growls, taking a few slow and considered steps towards the table but not sitting down, "A rabid dog tryin' a' prove a damn fool's point."

Even though there's no immediate fight, Logan's claws remain unsheathed. He knows enough about these little get-togethers to know that they don't end well. Already his pulse has quickened, the blood coursing through his veins so quickly that their shared sense of animal hearing can pick it up. His heart pounds heavy in his chance, eyes flicking towards Neena where she's been strung up.

"Neena," he calls, no panic or fear in his voice - only grim determination, "You hang on, darlin'."

Maybe there is a part of him that's afraid of Victor Creed. There certainly has to be, doesn't there? If there's a part that hates him, then a part that fears him must be there, too. But he doesn't show it. He's furious, of that there is no doubt, but it is a rage tempered like Samurai steel. Focused and deadly.

"If you hurt her again," he says, low but still loud enough to be heard, "I'm gonna forget we're acquainted."

Domino has posed:
    The smack against the window draws Neena's glittering gaze. Anger mixes with pain before a coolness greets him. She still can't focus like she wants to and the squeaking of her boot against the glass does not change despite Victor's bid for her to quiet so that Logan and he can have a moment. Like hell.

    The pale mercenary moves a shoulder and not long after Logan bids her to hang in there, she lets out a strangled sound of pain. That large spike through her hand is stretching the wound when she moves and more blood trickles down her palm. If she could even think to curse she would but right now its pain, annoying evil doers and that glass she's nearly pressed against.

    She drags her foot back and kicks again and again, sensations and motions coming a bit more readily with each moment. It does not break, does not give and she wants to cry out again as the movement stretches her hand just a bit more, tearing flesh upon that spike that bears most of her weight. She blinks, eyes rolling a moment as she starts to make out their shapes a little more clearly but really its a bit of a fuzzy mess that looks like shapes and figures at times.

    There is no warning yelled back to Logan. No promise to end Victor. But then Domino has never been one with quippy remarks when the going gets tough.

Sabretooth has posed:
"Now, now. This is your day, bud. No need for all the compliments. Might just make me blush." Creed taunts with that impossibly deep and rough tone. Bare feet pad on cooling grass as the sun sets behind the cabin. If it wasn't for the crimes against humanity and baked goods, it's be a downright beautiful night.

At the table, Victor gestures to the ruined and partially burning cake with an upturned palm. That remote device loose in his other mit. "She ain't got a choice but to hang around. You know if you do it right, crucifixion actually suffocates the victim? Not blood loss or exposure. Wild, huh?" A blond eyebrow, bushy and expressive, arches upward. A glance back over shoulder levels a dissatisfied frown on Domino. He doesn't notice the crack starting to creep up the glass as Neena keeps applying pressure. "Don't worry none. I ain't gonna kill this one. I mean, why throw out a piece like that, am I right or am I right?" That smile of his goes wider. Savage and toothy. All too cheerfully insane.

"You already got them pig stickers out, boy. What's holdin' you back?" Amber eyes widen and he throws his head back. Slapping his knee with a chuckle. "This?!" He asks while mockingly offering the trigger to Logan. "Probably right. I mean... this thing has a hair trigger. Literally could go off for any reason. Like, say... admitting I'm right. Walking in there. And killing her yourself. Like a goddamned man."

Wolverine has posed:
Logan's eyes flick to the device in Victor's hand, trailing the invisible thread to the collar around Domino's throat. He sniffs at the air; the chemical tang of explosives is there if faint. His teeth bare once again, though the claws do not disappear.

"Theatrical," he rumbles, blue eyes burning hateful embers, "Guess I figured wild animal like you'd be itchin' fer an actual fight. Not playin' games."

He once more drops his eyes to the trigger. Evaluating it. They've had a lot of the same training, the only difference being that Creed remembers where they got it.

"C'mon, you mad son of a bitch. You wanna see if I'll snap? Drop that trigger 'n see if I don't rip yer fuckin' HEAD OFF!"

The last words raise quickly into a shout so bestial, so furious that the birds roosting in the pines take wing and flutter off into the gloaming sky with squawks of protest. For all his effort to focus his rage, it always boils there beneath the surface.

