16411/Lest Old Aquaintence Be Forgot...

Lest Old Aquaintence Be Forgot...
Date of Scene:	06 July 2024
Location:	Club Lux, Melville
Synopsis:	Sabretooth came to Lux to have his head checked. Daddy issues are just a side-order, unwanted. But who knows what Creed's head will do now?
Cast of Characters:	Sabretooth, Lucifer, Sinister

---

Sabretooth has posed:
New York held a lot of secrets. Some of them were obvious, some of them were very much not. Today Sabretooth was hunting a deep dark secret indeed. If his intel was good - and he'd spent a _lot_ of money with a _lot_ of people to make sure it was - this should be where that skinny Victorian fuck that called himself Mister Sinister was hanging his hat these days.

Victor wanted to have words with Sinister.

The lock on the door was surprisingly good but it was just not prepared for super-hard keratin claws cutting through them. He could be quiet when he wanted to and right now, despite the boots, he was quiet as a soft spring breeze.

He sniffed the air, hoping to get a lock on Sinister. He thought he could smell him through the stink of men and women and drink and drugs, but what the fuck was up with the brimstone?

Someone cooking, or have a goth fetish, maybe?

Lucifer has posed:
No one expects the keratin claws of the super-hard variety. Though he's locked up for the night, Lucifer was still piddling around behind one of the bars, making sure a few things were in stock and seeing if he needed a quick resupply of anything else. There's nothing that happens when Sabretooth breaks the lock and helps himself into the club - no alarm sound. No flick of electricity if one is sensitive to that. No. There is the popping up of a head, the one that belongs to the one and only Lucifer Morningstar. Standing there in a white button up shirt, black suspenders attached to dark grey pants. Hair slicked back and striking blue eyes that shift around before he hops over the bar.

"I must say if you've come to rob the place you're out of luck. All the money's been deposited and I don't really want to bother with pulling it out again. If you want a drink, I can likely make that happen. Course, I can only surmise off the top of my head that whoever you are, you've come with a purpose. But you're not one of mine...so..." He's still looking for the stalking man who dared break into his club - and effectively his home - but keeps the voice casual at best. Slick. Silver tongued as always.

Sinister has posed:
Brimstone. Ye olde timey sulphorous afternote that does lead one down the road of rotten eggs -- maybe the sewers are fragrant this time of year, it is New York after all.

But there is the truth; no alarms, no sudden flashing lights, just the erstwhile bartender and his after hours chic. Even if you're doing accounting, it /pays/ to still look good. You never know who might just break and enter and come a'calling all uninvited like.

But it's very, very hard to get the drop on mister Sinister. Nathaniel Essex spent a very long time actively avoiding individuals doing such things and catching him unawares. But that doesn't necessarily mean he'll share that awareness, if it's unnecessary.

The elevator in the be-lightened and closed club, dings quietly as the door slide open. Black and white, sleeves rolled up and waistcoat in place, he's regarding his pocketwatch critically. "You're late. I was expecting you earlier--" is said mildly as he saunters toward the bar, looking faintly amused at the universe as he does so, glancing to the bar "--fond of rotgut and bootleg. But anything with more proof than paintstripper is probably adequate." This toward Lucifer, he settles on one of the stools as focus trains upon the intruder.

There's a smile. It actually reaches his eyes but that's not necessarily a good thing. "Victor."

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor flashed fangs at Sinister in what might, if one was charitable, describe as a mile. "Sinister." he said with more than a little growl. "Who's the barkeep?" he asked, claws involuntarily sliding out just a little bit more. In case he'd need them.

Parts of him wanted very badly to need them.

As he spoke, he began to slowly - slowly - close the distance between himself and Sinister. He got close enough, maybe he could drop him with a single slash. Probably not going to happen, but damn. He wanted to. But then he remembered why he was here.

Favors to ask.

Lucifer's specialty in trade, going back to the beginning of everything that was.

