logan ∫ wolverine ∫ james howlett (
perfectcameo) wrote in
multiversallogs2012-01-01 10:13 pm
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
where fast the Arctic nights set in
Who: Logan, Laura Kinney, Njoki Rainmaker, and some other people probably. Not all at the same time.
What: Existing in Baedal once an obvious exit sign has since not been found.
Where: Various!
Warnings: Swearing, so we can get an Oscar.
Shaking the cage of people in his same predicament, turns out, isn't as engaging as he had hoped. He doesn't like the CiD, it fits wrong in his hand, he feels like he could shatter it if he draws tendon and bone tight in a fist, and its mechanisms feel too small for his fingers. But eventually, he sends off a text message, some delayed and somewhat grudging.
could use that beerHe misses traffic, too. Cars don't spook so easily and he can live out of a truck.
There is a time after dusk that he picks up a scent, and follows it all the way into the Spatters. He'd been looking for it before and despite the waning hour, because a little darkness never killed nobody, and he had to know.
The evenings he isn't working in the gambling dens, with cards and fists both, to make his way are spent in hibernation on uncomfortable mattresses with a roof over his head. Daylight holds as many bar interiors as the evening. It isn't like useless, purposeless roaming never suited him before.
It just chafes, this time around.
[ OOC: See comments for some thread starters, both open and closed, otherwise make your own! ]
the spatters. closed to laura kinney.
He just doesn't want her to run away.
no subject
It's not exactly a need for atonement that drives her here, but it's close enough.
The context of the scene in which she can be found is immediately identifiable: one hysterical thug, one equally hysterical woman, and Laura with her claws pointed at the former, digging hard enough into his neck to make him bleed -- not that it takes much pressure. She won't kill if she doesn't have to, but times like this, it's hard.
She knows he's approaching, but her attention is directed firmly on the present -- she's reasonably sure he's not a threat, so she doesn't respond to his nearness. Not yet, at least. She breaks the guy's arm in two places before she hurls him halfway across the street despite the fact that he's twice her size, advancing on him until he flees like a terrified animal.
When she turns to look for the woman, she's already gone. That's probably for the best; Laura's strength lies in action, not comforting the traumatized. She wouldn't know what to do or say.
no subject
He emerges from fenced off alleyway with his boots impacting heavy the pavement once he's scaled it, the concrete slick from recent rain. He's seen enough for all that he didn't need to watch the whole event, and heard more of it besides. Dark eyes flick towards where she sent the villain of this piece scampering, and he doesn't know her enough to be surprised that the guy was allowed to live.
But he can make assumptions. "I think you ruined his evening," is wry, Logan's voice vacant of the defense-aggression he was wired with when she first came hunting for him.
no subject
Laura's fists clench hard enough to leave her knuckles white as she turns around. She's never happy to see him under the best circumstances, but she's making an attempt to reign her anger in because he's not the one she knows. Her claws retract; she's not planning on fighting him.
"I told you to stay away from me." They're both so good at doing what they're told, yes.
no subject
"Yeah. It didn't take."
Clearly. He wanders a step closer, kind of nods in gesture of wherever the action just too place, the smell of panic still lingering in the air. "You do this a lot?"
no subject
no subject
"Valid question. Someone put metal on your bones for a reason. Wondering if it was this."
no subject
She considers him for a moment. If she were in his position, she'd want to know. The similarities can't have escaped his notice and she wouldn't blame him for assuming it does have something to do with him, because he would be right. If he doesn't remember Weapon X, implied from the last time she mentioned it around him, then she knows something about his past that he does not. "You want to know what I am."
no subject
And getting answers from someone on his end of things is something he can swallow in place of wheeling and dealing with the likes of Stryker. I'll take my chances with them. "Yeah, I want to know what you are," he agrees, his voice level and neutral, and he flicks a glance around the street, and then back to her. "Wanna walk?"
He isn't offering apology for the fuck off he gave in every way that wasn't actually those words, but mostly because he isn't sure it'd take.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
a bar of ki's choice. closed to njoki rainmaker.
And he is. When he sits down, a little early because where the fuck else does he have to be, he has no injuries to speak of for all that he has earned them. He gets enough sleep because why deprive himself of that, and his face, wearing its age, doesn't present shadows or nightmares.
Mostly, he seems bored, but he flags himself down a beer and folds his arms on the bar top, leather jacket creaking over broad shoulders.
no subject
"Hey."
no subject
Which is when he picks up his half-finished beverage and-- well. Swallows down the rest with little effort.
no subject
Logan is welcome to notice that her body language is a bit unusual for someone full human. There's something 'off' about her posture and the way her joints line up and move. She smells of a recent shower with a mildly cedar scented soap, under that there's sandalwood, old blood, gunpowder, beeswax and something animalistic.
no subject
What he picks up about Njoki is nearly subconscious to him, his senses ever working over time and the Apache vibrant enough to lay cotton over intangible detail. He reeks, as ever, of smoke and leather and someone who sleeps in said leather on occasion.
