“But what sense does it make to be so angry at the world, or the humans on it?”
"You must be lonely. I suppose you will laugh at me, but don't you think people might start looking out for you if you'd stop pulling out their eyeballs? Or don't you care anymore?"
Once he heard both those questions, every visible muscle in Creed’s body tensed. His eyes widened at an unwelcomed flashback that reminded him of his first instance of deep rooted cruelty. Vividly, he recalled being childhood friends with Logan, living the normal life of a child by working on his father’s farm, until his powers began to manifest.
----------------- Victor’s own father locked him in the cellar, convinced that his son was possessed by the devil. He beat him with wooden clubs whittled into the shape of the Catholic cross, stoned him, and even dunked his head into a large bucket of water to ‘rigorously baptize’ and purge the alleged demons from his body.
His fangs and claws grew and became more noticable, and his father pulled each of them out with a set of rusted, vice gripped pliers every morning. By nightfall, they grew back, and the cycle repeated itself. He could still hear his himself shouting for help from his mother, Logan, Logan’s parents, or simply anyone who may have been in earshot who wasn’t his own father. -------------------
The feral sighed, shook away the memories with a nod, shrugged his shoulders, an answered Kurt's question. “It does. I envy and pity you for it. Maybe one day, I’ll buy what yer’ sellin an’ give that hippy shit some merit.” Victor paused, took another look at his surroundings, then settled his eyes back to Kurt, as if he were hinting at something…
“But it ain’t gonna be today. Not unless a fuckin’ cow jumps over th’ moon.”