Old Soldiers

by Dyce

"That's... lessee... two pints, one roast-beast-and-salad sandwich, one raw-beast-and-tripe sandwich, one canary platter, and a saucer of milk with whiskey in it." The waitress smiled brightly, and walked away slowly and carefully. Mandatory heel height had been raised another inch, and falling over in a miniskirt wasn't a good idea in this particular bar.

Touching the floor with unprotected skin wasn't a good idea in this bar, either, if you didn't want to catch something.

"Bloody writers," said one of the three customers, this being a good all purpose complaint with which to get the conversation started.

"Bastards," the second agreed.

"Death to 'em all, I thay," said the third indistinctly, his nose buried in his saucer.

The first speaker took a mouthful of his beer, and looked around curiously. He... being a Cable and thus a hero by default... didn't really belong in the Villain's Bar And Grill. But this was Open Night, and special dispensations were given to those who had suffered a particularly large number of hideous defeats, spectacular failures, romantic disasters, and truly horrific deaths. That made you, the convention ran, if not a villain, then good drinking company all the same.

The bar was crowded tonight. And he didn't know hardly ANY of the patrons... at least, not personally. He'd HEARD of them, of course. Over there in the corner, that was the Joker, putting his head together with the Mask and Mystique over some brightly coloured cocktails and a copy of 'V-Chic: Best And Worst Dressed Villains Of The Millenium'. And up on stage, Venom and Copycat were badly bending a rendition of 'When Two Become One'. All around him were villains and honorary villains, chatting, making threats, and getting drunk as fast as possible.

"Who's that in the corner?" he asked, giving a small heap of fur a second look. A long skinny arm came out of it, grabbed a mug, and tipped the beer into a suddenly gaping mouth. Then it went limp again.

"Hm?" Sabretooth looked around. Fortunately, he was going through one of his sane phases, and anyway, he was there on business. "Oh. That's Wile E. Hey, you!" He signaled the bartender, and jerked his head towards the furry lump. The bartender nodded, and took the lump some more beer.

"You buy him drinks?" Cable asked, looking again at the lump, which WAS sort of coyote-shaped.

"Everyone buys drinks for Wile E, poor bastard," Sabretooth shrugged, downing his own beer and signalling for another. "It's the only thing that keeps him going, since he went into syndication."

"What with his condition," the third drinker agreed, giving Wile E. a sad look.

"His condition?" Cable asked, looking a bit baffled.

"Sudden-Humiliating-Almost-Death Syndrome," Sabretooth said quietly, presumably so the Coyote wouldn't hear. "He's been almost killed more times than all of me put together. AND all of you."

"Oh." Cable waved to the bartender, and indicated that he, too, would like to buy a drink for Wile E.

"It'th not just the conthtant mutilation," their companion said gloomily, eating a canary. "It'th the total lack of apprethiation that get'th to you after a while. I mean, you two alwayth get women... even if they don't live very long. The only thuccethful romanthe *I've* ever had wath that inthane little thkunk."

Sabretooth looked sympathetic, and pushed the platter closer. "Yer a beacon, Sylvester," he agreed. "The crap you take without throwing in the towel... 's an example, ya know? A real example for the rest of us."

"And it'th not jutht thekth," Sylvester said gloomily. "Do you boyth have any idea what I've gone through all thethe yearth with thith fucking lithp?"

"It must have been terrible," Cable said, trying to be sympathetic.

"It wath. It ITH." Sylvester grumbled, taking another gulp of his spiked milk. "Doth anyone thay 'My god, that cat can thpeak!'? No. Do they thay 'What an intelligent feline!'? No. It'th 'Ha ha! That cat hath a lithp!' Jethuth Chritht, what do you have to do to impreth thome people?"

"Oh, I KNOW," Cable agreed, on much firmer ground. "I mean, I'm seven feet tall, right? Attractively snowy white hair. A glowing eye. A HUGE gun. And what does everyone say when they see me? 'Hey, is that your ARM?'. Some people!"

