A Good Night for a Drink (Sidney)

[Victor Creed]

"Gimme another..." Victor beckoned the bartender to drop another swallow of whiskey in his shotglass. Creed also had a beer he was nursing but the whiskey was an old friend. He downed the new shot then placed it back on the bartop with a satisfied clank.

As fun as drinking was, Victor was on the bored side. He hadn't seen any action since that rally. He couldn't even play his favorite game... Who knew where the Runt was hiding now. Oh well. A claw was placed onto the bartop, digging it into the wood as he drew a little bullseye. Once that little carving was done he smirked as he put his shotglass over it. "Another one."

Victor watched as the whiskey was poured into that class and with a quick motion he took the shot then slammed down the glass. The action was in a fluid movement and when he looked down...bullseye.

Okay, so it was a lame game. But one had to entertain themselves somehow. Especially now that things were going the way they were going. It seemed like the whole world was tearing itself apart. Not that he really cared...he rather enjoyed chaos.

[shanecross]

How had he ended up here? Shivering under a thick fur jacket in some god-forsaken wasteland in Manitoba. Sitting in an empty bar in an unknown village with no more money. Tired, hungry and annoyed.

Clutching his sour whiskey with both hands, Sidney tried to figure out where it all went wrong. The facts were pretty simple: he had been assigned by the Exiles to look into the deaths of three different storeowners in the northern region of Manitoba. These deaths were linked by the tell-tale signs of a mutant culprit. No gun or knife wounds: instead, various blunt trauma wounds and a couple of confusing claw-like marks. They had dropped him aimlessly in northern Manitoba and he had been going from village to village for the past few days, asking people if they’ve seen a dangerous mutant. He usually got dead stares in response. That and miles of cracked dirt and dead shrubbery in between the mini-towns.

Sidney cursed silently for being given such a dead-end assignment. What was he doing here when mutants were attacking human politicians in public? He should be in the thick of it, not relegated to some back-bench mission in the far reaches of Canada.

And to top it all off, Sidney was positively freezing. He was wearing a brown fur coat over two thin sweaters, with a rustic pair of jeans and black hiking boots. Yes, it was technically still summer, but the winds here had decided to greet fall early. A biting chill had managed to pierce every blanket and coat that Sidney had managed to find, making his teeth chatter even in his sleep. The sparse landscape and veritable lack of green was not only hurting his capabilities, but also his morale. He was absolutely miserable here and wanted to leave. But he simply couldn’t, until he found whoever it was he was looking for.

He took a dejected sip of sour whiskey, trying vainly to look out of the grimy window in front of his seat. There wasn’t much to see.