Asshole.
Fuckin' blighter. Hope Magneto shoves that wrench up his nose next time. Fuck.
=BH= Warehouse Alpha - Abandoned Mining Facility
Streaming sunlight and starlight alike are welcome no more in the bulk of Warehouse Alpha's gaping interior, replaced now by more reliable fluorescent lighting far overhead. Unfortunately, while every hole in the roof has been sealed over, the immense rectangular stretch of the cement floor remains cracked in places, and missing completely in others, though vines and animals alike have been banished and swept clean from the premises. At the far end, near a recently installed mechanical door that stretches to cover a majority of one of the shorter walls, a single black Crown Victoria is parked on a clean-swept patch of cement next to a large (also black) truck, a pair of matching dirt bikes, and further still, a motorcycle. The opposite end of the warehouse is largely occupied by a sleek black helicopter and a semi - with a massive portion of the ceiling over the former clearly modified mechanically to slide over onto the other half of the warehouse roof on a motorized rail system operated by a control box mounted on the nearest wall.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias BHWarehouseAlpha to watch here.]
[Exits : [O]ut]
[Players : Magneto ]
Idle beneath the closed and shuttered roof of Warehouse Alpha, the Brotherhood's lone helicopter is not looking its best after a prolonged stay in the city. Occasional scratches cross the machine's wide belly, and smudges are evident throughout what was once a pristine polish over black paint and chromed steel. It is upon this helicopter that Erik stands, rather than within it; heavy combat boots perched impossibly out upon the furthest reach of a chopper blade as he sips his coffee, and surveys the warehouse in its increasingly dusty entirety.
With a jaunty rhythm and accompanying grunts of a crude song, the little green mechanic comes step-stepping from the large cargo doors to the side of the warehouse. Each third step comes with a double bare-footed slap as he amuses himself towards the helicopter. In one hand swings a heavy red metal toolbox and across the other should is slung a dingy plastic box full of Toad's playthings. "Hallo, Sah. 'Ow's she lookin', there?" He wonders as he saddles up next to his beloved helicopter.
Victor Creed has absolutely no business in the warehouse containing the helicopter, and at the moment, Magneto and Toad. To Victor Creed, that is the perfect reason to be there. He swaggers his way into sight, that horrendously brutalized leather coat (claw marks, tire marks, who knows what he does to this thing), swinging behind him like some emperor's cape. His black eyes focus in on Erik's position at the tip of a chopper blade, and he can't help but give an audible jab of, "Show off," in that direction.
"Not terribly well, though she has certainly seen worse." Chin dipped on a slow and steady delay to follow Toad's progress into the warehouse and up to the helicopter in question, Erik draws in a deep breath and takes another sip of lukewarm coffee. "The price one pays for storage servicemen who do not ask questions." This muttered to Mortimer beneath the sounds involved in a swaggering Sabretooth on the approach, Erik narrows his attention up onto the big mutant before opening his right hand so that the steel of his mug drifts weightlessly into the air over his curled fingers. "I daresay you are a mere weather balloon or twenty from a similar contempt for gravity."
Toad purses his lips thoughtfully, bending at the knees to settle both boxes on the ground as he pushes a free hand to the underbelly of the flying machine. He digs into a pocket, ignoring the entrance of Sabertooth in order to hold his magnifying work goggles up and inspect her. Toad glances over his shoulder after Magneto speak, smirking at the closest thing Toad can call a friend. "Oi, I think he just called yer fat, Lardass." Sticky hands tap wetly on the copter's body and he stands. "Probably ain't much to it. Fix'er up inner juffy. You'll be needin' 'er soon then, Sah?"
Creed points a finger at Toad, with a slight tilt of his head and a tightening of his lips against his fangs. "Don't make me come over there." Evidently, he's reduced to nearly familial threats in Magneto's presence. Brotherhood indeed. Instead of smacking Toad though, he does roam in the direction of the poor chopper. "So everyone just hangin' out in here today? Did you institute a Warehouse Friday rule, Erik?" His smirk up at the older-looking man is almost playful. He's still cheery from getting to murder someone.
