born down in a dead man's town

[perfectcameo]

Who: Logan and Bruce Wayne
What: A completely coincidental meeting (no).
Where: Some underground cagematch thing in Griss Twist.
When: Veerdi evening, 24th.
Warnings: Brawly violence under cut and possible references to murdery violence beyond.

The fight ends when Logan's forehead flattens his opponant's nose, which happens in a few moments.

His matches tend to be quick, although this one drug out; the chain was distracting, and though weapons are not done in these kinds of situations, baseline humans get a free pass, depending, and it's not like people don't notice that Wolverine never comes up bruised. He enjoys it, this, better, now that he doesn't actually require the pay like he once did, but he does require an outlet that flanking a princess doesn't actually provide thus far. What feels like a ham-sized fist finds his side, knocking him into the diamond wire fence that separates the fight from the on-lookers, and he tears himself away before the next one can hit his face.

The iron links lash out to catch Logan across the face, earning a snarl. The next time it comes down, his arm moves, three blades sliding out between knuckle bones to tangle with a scrape of metal, arm jerking until splinters of broken links go scattering and the other fighter staggers forward.

The guy pays for his closeness when Logan jerks his head forward and says 'hello', crimson red instantly gushing enough that Logan shoves him away before he can get any on him, looser dust rising from the sandy ground when the man falls. Claws disappear back inside his hand and arm. No bruises shine his face, a smear of his own blood painting a half-moon near his brow but no cut beneath to show for it, and beneath the loose cotton he wears, aches ebb away from where internal injury below protective ribcage undoes itself. He breathes in, and out again.

Now is probably a good time to quit, tonight, but he does loiter around to permit the other man to leave first, circling beneath the bright lights as those that lost their bets grumble.

Comments

[perfectcameo]

"That's 'cause I'm not talking about boredom."

Let's be clear, here.

Logan gestures, the orange end of his cigar kind of loosely indicating the direction they just came. "That, in there. That's what I do for boredom." These days it's a little less about apathy, but, that's rather the point. He's not sure how to make his point, like, being given a reason to give a shit about some stuff is more insight than he wants to get into. Instead, he lets this negation and his own slightly firmer tone stand on its own.

[caballero]

Not wanting to get personal about his motivations is fine - but Bruce has to dig at least a little; trust doesn't grow on trees, and he likes having a bit of footing even when he's gambling. So if he digs his nails in a little it's not because he's trying to get a rise out of the other man.

Mostly.

"If you knew before," the broadcasts, obviously, the specific detailed information - everyone knew about the state of the city, one way or another, "Would you have acted earlier?"

[perfectcameo]

"Probably."

Logan knew, certainly. He knew within moments of arrival, told in no uncertain terms, but he was still, at the time, reasonably sure he could stab enough people to get a ticket home. By the time that wore off-- "They're ghosts," he comments, gruffly. "I wasn't making much ground on trying to give 'em names and faces, before."

He spills ash with a tap to his cigar. He'd thought about it. "You can stir trouble in any xenian hotspot, but you don't know who'll get in the way, who'll come knocking. The broadcasts meant they didn't have to." And they meant that Wolverine did.

[caballero]

Bruce just makes a mild noise of agreement - yeah, they're a pain in the ass to investigate, ten times more difficult than trying to track down Logan. Not the most difficult angle he's ever worked, but the Militia definitely wins points for being uniquely organized.

"I can't offer you much in the way of an outline," he begins slowly - that he has to keep quiet on it to the extreme shouldn't be a surprise. It'd be nice if there could be a well-informed and tightly-knit group of participants, but this is not that sort of tango. "But I can help you if you tell me you'd like to do more than just react."

[perfectcameo]

This is where aimless pacing halts so he can stand squarely and look at the other man, and-- Logan's expression kind of settles into a scowl no matter what, curled around his cigar and eyes studious through the thick haze of smoke exhales produce. Bruce probably shouldn't take it personally. He's just how his face goes, but more importantly, he's thinking. Taking out some obviously corrupt, reprehensible bad guys is one thing--

"Yeah?" he says, cigar lowering. Pause. His chin lifts, indicative. "Who're you?"

[caballero]

"Someone effective."

Bruce meets his gaze without any shrinking - and no challenge, either. Logan will either believe him or he won't, but Bruce isn't going to feed him explanations and promises until he caves. That he thinks Logan is smart enough to fill in even these broad gaps is yet another reason he showed up here tonight.

Or he could leave, and this encounter will never have happened; he won't have to think twice about it. (Unless there's another leak, maybe.)

[perfectcameo]

Though Logan can't help but let the corner of his mouth go into a cynical curl over what is a bullshit answer, he ultimately doesn't at this stage need a name and serial number more than he needs effectiveness. He snorts. "Ask a stupid question," he rhetorics, leaving the second half blank for Bruce to do the filling in. He taps ash off his cigar.

Considers that he's been working for Charles too long.

It was a leap of faith before now, with the anonymity, finished with his claws sank into a guy with incriminating photographs. "Alright. I'm up for more than just--" How did Bruce describe what he did? Messily, ruthlessly; "--reacting."

[caballero]

Bruce nods minutely; all right then. Now they're getting somewhere.

He lets the smoke go for a bit. He's not fond of it, but it seems fitting on cold nights.

"From now on, they will only appear to cull their own exposed corruption. Those that remain are now traps." The Militia has noticed that vigilantes have started picking off their disgraced number, and the Militia knows damn well how to pick battles. Nailing the people who did the exposing is a higher priority than a public show of discipline to pacify the masses. It's slow, frustrating work; his tactics likely won't work more than once. They're too adaptable, and too experienced.

"I'll contact you." When he's got more than a head's up. This is just one first step of many.

[perfectcameo]

When you've roamed around and unattached for fifteen years before finding stability, there are things you let lie; such as, not having complete control over the actions of others. People come and go. Everyone has their own terms. Still, there's a twinge of predatory analysis when it comes to having no idea who this guy really is apart from his actions, but in turn being contactable. But Logan has his scent, which is something.

And he's always been able to take care of himself. He listens to talk of traps, changeable gameplay, the probable response of the Militia being peeking insight into how they might think. It makes sense, that soldiers stupid enough to get caught would be made into fodder. It makes sense that it won't happen again, on their terms.

His chin dips in at a nod. "You do that," he says, wry in a way that isn't actually dismissive. Something in stance, eye contact.

[caballero]

To that, Bruce nods. Accepting. He isn't actually very good at working with people but he can fake it. There's a goal here, and it's at the end of a long and insidious road, that the people involved - whether they realize they are or not - are going to have to be on for a long and painful trek. This won't be fun for anyone.

Logan seems like he's about as fun as Bruce, though. So it should work out.

He steps away, back, then turns and walks off, done with their encounter because the only thing that would be left is to manufacture some kind of clientele show for imagery and - no. A few steps into the dark and the question of humanity becomes muddled; no sound, no scent, and whether it's skill or divine intervention that makes him appear to vanish is impossible to say.