Victor brandishes a glare of discontent and tightens his grip on the handle of the pan, appearing ready to pitch it at Kurt’s head like a baseball. “Directed? You play with th’ Runt on yer’ own time! Hurry up; scarf down yer’ chow an’ taste it later. You’ve milked this long enough; we’re talkin’ with Cyclops right now!”
The man lifts an eyebrow as Magneto arrives and interrupts. At first, his expression beams with optimism. After hearing the conditions of the arrangement however, Creed rolls his eyes and redirects his earlier frustration away from Kurt, and onto him.
“…Fuck you say?”
He turns directly to face the former tyrannical overlord.
“It was supposed ta’ be a ‘simple mission’ th’ first time I went there, an’ look how that turned out! An’ now, ya’ want me ta’ go back, with this noose around my neck?! Yer’ outta yer’ god damned mind!”
Creed casually drops the pan onto the table nearby and folds his arms across his chest.
“Let’s use our brains this time: Th’ collar comes off first. Soon as that happens, I let Psylocke take a stroll inside my head. I was there fightin’ fer’ seven days; I saw damn near everything worth seein’. She can relay my thoughts ta’ Wyngarde. He can use those memories ta’ help Big Blue whip up simulations in yer’ nifty lil’ Danger Room, so everyone’s better prepared when we strike those fuckers!”
This intricate, tactical approach was what made Victor sought after by so many different mercenary teams. It’s clear he has devised this scheme long before presenting it now. The man finds no margin of error in his revised proposal, except the issue of trust, or lack thereof. So he addresses it by roughly poking at the heartstrings.
“...But I guess your way works too...", he says with abundant sarcasm. "I’m sure when ya’ first came here, you were thrown in a cell, locked down with about three inhibitor collars stranglin’ ya, an’ forced ta’ go in missions with ‘em on too, just cause everyone was afraid of ya’…”
Creed takes a small step forward and intensifies his eye contact.