"Not for anything in particular." This, of course, directed at Toad, Erik merely lifts a brow after the lardass comment, and the return threat. After a brief consideration, he discerns that his part in the exchange should be to take another sip of his coffee, and that is precisely what he does. "The dorms and refinery are back in decent working order. It is time that we turned our attention to other matters."
"Smoke up yer ass!" Toad grumbles back at Sabertooth's treat. He crouches and waddles a ninety degree turn, wiggling his fingers before flipping open the toolbox lid. Carefully he considers the innards of his box, plucking out a wrench and slipping it into a loop on his pants. "Other matters, s'that roight? Wouldn't 'ave nothin' ter do wid wot you got Pyro an' Whiskers sniffin' 'round for?"
Sabretooth is not one to ignore his impulses. His boot swings outward once he is close enough. The crouching Toad has a semi-firm kick applied to his butt. "I'm pretty curious myself, Erik." He looks up toward the silver-haired man once more. "Havin' us play slash and burn with random fucks doesn't seem quite like your usual style."
"It is preferable," says Erik, a flick of his unoccupied left hand sending the wrench on Toad's belt whipping up hard into the bridge of Creed's nose, "to having to play nanny to you personally while I await more significant opportunities." Not so much as an eye batted, he leans aside enough to try to get a fair look after Toad's trajectory, if there is one to follow. "I was thinking more along the lines of testing the equipment we left idle."
Toad yelps, sprawling to the floor as his wrench leaves him. He rolls, halfway under the chopper before he can pop his head back, looking dazed but smug. "Testing stuff? Loike, takin' stuff for spins? I know the equipment bet'er than 'nyone, Sah. Should lemme be in charge o'that." The little green man attempts to occupy himself with the thought as he grins like a child on Christmas morning at Creed. He staggers to his feet and rubs at his ass, the pain catching up with him. "Bloody 'ell. You got steel on yer boots, you overgrown 'ousecat?"
A nice little roar of shock and pain is drawn out of Creed when that wrench crunches against his face. He staggers a couple of steps backwards, one big paw clutching at his broken nose. "Fuck Erik, was that really neccessary?" He shakes his head, blood splattering lightly and leaving the most charming freckles along his cheeks. "And no, yer lucky I didn't kick all that hard. That was a lovetap," he mutters, the broken nose injecting a nasal quality into his voice. Luckily for his dignity, there is already the alarming noise of cartiledge repairing itself.
Tongue breiefly visible over the tip of his own teeth at the blood spatter, Erik chuckles to himself openly before the sound is muffled into his mug. "Very well. You might see about collecting a younger recruit or two to assist you. They could probably use the training. As for /you/," Creed, if the line of Erik's gaze is any indication, is 'you,' "if you would pick on mutants your own size, I would not feel compelled to intervene."
Toad stops rubbing his butt for a moment to stare at Creed. "A lovetap. You lovetapped m'ass. Could you kill 'im next time, Sah? Please?" The little man slides the annoyed look up at Magneto, shaking his head and bending back down to search out where his goggles dropped to. "Sure thing, Sah. Shouldn't be too 'ard t'get 'em on such a chore." He finds his glasses and plucks them up with a searching tongue, depositing them in his left hand. "Fuck, I could take 'im," Toad whines out in protest, puffing out his chest and cheeks proudly.
"You find me a mutant my size, Erik, and I'll pick on 'em all you want." By this point, the only sign left that he was whalloped in the face with a wrench is the blood already beginning to dry in his stubble. He looks over at Toad, "The only place you can take me, you green bitch, is in a video game." Shaking his head and trying to depart from the childish posturing, he instead looks up at Erik. "For the record, I don't need a fuckin' nanny. I just need somethin' a bit more... entertaining than sitting on my ass. How often do you have someone askin' yer boney old ass for busywork?"
"Metaphorically," Erik elaborates after a moment's pause, amusement at Creed's expense glittering cold in the blue of his eyes as he widens his weightless stance along the chopper blade. "Wolverine must be half your weight, after all." A half-smile spared there, he looks down to Toad with lifted brows as he swirls the last bit of his coffee idly around the bottom of his mug. His first question is elegantly ignored. "Perhaps later we can arrange for something more official between the two of you." Like marriage. "And more frequently than you might think."