Lucifer has posed:
"Well there was the Sangria to make double sure was being aptly refilled...not that I distrust you or your machines...just want to make sure they're working right. Then there's inventory and...well..." Lucifer gestures to the now named person who has helped themselves into Lux after hours. The scent of brimstone may even heighten some as a few of his demonlings come out of their shadows to ensure the boss is safe from harm.

He dismisses them just as quickly with a thought.

"Rotgut and bootleg? I may have something just right to appease..." Then he's hopping back over the bar and flashing a Grin(tm) towards the growly Victor. "Allow me the introduction. I am Lucifer Morningstar. Yes. Like the Devil. Because I -am- the Devil. No, you don't have to believe me, but I cannot tell a lie so it's up to you to formulate the opinion thusly." Then he's all grins again and flips three glasses up. One fills with cognac, one with whiskey, and the third with a....rather interestingly scented dark brown drink that even he isn't sure how to pronounce the name. Father didn't bless him with -alien- language mastery.

Sinister has posed:
There's but a gesture toward Lucifer, for the silvertongued devil's got a fantastic set of pipes on him. "The Lightbringer," he informs, as an extra added effect, somewhat amused as he gazes up at the figure that invaded the Bastion of all things sinful. Victor Creed /is/ one of those that he has to look up at, which is rare. But it's only an inch. What's in an inch?

...Said the Nun to the vicar.

"I /do/ so love it when you come calling, Victor. Lightbringer, Sabretooth. Sabretooth, Lightbringer." Cigarettes are placed on the bar, a silver tin with the strong smell of cloves. There's also a tube, as if he was prepared for this, containing a rather nice cuban cigar.

"So, tell me. What can I /possibly/ do for you?" A smile is shot, fleetingly, at the materializing people-that-are-not-people, a nod to those knocking off, lingering in a lazy fashion before those coalfire red eyes look up at the much, much taller mutant. Helps to be sitting when you're determined to look up all nonchalant like. The cognac is taken up lazily.

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor, oddly enough, didn't blink at the naming of the Devil. He'd worked with crazier people that called themselves crazier things. He had come to take that kind of thing in stride. Besides, he was convinced he was the baddest motherfucker in the Valley at this point. So rather than the smooth approach to look to gut Sinister, he took a seat at the bar and politely removed his Stetson to take a place on the bar next to him. So this is where at least some of that brimstone stink was coming from.

No wonder he named himself the Devil.

"Sinister." he said to the Victorian gentleman at the bar."You got a minute to talk?" he asked.

Lucifer has posed:
The cognac is placed in front of Sinister, he personally keeps the whiskey and the alien drink that he can't pronounce and likely figures is stronger than his best whiskey but weaker than the Asgardian Ale is set in front of Victor.

As there isn't a protest made to his own name, the Devil takes that in stride while also reaching to the tin to pull out a cigarette that he keeps in there. The couple he slips in when there's room. Cause sometimes he doesn't want to smoke a clove. Course he also draws out a clove proper, sets both between his lips, lights them with a flick of his fingers which spark a flame of hellfire and then passes the clove to Sinister.

"Likely has all the time in the world if he decides to give it to you." He answers for the Doctor with that Grin(tm) still upon his lips. "Also, you owe me a lock on my front door."

Sinister has posed:
"A minute, yes. More than that and you might be stretching things," the tone employed by Sinister is mildly teasing, as he takes the clove from proffered fingers, leaning comfortably against the bar, looking down at the stetson and up at the dangerous blond. There's a slow inhale of the clove, cheeks sucked in and an exhale through the nose.

"You can talk in front of Lucifer. He's good with chats. Practically professional at them."

Ash is flicked and his gaze roams slightly, taking in the whole of how the contract killer is currently presenting himself.

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor sniffs at the drink, wrinkles his nose, and determined to leave the drink alone. Smelled like nothing else he'd ever come across. No point in stressing his healing factor unnecessarily. He glanced between the Lightbringer and Sinister. He didn't want to get into the meat of his request in front of a stranger. Even one that claimed the title of the Devil. But hey, fuck it. Smokes on the bar, so he took a cigar and then looked around for a light.

