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Summary: Hosea tries to befriend Victor. It was going so well right up until the end…
Date: May 26, 2010.
Log Title The Beast and the Tribesman
Rating: PG-13
NYC - Grand Central Terminal
Grand Central Station is one of the main hubs to get in and out of Manhattan. The main concourse is vast with marble covering the floor and walls. Looking up at the ceiling is looking at a piece of art, mapped out is all the constellations in gold on a blue background. In the center of the main concourse is a circular information booth displaying departure and arrival times of the various trains. Once you leave the Main Concourse there are many expensive shops to be found. There is also a major food court within the Station, where visitors can feast and chat before their train arrives.
As one of the subway cars stops and opens, there's an explosion of noise and movement as spooked and hustling people try to all pile out of it all at once. Loud mixtures of speech from those as they rush to escape the compartment all say the same general information: there's some highly dangerous looking, big mutant occupying that subway train, and they want to get as far away from it as possible. Immediately if not sooner. The door is a choke point though, and there's some scared fighting amoungst the people there with each other, panic rising in the mob, and amoung the people who have no idea what horrible thing all these people are fleeing from that lurks in that car.
Hosea had been staring at the subway map when the noise begain. He looks with a rather overwhelmed glaze over his eyes at all the little lights and colored lines. "Oh," he says to himself, "I miss Africa." He runs a hand through his wild hair, and then is distracted by the sounds of panicked people.
The commotion causes him to forget his worries. His eyes follow the crowd, scanning for the source of the panic. He leaves the sign, long legs carrying him through the crowd.
Hosea himself isn't a person that most people miss. Long frizzy hair, 6'7", and a smile that seems almost permanently attached. His white teeth show, though his smile right now is hardly wide on his racially mixed features. He deftly moves against the flow of the crowd, but he is unable to reach the chokepoint because of all the people.
"Excoose me," he says, "Please, no one panic, I can help you with dah problem," he calls out in his deep and authoritative voice. It seems to have little impact, however, and he begins looking into the subway to try to see this big and terrible mutant everyone is talking about.
Said big beastie isn't masking or hiding his presence, but he's also not dangling dead corpses off the ceiling either. Victor is seated, taking up way more space than he could if he had any mind to keep to himself; as it is, to get around him someone would have to climb over his stretched out heavy legs. The more interesting part of him, though, his that his hands and forearms are soaked with a dark reddish stain, which he is leisurely slowly rubbing off onto a long woman's jacket. The tan coat is now splotchy in streaks with red as the large mutant leans off taloned hands.
Pale blue eyes roll towards those that peek in on him in the car, including the tall, dark Hosea, without any real apparent thought in them either way. A dead, glassy stare that roves past Hosea to those beyond him. No outward aggression, just a sort of posturing that would recommend a normal person get out of the gar as quickly as possible.
Hosea meets the gaze, but doesn't look intimidated. Strategic might be a better look for his expression. He tries to get a better look at the ground around the mutant, but he can't seem to see much from outside of the car. If that's blood, then there may be someone in dire need of help. The tall young man looks around for a good way to enter the car, but sees none through conventional means. So he makes his own. He rushes along side the crowd, and when he comes to the end of the train that people are running away from, he jumps out onto the edge of the subway car. He then passes straight through the closed door that is the emergency exit, hoping that people will be more concentrated on Victor than himself, and makes his presence known. "Is everyone okay?" he calls out in his thick Nigerian accent. "I am able to help." He seems to be looking at the feral looking mutant, though, as he speaks.
If Victor is following Hosea's movements, he doesn't suggest it with motion. He does finish up the worst of his wipedown, and tosses the coat onto the seat. There's no blood puddle at his feet, no mauled person shoved somewhere that's easily spotted. There are bloodspatters on the floor that lead from the door. Which, if one is an investigator, would suggest the feral mutant brought his mess in with him, and 'borrowed' a 'towel'. "Help with … the mess? You're the janitor?" Victor asks, dryly. Not aggressive, and with a tone that sounds like he's more amused with himself than expecting anyone else to be, at his joke. He starts to stand, watchful of his head in the car, just like Hosea will need to. Height fun. A spare glare is sent down to several curious people at the main door, several of them willing to climb on despite the mutant (although they stay away); perhaps they didn't see the stains or they're just jaded.
Hosea works his way closer to Victor, "I am not a janitor," he says. "Ah you hurt? Dere is much blood heah." He indicates around. "Where did it come from?" he asks, taking a seat opposite the other large mutant.
His own physique suggests he is quite strong, and a careful eye might notice a few scars on his arms, probably from some sort of sharp blade. He is still quite lithe though, hardly having the mass that Sabertooth has.
