Who: Victor Creed, OTA What: Victor's ears need some rest from the new residents in Green block. Where: The beach When: Monday afternoon
Victor wasn’t what you’d call social. For the first one hundred years of his life, he had his brother, Jimmy, and that was all he needed. Maybe they were together longer; he couldn’t be sure exactly how old he was; he didn’t remember any longer. He didn’t remember what his mother or father looked like, or the town he and Jimmy grew up in. He really didn’t remember much before the American Civil War, and that only stood out to him because that’s when the brothers realized for certain that they were different. Times in between the wars seemed to go by like blurs; they were nothing but hazy memories, though sometimes his vivid dreams brought images screaming back to his head.
Revolve was boring for him, despite the recent turn around in events that included meeting that other feral (and leaving him with a good claw mark to remember him by) and the collapse of one cell block and the partial collapse of another. It made breathing space in green so uncomfortable he’d lashed out twice at other mutants already with words only and not violence, because Kelvin had told him the people here were likely to set up a small cell for the other that he wouldn’t ever be let out of and well, that really didn’t sound like something Victor would enjoy too much.
He liked the beach he discovered simply because the waves crashing against the high cliffs around the bay silenced all the noise around Revolve, something that seemed to be making him crazy lately, his over-sensitive hearing having not been in overdrive like this since a shoot out in a city in Germany in 1944. Things like that he remembered; the things that they did in that private research facility escaped him. He’d been told it was filmed, and though he demanded to see the tapes, just so he could remember, he was refused even when he threatened the lives of everyone in the room.
Everyone that was very much still alive, while he was stuck here. Wouldn’t be alive for much longer when he got to them, he told himself, but first he had to figure a way off this damn rock. He was sure he’d have to use Remy again… maybe rope in a couple other mutants of other skill. He could be nice enough to some mutants to get off the island and then disassociate with them once they landed. Like some sort of mutant team. Course, he didn’t much like having to babysit others, so he’d have to invest in someone to be their ‘leader’. If only he could find someone not scared of him?
He sat down on the sand with a bored sigh, finding himself wishing Jimmy were here just so he could have someone to beat on that wouldn’t die from his wounds. He remembered a fight they’d had once; he couldn’t remember the year or the season. Jimmy had put his bone claws clear through the others shoulder, causing him to roar in pain; he remembered snapping off the bones that night and Jimmy’s cries of pain made him feel sick. The bones grew back in about a half hour.
The sun felt nice on his skin, and he basked in it as he sat there, closing his eyes and letting the tension ease from his thick shoulders. He wondered if he’d get to meet a somewhat ‘normal’ mutant here; someone who didn’t annoy him (like that bouncing martial artist) or piss him off (like that other scrappy feral), maybe someone with the same attitudes. Maybe someone like his brother, Jimmy.