Lucifer has posed:
There's a little flicker of gaze from Creed's face when his nose wrinkles, to the drink and then back again. "You really have nothing to worry about. I serve humans, mutants, metahumans, werewolves, vampires....really all sorts of people. Every night unless we're closed. Also, Sinister knows you. Regardless if this is a..." He pauses to think. "Friendly chat... or not... you will not be so easily ended by a shot of whatever is in that glass."

Then he reaches a hand forward, snaps his fingers to produce that hellfire flame again, so Creed can light his cigar.

Then he leans in close, along with his arm, and says loud enough for Nathaniel to still hear him. "Besides. Believe me or don't believe me. But if /I/ wanted you dead? You would have been a stone cold corpse on the ground as soon as you broke my fucking lock." Then he backs himself once again and the Grin(tm) returns.

Sinister has posed:
"Wouldn't do much good, I've brought Victor back more times than I can count--" Sinister replies with a chuckle. "Death is only a minor inconvenience sometimes..." he pauses a moment "...Saigon wasn't it? No..." he clucks his tongue "...Camer Rouge. Killing fields. Sometimes IEDs have a bit of extra boom."

He half-winks at Victor, is all smiles, complete with dimples a moment after. "And the liquor really -is- good here. Point of pride. Now..."

Dragging on his smoke, it's exhaled toward his hairline and an attentive look is plastered on his face. "What -can- I do for you?"

Sabretooth has posed:
Creed growled, then picked up the alien drink to slam down a swallow of it. "That's just it." he told Sinister. "I don't remember Cambodia. Last thing I remember is the firing squad with the runt." he said with frustration. "I know my brain's been fucked with. Chemical. Psionic. I don't know if the shit I remember is real or just something some sick fuck made up for kicks." he growled. "And I know you got the cure." he added a moment later. "So I'm here to set up a deal, if you want." he said.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer smirks at the growl that comes from the Big 'Ol Pussycat sitting across the bar from him. He takes his hand away and shakes off the unused flame before reaching under the bar and tosses a lighter onto the bartop itself. Yes, Sinister, you could hear that moniker loud and proud in Lucifer's head thanks to that wonderful mental link the two share

He then shifts to hop over the bar AGAIN, only this time he's going to slide into a chair that he pulls over from the closer table so he can sit juuuuuust so next to Nathaniel but also be able to listen to Victor go on. "Ooooh! Deals! I love deals. If you can't do the deal, can I try? Ooooh.... so exciting!" One can almost FEEL the gears grinding in the Devil's head with a contract all but ready to go.

Sinister has posed:
"Oh, deary deary me, what is the world coming to, that they're brainscrambling my boys? I don't know," tsking, Sinister narrows his gaze at the space where Victor's third eye would be.

And in the mean time, there's vaulting devil's and no candlestick in sight. The red inferno of a gaze slides to Lucifer, flares just a little brighter for a moment, as his cigarette is ferried to flick ash and return to his lips. Helpfully for the distractable, he indicates the lighter on the bartop with a jab of the clove. Behold. No hellfire, just a good old zippo. But lets not leave the cigar all virgin and unlit, eh?

"Well. I can take a little look around, see what's been cross-wired and whose been messing where they ought not to have been and we can go from there. I've a few projects that could use your particular brand of supreme violence and unexpected sneakiness, Creed." He glances to Lucifer, smiles again and looks back.

"Are we talking full reset, or just unscrambling the signals?"

Sabretooth has posed:
"Just an unscramble." he said. "No mindwipes, you fuck." he growled, then lit his damned cigar and then stuck in his mouth. Mmmm, Cuban. Very nice. He took an appreciative drag on it, then put the Zippo back on the bartop. "Whaddya got?" he asked Sinister. The prospect of mayhem _and_ getting his noodle unfucked was pretty damned appealing. And while Sinister was probably a kiddie-diddler in his free time if he wasn't molesting Summerses or Greys, his word was usually good.

