Millie gnawed her lower lip as she approached the door to Logan's office. In theory, she'd done all this second guessing herself stuff in her room and out in the gardens before actually getting the courage to come up here. She knew that Logan was a pretty cool guy, and she wasn't completely frightened by him anymore, but he was still more than a little daunting.

Right. The worst he can say is no, or that he's too busy, which he very well could be and that would make sense. But, he's also the go to guy for training around here, and dammit, Mill, you need it. You know you need it. At least if he does veto the idea, he might be able to tell you who would have the time.

...and inclination.

She got to his door and didn't hesitate. If she did she'd lose her nerve. This wasn't like with Ada, where she could hem and haw outside the door. If she didn't just do it, she knew she'd turn right back around. She knocked on the door and waited for a response.

It had been several days since Matty and Gaia had gone out. The bar fight had been cathartic for her, giving her a chance to rid herself of the tension in her body. She hadn't seen much of Logan, however, but not due to avoidance on either person's end. It wasn't exactly as though she had sought him out, either. Perhaps he had been giving her somespace, letting her deal with her issues without feeling pressured.

Either way, Matty had decided she had waited long enough. He wasn't there when she walked into his room, but she hadn't expected him to be. She got comfortable on his bed, guitar in hand, and began playing some soft, nameless tune. She hummed quietly underneath her breath, slowly beginning to sing without words. There was an almost mournful note to her voice, but she wasn't crying.

Hank had been a busy, busy man. He hadn't slept much since they'd been brought back to the mansion, but he hadn't really minded. He could survive off much less sleep than the average person, and besides, his patients came first. They always came first. When he thought of them, of how much they had been put through, he found that extra bit of resolve that kept him awake and plodding on. Not only that, but Ethan had been kind enough to bring an automatic coffee maker down, and had supplied Hank with plenty of coffee. The man was entirely too kind, and Hank made a mental note to thank him when he had a chance.

He had taken a short nap in his office while he had a break, but now he was rested enough that he was ready to tackle the mystery that was the strange girl named Laura. Perhaps she was an offspring of Logan's, which, considering the fact that the man only had about fifteen years worth of memories, it wouldn't such a stretch that he simply didn't remember her at all. If he had even any memories of her to begin with. Hank had been following this conclusion, up until the point that he was studying her test results.

Now that... that was interesting.

With a thoughtful "hmm," he picked up his cell phone and dialed Logan's number. He explained to him that the results were in, and he was available to go over them now, if Logan wanted.

Now he just had to wait. While he was at it, he poured himself another cup of coffee and flipped through the results again. "How peculiar," he murmured under his breath. Really, this was nothing short of amazing. Well, amazing and also rather disturbing.

Gaia had gotten back to the school somewhere in the realm of four, but hadn't gone inside yet. It was starting to get dark, but she couldn't bring herself to care too much about the passage of time.

She wandered, getting angrier and angrier as she thought about what she'd gone home to and the torn pictures. Those animals! She wanted to throw things to hit people and get pissed out of her fucking skull.

Now who to go with her? Because that sort of evening demanded an accomplice.

About then she heard the strum of a banjo. Not Gaia's favorite instrument, but whoever was playing it was pretty damn good. She followed the music and it took her to a wide and tall tree. She looked up and smiled. Well, it was one way to meet Logan's girl.

"Hey, Matty! Wanna get pissed?"

Gaia'd gotten off easy. She knew that without having to see the full infirmary downstairs. If her body had been abused beyond being pumped full of drugs, she either didn't notice or was choosing not to acknowledge it.

She had her telepathy shields up as tight as she could. The emotions were riding strong around here right now. Relief, nightmares, a thousand different fears from different people about and from what had happened. Yeah. She'd gotten off easy.

If she were smart, she'd go home and ride it out alone. But home had it's own set of issues right now, too.

Gaia wasn't used to not feeling safe. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she was in control and she was secure. More than anything, by breaking into her home, those thugs had stolen that sense of security from her. She was sort of reeling from it, and wasn't ready to face up to having to clean up and reclaim her space just yet. She would. Just not now.

