Ragnar awoke with a start, not because of any bad dreams but of the scents hitting his nose like a punch from a power fist, but far far far more pleasant. A melange of scents his brain was rapidly identifying, whilst the names were still a bit unfamiliar to him he could smell sausages, bacon and some kind of bird that smelled awefully like a Fenrisian Mountain Grouse.

It took a heartbeat to let his eyes adjust to the pitch black of his cell before he slid out of his bed. That itself was still something he was getting use to in part. Use to a solid slab of mountain granite covered in a pelt the soft and springy bed had surprised him at first, just not use to the luxury of having something to lay on that yielded to you. The blankets were also new, whilst he in essence didn’t need them due to the alterations made to his body making him near immune to cold temperatures Ragnar had to admit that being able to drape a blanket over him felt good. Combined with the pillows Rangar found himself in the habit of curling up in a mass of sheets and pillows. Totally not a nest or den..okay…maybe a bit.

Adapting to not really having a schedule had been challenging, the Marine still busied himself in the morning either going for runs round the facilities grounds or going to the danger room most of the time but it felt ‘strange’ to have free time. But thoughts of going to the Danger Room or going for a run were firmly banished from Ragnar’s head, he could smell delicious food and that became the overriding matter for the Marine.

Pulling some jogging pants on and a T-shirt that still felt a bit too small the Marine padded downstairs, literally following his nose.

Victor Creed yawned slightly as he woke up, four hours of sleep was all he needed thanks to his regenerative healng but this morning was different. There was a taste in his mouth that could best be described as 'metallic' and his head felt slightly groggy.
Acting on autopilot the big feral kicked his sheets off and stomped into the bathroom, stopping only to scratch his ass.

"Maybe a shower will clear my head..." He mumbled to his reflection in the mirror before doing just that, having himself a shower for a few minutes. At times he regretted coming to the Xavier institute, it was a cage, a gilded one but a cage none the less and he loathed being caged up. Still, the showers were a one up from what he had lived with before.

Half shaking and towling himself dry, his long blond hair combed back before it fell over his face again he still could not get the metallic taste out of his fanged mouth. 'Fuckin' psych stuff with the Professors done this to me...have ta say later' the blond mused as he pulled on some jeans and a shirt that still fit him.

Stepping out of his room Victor immediately knew something had changed, he knew the Institute intimately well thanks to his sense of smell and suddenly there was new scents, different ones, Even the hallway smelled of a different cleaning fluid.

"The fucks going on?" Victor asked to no one in particular as he started padding down the hallway.

The hunger raced through his body and brain like a cocktail of absinthe and bourbon, setting his bloodstream alight with need. With desire.

With lust.

It had been far too long; abou' a for'nigh'... he thought to himself as he slid the elegant purple silk shirt over his lithe, muscular, broad-shouldered torso. The lights in his bedroom remained low as Gambit sprayed himself in a fine mist of cologne; Attitude by Giorgio Armani. His demonic red-on-black eyes smoldered as he looked in the mirror and growled;
"Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard..."

Oui, I would...

He slid a pack of cards into the pocket of his black pinstriped trousers and picked up his collapsible staff (jus' in case...) before striding out of his room with a dangerous, hungry leer. The predator was ravenous...

Remy stood in front of the mirror in his suit. The crisp white shirt, only half-tucked into his pants, was unbuttoned at the neck and the first button below. His hair was styled with that choreographed messiness ripped straight out of GQ Magazine. His jacket lay around his form; tight around his broad shoulders but loose around his lithe abdomen.

No one would say no to dis... he thought with a hungry grin as he looked into the mirror. He wished he could grab his reflection and fuck his own brains out. But no, tonight he was saving all the ravishment for the delicious purple-haired ninja that had joined their impromptu crew.

He sprayed some cologne over himself, a darkly mysterious spicy scent that had a proven track record, and picked up the phone. He quickly dialed Betsy's number and leant back against the wall casually; his confident smirk made every single one of his intentions clear (although it was quite unlikely anyone would doubt what they were in the first place).

"Bonsoir ma chere," he greeted; the words slithered out of his mouth in his characteristically suggestive, smoky drawl. "In'eres'ed in dinner for two, my room?"

He knew what her answer would be. Even if she decided to play hard to get, he knew that made it merely a matter of time. "A t'ief mus' be patien'... He could always pass any time by imagining the things he wanted to do to her; the feeling of her firm legs and ass under his upward-sliding palm...

I don' t'ink she'd mind me t'inkin' abou' dat...

Of all the places in the world, Victor Creed never dared to seek refuge in Professor Xavier's Mansion. And yet, here he was, sneaking into an unoccupied dormitory room through the large bay windows. He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, alone and in the darkness. The light of the full moon was his only company, and it shined over his muscular, highly defined form. Dried blood and gory lacerations he sustained in battle highlighted his face, shirtless upper body, tattered jeans and muddy boots. Victor had once forgotten that his healing factor had limitations. After what he experienced, he wouldn't forget again...