Usually.

Lucifer has posed:
Ah. This is definitely something in Sinister's wheelhouse and not his own. He's usually the one doing the mind fucking, when there is a mind in need of a good fuck. Then, something dawns on him. Something he likely should have put together moments ago but there was alcohol and cigarettes and threatening non-humans with unrequited violence for breaking and entering.

Victor Creed.

Sabretooth.

Oooooh. "My my my... Oh.... this is... this is too good." He stops. Looks between Victor and Sinister and then simply announces. "I know who you are. Not to interject or anything but... yes. Yes I know. Or rather. I know your father." He smirks. "Shall I send him your vile hatred? Maybe give him a couple extra turns on the rack for good measure?"

Sinister has posed:
"Kashmir, actually. I've an issue where I want to get my hands on a couple of artifacts, currently in the hands of well... thugee, I believe. Should be a nice challenge for you. I don't mind how much collateral damage there is, it's not my country. I've also got a couple of feelers in Russia as well as closer to home. You know how it is..." Sinister smiles thouugh, open mouthed and with those teeth of his looking considerably more human than they sometimes do. He does have to be mildly annoyed for the shark-mouth to show up.

He glances at Lucifer, chuckles softly as the penny drops and inclines his head there. "I would love to be a fly on the wall of -that- family reunion..." he muses. "Hell is so accomodating sometimes..."

And back to Victor his attention settles. "Very well. Hold still please, I need to have a little look at what I'm working with."

Which is liable to be a bloodbath of screams, blood, torture and that wonderful tang of chordite and copper. Essex is utterly capable of being very subtle with his mind when he wants to; the power of a subtle knife is not to be underestimated.

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor didn't scream, but it was a close thing. Instead, his blond-headed skull slammed into Luci's bar. Over and over again. The skin would split down to the bone, then regrow, then split again. Sinister was _not_ being gentle, nor was he being considerate.

Victor wouldn't want him to.

He'd earned this. And more.

But he did manage to stop damaging Luci's bar by the expedient of grabbing the alien booze and tossing it back in one heroic swallow. And throughout all of this he even managed to keep a hold on his lit cigar.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer side-eyes Nathaniel and gives a little grin. "You always want to be the fly when I realize I know the people that sent other people to Hell. It's just icing on the pie that it happens to be Creed's father." Then the attention turns to Victor and Nathaniel - well Sinister in this regard - begins to do his thing.

It's amazing watching his lover work. Especially when the work is being done with solely the mind. Though after a moment, Creed begins to bash his head against the table. Then it heals, and he bashes it more. He looks between the two men and then makes his way back behind the bar to keep filling that glass with the alien booze.

Healing factors in others surprise him. As he wonders if it means - like him - the person cannot get drunk. Unless the alcohol is super strong.

Sinister has posed:
Or very specific. Poisons are funny things and alcohol IS a poison after all. A delicious poison...

There's simply calm from Sinister as he stares at the Sabretooth for a long, long while, through at least enough rounds of banging his head on the counter that Lucifer is -able- to hop around and refill...

Then abruptly, the scene /seems/ to be a doctor's office. Here we are, nice desk, receptionist silently scribbling notes. Musak in the background. Terribly boring and out of date reading material from years ago, littering the table and a clock on the wall, frozen in time. There's a 'seeing patient' counter on the wall, which doesn't appear to have moved in a long while.

Sinister, in a white coat, stands in front of exam room #1, holding a little blue pill in a cup arm extended to the very end.

"You will observe that this is a construct. You are currently bleeding on the top of Lucifer's counter, but you've stopped banging your head on it at least. Take your medicine, be a good boy." He murmurs this. The stethoscope around his neck is covered in fresh and old blood.