Toad blinks, his shoulders slumping as he stares helplessly at Erik. "Metaphishy wot now?" The small man wilts and pinches unhappily at the zippered pockets of his pants, grumbling something low under his breath. "Wait, wait. You mean like sparrin' 'im?" Green pales slightly as he takes a long look at Sabertooth. "Er, well. Y'know. Sure. Why not?" Though the intention is casual, his voice noticeably hikes up a notch.
As a shocker, Creed actually makes a suggestion he feels is reasonable. "Since yer handing out shit to do, to shit-for-brains here," Toad, obviously. "And he brought up sparring, why not let me teach the recruits how to fuckin' fight? I promise I won't break none of them. And I'll heal if any of the little darlings slip." His sneer is only half-loaded with contempt.
"There is no obligation, of course - but if you should ever feel the need to prove your superiority..." Erik smiles again, thinly, and turns his attention slowly back over onto Sabretooth. "Mystique is currently at the head of physical combat, but I suppose there is something that your particular flavor of engagement might be something worth looking into. Speak with her. She will know who needs the most work. And do, of course, keep in mind that I do not look kindly upon wasted potential, be it accidental or otherwise."
"There is no obligation, of course - but if you should ever feel the need to prove your superiority..." Erik smiles again, thinly, and turns his attention slowly back over onto Sabretooth. "Mystique is currently at the head of physical combat, but I suppose there is something to be said for your particular flavor of engagement. Speak with her. She will know who needs the most work. And do, of course, keep in mind that I do not look kindly upon wasted potential, be it accidental or otherwise."
Toad crosses his arms and leans up against the helicopter, hoping he is out of sight as he starts to silently mock Sabertooth, leering and prodding his tongue out at his own nose. "Wotcher gonner teach 'em? The best way ter cover up shit in a sandbox?" His knees tense, waiting to see if he needs to leap away.
Creed looks left and right, then down. He's trying to find a weapon. Throwing the wrench doesn't seem like the brightest idea and throwing one of his boots is impractical. "Just you wait, you wart-licking little shit-heel. I'm going to catch you without Erik loomin' over us like some flying fucking Jesus, and I'm going to pop your eyeballs like... like... fucking bubblewrap!" The taunting is evidently frustrating when he can't smack Toad handily. Shaking his head and trying to bite back a growl, he adds, to the aforementioned hover-Jesus. "I'll talk to her then. I think I got some serious ideas about how to train the little shits for practical self-defense, all while keeping myself from murdering one of my Brothers out of boredom." Another glance in Toad's direction reveals who he is thinking of killing.
Children. Horrible, green and hairy children, respectively. Magneto steps off the rotor blade and into thin air before he lowers back to solid ground, eyeing the pair of them all the while. "Admittedly, I am not up to date on Christian lore, but I do not recall our lord and savior flying at any particular point in time." From landing to an even pace past Creed, mug still in hand, Erik is already moving in the direction of the door. "Keep me apprised of any problems in the course of your work, Toad. And Victor - see that the mess you've made is up off my floor before dark. I do not care if you have to use Mortimer for a mop."
Toad shifts his weight, bouncing from one foot to the other as he wiggles a grin at Sabertooth. "All talk, all talk! Yer too slow ter catch yer ass ter lick yer hole!" He jibs at the other with a squelching snicker. He pockets the goggles, still looking smug when Magneto pops his bubble. The little green man stares after his leader, a whimper stays lodged in his throat. "Sah?" The mutant squeaks, though likely it's too late for Magneto to hear his plea.
Creed's expression goes from frustrated to absolutely blissful. It seems as if every fang in his mouth is being shown as his dark eyes latch onto Toad. "You heard the man..." Victor growls out, claws flexing at his sides before he bolts forward to try to catch the quicker mutant. This is going to be a loud night.
If Erik did hear it, he gives no indication - considering, perhaps, the lesson that is about to be learned a necessary one, in the long run. He works paired fingers in beneath the line of his collar to loosen and free the buttons there, and swings the door open ahead of himself before vanishing out into the cold to carry on about his business.