Domino has posed:
    Time. Logan needs time and that is registering in her head. The exchange muffled by the glass she looks at Victor when he looks at her and there is teeth, gritted together in a ferocious press of white expanse. She may not be like them but Domino's got a wild streak to match them. When Logan finally yells she takes that moment to press. The top hand suddeny lurches free, dragging the tent spike with it as she cries out and the glass begins to spider vein.

    She can see the lines in her vision. Is that her eyesight or is that the glass? No time to question as she is struggling to stay awake as one leg slips down to try to catch herself and the other hauls off and slams her booted toe into the breakable mass before her.

    In her view the world shatters into millions of pieces before her eyes and she rips her other hand free. Down she goes, lost from sight as she presses her back into the wall and draggs one spike out of her hand. She can not seem to catch her breath as the room spins and she digs a knee into the glass strewn floor. Cut. She can feel it bite into her.

    Distraction enough?

Sabretooth has posed:
"Aaahhh, there it is. Explosivo. Boom-Boom... just with less back talk." He says with a fanged grin of complete sadistic glee. He's savoring this, the bastard. He's milking it for every drop of torment he can strangle out of them. "What? I can't get a little flashy for my boy? C'mon. You -deserve- it."

The smell of explosives is there. Muted but there. Battery acid. Plastic. But... it smells closer, somehow. "I wanna see you work, boy. I wanna see you put those claws where they belong." Sweeping his arm back, Victor Creed points an ultimately deadly talon back at Domino. "IN HER DAMN HEART!" Roaring out the words in direct challenge to Logans taunts, he doesn't see Domino finally work herself free enough to cause some damage. To create a distraction.

Glass shatters and Sabretooth lifts that trigger between them a d smiles beautific and sweeter than he ever should. "Time to blow out the candles."

Click. BOOM.

The world flares white and hot between Logan and Victor as that birthday cake detonates. The explosion is fire and force. Shrapnel kept at a minimum, it's for effect... and the effect absolutely shreds them both. Flinging both men in opposite directions and helping thow Domino a little further onto the softer surface of an area rug.

Wolverine has posed:
Faster, Logan thinks to himself, daring for just a moment to let his eyes drift past Creed to the figure of Domino, Faster, damn you.

Crash! That's what he needed. The distraction! Enough to lunge for the trigger, only for it to be raised into the air and activated. His mouth opens, a wordless cry of protest as the explosion rocks him and sends him tumbling sidelong away from the table and the cabin.

Air is forced from his lungs, flesh shredded by chunks of chipped wood and twisted, burning metal flung with concussive force. The red flannel shirt he wears is shredded now, what few tatters remain soaked bright red with blood. He lays there on the grass, dead silent - the flesh on one side of his face sheared away, revealing only tendon and sinew clinging desperately to bone and cartilage.

But his adrenaline is racing, and his healing factor responds in kind. Flesh grows where it was lost in a time-lapse of the healing process, spreading out across bloodied mess to leave his face pink and clean. The stubble and hair that had grown there gone for now, leaving him with an odd half-shaven look.

As he rises to his feet, one hand reaches to pluck a chunk of table from where it digs into his shoulder. He throws it to the ground forcefully, the wound already knitting up. Other wounds are less lucky, flesh closing over smaller pieces of embedded shrapnel he will need to cut himself open and fish out later. His healing factor has little regard for his comfort, only keeping him alive.

In the haze he searches for him. Creed. Any and all concern for Domino is shoved deep down, the berserker within trampling it underfoot as it bays for blood like some wild hound.

"CREED!" he screams, head thrown back and claws thrust out to either side of him. Only his jeans remain roughly intact, the rest of his body smeared with blood, dirt, and birthday cake.

Domino has posed:
    Domino was up, rising to her feet and pulling the last tent spike free of her hand. She never hears it clatter when the explosion just outside the window deafens eveyrthing. Her ears ringing, heat searing at her back she is thrown forward, feeling something tear slightly that had been crudely stitched up as she grunts and slams into the couch. CUSHY She comes to a halt on her side, staring at the kitchen as she groans. "Psychopath," she hisses lamely, her voice cracking. Did she even get water? Nope.

