six_word_stories | (no subject)

Well, this is an entrail.

[Lark makes blood look like just another form of business attire. Even when he is completely covered in it and picking bits of flesh off his arm.]

Only one? Looks like the whole damn critter.

[Just saying.]

Somebody piss you off, or were you just that hungry?

[ SOMEDAY someone is going to wonder how he can be beat half to death and still flash a cocky smirk. ]

I'm standing. They are not nor will they ever again.

[ That is all that matters. ]

[He shrugs; not like he hasn't looked worse.]

Long as you've got that. So, what. You need a hand, or just show up to catch up?

[Also does he have to worry about people figuring out where he's holed up.]

I wouldn't refuse a cup of coffee and a chat while my bones knit.

[ He's doubtful he could be tracked, save by Polaris. ]

[He looks behind him skeptically, and scents the air just to be sure before grunting in something like acceptance and turning around to head inside.]

It's gonna be a wait, don't have anything particularly modern here, but I'm guessing you don't mind.

[The house is a small log cabin, big enough to comfortably house one or two people long-term but not much more, with a porch attached to the front. Inside leads to the kitchen, something simple and exactly as he implied. There's no stove, just a fireplace towards the center of the structure, and he moves to that now to get a fire going. A table's set up next to the window, which he waves Magneto towards, and a large sink on the other side of the room and a storage cabinet pretty much complete the space aside from the doorway leading to the rest of the cabin.]

[ There's Magneto's blood and at least twelve other people's blood splattered and smeared on him, along with other debris of combat, and he's been near something really hot or a fire. But he didn't leave anyone alive to even call for help, much less follow him.

And he tries to snort a laugh, but with broken ribs, it doesn't quite work. ]

I can promise I've had worse.

[ He doesn't actually mind the cabin. He'd probably have more shelves for things he'd build personally but it's rather nice, really. ]

[The smile is dry and twisting towards morbid, as is the huff of breath that acts as a laugh. It's not funny. He knows that, but he can't help the response anyway.]

Yeah, I bet you have. There's a shower in the back if you need it. Figured running water was worth the hassle.

[The fire catches after some persuasion, so after ensuring it's not going to go out immediately he gets up to grab the percolator and coffee from the cabinet.]

You smell even worse than you look.

[ Morbid is occasionally needed, and even welcome on occasion. ]

Shower would help. Somewhere to wash my clothing would also help. I don't recall anyone coming out of a combat situation smelling good.

There's a pump and a basin out back of the house with a line to hang it on when you're finished, best I got.

[He returns to the fireplace with percolator and coffee in hand, and settles the former in the fire once he's got some of the latter into the basket.]

You got that right. Time was I'd say it was the best smell in the world, but.

[He shrugs. After a certain point he finally decided he'd had enough of it.]

Beats a river and sand.

[ He watches Victor for a moment, glad the man has found some measure of peace. ]

Time changes all things. Point me in the direction of some soap and I'll get cleaned up.

[ Yeah, well, you know what, Vic?

James is just going to flip you off and go back to his whiskey. ]

Classy.

[Says the guy who told his brother he looks like shit, but that's not the point. It's a concerned kind of assholery.

Regardless, he drops down onto the stool next to him and signals for a drink of his own.]

[ At least seeing Victor isn't the worst thing that could happen to him these days. ]

What do you want.

[And that gets a pointed look, like he's acting like a child.]

I haven't heard from you in how long, and that's the best I get?

[He accepts the beer when it comes his way and takes a pull off of it before continuing.]

Decided to be sociable. Found you here. Sue me.

[ Like James'd waste the money for a lawyer on Victor.

He finishes the last of the whiskey in his glass and asks for another one, neat so it doesn't get watered down. He used to have simpler tastes, but simpler alcohols don't numb the perpetual pain that'd come about the moment his regeneration began to fail him. ]

You could've texted.

[ Mostly he didn't want Victor to see him like this. James knows he smells like impending death. ]

Would you've answered if I did?

[Because that's always the question, especially given the greeting he got. And sure, maybe he deserves some of it but that's not really the point.]

You smell worse than you look.

Feel worse than I smell.

[ Much as he wants to down the whole glass of whiskey when it's refilled, James settles for a mouthful to burn down his throat. ]

Congratulations on wasting a whole fucking trip to El Paso.

Ah, shit.

[It's muttered under his breath, but he looks over at him then, really looks, and it doesn't really make him feel a hell of a lot better. Reassures for shit. He looks old. Old and sick, and neither of those things should even be possible.

He rubs his face and takes another swig of his beer while he tries to think of what the hell he can even say to that.]

What the hell happened?

Like I fucking know.

