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Time to Cool Off; Carpenter, Thunderbolts after a while
Topic Started: Feb 19 2010, 08:40 AM (490 Views)
Sabretooth
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Adamantium Skeleton, Claws / Feral traits, Regeneration
Timeframe: An hour or so after "Arise"

For Victor Creed, today was a bit of win and lose. Marvel's emotional outburst gave him what he needed to turn his back on the Thunderbolts program with no problem on his part. He wouldn't feel any regret, any twinge of guilt over turning his back on the team, not after that. But still, the defeat loomed over his head. The utter embarassment, and the fact that he knew it was inevitable. He was against indoctrinating the convicts from the very beginning, and was vocal about it. Told Fury what a mistake it was, and how it was a recipe for disaster.

But they went ahead with it, because nobody takes old warhorses seriously anymore. Not when they have wunderkinds like Marvel around. Wonderful little Marvel, the darling of SHIELD's mutant program, the most loved freak in all the freakshow. And what was Creed, with his decades of experience? He friggin' killed Castro so they could replace him with a shape-shifting puppet ruler, Sydney Something-Or-Other. Whatever that guy's name was. What did that matter? Not a whit. And that, that was what really got his goat over all of this. He wasn't taken seriously, he wasn't valued, he didn't matter. Despite the fact that he knew what had to be done and how to do it, despite the fact that he possessed skills that took lifetimes to master, he was considered a dumb brick to toss at the enemy, not even second or third banana to some overblown psychic who probably had the whole Helicarrier under her mental thrall. And that pissed him off.

He stood at the window in the cafeteria, staring out over the skyscape that stretched beyond them, at the clouds they hovered over in the Helicarrier, a bottle of American beer in his left hand. He hated the stuff, it was far too weak for his tastes, but this Helicarrier wouldn't carry foreign beers. But it was better than no beer, he supposed. He took a quick swig of it and continued staring out over the great expanse of sky.
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Black Tom
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After the brief panic that had fallen upon the entirety of the helicarrier, the floating city fell back into a calmer state of being. There had been no thread, just Agent Marvel resurrecting herself. That was just peachy fucking keen. The bitch was back and she was probably going to be Thomas’ handler instead of the nerdy wonder twins. After Marvel woke up, Carpenter got the cold shoulder from each and every other member of the Thunderbolts. Thomas wasn’t a willing member and there was a great mistrust for him among every other SHIELD agent let alone the Thunderbolts. That was all well and fine. The Irishman was never one to fit into the popular crowd.

After the spectacle of the naked Marvel on the morgue slab, Carpenter’s handlers escorted him to the cafeteria for lunch. As far as cafeteria’s go, the hellicarrier had a nice set up. They could get practically anything they wanted to eat as well as a selection of alcoholic beverages. Then there was a view. Practically any window on the airship had a hell of a view but the cafeteria had large window ports to make for a pleasant and often breath taking dining experience. It had become Thomas’ gilded cage.

He took a quick glance down at his tray. The steak and potato was appetizing enough but Thomas wondered how much he could really enjoy his meals will he was mostly a slave for SHIELD. There were some people milling around the cafeteria. His pain in the ass handlers were sitting with their nerdy pals like it was some clique from high school. Thomas wanted to eat his meal as far from them as possible.

He walked around slowly toward the large bay windows. Carpenter spied an empty table but Creed was very close by. The Irishman chose that table to be near Creed. It wasn’t because he wanted to make friends with his teammate. Thomas had the urge to feel out the man to see what he was about. Tom let his tray down loudly and said, “Creed if you jump we won’t have the pleasure of seeing your scowling mug every day.”
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Sabretooth
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Creed glanced back to Cassidy for a small moment and then went back to staring out the window. What Cassidy was doing was transparent, blatantly transparent at that.

"Not if I toss you out first," Creed said with a small grunt before taking the bottle to his lips and chugging down a good bit of brew. "Then you get to see my scowling mug the whole way down."