Sabretooth has posed:
Inside the construct Creed looked up at Sinister with no trace of rationality or sanity. Possibly a defense mechanism for the implants in his mind. His claws came all the way out and with one swipe, he cut the pill extender in two. Probably why it was in use - if that had been Essex's arm, Creed would have likely severed it. His mental-self construct roared and he surged to his feet - only to see the coppery red fluid leaking from his fingers, where the claws came out. He felt dizzy, woozy. Off-balance. Nothing smelled right, nothing sounded right. But he wasn't the type to give up just for the asking and he lurched in a direction he thought might be Sinister-wards, bloody claws raking the air.

In reality, Creed just moaned as he let his head - still bloody and no longer healing - rest on Luci's bar.

Lucifer has posed:
In reality Lucifer is making sure glasses don't remain dry for too long. Such is his passion as a bartender - even though he is truly the owner of Club Lux.

He's also getting a first hand account of what is going on inside the mind. Knowing Nathaniel has control over most everything. There's a raised brow as Creed swipes at the extended arm machine, ripping it asunder. Then he dares to lurch in the direction of Nathaniel. Lucifer just smirks, and even has the audacity to lean back against the far wall, simply observing, and trying to keep the 'clean' aspect of the office in tact. Which means no smoking. Even in the mental scape.

Sinister has posed:
The extender did indeed snap in half, the ephemera that it's made of ripped asunder by the trauma of a damaged, damaged mind. And yes, Sinister isn't stupid. "Well, you do know this is just going to make this part of the job longer..." he grouses as the door to exam room #1 slams shut, turning from wood and glass, to concrete and steel. A bunker? A laboratory. One of the Weapon X labs, where some of the test subjects and volunteers had to be /extremely/ well contained.

He emerges from a different cell, this time wearing the white coat over combat fatigues and a black wife-beater, a set of dog tags hanging from his neck. The time period seems... sixties by the uniform? Yes, that would make sense. In his hands, a tranquilizer gun, which he shoots toward the raging Creed, draws the bolt and fires a second.

There's dispassion in his red gaze, but black satisfaction on his lips, quirked wry.

"I would get this over with as quickly as you can, Victor. This part will otherwise be -very- unpleasant." The lights in this construct mindscape are darkening. Dimming. Closing in. Shrinking.

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor has checked out of the building. The defenses in his mind have taken over and right now it's only Sabretooth running the show. He's merciless, he's raging, he's homicidal - and he gets nowhere near anyone he can tear apart as the tranks, specially designed for people with healing factors like his, got their chemical claws into his biochemistry. "Kill you!" he tried to screaml, but it came out more as a lackadaisical statement of intent from a bored teenager. Parts of him were shuting down against his will but - perhaps intentionally - his consciousness was the last thing to go. He went under in a red haze of bloodlust.

Back in Reality, Victor carved divots into Luci's bar with his claws involuntarily extracting and then retracting, adding a pool of metallic red to the fine finish of Luci's bar.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer is still against a wall. Whether the wall is plaster in clinic mode or concrete in labratory mode. He's simply there observing. Though in this setting, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lights one and takes a deep inhale. He says nothing. Neither here nor in the reality where he's just standing behind the bar, also observing. Letting this play out, but ready to aid Nathaniel if it's needed.

Sinister has posed:
IN REALITY:

    Sinister slides off the barstool and advances to the unconscious form of Victor Creed, bleeding and twitching on the counter top. He crouches, narrowing eyes on the man's broken head and stares there, peeling layers away with nothing more than the power of his own mind - Psychokinesis can be very good for surgery without tools, but the precision also means none of those tiny capillaries, veins, or precious grey matter is actively damaged as he stares inside. That's all that seems to be happening in the real world, until a long couple of worms of scar tissue, slightly oddly coloured, are pulled free of the corpus collosum, or white-matter in the center of the brain. They're dropped into one of the empty glasses as they're floated free. Reconstruction takes a bit longer, as you've got to make sure the head goes back the way it's SUPPOSED to, or all kinds of oddness might occur.