[ James has scars now. It was the first thing that tipped him off to there being something wrong. Over the years as an X-Man they'd started to appear, first from the big wounds and now even from the little ones.

Likely it was a bad idea keeping this from everyone he knew, but what was he supposed to say? ]

Started a couple years back. [ A scoff. ] But it's faster now.

The claws don't come out right any more.

[ He sends Victor a look -- this really what you wanted to hear? -- and then takes another mouthful of whiskey. ]

And what, you were just gonna keep that to yourself? For how long, until it kills you? Jesus.

[Now's not really the place to get into it. Too many people, but he asks the questions anyway, expression twisting in regret. Not pity, he knows neither of them want that, but he should have known sooner.]

People die of old age all the time.

That's not what this is and you know it.

[It's almost a snarl, but not quite. He leans in closer, partly to prevent too much eavesdropping, partly to make the point better, hopefully.]

It's something inside you, asshole. You're fucking sick. I can smell it on you. I don't know about you, but I ain't been sick since my claws and teeth grew in, so you tell me how that works.

[ Doesn't change his answer, though, does it? ]

People die of sick all the time.

Not us.

Yeah? [ The rest of his whiskey is downed, but the burn gives him some version of bravery. Enough to make it not so painful when he lets an inch of his middle claw out -- when the blood starts dripping from the wound, and with it a disgusting mess of pus. The smell is pungent, and probably worse to someone still in his prime like Victor. ] Then what's this?

[ James' voice is still quiet, but he can't even retract his claw properly. He ends up pushing it back in himself, cutting his finger, which bleeds because it doesn't heal. ]

I'm dying, all right? [ Plain and simple. ] Better to let me go.

[His nose wrinkles at the smell, but that's about the only sign he gives that it's rank as hell. It just confirms what he'd suspected and what James said, and both are more than enough to break his heart. They were supposed to live forever, untouchable, and despite all the rest of the shit that got between them he'd always loved his brother. So this? It's unthinkable.]

Bullshit. Somebody's gotta be able to figure it out.

[ What Victor's saying isn't news to him, but what he says also implies the concept of hope.

And what kind of hope does James have left, anyway? Thinking of all the X-Men dead, of the children in the school dead...

He asks for another drink. ]

Wouldn't be able to afford it, anyway.

[He rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his beer.]

Like you couldn't find somebody to do it for free. There can't be that few of us left.

Ain't that simple.

[ James' fist curls, knuckles on the bar. The wound on his finger -- on the opposite hand -- finally closes up, and he looks at the small scar on his skin, criss-crossing with the lines already there. ]

You hear anything about the X-Men?

Edited (why do i keep editing things) 2018-03-31 12:07 (UTC)

[He shrugs, but pointedly doesn't look his way, which is really all the answer James probably needs.]

It's been on the news.

[There's a whole book of questions to be asked, but he keeps silent about them for now, assuming James will clarify if there was a point he was trying to make in it.]

Right. [ That Victor knows is enough. ] And Charles -- he's dead.

[ His scent flares with the distinct hit of lying, but given James' eyes have moved from his glass to Victor at his side means that it's done on purpose. ]

Better that he stays dead and no-one gets any ideas when they see Wolverine outside.

Thanks!

You should see the other guys.

That bad, huh?

It usually is. But as long as I can deliver more pain than what I get... it usually is worth it.

And you?

Me what. I ain't had that problem in a long time.

Yah? How did you get so lucky?

[He grins, putting enlarged canines on display.]

Good genes, I guess.

[She smiles. And moves forward, interested]

Genes huh? Neat-o.

What can I say. Mutant.

[The claws on his hands aren't exactly subtle either.]

Is that right. [Her attention goes to his claws. She smiles again]

We just have Mad Science and Weird Experiments. Nothing like you.

No?

[An eyebrow raises in curiosity.]

We're...not as common as we used to be, but ain't that unusual either. Not all like me, but what can you do. Probably for the best.

That is what I like to say! No one is quite like me. [Harley smiles wide, flashing her pearly white teeth]

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incoherent and ugly yelling

</3

ill take most brutal ways to kill yourself for 1500 alex

why you gotta be like that

i'm a troubled man

CLEARLY. spread the misery why don't you

UHHHH YOU MADE VICTOR OF YOUR OWN VOLITION

NOT THE POINT

I AM NOT THE REASON FOR ALL YOUR PAIN

NO BUT YOU DON'T HELP EITHER

YOUR FIRST MISTAKE WAS THINKING I'D EVER BE HELPFUL????

APPARENTLY???

i do it out of love )':

/SOB

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sorry for the delay!

no worries. i am on vacation right now, so slow responses on my end