Please do not poke the ferals Who: Wild Child, Sabretooth When: Friday, July 10th, mid-afternoon Where: Outside the Grass Arena What: Gibs and Creed meet up again, and once more feral tempers clash, which throws Wild Child into a painful mutation/developmental spike Warnings: Language, some blood Notes: Log Format, not entirely finished but darn close Wild Child was feeling much better from a week ago, his body was recovering and he was feeling much more like himself. His body had shed all its fur, his lean face almost... attractive as that long blonde hair framed his features. Cat slitted blue eyes scanned area as he shuffled along, he still moving with a bit of the 'feral slouch,' though not nearly so badly as before. He almost stood to his not-so-impressive height of five foot six. He was actually dressed rather nicely today, wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a blue button downed shirt. His large, clawed, bare feet and the fact that his shirt was more unbuttoned than buttoned with the sleeves rolled up rather effectively countered the nicer effects of the clothing.
Gibs and Jason had come to the island to watch the Friday matches, which were often headliners and very interesting. Kyle had recovered enough to where Jason was looking at setting him up with a fight sometime next week, though at the moment the feral had very mixed feelings about the arenas. He had once been driven to fight again and again, driven by the conviction that he was going to change the island, cause revolution, change the world. Now? Now he had a terrible, sinking feeling that he had only been playing into the system. That he had been supporting Revolve with every swing he took with every cry for change and revolution... he was just a pawn. The realization had left him with a heavy heart and a knot in the pit of his stomach.
That was why he had slipped away from the fights, he had needed to stretch his legs and settle his mind. Big hands were stuffed into his pockets, his head down, hair half hiding his face, the spikes in his simple leather collar catching the fading light now again. What the hell was he supposed to do? How the hell was he, a smelly mutt with a temper and an outrageous appetite supposed to fix the world? Gibeny shuffled along, absently kicking at blades of grass with the balls of his feet as his head aimlessly wandered, keeping track of those around him more through his nose and ears than his eyes. At least he wasn't so damn tired all the time now? At least he felt like he could possibly stand a chance in a fight? That was a nice change. Still, something was still very night right, not right with Revolve and not right with Kyle Gibney.
--
Victor had been at least a little curious about this whole tournament thing when he heard about it, but he stayed away for the simple fact that if anyone bled, he might have lost it. He'd been good for the past couple days; hadn't been pushing a lot of buttons other than Kelvin's and had actually been rewarded for a good attitude with an edible meal from the young commander.
“Try not to kill anyone this week.” He’d said as he gave the other a good, thick slab of beef. It was lightly grilled, and Victor supposed he’d deal with it, ignoring the fork and knife since he was in the cell by himself and made quick work of the beef, licking his fingers afterwards and settling in, sated for now.
Try not to kill anyone this week? If that wiry young one they called Deadpool bugged him once more, he was going to make good on his threat about ripping his spine out and beating him with it. That would teach the kid… if he lived to learn the lesson in the first place. The other person he had to teach some Goddamn respect to was that disgusting feral, and he hadn’t decided if he was going to teach him the lesson though a good dealing of pain, or instead hurting that tall, thin man who’d commanded him to stop hurting the younger one. Oh yes, that’d be nice, he thought, one to kill and one to watch be mentally tortured by his loss before he killed him, too.
He lounged until his food digested a little and then got up again, deciding on visiting that Cajun again. Not that he cared about him. He just wanted to make sure he was alright.
He was halfway to Remy’s cell block when he smelled it; that scent again that made his stomach churn a little, his eyes narrowing as he followed it. It wasn’t long before he saw the scrappy looking thing by himself, bringing a smile to his lips. Well, maybe he’d kill this one first and watch that thin one suffer.
“Well, looks like you can clean up a little. Almost didn’t recognize you except your scent gave you away for the last quarter mile.” He said, voice low, threatening a growl though he took no protective or attack defense, simply appearing casual for the time being.
--
Gibney tensed well before the larger feral neared, he able to scent just as well as the surly one. He felt strong and confidant today, he was not a weak and exhausted. He rolled his shoulders and kept walking, though his attention was focused sharply on the approaching figure. He was attempting to not start anything, avoiding eye contact, just attempting to just ignore him. The asshole was clearly just looking for a fight and Gibs had better things to do. Sadly, he could very soon feel the intensity of the other prickling up his back, a clear indication that he would not be so lucky as to just avoid the larger.
