#ablinkintime

[perditos]

[ REDWOOD ] sender lashes out at receiver when it isn't their fault. ouo

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 .(  a collection of  action prompts.   feel free to reverse roles as desired.this prompt will be updated.  ) [ REDWOOD ] sender lashes out at receiver when it isn't their fault. ouo Victor w/ Clarice

A flash of pink light, a blaze of neon and magenta that streaked across the room in an arch from the wild fling of Clarice's hand. Victor turned in time to see the knife strike one of his left boots from the shoe rack and with a blink pop out of existence. His hand lifted to the top of his head, claws curling into the mass of his hair as his shoulders shagged. Aw, man, he liked that pair, "Clarice where did ya send that, girl?"

But she wasn't listening, or at least, selectively choosing not to hear him. She was caught in a rant of frustration. Victor didn't pick-up anyone reason for the out lash: she was a time traveler from a defunct timeline, who had gone through years of dimensional hopping and bullshit, living in a place that was utterly new to her, and top that off with all the other usual day-to-day crap of the X-Men. Yeah, he got it. Which was why he let the issue of the missing shoe sit while she got it all out of her system: pacing, waving her arms, yelling, a little bit of crying, and then the inevitable, slow coming, but much needed sign. A heave of her shoulders and the loose cross of her arms, hands tucked almost into her armpits. From where Victor sat, perched on the end of his bed with his leg crossed over his knee, she looked small, young, like the kid he raised back in the cabin. Or, the other 'him' raised, as it was. She'd spent all her life fighting and preparing for a fight, and he had made sure she was ready to do that, trained her to survive.

Fuck, how was he supposed to help her live? Relax. Be happy. Chill-out, like Jubilee would say along with a whole paragraph of other Gen-Z-isms that he didn't understand.

"C'mon, you've been thinkin' about this for too long," Victor cautioned. He pressed to his feet and reached-out to place his hands on her shoulders. "What ya need is to put it on the back burner for a while. Problems like this don't go anywhere."

He grinned.

"Ain't nothin' like spendin' too much on sushi to make a body feel better." Victor nodded, tucking Clarice under one arm as he guided her towards the bedroom door. "And helpin' ya remember where the fuck you sent my left boot."

[perditos]

Starter here x

@ablinkntime Victor w/ Clarice

Mutant kids, school children at that, did not need to use guns. In fact, Victor could count on one hand how many times an actual, conventional firearm had gotten used on a mission. Guns just didn't suit the X-Men's style. Still, he maintained a respectable armory and taught marksmanship, gun safety, and firearm combat anyway for a reason. Learning how to handle a gun was a necessity for kids who might get shot at after all. On the range they learned the differences between types of rifles and how to fight against them. It prepared them for the moment they might have to pick-up a gun and defend themselves.

And well, honestly? It was just plain fun.

At least, it was to Victor. He'd always thought guns were cool and he'd been handling them since the days of the musket and long rifle. His father had been a trapper, a hunter, and the kind of man who shot at people who happened to wander onto his land, and so Victor had learned young to aim carefully down the line of an iron sight to hit a target a long ways away. It had felt like power and control, things Victor had precious little of in his life even as a child. All before semi-automatic was a twinkle in the eye of an Austrian.

So, no, Victor was not surprised that Clarice hit the target. He trained her, after all. Nor was he all too worried about it.

"Not bad, pup," he praised. "Not bad at all. Just don't go counting the chickens yet, or your old man out."

He settled down into a seated position, rolled onto his right him and elbow braced against his knee to rest the rifle on his hand. Not going prone like Clarice put him at a slight advantage but he figured he had to give the pup a chance. Even when with a light squeeze of the trigger he put a bullet in the figurative bulls-eye.

"I was thinking steak," he mused. "Filet Mignon, rare. With garlic butter."