He turned around, leaning up against the window and folding his arms across the chest. Did Cassidy honestly think he was going to prove anything here? Did he honestly think he could intimidate Sabretooth? Or was he just interested in annoying him until Sabretooth attacked first? Creed may have been a man prone to violence, but he wasn't stupid. SHIELD put alot of money and time into this useless Irish bastard. If it was in defense, Creed would have no problem mauling him. But he wasn't going to get in the first hit. He was smart enough to know not to do that.

"And let's get one thing clear here. I may not like Agent Marvel, but that don't excuse what you did. I know mind control, and what Doyle did weren't mind control. So suffice to say, I'm watchin' you, Cassidy. Slip up one more time an' you won't live to regret it."
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Black Tom
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Creed gave Carptenter a small glance. It was as if the Irishman wasn’t worth even looking at. Sabretooth was content to mostly ignore him and stare out the window at the clouds and the landscape below. Then without turning to face him, Creed made a joke about throwing Thomas out first. Only that was no joke. Creed would probably just as soon throw Thomas out the window as soon to look at him. To all of them Tom was little more than some dog shit that they had stepped in and been unable to scrape off their heels. Tom gave a small smirk and then the large feral turned around and leaned on the window ledge.

"And let's get one thing clear here. I may not like Agent Marvel, but that don't excuse what you did. I know mind control, and what Doyle did weren't mind control. So suffice to say, I'm watchin' you, Cassidy. Slip up one more time an' you won't live to regret it."

That was some threat. Sabretooth was serious as a heart attack, as the saying goes, but he sounded like an old headmaster giving a new, somewhat unruly, student a lecture on the laws of the land. Carpenter knew to take Creed seriously but he couldn’t help himself. “If I step out of line, you’ll be the one to crack the whip, I suppose,” Thomas said cutting a chunk from his steak and putting it in his mouth.

Tom was the newest recruit for the team. He had been conscripted almost. True he was given something akin to an offer but it was a deal with the Devil. Though he had to admit it wasn’t as bad as prison had been for him. Many of the ideas and concepts were the same though. When Tom had first entered prison it was known he was a mutant. His powers wouldn’t work without any wooden implements and the guards seemed to be exploiting that fact. Very early on the Irishman had to go against the biggest and meanest guy in general population he could find. That encounter was what got him landed in solitary for all those years. I didn’t help his situation being a mutant either. On the helicarrier, it seemed that Creed was the biggest and meanest son of a bitch around.

“So, for the title of Biggest Asshole on the Team did you have to suck Fury’s dick, or not?” Tom said around a mouthful of steak. “I mean, I’m the new guy on board and I’ve gotten a pretty consistent cold shoulder, mate.”
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Sabretooth
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"Somethin' like that, yeah," Creed said in response to the disciplinarian comment. He tilted his head to the left, eyes squinting slightly as he regarded the Irishman. Yeah, the punk was definitely going for making Creed attack first, trying to piss him off to the point where he'd lose his temper and give Cassidy an excuse to fight back. "Simply put, it's in yer best interests to play along. You get to cause some damage, you get to kill people - same thing you used to do, just legal."

He lifted his eyebrows for a moment as Cassidy made his crude insinuation. Seriously? That's what they think? It takes personal favors to Nick Fury to get anywhere with this outfit?
"Please," he muttered with a shake of his head. "I been offin' people fer this country since before Fury was in trainin' pants. I was slaughterin' Nazis with my bare hands back when Fury was first learnin' t' shoot a gun. I'm here 'cause killin's my business, and with SHIELD, business is good."

He glanced away, looking back out to the window. He was sending a clear message without saying it: he didn't regard Cassidy as a threat. "If you were smart, you'd realize the opportunity you got here. You like killin', but the way you were doin' it, you weren't never gonna get better at it. Once ya realize the differences you people see in us an' them ain't such a big deal, then ya got yer opportunity."
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Black Tom
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Creed wasn’t taking the bait that Cassidy was childishly throwing out there. He wasn’t going to lash out irrationally at all. He wasn’t going to try and rip out the Irishman’s throat unless Carpenter laid a finger on his first. Thomas probably didn’t even have to land a blow. He could pull back for a swing and the feral would be on his quick as lightning. And he would probably enjoy it. Cassidy had a feeling about Creed that way but his comments about doing the killing only legally sealed the deal. Cassidy had killed quite a few in his time, some of which he took pleasure in. Okay, most of them he took pleasure in, but Cassidy was pretty sure that Creed found release in it. He was a beast.

