(no subject)

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[Smugly:] Well you look like shit.

Comments

CLEARLY. spread the misery why don't you

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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.

UHHHH YOU MADE VICTOR OF YOUR OWN VOLITION

[dadverine]

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.

NOT THE POINT

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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?

I AM NOT THE REASON FOR ALL YOUR PAIN

[dadverine]

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. ]

NO BUT YOU DON'T HELP EITHER

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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.]

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

[dadverine]

People die of old age all the time.

APPARENTLY???

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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.

i do it out of love )':

[dadverine]

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

People die of sick all the time.

/SOB

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Not us.

[dadverine]

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.

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[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.

[dadverine]

[ 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.

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[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.

[dadverine]

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?

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[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.]

[dadverine]

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.