[perditos]

[ braid ] sender braids receiver's hair

PROMPTS FOR ORDINARY THINGS THAT FEEL INTIMATE

Victor w/ Clarice @ablinkntime

The kid had no idea what she was doing, with her tiny, fat, fumbling, fingers, and determined frown, nibbling on tongue and cheek. She just knew that Victor braided his hair every night before bed and that she wanted to insert herself into that ritual. So, she had, after their meager dinner, while the heart was still warm with amber coals.He felt the small tugs on his scalp, the momentary hesitation before each overlay of hair strands, and then the uneven messiness of the resulting braid. Still, Victor tolerated the abuse, hands placed on his knees as he sat near the edge of his bed with his legs crossed under him. Behind him, Clarice' weight shifted the stiff, old springs of the mattress as she worked halfway, and down the middle of his back, to the tips of his hair. He winced at the small tug as she wrapped the elastic around the end. Clarice moved back and surveyed her work. She was quiet.

Victor reached around and hooked a finger around the bulk of the braid. He hummed, frowning slightly at he loose and lost strands. This was going to come out within ten minutes and when he glanced over his shoulder at Clarice, he could guess she knew it too. No use lying to the cub. The rest of the world wouldn't.

"I ain't gonna mince it, kid," Victor said. "... It's shit but for a first attempt, not bad. C'mon, I'll show ya."

He undid the braid, running his fingers through his hair to undo the bulk of the tangles, and then combing through it a couple times real quick. Victor started the braid off, weaving the strands together as he worked down to the ends, explaining to Clarice little bits of the finer details of technique. He then undid that braid and let her try again on his hair, telling her to take her time and to keep the hair taut as she worked. This time she thought a little less and braided a little more, and when she got to the end Victor ran his hand down the length. It was uneven and bumpy but good enough. At least she got all the hair in the braid this time.

"There ya go, cub," Victor said, grinning at her. "Second times the charm."

[perditos]

"Now understanding what you meant when you used to threaten I'd be your next snack when I got too annoying... what is the deal with these kids and what the hell is 'cap'?"

He's whittling on the front step, hunched over his knees and elbows planted into his thighs, compressing the denim of his jeans. Victor drags the plane of his blade along the long, rounded surface of a bird's delicate body, shaping down the wood into a proper shape to etch tiny feathers into. In his large, broad hands, the bird appears almost comically small, but is a to-scale representation of the tufted titmouses that frequent the bird feeders around the estate. At his feet gathers a collection of wood shavings and Victor idly hums to himself, an indistinct song that occasionally shapes into known tunes but is mostly just disconnected notes. Clarice leans against his side, her form just small enough to tuck behind his bicep and press her shoulder into his ribs, shifting to sling her legs along the length of the step. It reminds Victor of when she was small and would spend nearly every hour hanging onto him, or more likely, clinging to him, hiding behind his leg, as if Victor's broad frame would protect her from the world that scared her so much. Now, she lounges, ankle crossing over her knee in lackadaisical confidence as she grumbles about the way the current class of teenagers attending the school annoys her.

"I ain't ever threatened to eat ya and meant it, darlin'," Victor points out. He chortles to himself, "you were too damn stringy to eat. Might coulda had ya in a stew though or make a pie outta ya."

It was always a joke, although now, with how Logan talks about phases of child development, sometimes he worries that maybe Clarice hadn't taken it for a joke when she was real little. But it became a joke, when she was bothering him or just being a pest, bugging him for attention by wrapping her skinny arms around his neck or curling into his lap while he was trying to work. ("If ya keep messin' with me, pink, I'm gonna eat ya." "You won't eat me, I'm too stringy!") Followed up by Victor either shaking her off so he could focus or scooping her up in his arms to pretend to eat, depending on the patience of his mood. But now it's Clarice's turn to maybe contemplate consuming teenagers, especially when they're acting in a way that they aren't good for anything else. Some of them kids could be a real good steak, Victor bet.

At the top of the list of conversations he doesn't make Logan privy to...

"Why the hell ya askin' me, though?" Victor asks. "I'm near century too old to know what them kids are talkin' about half the time. I dunno what a 'skibidi' is, although I do kinda know what a 'yeet' is." He hums. "I think 'cap means a lie. Like, a quick way of sayin' "you're lyin'" when someone is telling long tales and bullshittin' ya."