The roar of the crowd echoed from the Grass Arena, pulling Kyle's attention to one side. Apparently the fight was going well, the youth had simply been unable to stomach it all today, too many conflicting emotions, the weight of too much responsibility pressed on his shoulders. He had come out to try and clear his head, to settle his stomach, to feel better, and now this big growly cat was coming towards him and he was entirely sure this would not help his situation or mindset at all. Grr!
"I got nothin' t' say t' yew." He announced in a calm, confidant tone. His chin was held high as he tossed his head, throwing long hair from his face. He straightened a bit more as well, not slouching so much in an attempt to make his scrawny form look larger than it was. He did not want a fight, and yet he so, so very did. This man bothered him, he was arrogant and unstable and gleefully delighted to be both, or so Kyle saw it. He had similar feelings about the tiger-man not long ago. Perhaps it was his instincts or perhaps it was the brash imagination of youth, but he tended to paint certain energies as huge dramatic evil-minded villains. While it was usually an exaggeration, some might wonder if he was not spot on with this particular brute.
"Jus' keep movin'," he grumbled, crossing his arms before his chest. He was attempting to give the other his space, though he was still holding his own ground. His eyes were firm not challenging but certainly guarded. He was confidant this time. He had been trained for many years and had fought more times than he could count. He was sure he could at least hold his own against this guy if need be, at least until the guards showed up to pull them both apart. He ignored the small, dark, nagging voice that told him to just go for the throat. That part of him had always been there, but suddenly it felt louder, more persistent, which was quite uncomfortable for a young man fighting for control.
--
So the feral didn’t want to fight again, fancy that. When Victor used to poke at his brother he’d get one throaty growl of warning (much like Victor offered those who challenged him) before pouncing, bone claws swinging. They’d bite at each other; the only noises coming from their lips were growls and hisses, no human words until they’d fought the fight right out of each other. He knew otherwise though; this young feral might have said he didn’t want a fight, but saying and wanting are two very different things.
“Fine.” He shrugged. “Fair enough. You just point me in the direction of that skinny man that insisted on threatening me the other day and I’ll be on my way.” He knew that would get him; it had to, considering the others reaction the other day. Perhaps the man was his owner, or perhaps he was a mutant; Victor couldn’t be sure, but what he did know was that he would be thrilled when he got to rip that thin man’s arms from his very body.
“Just upsets me, you know? Seeing another feral dressed up like that, told to be normal, to behave like a human being, even though deep down inside you know you’re an animal. You want to give into those instincts every day I bet, but you can’t, you’ve got that skinny fuck holding the other end of a leash, don’t you? You can’t be who you were made to be. Look inside yourself. You’re an animal. Just like me.”
--
Gibney tensed well before the larger feral neared, he able to scent just as well as the surly one. He felt strong and confidant today, he was not a weak and exhausted. He rolled his shoulders and kept walking, though his attention was focused sharply on the approaching figure. He was attempting to not start anything, avoiding eye contact, just attempting to just ignore him. The asshole was clearly just looking for a fight and Gibs had better things to do. Sadly, he could very soon feel the intensity of the other prickling up his back, a clear indication that he would not be so lucky as to just avoid the larger.
The roar of the crowd echoed from the Grass Arena, pulling Kyle's attention to one side. Apparently the fight was going well, the youth had simply been unable to stomach it all today, too many conflicting emotions, the weight of too much responsibility pressed on his shoulders. He had come out to try and clear his head, to settle his stomach, to feel better, and now this big growly cat was coming towards him and he was entirely sure this would not help his situation or mindset at all. Grr!
"I got nothin' t' say t' yew." He announced in a calm, confidant tone. His chin was held high as he tossed his head, throwing long hair from his face. He straightened a bit more as well, not slouching so much in an attempt to make his scrawny form look larger than it was. He did not want a fight, and yet he so, so very did. This man bothered him, he was arrogant and unstable and gleefully delighted to be both, or so Kyle saw it. He had similar feelings about the tiger-man not long ago. Perhaps it was his instincts or perhaps it was the brash imagination of youth, but he tended to paint certain energies as huge dramatic evil-minded villains. While it was usually an exaggeration, some might wonder if he was not spot on with this particular brute.