    Neena gets a hand beneath her, bloodied and leaving a mark as she winces when pain spikes through it. She can hear the scream of Logan's war cry outside in the form of 'Creed'. She nearly turns around to see if she can do something when her beretta's are noted. "Fucking idiot," she hisses out, a faint grin pulling at her lips as she walks her way over to the counter. "Or lucky." She's not about to question it as she pulls on her belt, wincing as she has to really work around the holes in her hands, some fingers not responding the way they should in that moment. Then her deft hands take hold of her guns and she breathes in.

    Slowly her head turns and she looks at the front door and instead, walks out the back.

Sabretooth has posed:
The smile on his face, he hopes will be forever burned into Logan's mind. The satisfied smile of a man getting what he wants on someone elses birthday. He wanted to push Logan past his breaking point. The flash and flare of explosives wipes that smug ass smirk off his face. Clear off. Logan rag dolls one way and Victor the other. Hitting the cabin hard enough to crack supports. Burnt hair, broken bones and ruptured organs. Sabretooth gasps as consciousness snaps back into place.

Drawing in a ragged breath, his lung popping back into proper shape. Bones creak and crack as his healing factor works in triple time. Muscle growing over stark white bone. He's pushing himself up from the now hot grass, ears ringing and blood trickling from blown drums. "Hhhuuuurrrrrrgggghh" He manages before dragging a chair leg from his throat. Fire flickers and licks at his skin, the huge beast literally aflame here and there. Hair. Scraps of cotton or canvas. Uneasy at first, Victor straightens up and draws in a deep, life affirming breath. Those amber eyes flaring a sickly greenish yellow in the fire light. Lips growing back just as he lets out a primal howl of agony and rage.

Luck was on Domino's side for sure when she found those shooters. Creed having completely forgotten them in favor of the tent stakes he found to pin her up with. Out the back door she goes and it's a completely different environment. No fire. No debris... nevermind that. A chair engulfed in flame lands beside her. The murderous cries of two clawed madmen still reaches her ears. She's armed. She's wounded. She's got a bone to pick.

Flash to the other side of the cabin and Victor Creed launches himself at Logan. Claws extended, wild fury in his eyes as he flies at the other man with the force of a head on car crash.

Wolverine has posed:
The roar that scratches its way free of Logan's chest is more animal than man, primal hatred and fury wrapped in an overwhelming urge to kill. This is the base equation of the wilderness. Kill / Be Killed. There is nothing more to it than that. He understands that all too well, and even as tries to rein himself in that wild spirit has gone too far. He fights like an animal now, and it is truly a terror.

As Victor leaps at him, Logan dives headlong with clawed fists clutched at his side. They meet in the air with a heavy thud, the Wolverine's adamantium skeleton likening him to so a Mack truck wrapped in so many pounds of sinew and flesh. Sabretooth's claws rend at the flesh about his shoulders, new rivulets of blood pouring out to mix with sweat and the ragged remains of what was once a shirt. He grimaces, the pain no less excruciating for having felt it a half a million times.

When Logan opens his mouth, there are no intelligible words. No taunts or threats. Only growls, roars, and snarls. His clawed fist plunges at Victor's side, looking to stick him in the flank with those long razors. Once is not enough. He stabs over and over, arm like a piston back and forth in a haze of bloodlust.

Domino has posed:
    Domino has more than a bone to pick. She has a cat to tear apart.

    She has no claws but with subtle clicks and presses of her guns, both now house that special ammo she has just in case for moments like this. The flaming chair slams into the ground not far away and she eyes it a moment before she starts around the house. She can hear the thudding of her heart, blood pounding like some war drum that is accent to the raging brawl going on not far from her. Just another turn and she will have them in sight.

    Neena is still feeling sluggish from the sedatives, not to mention the feeling of hot blood spilling free of a wound stitched up. She's got this.

    This is fine.