He exchanges tools so he can carve a wing.

"Kids these days make-up words though, ya ain't gonna keep up with it and frankly, it's funnier when ya get it wrong on accident. That's what I do. Shoulda seen their faces when I said I'd be out 'yeeting' the weights, one afternoon."

[notjustbanshee]

you wouldn't believe me if i told you.

"Considering what I've been through in my life? You'd be surprised girlie, go on then."

[perditos]

(for Vic as if he could avoid being spoiled on Christmas) Who knows when she snuck into the room -- ostensibly he was busy with Rogue or Logan or maybe even working in his shop -- but whatever the case, she'd left a little packet on the desk, simple folded newspaper tied with a discarded ribbon she'd found who-knows-where. Inside was a little carved figurine, whittled from a chunk of hardwood and buffed to a shine without oil or stain. A tiny dove, looking like it was puffed up from the cold, making use of the grain of the wood to create the illusion of ruffled feathers.

Brisk cold followed Victor into the mansion and up the stairs. A refreshing chill, that lingered on the air with the old, frozen snow that had turned into hardened, white sheets on the lawn. He'd taken some satisfaction smashing through them with his boot and healing the crunch, crunch, crunch, with each of his strides. Victor didn't get 'cold' but he did feel it, feel how it settled in his bones and sat in his lungs, and then that dry burst of heat when he first crossed the threshold inside. He grumbled and coughed in his chest, clearing some resulting phlegm before heading up to his room. The kids were running amuck: sharing toys and video games they'd gotten at the unboxing frenzy they all had earlier, and now of course, hyped-up on candy and various treats. Victor was no humbug but he was rubbed raw from all the people and bumping elbows and noise: their room, tucked into the West wing where it was quieter, would be a welcome respite.

He sniffed as he turned the nob, scenting the air as he picked-up the fresh and familiar scent. Maybe Clarice could try to pussy foot around and leave no trace but Victor was hard to hide from. The offering, left on his desk, was no surprise. Just like her to do it like this, small and private, instead of something notable with everyone watching. Hell, if Victor let her, she'd probably try to pretend the gift wasn't from her at all.

Damn kid had learned too much from him.

Victor took his time, shrugging off his flannel, and kicking off his boots, before wandering over to the desk. There was, in his chest, a bit of trepidation. Not about what Clarice had gotten him but the fact that she'd gotten him anything. A piece of Victor that still wasn't used to the appreciation of others. That there was this little kid out there - not so much a kid anymore - who liked him so much she'd gotten him something. How many Christmas' had he spent under the floorboards or locked in some cell, alone and in the dark, and now Clarice wrapped a little thing in some newspaper, tied with ribbon. His life was different now. Sometimes he forgot by how much.

He unwound the ribbon then opened the gift, unfolding paper layers like a flower. To reveal the tiny, carved bird, which was smooth and small in the palm of his hand, delightfully round in a satisfying way. He smiled, feeling warm.

[perditos]

There she is, minding her own business just getting a cup of morning coffee. It's business as usual, someone had turned her on to iced coffee and Clarice had never looked back; a few handfuls of ice, a couple of cups of strong coffee, some cream -- and a volume of sugar that would send a small child into orbit. Giving it a few good stirs with the straw she puts the lid on her cup and is on her way out the door while taking her first sip when she yelps in pain and then immediately glances at Victor like a deer in the headlights. Hoping, however uselessly, that he hadn't just heard her cry out in pain as the sweet, cold liquid hit a clearly inflamed tooth. (i tried writing it by myself and it absolutely would not come so YOU GET IT INSTEAD for vic of course)

Clarice w/ VIctor @ablinkntime

If the damn kid hadn't looked at him like she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she might have gotten away with it.