=BH= Warehouse Alpha - Abandoned Mining Facility
Streaming sunlight and starlight alike are welcome no more in the bulk of Warehouse Alpha's gaping interior, replaced now by more reliable fluorescent lighting far overhead. Unfortunately, while every hole in the roof has been sealed over, the immense rectangular stretch of the cement floor remains cracked in places, and missing completely in others, though vines and animals alike have been banished and swept clean from the premises. At the far end, near a recently installed mechanical door that stretches to cover a majority of one of the shorter walls, a single black Crown Victoria is parked on a clean-swept patch of cement next to a large (also black) truck, a pair of matching dirt bikes, and further still, a motorcycle. The opposite end of the warehouse is largely occupied by a sleek black helicopter and a semi - with a massive portion of the ceiling over the former clearly modified mechanically to slide over onto the other half of the warehouse roof on a motorized rail system operated by a control box mounted on the nearest wall.
[This room is set watchable. Use alias BHWarehouseAlpha to watch here.]
[Exits : [O]ut]
[Players : Magneto ]
Idle beneath the closed and shuttered roof of Warehouse Alpha, the Brotherhood's lone helicopter is not looking its best after a prolonged stay in the city. Occasional scratches cross the machine's wide belly, and smudges are evident throughout what was once a pristine polish over black paint and chromed steel. It is upon this helicopter that Erik stands, rather than within it; heavy combat boots perched impossibly out upon the furthest reach of a chopper blade as he sips his coffee, and surveys the warehouse in its increasingly dusty entirety.
With a jaunty rhythm and accompanying grunts of a crude song, the little green mechanic comes step-stepping from the large cargo doors to the side of the warehouse. Each third step comes with a double bare-footed slap as he amuses himself towards the helicopter. In one hand swings a heavy red metal toolbox and across the other should is slung a dingy plastic box full of Toad's playthings. "Hallo, Sah. 'Ow's she lookin', there?" He wonders as he saddles up next to his beloved helicopter.
Victor Creed has absolutely no business in the warehouse containing the helicopter, and at the moment, Magneto and Toad. To Victor Creed, that is the perfect reason to be there. He swaggers his way into sight, that horrendously brutalized leather coat (claw marks, tire marks, who knows what he does to this thing), swinging behind him like some emperor's cape. His black eyes focus in on Erik's position at the tip of a chopper blade, and he can't help but give an audible jab of, "Show off," in that direction.
"Not terribly well, though she has certainly seen worse." Chin dipped on a slow and steady delay to follow Toad's progress into the warehouse and up to the helicopter in question, Erik draws in a deep breath and takes another sip of lukewarm coffee. "The price one pays for storage servicemen who do not ask questions." This muttered to Mortimer beneath the sounds involved in a swaggering Sabretooth on the approach, Erik narrows his attention up onto the big mutant before opening his right hand so that the steel of his mug drifts weightlessly into the air over his curled fingers. "I daresay you are a mere weather balloon or twenty from a similar contempt for gravity."
Toad purses his lips thoughtfully, bending at the knees to settle both boxes on the ground as he pushes a free hand to the underbelly of the flying machine. He digs into a pocket, ignoring the entrance of Sabertooth in order to hold his magnifying work goggles up and inspect her. Toad glances over his shoulder after Magneto speak, smirking at the closest thing Toad can call a friend. "Oi, I think he just called yer fat, Lardass." Sticky hands tap wetly on the copter's body and he stands. "Probably ain't much to it. Fix'er up inner juffy. You'll be needin' 'er soon then, Sah?"
Creed points a finger at Toad, with a slight tilt of his head and a tightening of his lips against his fangs. "Don't make me come over there." Evidently, he's reduced to nearly familial threats in Magneto's presence. Brotherhood indeed. Instead of smacking Toad though, he does roam in the direction of the poor chopper. "So everyone just hangin' out in here today? Did you institute a Warehouse Friday rule, Erik?" His smirk up at the older-looking man is almost playful. He's still cheery from getting to murder someone.