IN THE MINDSCAPE:

    A spotlight switches on after a few moments of blessed, horrid blackness. There's a chair. It's got Victor Creed written on the back and resembles a director's chair on a movie set. No sign of Sinister, except for the voice.
    "You'll want to direct the action. You've got made in Hong Kong stamped on your skull... start there. It'll come back to you in time, but it'll probably be all foggy for a while. I'm not going to let you go until I get some kind of recognition you have aaaaaaany clue what the english language is, Creed."

Sabretooth has posed:
IN REALITY: Victor doesn't even flinch as Sinister performs telekinetic surgery on his brain matter. He might make a huffing noise or two, but his body is otherwise calm and still.


IN THE MINDSCAPE: A little boy crawls into the director's chair. That boy, blond of hair and golden of eye, is a ragged mess. His face is covered in blood, several of his teeth missing. His fingers, too, end in ragged stumps, the entire assembly from the first knuckle outwards having been what appears to have been hacked off with a meat cleaver. He just stares out into the dark and even on a child this young there is precious little humanity in his eyes. He moans, as if either trying to communicate or in extreme pain. Or, potentially, both.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer still just watches to watch. He has nothing to contribute so he's simply admiring the mastermind of work that Sinister does.

Sinister has posed:
IN REALITY:

    Sinister lightly brushes blood soaked blond hair as the last bits of head are put back where they belong. He pats the newly jigsaw puzzled skull, smiles and releases the hold he had on the ability to heal and other things. What was switched off so he could work, is switched on again.

IN THE MINDSCAPE:

    Oddly, a small cup and ball drops from the spotlight. A toy of a long while ago, painted only roughly in red and white; red cup, white ball. There's blood on it. "Everything starts somewhere. But we're going to let this be what it is. Some people deserve exactly what they get, don't you think? Others, less so. I'm inclined toward sympathy for the devil. What about you? Come on. Up and at'm cowboy. There's miles to go before you sleep and promises to keep."

Sabretooth has posed:
IN REALITY:

Creed begins to heal, rapidly. The grey matter shifts as new connections are made to replace the excised tissues. Then the tear in his skull grows new bone to connect the ragged edges together, fuse into a solid mass. Last are the capillaries in his skin, which reconnect and start to pass blood back along their distances while the skin regrows, knits itself back together.

IN THE MINDSCAPE

The little boy warps and shifts, coming into his full growth. "Ain't nobody tellin' me what to do." he said, sounding much more like himself. "Because ain't nobody can stop me from takin' what I want." he said with a befanged crooked grin. Teenagers were at best insufferable, but teenagers with nobody to tell them know, with a mutation that aided him in putting grown-ass adults into the ground, were on another level entirely.

Sinister has posed:
In a whisp of smoke and coalescing ephemera, Sinister materializes in a tornado of psychic energy, standing infront of the spotlight, a cane in front of him upon which both hands rest. His attire is victorian, a velvet frock coat of black, a red shirt, black waistcoat, white neck tie. Top hat. Human looking except for the fires of hell in his eyes, red as blood and glowing. And the ruby red diamond in his forehead. "Are you entirely sure about that?" he asks, mildly. "Lets try and keep it that way shall we, Victor? You've been the tool of far too many tossers in your time. You're much more magnificent when you're not a wind-up toy that they simply point in the direction that they want eviscerated." He sniffs, tilts his head a fraction. "So. How do you feel?"

Sabretooth has posed:
Victyor shrugged. "Strong. Capable. And ready to fuck anyone up that gets in my way. That includes you, you British wanker." he said with a grin. Ah, 19th century prejudices. Weren't they fun? Although he was himself teeeeeechnically a British subject, Canada not being its own thing for quite some time in the future. And this was long before Victor had been educated, so he was a barely-literate homeschooled monster at this point.

Sinister has posed:
"Ahh, yes, well, you're welcome to try. You Canadians got a lot further with a polite letter than your cousins south of the border, at any rate. And then there's 1812, which I will -always- find amusing..." Sinister nods faintly, lifts his top hat, then thumps the cane on the ground in one sonorous BOOM loud enough to startle the subconscious into full wakefulness.