--------------------

Just a week prior, the blonde feral allied himself with a mercenary gang of mutants. They were tasked to infiltrate a small underground compound located on the outskirts of the city near the forests' edge. Weapons that belonged to the Black Market were located there, according to the briefings they received. But in reality, this facility was manned and maintained by the United States government. At taxpayer's expense, coupled with illegal international funding, they planned to re-launch the Weapon X program, as well as engineer the construction of the horrible mechanical abominations, known as "Sentinels".

Creed and his team were shocked to learn of the Weapon X experimentations and upgrades to the Sentinels being built, and they attacked. However, the facility was much more fortified than they were led to believe. What was worse, was that their "mission" was a hoax! They were set up by mutant defectors siding with the prejudicial humans. They were lambs, sent directly to the slaughterhouse...

...and Victor was the only one on his team to survive the assault.

Guided by rage and hate towards the humans' audacity, he stayed inside the compound and butchered them for two days. Once more government reinforcements arrived, he emerged from the steel corridors of the underground complex, and brought the fight with him outside into the wilderness. Victor's motivation to rip the entire program to shreds - along with every human there - pushed his healing factor to the breaking point. For the remainder of the week, the feral lived off the land; he feasted on the animal wildlife that surrounded the compound, and never slept. Each time he saw a moment of vulnerability in the enemy's defenses, he struck, and struck hard!

Near the final days of his one man assault, extreme fatigue took its toll on Victor's body. The feral mutant's tactics became sloppy, and once the government soldiers and agents noticed this, they unleashed a unit of Sentinel droids to eliminate him. For every one that he destroyed, three more took it's place. While many of them were incomplete shells, the sheer number of these human sized droids became too much for Victor to withstand in his current state. No longer able to maintain the fight, the feral was left with no other choice: he fled for his life.

Fearing that the lecherous traitor - who sent him and his fellow mutants off to die - compromised the locations of the other mercenary safe-houses and strongholds, Victor did the unthinkable, and snuck into the great Xavier Mansion to seek shelter. No one would ever think to look for him "here". At least not the humans...

--------------------

Bloodshot amber eyes routinely glanced towards the locked dormitory door and the bed nearby. As much as he wanted to rest, Victor knew he could not stay here, much less get comfortable. Logan was somewhere within the mansion - he could smell his scent the moment he snuck past the first security camera outside - and Creed was certain that the short Canadian would be able to detect his own - or the stench of human blood looming in the air. It was only a matter of time...

Ororo woke up as the first drops of rain met her face.

Her skin prickled and showed impressions where grass and sticks had pressed against her bare arm. As she looked into the sky, she noticed that the heavy gray clouds were concentrated above the X-Mansion, and she was in the center of this tiny storm.

I must have called them up accidentally, she thought, as she raised to her feet and beckoned the clouds to leave, revealing the bright blue sky. Odd, I thought I was too experienced to let that happen.. Also, her head buzzed, much more like she had been hit with something than if she had just dozed off.

Ororo didn't give it much more thought than blaming it on a nightmare she couldn't remember. The day was much too beautiful to worry about something that trivial. Instead, as she wandered aimlessly through the meadow in front of the mansion, enjoyed how the sunlight sparkled on the water drops on the grass and the warm summer wind went through the thin fabric of her traditional african, colorful sleeveless dress. She wouldn't go inside yet. Breathing, walking, living, sleeping, everything was better under the freedom of the endless sky.

Logan pulls the door to his room open, feeling like he's not quite awake yet.

Me. Remy motherfuckin' LeBeau fuckin' wants ME? But...I'm a savage, an ani--

No. No, maybe I ain't at that.

He looks back at his Cajun partner uncertainly, trying to keep the upper hand on the situation, but really unsure of where to go from here. All he knows is that his cock is about to break the tie of his kimono, so he lets it fall to the ground, revealing his muscular, hirsuite body.

"...Now what, Rems?"

It isn't that he's never done this before..back in the Deuce you took what you could get. But that was a long time ago.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...*

"Grrrrr..."

He'd been having a nice dream. It had involved Ororo and Remy...maybe something about steak sauce, he didn't really recall. Point was, it hadn't been a nightmare.

Fer a change.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...*

"Aww, shuddup."

Groggily, Logan reaches out a hand to punch the 'snooze' button.

SNIKT!

His claws slice through the clock, shutting its noise off...but also rending the machine into so many useless pieces of plastic.

"Dammit..."

He sits up in bed, holding his head woozily. Not usually a heavy sleeper, it feels like he has a hangover...except Logan never gets hangovers.

"What the hell happened ta me?"

Looking around, he blinks the sleep from his eyes. It looks like his room...smells right, feels right...but something's off.

Eh, figure it out later. Breakfast now...sure hope Summers didn't drink all the coffee again.

Throwing on his short kimono...which he uses in lieu of a bathrobe...he heads down to the kitchen for coffee and a salami sandwich. It is noon-ish, after all.