He isn't actually good at smalltalk, so he lets her fix the drinks before he has to think of stuff. He does come up with; "Thanks."
no subject
The cigar smoke doesn't bother her, but then again, not much in The Apache does. Ki is comfortable and confident both because she's been here before but also because she knows they have no problem with xenians. Other than being able to sense the undead, Njoki doesn't really have any skill when it comes to identifying who or what her drinking companion might be.
no subject
"I'll toast to that," he agrees, ever lowkey. He drinks. "Congratulations on the offer of a free drink being about the only thing I remember from that whole thing."
no subject
"You weren't here for it, but the last time the city went to shit, the gods tasked our cohort to do a bunch of Hercules' labours." Which is only slightly less mad than it actually sounds, but it provides a good reason to want to know reliable (or reliable looking) people.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
a cage fight in mafaton. open to whoever.
It's underground, dimly lit, utterly stinks of cigarette smoke and cloudy enough to think it's a fire hazard. Sometimes when his hits land, inside the ring of diamond-wire fencing, it sounds like taking a metal baseball bat to bone, which isn't completely a departure from what's happening there. He wins, mostly. Once, he didn't. So then he started using claws. It's just a different league, in Baedal.
After, sometimes he stays for a drink or to smoke. Sometimes he doesn't and takes off into the chilly winter evening, steam lifting off still heated skin.
[ OOC: Before, during, or after fighting, tag in however! This can also take a few threads if you want because he does this often. If you need a different neighbourhood, lemme know. ]
no subject
Back then, of course, he couldn't personally sense the guy from outside the building.
This is why, as Erik passes by a nondescript brick façade, its equally unremarkable door papered with the ubiquitous seasonal layers of faded and half-torn flyers, he is gripped by a legitimate double-take that stops him both mid-sentence and mid-stride. "She's gentle as a kitten, really, you needn't be intimidated—" It's well short of cartoonish, but for Erik, who generally conducts himself in an understated fashion, it comes off less than subtle.
"Hang on," he says to Xavier, who by this point may have overtaken him by a few strides, already turning toward the door before the words have even finished, "I want to see something."
no subject
Huh. That's unexpected. Not to mention...different.
But since Erik is intent on going in, Charles is, too. They're admitted into the building very easily —too easily, some would say, but telepathy is fun like that— and walk on in to the bar area...if that's what it can be called. The place is an utter dive, but given the recreation it houses, it's not surprising. For the record, Charles doesn't feel unsettled in any way, although he does shoot Erik a questioning side glace.
"You know, I'm certain he made his opinion quite clear the first time." Then again, it's not as though potentially unwise, spur of the moment decisions have stopped either of them before.
no subject
Leaning, Logan barely listens to the bookie as his winnings are collected and counted out, and it's then that instinct kicks in enough for him to lift his head and spy the two gentlemen still watching him, even by the time the fight is over. He sniffs, but the air is acrid with smoke and, well, man-stench, and he dismisses them by the time he's being handed this new currency he had to learn before he could hope to gamble it on the cards.
It's pocketed, and he breaks away from the stranger.
no subject
(Erik would have have gone over anyway, of course, but now they're practically obliged.)
no subject
And he withdraws his contact with Erik to go and approach Logan. His body language is not loaded with the over confidence of their first meeting: he is more neutral, slightly cautious, but also not so easily dismissed.
"Excuse me —I hope you don't mind my saying congratulations. That was...quite an extraordinary display." Which he hadn't seen, not exactly, but he'd picked it up from the minds of others. "I'm Charles Xavier. And my friend here—" with a gesture to the other man no doubt by his side, "is Erik Lehnsherr."
Superficially, there's not much to link the man in front of Logan to the Xavier of the future. He still has use of his legs and a full head of hair. But there are certain mannerisms of hand, facial expressions and the fact that almost forty years later, he won't have changed his aftershave from a certain something with sandalwood undertones.
no subject
"What?" comes out blunt and almost impatient, the kind of steel edged cynicism that might see sparks flying off it if tested. He doesn't search for clues of truth just yet, doesn't even think to, more looking for the punchline. "That some kind of joke?"
no subject
Pardon him, he's just feeling enthusiastic about this ever so serendipitous encounter. It's one of the few times of late in which he hasn't felt stressed out over the prospect of meeting someone who knows more about him than he does, in a manner of speaking—probably because it's happening on his own terms. And it's sort of an amazing stroke of luck. And this fellow's skeleton is really interesting, and by the way he fails to make proper eye contact, Logan should be well aware that he too is well aware. As it were.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)