yea, I will take the gloomward road

[perfectcameo]

Who: Logan and Nuala Ní Balor
What: A clean break.
Where: Nuala's office, Sobek Croix.
When: After this.

He's here ahead of her, waiting.

As ever, Logan's presence off-balances the more finely tuned harmonies of most given rooms. He'd never smoke in her office (for all that he has lit up at least a couple of times in, say, Cerebro, but he never had to called Chuck your highness), but it along with earthier scents of roughish living and whiskey drinking cling to him always. He wears leather and flannel and denim, the mud of the Sobek Croix forest clinging in dried flakes on boots worn to scuff.

Callused hands rough back and forth as he lazily rubs his palms together, seated opposite where Nuala would be sitting, regarding the creepy arm in the display case without particular puzzlement. He's been here many times before, sometimes behind her, or where he is now, or outside the door.

He isn't feeling much of anything, except for tense, alert to the point of paranoid, but that's normal. Animal.

Comments

[perfectcameo]

At least she isn't making him argue about two weeks notice.

Logan kind of lifts a hand in lazy salute, two fingers to his temple and then to her. A half-burned down cigar is taken from a pocket and set between teeth, talked around when he executes her final request of him on his way out, "hey, princess wants you," and just like that, Hellsing is deprived of at least one chain-smoking leather-wearing asshole.

Now he's going to go punch some uniforms.