"Not for anything in particular." This, of course, directed at Toad, Erik merely lifts a brow after the lardass comment, and the return threat. After a brief consideration, he discerns that his part in the exchange should be to take another sip of his coffee, and that is precisely what he does. "The dorms and refinery are back in decent working order. It is time that we turned our attention to other matters."
"Smoke up yer ass!" Toad grumbles back at Sabertooth's treat. He crouches and waddles a ninety degree turn, wiggling his fingers before flipping open the toolbox lid. Carefully he considers the innards of his box, plucking out a wrench and slipping it into a loop on his pants. "Other matters, s'that roight? Wouldn't 'ave nothin' ter do wid wot you got Pyro an' Whiskers sniffin' 'round for?"
Sabretooth is not one to ignore his impulses. His boot swings outward once he is close enough. The crouching Toad has a semi-firm kick applied to his butt. "I'm pretty curious myself, Erik." He looks up toward the silver-haired man once more. "Havin' us play slash and burn with random fucks doesn't seem quite like your usual style."
"It is preferable," says Erik, a flick of his unoccupied left hand sending the wrench on Toad's belt whipping up hard into the bridge of Creed's nose, "to having to play nanny to you personally while I await more significant opportunities." Not so much as an eye batted, he leans aside enough to try to get a fair look after Toad's trajectory, if there is one to follow. "I was thinking more along the lines of testing the equipment we left idle."
Toad yelps, sprawling to the floor as his wrench leaves him. He rolls, halfway under the chopper before he can pop his head back, looking dazed but smug. "Testing stuff? Loike, takin' stuff for spins? I know the equipment bet'er than 'nyone, Sah. Should lemme be in charge o'that." The little green man attempts to occupy himself with the thought as he grins like a child on Christmas morning at Creed. He staggers to his feet and rubs at his ass, the pain catching up with him. "Bloody 'ell. You got steel on yer boots, you overgrown 'ousecat?"
A nice little roar of shock and pain is drawn out of Creed when that wrench crunches against his face. He staggers a couple of steps backwards, one big paw clutching at his broken nose. "Fuck Erik, was that really neccessary?" He shakes his head, blood splattering lightly and leaving the most charming freckles along his cheeks. "And no, yer lucky I didn't kick all that hard. That was a lovetap," he mutters, the broken nose injecting a nasal quality into his voice. Luckily for his dignity, there is already the alarming noise of cartiledge repairing itself.
Tongue breiefly visible over the tip of his own teeth at the blood spatter, Erik chuckles to himself openly before the sound is muffled into his mug. "Very well. You might see about collecting a younger recruit or two to assist you. They could probably use the training. As for /you/," Creed, if the line of Erik's gaze is any indication, is 'you,' "if you would pick on mutants your own size, I would not feel compelled to intervene."
Toad stops rubbing his butt for a moment to stare at Creed. "A lovetap. You lovetapped m'ass. Could you kill 'im next time, Sah? Please?" The little man slides the annoyed look up at Magneto, shaking his head and bending back down to search out where his goggles dropped to. "Sure thing, Sah. Shouldn't be too 'ard t'get 'em on such a chore." He finds his glasses and plucks them up with a searching tongue, depositing them in his left hand. "Fuck, I could take 'im," Toad whines out in protest, puffing out his chest and cheeks proudly.
"You find me a mutant my size, Erik, and I'll pick on 'em all you want." By this point, the only sign left that he was whalloped in the face with a wrench is the blood already beginning to dry in his stubble. He looks over at Toad, "The only place you can take me, you green bitch, is in a video game." Shaking his head and trying to depart from the childish posturing, he instead looks up at Erik. "For the record, I don't need a fuckin' nanny. I just need somethin' a bit more... entertaining than sitting on my ass. How often do you have someone askin' yer boney old ass for busywork?"
"Metaphorically," Erik elaborates after a moment's pause, amusement at Creed's expense glittering cold in the blue of his eyes as he widens his weightless stance along the chopper blade. "Wolverine must be half your weight, after all." A half-smile spared there, he looks down to Toad with lifted brows as he swirls the last bit of his coffee idly around the bottom of his mug. His first question is elegantly ignored. "Perhaps later we can arrange for something more official between the two of you." Like marriage. "And more frequently than you might think."
