He nodded his head, sure he hated wearing these itchy things, but at least it was better than what he wore now -- a pair of cut up shorts.
He casually stripped down and went through the suits. He didn't like any of them. They were either too small or they looked too crappy. He ripped the one that looked crappy and shrugged; he'd get away from this situation so he didn't have to worry about paying for any of this.
"Auntie Lee how bout this," he heard the kid chime up. Did the boy follow him here? Before he could turn around and address the issue he saw Jubilee's reaction from the corner of his eye.
She knelt to the boys level. For the first time in a long time, she smiled...at the boy for picking the gaudy light blue seventies suit, "umm, lets try that one over there," she pointed out to the one on the opposite side of Creed. The boy's tail wagged as he dropped the suit and went off.
He saw her floating towards him; he went back to rifling through the suits.
"Hmm," she questioned in front of him, "I think ya need somethin' with stripes."
"Why should I let a ghost tell me style," he interjected, "ain't like yer an authority on it." This was true. He destroyed that suit, then that black trench coat. He ripped another ugly suit as he looked for something for him.
"Hello, I'm the former mall rat, I have taste in clothes, heck I use to live off clothes," she pointed out -- there went another suit, "for someone that tried ta keep tabs on me -- ya sure forgot the point where I used ta be a fashion designer."
Wait? When did this occur. As she absentmindedly looked through the clothes, he wondered how could he not know that information. His informant told him every detail that he wanted to know. He growled to himself, the information got him to this point right now.
"I got taste in clothes," another rip in his suit interrupted him, "better than yers Jubilee," he openly challenged her.
"Oh really," she answered the challenge, here they go, "when ya look at Iggy, you'll be sorry ya didn't take my advice," she floated away to the where she pointed Iggy out to.
Another ripped suit fell before him, "Don't care Jubilee," he pushed away another suit and then he found it. The ensemble came with a hat and everything. He liked the style.
He started to put it on one leg at a time. A perfect fit if he didn't say so himself. So he checked it out in the mirror. He dusted away some lint off the suit. He looked like he came straight from the twenties. A suave debonair gangster ready to kill someone stupid enough to cross his path, he liked the thought.
A set of clapping came from behind him. So Jubilee admitted defeat. He'd take any victory where it came from. He turned around to face her only to see her attention wasn't on him -- rather the boy.
The boy wore the same hat, which covered the droopy ears. The same suit, same pants, and same shoes covered the boy.
"You look kickin' Iggy," she whistled at Iggy who smiled at her.
"Thank you," he saw the boy bow to her. Creed didn't like it -- a miniature copy of him. He growled as he slashed at the boy.
The suit the boy wore torn to shreds before him. He shouldn't have done that. Many things could happen that won't go to his favor; yet, he felt he needed to.He smelled fear coming from the boy but it the boy didn't give it off.
Giving a weary smile, the boy went off away from the mirror, "I guess Uncle 'Tooth didn't like that," the boy tried to sound strong -- tried being the key word. The boy ran and good riddance.
"Wait, Iggy --" Jubilee called out to the boy. He got a glare from the girl. He responded by giving a toothy grin and walked right through her. There was only the original.
He smelled the meat outside wafting. He waited for no one as he walked inside the hall. The classical piano played smoothly into the background. Chatter amongst the rich was abundant.
"T..This way sir," the orderly stuttered as he was escorted to a single table.
He followed the dumb orderly as he was seated in the darkness. Go figure, "Steak medium rare frail." he ordered as the orderly quickly got the message. A few minutes later he got what he desired. Creed sniffed the meat, nothing smelled wrong about it and it was so long since he ate this -- he just dived into it.
How can something that is advertised with a wolf killing a cow have a high standard of decor? Creed asked the question over and over again as he bit into the medium rare steak.
He looked around. Rich brats laughed to the table behind him as rich geezers coughed in front of him. Using his hands to pick up the bloody part, he took another bite out of the meat.
He hadn't seen the boy or Jubilee the whole time he was eating. This didn't bother him, he'd rather eat alone than be with the youthful feral or the jubilant specter. Besides, it gave him time to think about some things.
How can the boy see the specter?
What's up with her change in attitude?
Why did he freak out what might be the only chance to get rid of the specter?
All these questions running around in his mind, but then the scraggly orderly approached him.
"What would you like to drink sir," the orderly asked him. He noticed the orderly gaining some confidence -- that wouldn't last long.
"Vodka," he barked out, people were watching him, but he didn't care. He gave the orderly a deathly stare. The scared orderly stumbled out of view as Creed went back to his food.
"Didja hear of somethin' called a fork," he heard her voice in front of him.
He took his eyes of the meat. Finally, he'd get some answers, "Bout time Jub --" the smirk on his face faded when he saw the woman in front of him wasn't the specter. She wore a sliver gown that flowed like quicksilver. Her red hair flowed down her back like red rivers of wine cascading down a waterfall.
"Is this seat taken?" she asked him. Her voice didn't sound his tormenter. He must be hearing things or something.
"Yer funeral Red," he pointed over to the seat in front of him. He eyed her as her elegance exuded from her Aphrodite like body.
"The guy over there told me about your -- umm -- language," her debonair words made him want to kill the orderly. Like clockwork, the orderly approached him with his drink.
"Here you go sir," another breathe of confidence. Creed knocked the glass out of the orderly's hands, "I changed my mind, whiskey," he ordered. He smelled the mixture of fear and anger coming from the orderly, "Problem bucko," Creed stood to his intimidating six foot six.
The orderly gulped down his pride and left the two alone. Creed sat back down; the laughter of the woman in front of him started to annoy him. He growled a little as he took another bite from his almost finished medium rare steak.
"You're manners are disdainful," she covered her mouth, "I like that," she put her arms on the table. Was that amorous intent he smelled? Did she actually want him? Memories intruded into his mind.
"Well Red, what'dya want," he told her coldly as he experienced this before, "If ya want a good ride, then I'll give ya a night ya never will ferget," he winked at her. He smelled lust filling his senses -- obviously his actions didn't deter her.
She got up and went around him. Putting her arms around him a card flicked from her hand, "When 'yer' ready to leave darling, I need some business to take care of."
Her arms left his body as his arousal almost became apparent. He watched her form bounce towards the piano. He looked down at his food, as he didn't give it a second glance as he stood from the table.
He wanted her, now. He stalked her. His gaze followed every flirtatious action. He started to become like a predator stalking his prey. He felt something stop his movement for a second. He looked down and saw nothing as he went forward towards her.
She winked at him as he almost approached her. Again he felt something tugging against his shoulder and then his legs. He tried to move forward, but this force was something he never felt before. He tried to list all the things that could be stopping him. He felt now psychic intrusions and nothing felt wrong with his body.
Suddenly he was lifted up into the air. Could this bitch be telekinetic? He struggled as her laughter changed from one so familiar, which he loved to hate, to one that he wanted to learn to hate.
"Poor predictable Sabretooth," she shook her head, " 'Ya' should have looked at the card before coming towards me -- oh wait, let me help you."
His hands started to move on their own as he fingers tilted the card to his view.
"Sanguine and Humble: Professional Assassins"