Again, Creed looked away from Thomas. He looked out the window and started taking in the view. . Creed was clearly not taking the bait and was throwing it in his face. "If you were smart, you'd realize the opportunity you got here. You like killin', but the way you were doin' it, you weren't never gonna get better at it. Once ya realize the differences you people see in us an' them ain't such a big deal, then ya got yer opportunity."

The easy smile slid off of the Irishman’s face. Sure. Killing for the mutant cause had been what Thomas had been good at. Really fucking good. “You’re saying that I needed to improve on my technique?” Thomas said with his ire rising slightly and his boastful nature shining through. “I might’ve ended up in prison because one of my mates sold me out but I was dealing death wholesale, friend, giving small pox a run for its money.”




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Sabretooth
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"I'm sayin' ya needed ta give up on the righteous cause bullshit," he answered back, still not looking back at the Irishman. He ran his claws down the window slightly, the only thing keeping them from cutting scratches down the pane was the fact that they were infused with vibranium to make them nigh-indestructible.

"Seein' as how the cause went an' bit ya on yer leprechaun ass, I'd say that's a lesson ya should'a learned. Ya been around as long as I have, and trust me, ya won't, ya find out that all there is to life is you against everyone else in the long run. You hook up where it'll benefit ya for the time being, make it work fer ya, and then when you've outlived it, ya move on. No noble causes to fight for, no makin' a martyr outta yerself, just you, provin' to a world what don't want you around that yer not goin' anywhere, that there ain't nothin' they can do ta bump you off."

He paused, and glanced back at Tom. "But yer not here for little pearls a' wisdom, are ya? No, you wanna show everybody you can hang with the big dogs."
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Black Tom
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Creed wasn’t implying that Tom’s technique’s of killing had needed work but rather that his reasons did. The feral was saying that fighting and killing for a cause was not as noble as it had seemed. Thomas had spent his life fighting for something he believed in and when the Irishman needed it most, where had Magneto’s dream been? Nowhere. It left Carpenter to rot in a gulag while the rest of the mutant populous was living the high life in South America. Thomas had considered on several occasions trying to escape and make his way to Jus Soli but he knew that he could be tracked and taken out with the nanochains swimming in his blood. Just like that if he tried anything unruly he would be reprimanded and it would be a little more than just a rolled up newspaper across the nose.

Creed ran his claws against the glass and kept talking treating Thomas almost like a non-entity. At the end Sabretooth was correct. He hadn’t come to the place looking for little pearls of wisdom or anecdotes about someone’s life to help him along his way. Thomas took a few more bites and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. “Is it considered irony that you talk about the big dogs yet you’re named after a pussy cat?” Tom asked and then took a swig from his drink.

“Eh,” Carpenter continued. “I’m mainly here because it was a better deal than sitting in a cell where I could barely stand straight up and barely lie stretched out. Here, I get food that’s food and these nice James Bond upgrades.” He held up his hands to show the grafts he received. “When you sign a deal with the devil there are a few strings attached. I got the fucking nano-chains running through my blood and then there’s your lovely face. As I mentioned before.”
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Sabretooth
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"I dunno, maybe," Creed said with a shrug of his shoulders as he put his empty bottle of beer on the tabletop with a loud clack. "No more ironic than you gettin' a better shake of things from the people you tried to destroy than from the people you used to work for. Kinda disproves the whole 'Mutant solidarity' thing that old man pushed so hard for. All fer one an' one fer all an' all that bullshit. Even self-important pricks like Magneto are full'a shit."

He regarded the Irishman's wooden hands for a moment, and then dismissed them. They weren't a problem of his. And if Tom decided to go for it, decided to make his play, Sabretooth would come out on top, and Tom in the med-wing. Creed was certain of that much.