Toad blinks, his shoulders slumping as he stares helplessly at Erik. "Metaphishy wot now?" The small man wilts and pinches unhappily at the zippered pockets of his pants, grumbling something low under his breath. "Wait, wait. You mean like sparrin' 'im?" Green pales slightly as he takes a long look at Sabertooth. "Er, well. Y'know. Sure. Why not?" Though the intention is casual, his voice noticeably hikes up a notch.
As a shocker, Creed actually makes a suggestion he feels is reasonable. "Since yer handing out shit to do, to shit-for-brains here," Toad, obviously. "And he brought up sparring, why not let me teach the recruits how to fuckin' fight? I promise I won't break none of them. And I'll heal if any of the little darlings slip." His sneer is only half-loaded with contempt.
"There is no obligation, of course - but if you should ever feel the need to prove your superiority..." Erik smiles again, thinly, and turns his attention slowly back over onto Sabretooth. "Mystique is currently at the head of physical combat, but I suppose there is something that your particular flavor of engagement might be something worth looking into. Speak with her. She will know who needs the most work. And do, of course, keep in mind that I do not look kindly upon wasted potential, be it accidental or otherwise."
"There is no obligation, of course - but if you should ever feel the need to prove your superiority..." Erik smiles again, thinly, and turns his attention slowly back over onto Sabretooth. "Mystique is currently at the head of physical combat, but I suppose there is something to be said for your particular flavor of engagement. Speak with her. She will know who needs the most work. And do, of course, keep in mind that I do not look kindly upon wasted potential, be it accidental or otherwise."
Toad crosses his arms and leans up against the helicopter, hoping he is out of sight as he starts to silently mock Sabertooth, leering and prodding his tongue out at his own nose. "Wotcher gonner teach 'em? The best way ter cover up shit in a sandbox?" His knees tense, waiting to see if he needs to leap away.
Creed looks left and right, then down. He's trying to find a weapon. Throwing the wrench doesn't seem like the brightest idea and throwing one of his boots is impractical. "Just you wait, you wart-licking little shit-heel. I'm going to catch you without Erik loomin' over us like some flying fucking Jesus, and I'm going to pop your eyeballs like... like... fucking bubblewrap!" The taunting is evidently frustrating when he can't smack Toad handily. Shaking his head and trying to bite back a growl, he adds, to the aforementioned hover-Jesus. "I'll talk to her then. I think I got some serious ideas about how to train the little shits for practical self-defense, all while keeping myself from murdering one of my Brothers out of boredom." Another glance in Toad's direction reveals who he is thinking of killing.
Children. Horrible, green and hairy children, respectively. Magneto steps off the rotor blade and into thin air before he lowers back to solid ground, eyeing the pair of them all the while. "Admittedly, I am not up to date on Christian lore, but I do not recall our lord and savior flying at any particular point in time." From landing to an even pace past Creed, mug still in hand, Erik is already moving in the direction of the door. "Keep me apprised of any problems in the course of your work, Toad. And Victor - see that the mess you've made is up off my floor before dark. I do not care if you have to use Mortimer for a mop."
Toad shifts his weight, bouncing from one foot to the other as he wiggles a grin at Sabertooth. "All talk, all talk! Yer too slow ter catch yer ass ter lick yer hole!" He jibs at the other with a squelching snicker. He pockets the goggles, still looking smug when Magneto pops his bubble. The little green man stares after his leader, a whimper stays lodged in his throat. "Sah?" The mutant squeaks, though likely it's too late for Magneto to hear his plea.
Creed's expression goes from frustrated to absolutely blissful. It seems as if every fang in his mouth is being shown as his dark eyes latch onto Toad. "You heard the man..." Victor growls out, claws flexing at his sides before he bolts forward to try to catch the quicker mutant. This is going to be a loud night.
If Erik did hear it, he gives no indication - considering, perhaps, the lesson that is about to be learned a necessary one, in the long run. He works paired fingers in beneath the line of his collar to loosen and free the buttons there, and swings the door open ahead of himself before vanishing out into the cold to carry on about his business.