And thus, the monster wakes. Or will do, shortly, at least... in Club Lux after closing, with the devil and his Sin watching. Sinister, viscera and bits of Victor Creed decorating the local vicinity, heads to wash his hands in the bar sink. It seems to be a fastidious over-reaction, as there's not ALL that much splatter around.

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor straightened up back in Reality, poking his brain like an open wound to see what sort of memories would flow out. "Huh." he said, and then picked up his poor neglected cigar to re-light it and take a drag from it. Healing factor knew tobacco well and neutralized it almost before it had a chance to settle in. Kept him from developing lung cancer but also inhibited some of the pleasures of smoking in general. "Kandahar, huh?" he said to Sinister. "You'll arrange infil and exfil routes then?" he asked, his tactical mind already starting to work the problem, even with the limited information he had. "And you, Lucifer. You keep a good stogie." he said with a fnaged grin.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer comes back into reality just as easily as he left it. Flowing within the mental scape and back isn't a problem for a being that can travel dimensions. Hell is another dimension after all. "The stogie is actually Sinister's. But we do know how to source them. So I'll take it..." The compliment anyway. He does step forward and looks at the damage done to his precious bar. "Nathaniel. We'll need to have Simon and Tacitus come to give the bar a good make over...." He offers, glancing over to his lover fair washing his hands out of practice and habit rather than practicality. Eyes shift back over to Victor as the Devil studies the man for a moment. "I apologize if I hit any nerve when mentioning your father. I hope you find a certain pleasurable peace knowing he suffers every minute of his eternity." Adding that in one last time - mostly in case Victor didn't register it at the beginning.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister lathers his hands all the way to the elbows, paying close attention to his cuticles. He lifts his gaze to the intimidatingly large figure so recently recovered from regeneration retrograde. "Kashmir, but yes. I'll have the information ready for you imminently. And as I said, I don't care about collateral damage, have fun. Just don't cause nuclear war, Pakhistan can be touchy."

Scrubscrub.

"To be utterly fair my dear, I think we should probably have the counter replaced entirely. I'm going to forever wonder if I need to wash my hands after touching it at the moment." He looks between the devil and the mutant in the room, then back at his dilligent washing. Private moment. Daddy punishment talks.

Sabretooth has posed:
Victor sighed. Just what he needed. "You know how to get a hold of me." he told Sinister, knowing that it was likely true. He'd blazed a trail a mile wide trying to find Sinister and the trail would be easily back-tracable to him. "Leave you two to whatever this is." he said as he turned to walk back out of Lux.

Lucifer has posed:
"I'll tell your father you say hello then!" Lucifer calls out as Victor makes his way to leave the same way he came in. Through the door with the broken lock. After a moment, he turns back and then gives a shrug. "Fine. But the counter is on your dime." It's said in a no-nonsense, no argument can change his mind, sort of way. Sinister's dealings caused the collateral damage. Sinister can pay for it. As for the lock, he scoffs and shakes his head. "I suppose I'll have to have Simon fix the lock as well...which means I likely need to call him now because if I can't lock Lux up, we're susceptible to any one who decides an open door is a fine invite to come in and say hello. However peacefully or violently."

Sinister has posed:
"Oh I could find you with a blindfolded..." Sinister replies, inspecting his nails. Satisfied, he looks over at the retreating figure, at the devil, at his nails again and finally at the nearest CLEAN dish towel.

Quietly: "You know, I've never been entirely certain, but I've a feeling he took a terminal approach to paternal problems. Poke it again when it's almost scabbed over, it'll probably niggle more." Pause. Sigh. "But fine. I'll get my people in to replace the granite."

And that, as they say, is that. Lest old aquaintence be forgot, over and over and over. Memory can be a painfully long affair.

Sabretooth has posed:
"Rip his nails and eyeteeth out!" Victor called out before exiting Lux entirely.