"People that bother me end up bleedin'," Victor says, his tone light, as if saying that People around him light up and smile when they're around him. Gee whiz. Too bad his low, thick feral vocal tone mangles that happy statement. …aside from the words themselves, obviously. There's a few people nearby that overhear that make themselves scarce. Nice private train, this is. Subway travel in style. There are no injuries of any kind visible on the blonde mutant. Sabertooth had stood up, but he's not doing anything overly threatening, posture wise. Very fearless, without much specific interest in the chatty Hosea. Which is a good thing, normally. Interest is usually messy.
Hosea's eyes glance at the people who exit the train, his own posture still casual. "Did someone bother you recently?" he asks. He doesn't seem appalled, almost as if this sort of thing should be expected. If anything, he looked more perplexed by the people who were running in fear. Death and blood aren't something that he is unaccustomed to. "I think deh people on this train are easily scared. Americans are vedy strage," he comments, almost to himself more than Sabertooth.
"They stopped," Victor reports, with a cheeky grin that bares his teeth. The fangs are visable anyway, and grinning shows them all. Sabertooth cat indeed. He turns his head, with a sniffing breath, common with feral mutants. "I like obidient humans. I told them to get lost. They did." The tone isn't victorious, perhaps strangely. It just is. Just fact. The train is, though, moving again. Hopefully Hosea did want to go wherever it's going, right. At least they do have this nice private subway car to enjoy. Due to the motion, Victor sits down again.
Hosea didn't really know which train to get on anyway, so he might as well stay. He studies the teeth Victor bears, and thinks about his next statement for a moment. "I used to tink like you," he says with a smile. A genuine one, even. He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. "In Africa, many people tink like this. You maybe like it? People kill each other all day. If I do not like you, HA, I kill you. If you do not like me, HA, you kill me. Many people die every day dere. Never know when you will be dah man to lose dah fight. You tink like Africa. Do you tink you would like to live dere?" he asks, his bright teeth showing in his own smile. His teeth look much more normal.
"Heh. Nah. All my friends are here," Victor says slowly, as if tasting over the words or ideas of his friends, licking over his bottom lip a little bit. "They'd be /sad/." Yeah. Sad. His tone is easy to read, the sarcasm apparent; Victor doesn't exactly conceal his emotions about things or his opinions, they're all out there. Then again, it's all pretty consistant. He cracks his fingers and hands briefly, through the joints, the claws scissoring naturally; he's distracted though, not paying attention to that. But it's clear, even without the bloodstains, about the reason for the private car.
Hosea waits a moment before answering, listening to the sound of the railway. Then, without warning, reaches down suddenly and slaps his knee. "HA!" he emits loudly. "I am rude. My name is Hosea Ikbuku," he announces, and holds out a large hand to shake, unconcerned with the leftover blood or the talons on the hand. "You now should have another friend, yes?" Yep, he's like this all the time.
Victor is not the friendliest person on the face of the earth. By any means. Hopefully Hosea's extreme friendliness can be enough for both of them. Because Victor just stares at the hand offered to him as if it had no real meaning to it at all. But then a wry smirk slides out. Why the hell not. He accepts the hand. Roughly, though. Sorry if there's scratches, because there's no attempt to be careful. "Vic," he says. That's all. "You have bad taste in new friends," He adds, amused.
The African laughs, "Maybe," he says, his own shake is firm as well. "But you should have seen my old friends! Yes? I was once a vedy bad friend myself, but people change, do you tink dat is true?" Hosea asks. He does get a few scratches, but it doesn't even cause him to wince, that same beaming smile remains on his face.
"No," the long time feral mutant answers. And considers. "Maybe for th' worse," Victor adds, fully serious. Pessimistic? Never. Not a bit. "It all burns eventually." How cheerful this new friend is. Talk about opposite from the African Sunshine. He withdraws his heavy, broad hand and lets them hang in front of him, elbows resting on his thighs as he sits, though it's half crouched type posture.
Hosea studies Victor, "I think by ourselves, dat is maybe true," he agrees. "And everyting here does burn, but with God," he says, the word held in reverence by his very tone, "All things are possible." His smiles broadens, if that is even possible.
"I say God loves you. He loves me, and if he can love me, he can love anybody." He looks down the track. "Maybe He make me lost in dah subway tonight so I could meet you, no?" his gaze turns back at Creed.
"Hahhh. God drops church roofs on his followers. God is plague. He created /me/," Vic grins some. Buying the religion, or just playing? Probably hard to tell, really, since it's just a smear of sarcasm. "So God's a sick bastard, and that's okay with me, though. More Chaos, more fun. Love though? Naw. Love's bull. If you say you love me, I'll rip your face off and eat it. Just so you know." It's amused, but it's a real warning, too. Almost… playful. Kind of like a big tiger's version of play. ….no, *exactly* like it.
