where fast the Arctic nights set in

[perfectcameo]

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 beer

He 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! ]

Comments

[perfectcameo]

The savage sounding and terribly macho snarl that rips from Logan's throat is briefly drowned out by the noise of the fighting ring when Charles slips, but the ragged tail end of it punctuates the silence before there's prim English emphasis, polite where there are no manners otherwise. Flashing claws arc through the air and then suddenly stop, noiselessly finding invisible repulsion.

There's another growl, and in general, Logan sounds a lot angrier, a lot keener, than the stoic silence and unwilling grunts of fighting a paid fight. His other arm comes around as if he might slash Erik from shoulder to pelvis, but repulsion cuts him short.

He gushes out an exhale, taking a step back, and never putting his claws away. A rather ugly smile courses across his face, then, as dark eyes commit this new Magneto's face and presence to memory.

"This is me calm," he says, voice low and gruff.

[magnetic]

This is a relatively new trick, this repulsion business, and it surprises Erik how easy it is to maintain once it's there. Still, although the signs of exertion are mild, to a hunter of men they should be obvious; he does not present the same picture of effortless stoicism to which Logan would be accustomed. Neither is he indifferent about this encounter. He did not come here to start a fight, and although he will finish one if need be, he does not at all want to do it... hence the polite alternative of a forcefield versus flinging the man away bodily, or worse.

He is first to break off the stare when his attention shifts to Charles with a flick of the eyes. He is, of course, still acutely aware of the other mutant's bones, and quite prepared to respond to their movements.

For now he says nothing, only waits. (Waits for Charles to say something reparative, probably.)

[cerebral]

There is an immense look of relief in Charles' eyes when Erik's flick over to his, and for so many reasons. Pulling himself up and giving himself a little brush down, he turns his attention to Logan with a severe if contrite look.

"I am deeply sorry if my actions came across as a sign of aggression. It was foolish of me to try and rush any acknowledgement of the man you know. I'm not him; not yet. I suspect I'll have to go through a great many trials before I'm even close." Subconciously, his right knee twitches in a little fidget.

"We met you, albeit briefly, before we were brought to this city. That would be forty years ago for you." Before the great lapses in his memory. "That was all. So if you'd like us to go, ah, 'fuck ourselves,' is a term I've heard you use, that's perfectly understandable. We'll leave and never bother you again."

As a note: Charles Xavier sounds about as hilarious cussing as anyone can imagine.

[perfectcameo]

In the middle of Charles' words, Logan snorts breathily in wordless tough guy amusement, eyes steered down towards his own knuckles - they're as clear of scars as they tend to be, despite metal splitting through his skin. He can hear the old man in this young guy's words, and an eyebrow raises up at the announcement that this ain't the first time.

"I dunno," he says, lifting his eyes to observe ~Erik~ once more, for all that he listens and responds more to Charles than he is interested in any words that happen to come out of Magneto's fucking mouth. His own almost smiles, and even that much isn't particularly pleasant. "Maybe it's my turn to bother the pair've you. It's a small city."

A glance, then, the telepath's way, and he can't quite fix him with the same steely stare, but his voice is no less wry and unforgiving as he adds; "And trust me - my problem isn't you." The ', professor' at the end of that is bitten off before it can be said.

[magnetic]

"Whatever you think I intend to do here, you're wrong." Erik's voice is especially resonant in the frozen silence, its steadiness matching that of his gaze. He'd returned his focus to the matter at hand about the same time as did Logan, and there it stays, attentive, penetrating. Apart from the minuscule movements of his fingers still spread wide, his hand remains still—and his posture is still entirely defensive. He may be telegraphing silently that he could completely throw you through the wall if he wanted, buddy, and do you really think this is a good idea, and why must we do this with Charles right there, but he is at least making the effort not to seem it.

"I am not the man you remember." Maybe. He hopes. "I'm a prisoner in this city, the same as you. There is no need for this hostility."

(Ten bucks says this just pisses him off even more.)

[cerebral]

Charles breaks his gaze to slowly look back and forth at the two men. Something is very clearly going on here. And it obviously has something to do with whatever will —could go on in the future. Nothing is set in stone.

Also if he happens to pick up on Erik's train of thought there —well (yes, you must do this in front of him, and thank God for that.)

After a moment, he turns back to Logan, eyes firmly on him once more. "A problem with Erik is a problem with me." He doesn't posture when he says it. In fact, his whole manner is eerily calm. "Should you feel the need to come after one, or both of us, then I see no alternative than to take defensive measures."

His words are measured out carefully. This is not a threat unless Logan makes it one. Rather it's as casual a reminder as possible that if he knows the abilities of Charles Xavier in the future, then he knows what the one in front of him is capable of. Please do think on that.

[perfectcameo]

It wasn't any secret, that this is how it used to be. The professor was about the only person that bothered to call him Erik. The attention settled on Charles, from Logan, immediately frosts over at the line drawn in the sand, because what is known in theory is different from practice. "That's a mistake," Logan states, impatient, dismissive, although after half a second, he thinks to clarify, "The first part."

And then he steps back, his claws sharply retracting in the same movement. No blood. "Unfreeze the bar. I'm up for another fight later, and I'm not gettin' any younger." Or older, but that is beside the point. His shoulders roll, readjusting the sit of his jacket. as he looks back at Erik. "I'll take my hostility out where I can earn for it."

And he says nothing as to Magneto's opinion regarding how they are alike, and how he is different - the eyebrow raise and the lack of curiousity in dark eyes is aggressively silent disagreement.

[magnetic]

The retraction of those brilliant claws snatches Erik's attention away momentarily, and with this he seems to accept that the moment of hazard has passed. And so, just like that, he lowers his hand.

The way he looks right now, his tight expression, scowling eyebrows and all, it's not that he's angry, exactly—if asked to describe the feeling in a single word, he might call it frustration. He sincerely does not like that one of his own kind is unwilling even to give him a chance, purely on account of the reputation forged by someone who, arguably, is a completely different person. It upsets him. He's afraid, honestly, that this someone else is not a different person at all. Were this realization to come on his own terms, it might be different. He might even accept it. That all this has been thrust upon him, especially in the course of abduction, is strictly not okay; he rejects all of this in the most heartfelt way.
So, yes. He probably looks angry.

Quiet once again, still guarded, and now prepared to leave.

[cerebral]

"Your concern is noted." It's said in the driest tone of voice he can manage. And without taking his eyes away, the bar returns to its usual hustle and bustle (with one very confused gentleman wondering how he managed to drop his drink). He wouldn't want anyone to think he has his guard down, after all.

But, after an extra beat or two, he does turn away to look at Erik. He knows that it's not anger the other man is feeling, can sense the upset and frustration, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he meets Erik's scowl with a fierce look of his own, eyes flicking to the exit and back. Let's leave, please?

He turns half-way to give a polite (if stiff), "Good day, Logan," before setting off. There's no need to forget manners, after all, even if they'll most likely be met with scorn.