"Jus' keep movin'," he grumbled, crossing his arms before his chest. He was attempting to give the other his space, though he was still holding his own ground. His eyes were firm not challenging but certainly guarded. He was confidant this time. He had been trained for many years and had fought more times than he could count. He was sure he could at least hold his own against this guy if need be, at least until the guards showed up to pull them both apart. He ignored the small, dark, nagging voice that told him to just go for the throat. That part of him had always been there, but suddenly it felt louder, more persistent, which was quite uncomfortable for a young man fighting for control.
--
“Oh, I won’t so much as touch him? Sorry, I’m having a hard time hearing you past your horrid attempts at oh, what is it called? The English language?” He shook his head a little and laughed, baring his teeth for a moment and that laugh was followed up by a deep, guttural growl of his own; something that resonated in his chest loud and clear.
By now the guards were gathering, he was sure they heard the younger feral trying to prove himself by growling and telling Victor where to go, but the elder wasn’t afraid of the guards. He had a seizing shock collar, but the other day he was shocked he still managed to maintain his grip he had on the guard, which concerned Kelvin but he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place. He was there to guard Victor and Victor alone, not to tell guards on the island how to deal with the big cat.
“Shit that I don’t know about? You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m older than your great grandfather, but if you’re here I’m guessing you don’t have a family that ever loved you enough to keep you around. They wanted a son not a Goddamn dog.” He snapped, baring his own claws now as his fists uncurled, claws growing to their three inch length as he watched the other carefully with gray eyes.
“I’ve been alive long enough to see the American Civil war, and all the wars after it, and I’ve got in them. I’ve been shot with a turret from a helicopter. I’ve been put in front of a firing squad. I’ve seen humans die in trenches and I’ve walked through clouds of chlorine gas. So I think I know what I’m talking about. And I’m not going anywhere, mutt. I rather like it here, teasing you… can’t wait to see your face when I rip that skinny guys arms clean off or disembowel him after I defile his body.” Because Victor wasn’t above being a complete animal, which meant he took what he wanted when he wanted it.
“I am going to torture him until he begs for death.” He smirked. “Then I’m gonna break you down, down until you are nothing, and you have nothing, and you are nothing. And then I’m going to teach you to be what Hell made you. A feral, through and through.”
--
Kyle snorted and attempted to turn his attention away. He slurred, grumbled and contracted words, if someone could not understand him that was there problem. He snorted lightly at the guards, eyes hooded as he kept himself calm, not about to start a fight. Or so he told himself. The anger was still prickling up his spine and grating heavily in the back of his mind, making his muscles twitch and claws itch. Gibney simply ignored the other's dramatic little talk. He did not care how old this guy claimed he was, the man had obviously not lived as an animal, that or he had enjoyed it, and either way, Gibs wanted to hear none of it. He had nothing to prove to this arrogant fuck. Nothing.
He snarled lowly, eyes closing tightly as he prattled on. No, his family hadn't wanted him. They'd run him off with a shotgun no less, left him to fend for himself. And he had... but at what cost? His lips twisted into a snarl as he tried to block out the memories, the flood of still raw emotions. No one had wanted him... outside of Violet and Jason. He had hurt both, pushed both away, he had no idea what Violet thought of him but Jason...
"You. Won't. Touch. Him." The words tore thickly from his throat, every muscle in his body tensed, quivering and begging for action. Cat slitted eyes opened and focused heavily on the larger feral, they suddenly far more gold than blue. "'M not jus' a dog, 'm not jus' some paw, 'm not th' Wild Child here t' fight an' kill t' entertain those fuckers! I AM ME!" He was loud, even if he was rather thin and scrawny, and he was asserting himself with every bit of his being. Maybe he was more than what everyone wanted him to be, but he was different. He was a feral, but he was a human too, and he would not let this cocky beast make him less than what he was.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, it was the feral in him was the one who was taking control. Rage burned deep in him, the desire to protect the one person he knew wanted him. Jason. A low grunt left his body as he sprang forward. He looked quite like he was simply going to pounce at the larger's chest, though last moment his body twisted, a clawed foot lashing out to strike for the midsection. Gibney was enraged and going for blood, that did not mean he was going to be stupid about it.