The newspaper folded, laid on the dining room table as the feet of his chair skidded across the table. Victor stood, briefly catching Logan's gaze as a silent confirmation between them that, 'yes, I'll handle them, and also save me some bacon' before he slipped out to the hall. Clarice had made it to the foyer by the time Victor caught-up with her, out of sight of the ruckus that was the usual morning breakfast at the Institute. She rubbed at her jaw, massaging muscle and bone, and she looked at Victor with equal parts wince of pain and dread as he emerged through the doorway. He crossed his arms, she sulked, he lifted an eyebrow, and Victor recalled a petulant pre-teen, unhappy that he had to leave for a mission when he said he'd be home the whole day. Yeah, yeah, but the world was ending, you gotta understand, darlin'. 'Cept for once, this wasn't world ending.

Kinda nice change of pace.

"C'mon, show me," he said, walking over when she didn't relent to his non-verbal communication. Clarice drifted away from him but still let him take hold of her jaw. She was so small his palm nearly covered the entire side of her face as he pried open her mouth with a press of his thumb to her chin. Clarice shifted, squirming, uncomfortable and in-pain. "Ain't any use bein' proud about it girl..."

Clarice was still as his gaze scraped across her teeth but he could smell the problem before he saw it. The slight scent of infection and inflammation, blood clotting and rising to the surface. All mingled with a lingering hint of coffee and cream, on her breath. Then, over the left incisor he spotted the reddening of her gum, the flesh flushed and inflamed. Victor wasn't a dentist. He didn't know all that much about teeth but even he could tell, that wasn't right. And no doubt, Clarice suspected the same. He could hear the stuttered, nervous uptick of her pulse and feel how her weight settled against his hands. Like she was trying to get closer to him. He let go of her.

"You're going to have to go the dentist," he said, simply, firmly. No room for argument.

And just like Clarice, she tried to argue, and Victor cut her off mid-sentence to growl: "Damnit, girl, you're going to lose your fuckin' teeth if you don't stow this. I know you don't like people pokin' around in your mouth, God knows I don't either but if you can stare down the damn Hulk you can put up with this."

He put his hands on her shoulders.

"You really think I'm gonna leave you to do it alone?" He asked, working his fingers into tense muscles. "You know I won't let anyone hurt you and I know you're the toughest half-pint of hundred or so pounds I ever met. You can do this and you are going to. No, ifs, ands, buts, about it. Don't make me get Logan in on this too."

Victor tossed his head towards the stairs.

"Get dressed, I'll find some place to get you an appointment."

[perditos]

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to cry, I'm just frustrated." (Vic)

Clarice w/ Victor @ablinkntime

Victor does his best to give the kids some semblance of privacy. Something, something, about meeting appropriate developmental milestones in independence, and all that. Logan would talk about how privacy was a luxury some of the kid who come to the Institute were rarely afforded and that they did not need the adults butting into their stuff at every sign of trouble. Giving them some wiggle and breathing room was good for 'em. Only when they had cause for concern should Logan or Victor get involved, and so on. For Victor, who was more pragmatic than he was sentimental, it was a matter of not wanting to know. He didn't want a peak into the inner world of every teenager in the house, all the time. So, he ignored a lot of what went on around him, tunes it out, lets himself forget about it. Which was an impressive amount of things because Victor could hear a pin drop from the other side of a room; notice a stutter in someone's heartbeat across the house; and hear a teenager get-up to no good from clear across the property. He's got really good hearing and no one knows that better than Clarice.

So, if she didn't want him to hear her crying on the roof, she would not have stayed on the roof. Kid can go anywhere, almost instantly, that she didn't was a statement as loud as her suppressed murmurs.

The sun was setting when Victor popped the balcony door and climbed-up onto the roof. A slow slide of a molten orange-red, egg yolk, dripping down the lavender, puffy cloud speckled sky. The air had a nip of a chill but it was a relief on Victor's warm skin. Clarice was on the far side of the hip and he clambered-up to join her.

"Ain't nothing you gotta apologize for, darlin'," he grunted as he skidded down the shingles to join her perch along the side of the roof. Careful to scratch a claw or two behind him to slow his momentum, because he'd never live down falling off. "Just wondering if you're gonna tell me what's got you worked-up."

He reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette but didn't light it after he stuck it between his lips.

"It ain't a boy, is it? I don't know if I can help with boy problems..."