    She rounds the corner and the two are far too close together for her to feel good about firing so she scans the grounds, looking for anything and when they roll just right, a gun lifts and she pulls the trigger. The gun jumps a little in her weakened grip but the bullet has its course set right for Victor's spine.

    Kiss. Hello big fella.

Sabretooth has posed:
Happy Birthday, Logan. This unhinged, instinct driven killing frenzy is brought to you by the letter K. The number six and a bloodthirsty psychopath. This is what birthdays are all about. This is why Victor Creed revisits these little moments. Reminding the othr man that the world was so much simpler when you narrowed it down to two things. Life and death.

The two make startling impact. It's not one of those 'unstoppable force, immoveable object' moments. This is a display of violence not often seen on this world. The two collide and claws start flying. For Logan, it's direct assaults. Go for vitals, reach through and swing for fences with surgical precision. For Victor, it's a dance. You have to move differently when fighting Logan. You have to twist just right before those claws punch home or it's game over. Speed is key and as Wolverine stabs again and again, Victor is literally tearing chunks off the mans adamantium skeleton. Ripping at connective tissue. It's a blur of intensity. Blood spattering as Victor snarls wordlessly in Logan's face.

He really, really needs to stop coubting Domino down and out. Underestimating women may be a bit of a problem for him but with this particular mercenary? It's damn near suicidal. Wrapped up in the dance of death that has the two men so completely engaged... Victor feels that hot kiss of thought obliterating pain. Legs go slack as he curls black talons around Logan's ribs. Making a mince of his lung as he screams bloody spittle into his face. Crippled but they all know that won't stick.

Wolverine has posed:
Logan's own healing factor works at a slower pace than Victor's. Something about the adamantium grafted to his skin constantly poisoning him, requiring it to always leave a little juice in the tank to take care of that. His own wounds knit closed quickly, but not quick enough that he doesn't paint a grisly picture. Chunks of flesh dangling by meaty strings, the glint of bloody silver beneath the mess that is his flank.

Even as his body begins to heal, he's still dealing with vital tendons being severed. The strength in his arms slackens as muscle is shredded away from his shoulders, though the same burning intensity remains in his eyes. The sudden, punctured lung leaves him unable to make a sound save to gasp throatily and choke up a bubbling foam of blood across snarling lips.

The sound of the bullets cracking through the air reach him, and he feels Sabretooth's legs go slack. He doesn't let up, barely able to stand himself as his claws retract and he grabs the other man by both shoulders. His teeth clench tight, grinding together as he leans back and drives his adamantium forehead into bridge of Victor's nose.

Domino has posed:
    With half of Victor unable to move Domino pushes her luck and advances, strafing to the left and into view of his peripheral. That black patch over her eye noticeable from the distance she is at as another bullet sparks free and goes right for Victor's jaw, meaning to cleave the lower half of his face off. But why shoot one bullet when you have many in a clip oh and look - another gun.

    The second shot comes from her other gun now leveled towards a hand, meaning to render it unusable. Disable him and let Logan do what he likes with his sadistic clinger of a friend. Really, no one needs that kind of negativity in their life.

    These bullets are special. Made just for mutants like Sabertooth and sadly, also Logan. She is doing her best to get clean shots. "How the fuck does he even die?"

    A question for the ages.

Sabretooth has posed:
It's like 1990's splatter art on bath salts and mescaline. There's blood and viscera in every direction. Victor Creed himself is a horrific mess of carved off muscle and spouting stab wounds that seal almost immediately after those long claws pull out for another assault. He's not letting up. He has to get to the -heart- of the matter. Wrap his fist around it and show him what he's talking about. Life and death. Nothing in between but fleeting moments of distraction. He's gripping those adamantium laced ribs like safety rails. Eye to eye with Logan but the tides have turned... Now it's -him- looking up at Wolverine. He does not particularly care for this change.

