Well, here it is. It's been SO long since I updated this story that I thought I'd give you TWO (count 'em!) TWO chapters for your personal enjoyment. Now for the warnings;
1. These chapters were dreadfully forced
2. These characters are dreadfully out of character.
Otherwise, have fun!
"D' we win?"
"...I don't think so."
Mortimer allowed his head to fall back, though regretting it slightly as it cracked against the boat's metallic floor.
It was raining.
Drizzling, actually.
It speckled down upon his face, offering a small refrain from the prickling sensation in his skin. Damnit all. His nerves were shot…
We failed.
He closed his eyes, taking in the free air to calm his lungs.
Failed miserably, Mort, he reminded himself, counting his breaths.
The mutant, wounded an thoroughly spent, might have slipped further into the process of self spitefulness and scolding, had he not been fighting his loss of consciousness. Instead, he listened to his own heart beat, focusing only that single necessity.
Live.
Had he been in a better state of mind, he might have focused past the raking pain he was fighting.
Had he been in a better state of mind, he might have considered, for a moment, the violent shivering that was rattling his frame.
Mortimer Toynbee was an amphibianoid ; Attributes, as much in the cosmetic sense as it was in the physical sense, took after the general rules of an amphibian, namely a frog. -And with layers upon layers of soaking clothing wrapped around his form, his heat-sensitive body was taking a harsh beating. Had he been in a better state of mind, he would have been taking more necessary action.
Sabertooth was hardly what you'd call a nurse.
The felinoid was in a like state of pain, his body still poised upon healing it's self, while his mind was struggling to keep focus on piloting the unfamiliar boat, so it was quite a spell before his left ear twitched, (yes twitched) thoughtfully, and he took his eyes from the controls for a fraction of a second. He was not a creature that naturally mothered the weak, and he did not care to start with the smallish, greenish man trembling at his feet. But Raven had taught him the complexities of the functions of Toynbee's body, a fact unknown even to Toynbee himself, and Sabertooth knew what was necessary. The Brotherhood didn't need to be any smaller than it already was.
Victor hadn't the time nor experience to administer any large amount of medical attention to The Toad, but did consent to drape his fur-lined trench-jacket over the mutant's prone body.
He looked bad.
- But it wasn't in their best interest for Creed to worry over such things at this point. He instead went back to the controls, struggling to form a plan, struggling to map out his next step, struggling to connect his frayed musings into valid thoughts. Were Magneto there, he would dictate that they should plot a direct course for headquarters, which had been Victor's original intentions. However, the further he pushed himself from the incident, the harder he worked to reassemble his mind and sort logic from instinctual reaction, the more he began to doubt his judgment.
Most creatures who knew Victor, humans (short lived relationship, granted) and mutants alike, didn't much have him pinned as an intellectually inclined character. Victor himself admitted to being more the brawn than the brain of the Brotherhood's establishment. -That said, doubting his own judgment was not unfamiliar to Victor. But this situation, bore some logic that was clear even to him; What of the Lair? Magneto had done his best to choose a well concealed location, but would it remain sheltered?
The harbor wasn't far off, visible even now, and Victor momentarily put his musings aside, quieting the motor and allowing the boat to continue on momentum alone as he searched or a possible place to dock. His eyes, squinted and scanning, locked upon a single object, moving along the docks at a leisurely pace. As he came closer, the single figure became two, and two became three. Victor glared a them, suspicion growing behind his tired eyes; They were staring right back. The leader nodded to him good naturedly, raising a hand and waving. Victor growled.
He pulled the boat in, all the while warily staring down the approaching three. He knew from a single glance he could physically outmatch any of them with a single blow, decided to make quick use of their presence. He tossed a line to the leader of the three, a dark-haired man whom appeared several years his comrades' senior. The man caught the line and knelt without a word to fasten it. On of the younger two caught the second line Victor tossed from the bow, while the last only stood, shoulders relaxed and hands tucked nonchalantly into his pockets. When the boat was secure, the eldest of the three finally smiled up to Victor from behind a pair of rectangular glasses. "Victor Creed?"
Victor nodded, arms crossed menacingly upon his chest.
The man stepped foreward, offering a hand. "My name is Joseph Standel. I've been expecting you."
Ooooh! Cliffy! Better click that review button, and then go on to the next chapter!