Sabretooth nodded, grabbing a pitcher of beer from a passing waitress and topping up everyone's drinks. "It's the same all over," he said gloomily. "'f ya don't look like a Ken Doll, yer a Bad Scary Man."

Cable blinked at him. "You ARE a bad scary man," he pointed out. "You LIKE it. You kill and maim and terrorize and execute incredibly complex plots in order to frighten and kill people."

"That'th my boy," Sylvester said proudly. "Took him under my pawth yearth ago. Taught him all my hard earned withdom."

Cable stared at him in surprise. "You... but he's a psychopath! A mass murderer!"

Sabretooth beamed proudly, as Sylvester dashed a tear away. "He'th made me tho proud," he said happily, patting Sabretooth's hand with one paw. "I know I'll never achieve my dreamth now, but theeing him do it ith enough for me."

Cable stared at Sylvester, mentally running through all the Warner Brothers Cartoons he'd been forced to sit through. "You really belong in here, don't you?" he said a bit weakly. "I thought you were an honorary, like me..."

Sylvester gave him a what-kind-of-idiot-are-you look. "I've thpent my entire career trying to kill adorably fluffy and feathery creatureth," he said patiently. "Tho I can eat them. What, you think it'th all jutht for show?" He sighed. "My thon wath a great dithappointment to me, you know. Kept trying to make peathe with thothe filthy mithe. But Victor, here... he'th been a great joy to me in my old age. I open up hith little comicth, I see him ripping the gut'th out of thome old lady..." He sighed. "It giveth me a lovely warm feeling."

Cable blinked at Sabretooth, who was actually blushing bashfully at all the praise. He thought a bit more. "Is Bugs Bunny in here? Some of the things I've seen HIM doing..."

Sylvester scowled, apparently jolted out of his pleasant thoughts. "No. The bathtard alwayth claimth to be the hero. Jutht like that goddamn canary. I thimply act according my feline nature, he dropth pianoth and anvilth on me, hit'th me with frying panth, thet'th the fucking BULLDOG on me, and what happenth? Everyone goeth 'Yayyy, the innothent little birdy is thafe!!"

"You'll get him one day, Sylvester," Sabretooth said comfortingly. "The little asshole can't keep it up forever."

"He bloody well can," Sylvester said sulkily. "Bathtard writerth. They favour him, you know."

Cable nodded, on firmer ground with this. "You wouldn't believe all the sympathy Stryfe gets," he said a bit sulkily. "Oh, he's just a poor little traumatized baby. Oh, he just needs some love and nurturing. Oh, what a sexy cape he's got. I could look sexy in a cape if I wanted to, only nobody will let me because I'm Mr Emotionally Distant Iron Pants Idiot Guy."

"Yeah," Sabretooth said gloomily. "And me, I've been gutted, stabbed, lobotomized, and fucking set on fucking fire, but do *I* get any sympathy? No. Just so long as WOLVERINE is all right. Little asshole."

"You do win THOMETIMETH," Sylvester said consolingly, offering his friend a canary. "I wath ever tho proud of you when you nearly killed Pthylocke."

"Really?" Sabretooth said hopefully.

"Of courthe. Ecthellent technique." Sylvester smiled kindly. "Needth jutht a leeeetle work on the ethcape, but apart from that..."

Cable left them to it.

On his way out, he passed an Emma Frost, hunched over and apparently talking to herself.

"I know, I know, my technique stinks," she said woefully. "I keep making people suspicious. I'm never going to be as good as you are..." She sniffled. "Maybe if I bleached my hair blonder? Or got implants?"

"Do not cwy, little gwasshopper," said a tiny figure in a trenchcoat and a fedora. A large, rounded yellow head was still visible. "You're doing vewy well, and if you keep pwacticing, I just know you're going to be the gweatest Evil Hewowine ever."

"Really?" Emma said, in the exact same pathetically hopeful tone that Sabretooth had just used.

"Of course." Tweety patted her hand with a tiny wing. "Now, are you wemembering to do your wittle girly voice? Say it with me, 'I tawt I taw a tupervillain...'"

(end)

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