"Ain't no devil, ain't no God - an' if there are, they ain't had nothin' to do with this little mudball in a damn long time," and that was about as philosophical as one would ever expect Sabretooth to get. Moreso, really. Usually, the man tended to live in the literal, in what was right there in front of you, easily defined, straightforward. Leave the metaphysics to the dreamers, Victor Creed would deal with the real world, thank you very much.
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Black Tom
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Creed gave a shrug that indicated to Thomas that maybe he was paying more attention to the conversation than the feral wanted to let on. He had drained his beer bottle and set it on the table near the Irishman’s tray. It might just be close enough.

Creed also pointed out the irony that Thomas now worked for the organization that he had fought against, whether it was a willing commitment or not didn’t make any difference. Sabretooth also made sure to drive home the point about the mutant cause not being all it was cracked up to be. Thomas had never been a religious man, he’d never really cared for anything at all other than himself. For the longest time the only thing Tom had believed in was that he was making a difference for mutants against the human oppressors. At that point in the cafeteria, he felt what he could only describe as perhaps a holy man seeing someone spit on a religious icon. Tom knew it was screwed up, having been betrayed, but having faith for so long in the cause was hard to shake. On some level it was almost funny that Creed started babbling about God and the Devil and how neither existed.

Creed was closer than he was before and Thomas thought his chances were better now. He knew his intention from the beginning but he might have been acting prematurely due to being riled up by Creed, something the Irishman had not planned at all. With his implants Thomas could fire his blasts from his hands directly. He was also given a larger degree of strength. Carpenter knew that he wasn’t strong or fast enough to completely take out Creed. That wasn’t the goal. This was about a message.

Thomas flipped his tray into the air and snatched up the empty beer bottle. The Irishman launched himself through the air. He slashed the glass at Creed’s face as he released a blast at his teammate’s stomach. “Hah!” he yelled out.
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Sabretooth
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In the second that Cassidy moved to fling the bottle at him, Creed was already reacting. He surged forward and swerved low, ducking his head below the bottle. The blast, however, struck him square in the gut, shearing open the front of his shirt and making a large, reddish bruise that was quickly turning black and blue quicker than the normal bruise would.

The attack staggered him slightly, but didn't quite slow him down. He continued forward at an immensely quick pace, and swung his left arm, fist clenched, for Cassidy's jaw with a backhand motion. He wasn't using the claws, but then again, he didn't need to. Should the attack hit, it would feel not unlike a steel two by four being swung like a baseball bat.

He could have barked off a taunt, cackled a cutting remark about how stupid Cassidy was being, how he was going to get torn to shreds and nobody would give a crap, but he didn't. He didn't say a word. Cassidy knew what he was getting into here. He knew what he was going up against.

And now Cassidy was going to reap what he was sowing. He was just lucky that Creed wasn't trying to kill him... yet.
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Black Tom
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Cassidy had known how fast Creed was. The Irishman just didn’t know how damn fast though. It was shocking. The feral was probably expecting something by the way that Tom was boasting and throwing insults. Creed probably thought that Tom was trying to goad him into attacking first to get him into trouble. He would have been partially correct in that assumption.

The tray of food flew up but Creed wasn’t distracted by it. Cassidy didn’t stand a chance against his heightened senses. The bottle that Tom swung was evaded as well. Sabretooth ducked the glass bottle but he was struck by the blast from Tom’s fist. Either he couldn’t twist around to miss the attack or Creed was sure enough of himself that he took the brunt of the blast just to show Tom how badass he was. The Irishman caught a glimpse of skin through the shirt and hoped it hurt like hell.

Creed gave an impressive backhand that looked like he barely put any effort in to. Carpenter’s head snapped back and there were lights flashing in his eyes. He fell backward reeling. The momentum carried him back and he slid across the floor. Tom’s blast continued wildly and flipped the table up and slammed it against the wall. Creed wasn’t taunting or throwing comments around. He was playing. He wasn’t putting his full effort into the attack. If that had been the case Tom would have been dead. Though, in the back of his mind he realized that if he were dead, things might be better that way. Cassidy wouldn’t have to deal with SHIELD anymore because after this little stunt, he was going to have to sit in the corner.

