Maneuvering in an anti-gravity field was tricky, but the brawler – over a period of trial and error – managed to push himself to the ground and touch the appropriate panel with the toe of his boot. A wide, lengthy hose sprung from the floor between his legs and dangled just above his navel. Victor unfastened his belt, grabbed the hose with one hand, and unzipped the fly of his pants with the other. The man had no shame exposing his uncircumcised manhood to the wandering eye – like the body it was attached to, his endowment was thick, oversized, and looked more like an instrument of punishment than pleasure.
With a sigh, he pulled himself from his jeans and took care of his long, overdue business. Victor finished, tucked himself away, and used the hose to suck up the particles of beer that dangled about in the air. He returned the hose back into the ground and gave a sigh of relief.
“Thanks for th’ tip. Been achin’ t’do that for who knows how long.”, he said while zipping his fly closed and buckling his belt. Creed took the liberty of striking up conversation with the stranger. After all, what else was there to do?
“So now th’ X-Men’s got janitors like you fixin’ their machines? Heh, talk about getting’ yer’ money’s worth...”