Now I ain’t exactly what you’d call a lady. My father, may he rot in hell with a thousand and one lab doctors doing experiments on him for eternity, was not what one would consider to be human in any fashion. A fact that if you knew my past you’d understand.

Aw, I see I’ve confused you. Allow me to explain who I am. My name is Victoria Marie York Creed, my mother was a young university student named Elaine Watson and the man who fathered me was an animal called Victor Creed. I see you get the play on his name with mine, my mother never did like me…too much a reminder of the man who brutalized her for three days so many years ago.

Anyway, I’m getting off track ain’t I. As I said I’m Victoria Creed and I work at a small, rough bar called the Blue Grotto. It’s usually frequented by mutants, freaks that come here to hide from the places that would kill them if they knew the truth.

I’ve seen a lot of men and women come and go through those doors. Men desperate to end the pain, men who wanted to numb their minds if not their bodies. Women, who were in need of some proof of their worth or were here to fuck a cage fighter.

It was ten years ago this week that the door opened and in stepped a man that if I’d been a bit more untamed, bit less civilized I’d have made a play for. Tall, dark, with muttonchops and a bad attitude he swaggered in like he owned the place and put his name down on the register for the fights.

I watched him carefully; he ordered bourbon and Molson’s, smoked Cuban cigars and cleaned the house of all takers in the cage. When he left he left alone, remarkably much to the disappointment of the entire group of women in the bar.

Every month after that he would come back, sometimes he fought, other times he just drank. I watched him the odd time retreat to a darkened corner and shoot up with something one of the junkies brought round, not that it seemed to affect him. Oh no, he just blinked a few times, shook his head and he was fine.

In all the time I’ve seen him here, I’ve never known him to bring a woman here. He’s left with a few, taken a few out back in the alley and returned with a hint of sexual release upon his features but he’s never once brought a woman here.

That is up until about six months ago. I glanced up and there he was in the doorway, his eyes darting around the room, a shadow behind him. I watched him stomp his way through the crowd, a young, streak haired girl clinging to his arm.

I watched her for a few moments, following them over to a table by the cage and hid a smile as he sat her down. I saw the possessive way his hands landed on her shoulders, the way he seemed to be marking his territory so readily, even caught the smirk on his face at the look upon her face.

I served her while he was in the cage. Bourbon straight, Molsons, and two bowls of pretzels and peanuts. Not once did her gaze leave him, not once did she acknowledge the presence of the men around her. No, it was clear who she belonged to, I saw it, smelt it on her and later that night the rest of the patrons who were straggling in their departure figured it out.

I have to say, my poor ears were still ringing when I got home and crawled into bed. Closing my eyes I smiled, the screams of pleasure and howls of delight from the pair in the alley echoed in my head as I slid into sleep.


It’s been a month since they’ve been in. The days I don’t work I ask and nobody’s seen either of them. I wonder where they’ve gone but I won’t ask, nor would I intrude if I could.

As I wipe the spilt beer from the table I catch the click of the door opening and the familiar scent of tobacco and vanilla. I turn my head and stare at the opening door, a slow grin crossing my face. Standing in the doorway are two of the most welcomed people I’ve ever met.

“Bourbon and Molsons?” I ask with a grin and catch the look they share.

“I’ll have o.j..” She says sinking into the chair at the table with a secretive grin.

I glance at him and then back at her, my nose itching and I hide my knowing grin. Turning I head for the bar, my gaze falling upon the rings over her gloves and the tags around her neck.

“Double bourbon, one Molson’s, and a glass of oj on the rocks.” I order and wait for their drinks.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Marty, our bartender asks. “Just Wolverine and his woman.”

“You wouldn’t understand, old friend. It’s nice to see a familiar face.”

I give them their drinks and walk away, a hint of jealousy within me as I realize that the wild, untamed man I’ve watched for years has a family, a life outside of this place…and I long for the same, even though I know I’ll have to wait, be patient…our kind takes a special person to live with.