The feral maintained his position seated against the floor with his back against the wall. Suddenly, his ears twitched and his nostrils flared. Victor sniffed, and grit his teeth once he recognized who produced that sweet, savory, one of a kind, musky spice. “…damn Pretty Boy couldn’t be asleep like th’ rest of th’ others?” he said with a grumble.
Creed surveyed his surroundings once more. According to him, unless someone had a master key, the only way anyone would enter this room was if they were adept enough to pick the lock, or knocked down the thick oak door off of its hinges. And the window… The window! The brute hissed at his crucial error – even a rookie knew better. He realized – too late of course – that the mud he caked onto the wall and edges of the window when he first crawled in would stick out to the naked eye like a red wine stain on a white, Persian rug.
Hopefully, he’ll be too drunk to notice anything… Can’t smell any booze on ‘em this far away. Fuck!
The brawler grimaced and stood. Stifling his grunts, he moved to the darkest corner at the rear of the dorm. The shadows did their best to cover his worn, massive body. Slowly, he crept onto all fours and readied himself for a fight.
Really hope th’ Swamp Rat ain’t feelin’ froggy… But if he is, I’ll be waitin’. Long as he doesn’t bring th’ rest of his goon squad with’em, I’ll be fine… Victor’s confidence waned with each passing moment, however. He knew he was more than capable of defeating Gambit, but certainly not in his condition now. As he stayed in the position to pounce anyone bold enough to enter through the door or window, he continued to affirm his strength and dominance, in spite of knowing how horrible the odds of victory were against him.
I’ll be fine… Yeah… I know I’ll be….fine… Would rather get killed by the humans than’ these losers. They’re all weak. You can take ‘em all, Creed! Even now! Right! …Right?