Hosea takes the warning seriously. "Hmm," he says, pursing his lips for a moment. "You ah afraid of love, no?" he asks. He doesn't dive into a theological response. He's no theologian, and if he were, he doubts Creed would care to analyze intellectual subtleties. "He made me too," he says. "I doubt you could have done too many more things evil than I have." Is that a one-up challenge? No, but it might be taken as such.
"Hardly seems a point to 'love' fer long, when chicks are so easily crushed," Victor says, in a tone that suggests he's getting bored with that angle on the conversation. And apparently, love is pointless, due to the women having a hard time surviving the sexual part, by that response. So his 'love' comment was probably just homophobic response, before. He eyes Hosea briefly, darkly, at the challenge. "How many people you kill today?" The heavier mutant asks. "How many were children?"
"Today?" Hosea asks. "None. I have not killed anyone in two yeahs," he says. "But befoh that? I could not count them. I do not think I would want to try. And some I wish I had killed instead of what I did to them, it would have been bettah," he says. His smile is broken by the tone of the conversation, having completely faded. "But I am different now." A hint of the grin returns. "Dere is hope."
"Yeah, not today either," Vic says, with a soft rough laugh. A pause. He lifts his hands and sniffs the bloodstains. He doesn't check one hand, either, he does both, in a way that suggests they're different smells. Check. "Yeh, no kids today." ….yeah. Right. Because otherwise he wasn't sure. "Pff. Past don' matter anyway." An outright lie, that was. But oh well. Victor pauses, for no obvious reason, and then looks up and at the doors. A little bit after, the next stop is apparent.
There is a certain look of pity on Hosea's face. "It doesn't?" he asks. He lets the question hang, fully aware of the next stop coming up. He adds no more to his statement. Instead, he just keeps his gaze fixed on Vic to see if he adds to his declaration.
Victor turns his head from the door, starting to get to his feet. And settles his gaze, hard, on Hosea. It's a different type of threat, this one. "It better not," Victor says, low, which automatically gets a growly edge onto it. It's a ward to suggest maybe pawing at Victor's past isn't a good area. "Always poking it's head up and making things worse." He moves to the doors, apparently expecting to get off at this stop. "Should stay dead where it belongs." The door gets more of his harsh glare. His hair, or mane, is lifting some. Bristle. It would suck to be the people on the other side of the door when it opens.
Hosea doesn't get up as well, but he folds his hands in front of him, rubbing his chin with his thumbs. "My father," he says, "he gave me good words to live by. Do nothing today that will make a yestahday you don't want to answer for tomorrow." But if his own declaration is worth anything, he hasn't done the best job of following it. He puts himself on a physical ready stance, knowing that there could possibly be trouble when he the door is opened, but for the time being, he stays put.
"So. How much responsibility d'you take…. from makin me annoyed? Let's find out." Victor says, dark, which doesn't probably make any sense until the door opens. "MOVE," is roared, full volume, at the people on the outside of the train. Most of them scatter. A tourist, is totally startled by this outburst directly in his face, freezes up. Oh, well. His hip pack doesn't deflect claws that go up and under and translate the poor person, by the abdomen, into the train's doorway, to collapse there for Hosea's viewing pleasure. Victor himself doesn't slow down; he's moving away, and he's fast, disinterested in seeing the result of the person that didn't listen to his order.
Hosea isn't sure how to best help the tourist. He rushes to his side, and checks his injuries. He's still not accustomed to being able to call on hospitals. Fortunately, other peopl in the area are, and 911 is dialed on several phones. Hosea pulls his old and worn polo off of his body, revealing a well muscled and also heavily scarred torso. knife stabs, gunshot wounds, and the like spot his body. He presses his shirt against the wound. "Hold still," he says, his smile gone, but his eyes keep darting up to Victor. "Does anyone heah know how to stitch wounds?" he asks. "Please, come help this man." A medical intern steps up, coming to the side of the man. Hosea doesn't know enough first aid to deal with the issue himself. But there is another issue he does have ability to deal with. It's clear to him that if he allows Victor to leave, there will only be more bloodshed. "You must stop, Vic," he announces. "I cannot let you leave now. You must answer to dah police."
Kittycat moves quick. He'll get a good amount of distance while Hosea is dealing with the (unwrapped?) and partially gutted tourist. And, well, Vic doesn't really have dodge people, he shoves them out of his way. There's no verbal answer. Apparently Victor just expects to leave the station…
Hosea takes off running for the exit, tearing up the pathway after Vic. He isn't quite as fast, and the other mutant has a good head start. He rushes to the top of the subway. Everyone in the Big Apple looks the other way, though, and he looks through the crowds of people heading home from work. One way, then the other way. Hosea doesn't spend the time though to start checking in different directions. Instead, he retreats back into the subway to check on the injured man.
