Remy's lips quirked slightly when Victor described his baser self as being unable to form a sentence. Dat ain' wrong...
His heart rate picked up slightly as he felt the fingertips trail over his neck. The lethal claws were bare millimeters away - the finger of his that sat atop the deck of cards pressed down heavily, ready to charge.
And yet the words the feral said. "Where’s the fun in driving back an’ forth over a human in a car that’s six times bigger than he is?....This other Vic’ may sound just as ruthless as me on paper, but in actuality, he’s just a mutt…biding his time till someone can put ‘em down.”
So, you like bein' de wort'y hun'er. You like a challenge, non? You don' kill somet'ing beneat' you?
An old attitude. An attitude with problems... one that saw peace as contempt and conflict as greatness. And yet... one with its own honor. No' mine. No' Logan's. Bu' i's a good star' a' leas'...
The Acadian flashed back to Creed's earlier offer... "Some forgettable twink? Or another formidable hunter?"
He saw the implicit respect there... de hun'er wan's a hun'er of his own... And slowly, the warmth began to return to his bloodstream...
Sure, he resented Victor's statement that he could kill all of them. Jus' bravado he thought as the feral drew closer; the Cajun felt the heat radiating from Creed's body. Sure, part of him still felt a good deal of loathing but... I've always been one for a li''le risk... de tas'e of danger...
After Victor pulled away and stood upright, that small quirk of the lips began to grow bigger, almost verging on a full-fledged smirk. "Like I said Vic," Remy responded, "you're be''er den de Vic I knew..."
"S'ill wanna dance?" The Thief asked. Merde.... de drink mus' be making me more impulsive den usual...