Teeth and vicious fangs stained crimson, he smiles wicked and clearly insane. "W-what's another... twelve years?" A laugh bubbles up from his throat but it's cut short by the CLANK and darkness of a headbutt from Wolverine. It rattles the cage and knocks the hamster right off the wheel. Victors eyes roll but his grip remains. Locked like a snapping turtle. That is until Domino chimes in. Head thrown back, he takes a round to the jaw. Eyes snap toward Domino as a tooth lodges into Logan's cheekbone. A guttural sound leaves him and that wicked grasp loosens... the next shot takes his hand. Not off but his claws finally slip free of Logans chest.

The heavy thud of his body hitting the earth is louder than expected. The low, barely audible chuckle that rocks his body as he begins to freel his toes? Now -that- is a gift worthy of any birthday. "You can't kill me. I'm a recurring nightmare. You deserve me." His laugher rises, louder still. Madness and homicidal urges never mix well. "Shakily, his healing factor slowed by those damn rounds, he points a claw across the lake. "B-but the other bomb? They don't deserve that..."

Wolverine has posed:
Logan's only response as Victor falls to the ground is to scream at the top of his lungs. A victory cry. The sought of terrifying howl that drifts across the treetops and causes those people living safe at the mansion to shudder like someone just walked over their collective graves. His claws still unsheathed, burnished with blood, he hunches over the prostrate form of Sabretooth and raises them before him. His breathing is heavy, a rattling growl running through his chest. His flesh is a mess of blood so thick and gruesome that it's impossible to tell if the wounds beneath have even healed.

"CREED!" he shouts again, lifting one of his clawed hands up and leveling all three prongs at the man's exposed neck. He holds in there, arm quivering. But a moment from unleashing and ending this sick game for all.

Which dog wins? The one I feed.

With a grisly sound, his claws retract back into his hands. He steps over the bloodied body of Sabretooth, moving towards Neena and stretching a hand caked with blood and sodden earth out towards her.

"Come," he growls at her, breath still ragged and words not coming easily.

He doesn't wait for her, turning instead and lurching off in the direction of the mansion and Creed's promised bomb.

Domino has posed:
    "NO! Logan no! End him!" Neena is so desperate for it, SHE can taste it as those claws slide back out of view. A few more shots are let loose of her gun before the general thrum of it cause her hand to shiver. SHe no longer trusts herself to not hit something else and stops, glancing up at Logan when he extends his hand.

    Domino stares at him up until Victor's sudden sharing. "Right, you ...gonna kill kids. Yeah not sure why I question that, go..I will be right behind." She watches him take off and its a struggle, a visible one for a split second. She's got more bullets, a lot more with Sabertooth's name on them. "Enjoy the pain. I will see you again." She offers the promise or threat depending on how one looks at it. Pivoting she does her best to keep up with Logan but no where near fast enough, not with the stitched wound open again and angering her side. She slides her guns away and prsses her hand to the glossy wet feeling of her suit.

    She gets a fair distance and then her legs just give out. Blood loss, unwanted drug abuse and adrenaline wearing a little thin she takes time to get to her feet again but definitely not as steady as Logan.

    "I actually have the excuse of being too old." She rumbles out to no one but the air.

Sabretooth has posed:
Retaining consciousness is a struggle even with his ramped up stamina and regeneration. So much blood loss. Surviving such a truly staggering number of outright killing blows takes a toll on a man. Even a man like Sabretooth. Vision fading in and out. It's a sickening sensation being lifted off the grass when you can't really feel anything.

A weak yet all too contented smile plays across his lips. That fanged display of crimson and white growing all the wider at the sound of his name roared so defiantly. The business ends of adamantium claws scoring thin lines in his throat as Wolverines arm shivers with both restraint and no doubt an intense need to finish the curse that is Victor Creed. "Listen.... listen to the frail. Do it." Neck straining, Victor lifts his head to those deadly claws. Only to be denied a fitting end. His head falls back. Chest rocking with the beginings of laughter as Logan races off to ensure the safety of others.

Leaving him alone with Domino once more. "It's been real, Neena." He says before she takes off after Wolverine. The sadistic, unhinged laughter of a monster following them until it can no more.

No bomb is found. No danger left behind. The only thing left in Victor Creeds wake is a bit of destruction, a lot of questions and a bloody trail that ends at the waters of the lake. No body to be found.