Thomas hurried to his feet. He wasn’t going to get another surprise attack on Creed again. It also wouldn’t be long before his handlers came to their senses and kicked the micro machines into full gear. Thomas crossed his arms to increase the area of the wooden medium to expel a blast of a greater diameter at Creed. That could pack quite a punch.

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Sabretooth
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This was what Victor Creed needed. Just some good old fashioned violence, no ulterior motive, no master plan, no freaky botanistic terrorists. No giant man eating plants, no freaky mind-altering toxins, just one guy beating the crap out of another. Sure, the one guy was going to be Creed, and "another" was Cassidy, but that's what made it good for Creed. Even fights were alright every now and again, but Creed was more the type who preferred total dominance. Perhaps on some level, that made him a bully, but he just liked to think of it as him being a smart fighter. In the wild, animals rarely got into a fight if they thought there was a chance of them losing, a chance of them being proven inferior. Creed was much the same way. Those who fought for the challenge were stupid. You fought to prove a dominance you already knew you had.

As Cassidy was sent flying by the blow, Creed followed up, keeping on him to beat on him some more before he fully recovered. But the Irishman was quick, and managed to get back to his feet, sending off a blast of a wider radius.

Creed leaped into the air, up and over the blast, coming down on Cassidy from the air, quickly transitioning his leap into a flying elbow drop.
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Black Tom
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Carpenter had crossed his arms to produce a larger blast radius with his powers. At that moment it was the best he could do. Thomas didn’t have any of his Thunderbolts issued weapons with him and there weren’t any larger pieces of wood about the cafeteria. If Thomas could channel his energy into something the size of a door, he didn’t doubt that he could blast a hole in the side of the bleeding helicarrier. The Irishman had already blown the element of surprise and he knew there wasn’t much going in his favor after that.

Carpenter’s trump card blast was almost ineffective. Sabretooth sprang up and around the wider blast and sailed through the air. He twisted and shifted his body so that he was falling into an elbow drop. Thomas cut his blast short and tried to twist out of the way hoping that Creed would miss his mark and become vulnerable in the follow through. That didn’t quite work out the way Thomas had hoped. The blow struck him in the legs after he shifted and he was driven to the floor.

Tom grunted in pain and rage. The shooting pain ran up his legs and he bit through the agony and drew them up to kick himself around to face Creed again for another attack. The Irishman brought his wood grafted claws around for a strike to Creed’s jugular when a different sort of pain ran through his body. He felt like every muscle and nerve ending was alight. Tom’s muscles seized up and tightened. His jaw snapped shut as he tried to force an angry roar through his grinding teeth.

Across the room, Carpenter’s two handlers had gotten their act together. They had been relatively stunned by the violent display before them. One of them snapped to his senses and activated Thomas’ nano-chain. They had reduced Thomas to a shivering mass of muscle on the floor.
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Sabretooth
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Sabretooth had to give credit where credit was due - Cassidy had spunk to him, he had guts, either trusting that he'd survive an encounter with Sabretooth or begging the man to kill him. Creed wsn't sure and he didn't particularly care.

He landed on one knee after tackling the Irishman to the floor. That would have taken a normal man down, crushed somej bones, but Carpenter had that extra bit of mojo in him, a bit more durability than the average guy his size thanks to SHIELD enhancements.

He was ready for more as Cassidy went stiff, convulsing suddenly and then collapsing to the floor. Creed stood up and brushed flakes of wood detritus off of his shoulder and watched as Cassidy's handlers came to take him away.

"Maybe now you'll think twice 'fore ya pull another stupid stunt like this, huh?" Creed asked Cassidy as his handlers hefted him up. The man was in no position to answer, but he could listen. "Best learn to accept what yer life is now. Get over yerself, and step in line, 'cause you ain't got no other options, not anymore."

Granted, it was mildly hypocritical coming from Sabretooth to say something like that, but he was here willingly, after all. And that made enough difference to him.
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