It was nice having Wolvie nearby again. Whenever she got itchy and left, she always forgot how much she loved, and in some ways needed, to have him around. For a moody bastard, he had a way of balancing her that she could never quite figure out. It wasn't like a soulmate or whatever drivel people read about in books. It was just comfort, security, companionship, family.

He was worried for Matty, and so was she. Matty, from all the Gaia had heard about her from Logan was good for him and the two of them needed each other. She hoped that the woman would be alright, but hadn't yet braved the infirmary to see for herself. She hated places like that. She'd spent too much of her life alone and waiting for the end of various worlds to want to spend it in a place that could be equal parts salvation and graveyard.

Goddamn, she was maudlin today. Gaia supposed that was just to be expected after everything, but she hated these moods. They just sucked.

She wandered out to the balcony and sat on the stone railing, dangling one leg over the edge as she lit a cigarette.

He was going to have to hire new contacts. Damien hadn't received word that his sister was in danger until too late. He had already caught a plane to the States, and by then, she had already been rescued. Part of him was pissed because he had missed out on taking down her captors. He may have something of a chivalrous streak to him at times - it was well-hidden but it liked to rear its ugly head from time to time - but he still loved him some well-meaning violence. Still, she was safe, so far as he knew.

But he was already here, so he might as well drop by and see her, right? After all, he hadn't seen her in nearly a year. He hated to think of the flight as a waste, especially as he hated flying - well, he hated the other passengers and just everyone, really.

The wall surrounding the outside perimeter of the school was nothing. He had scaled it in all of maybe two seconds, and moved through the darkness of the woods. They didn't have any sort of security within the trees, probably because too often they'd find themselves chasing deer or rabbits. At the treeline, he stopped and climbed several feet up into an oak tree, crouching on one of the higher branches as he surveyed the area.

Who: The X-Men, abductees, NPC!Guards, NPC!Labcoats, Sentinels
What: rescue mission
When: Friday night
Rating: Gonna make this a strong R
Status: Open
Warnings: Rating is for violence, you know that'll happen in spades. It's going up now but don't feel like you need to tag in right away, while the action will only take place in the space of hours this'll be open all week to make sure everyone can get in and get their shit done.

Any questions? Shoot 'em our way.

((this post is extra-long because I tacked Brenna's torture scene on)

~~~~~

There had been no missions since the school had been rebuilt. It was almost unspoken that the X-Men needed to focus solely on their own after a time when so many of them had been lost inexplicably, and Logan had been loathe to break the status quo. Not really his usual state of being but his actions no longer affected just him.

( Read more... )



( Oh, was he begging? )

Who: Logan and Emma Frost, Headmistress of the Massachusetts Academy
What: Snark and use of Cerebro
When: Thursday afternoon
Rating: PG-13
Status: Closed
Warnings: None

~~~

"I'm astounded that you didn't contact me sooner, Logan." Emma Frost's voice was a throaty, cultured purr, modulated perfectly to elicit a response in whomever heard it. She'd upped the sultry tone of it until he'd told her, not so politely, that he wasn't interested in what she was selling. She'd rather haughtily informed him that she wasn't interested in him, either:

( I don't go for the knuckle-dragging lumberjack type, darling. Too much chance you'll shed on the furniture. )

Logan knew they were getting close, knew the lead from Gaia had helped and Tony was still doing whatever the hell it was he did. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought of his little sister getting taken; he couldn't be 100% sure but when he'd gone to her place, it had been trashed.

He knew he wasn't just spinning his wheels but it sure as fuck felt like that. He was built for action, for kicking asses and asking questions later, so to find himself unable to do so was supremely frustrating. He wanted to howl at the damn moon and would if that would get him anywhere. His animal was closer to the surface these days, peeking out from his eyes more often than not, and he itched for the chance to let it loose. He'd seen something similar in the eyes of Andrew and even Ororo who always councelled peace.

Putting on a brave and competent face for the remaining students was more difficult than he'd ever thought possible. Were Xavier around, the telepath would know what to do to calm the students, to help them understand what was going on in a way that Logan couldn't even begin to verbalize. He'd begun sending the ones with questions to the school counselor (he felt kind of bad for dumping them on her, but he wasn't trained for this shit) for lack of anything better to do.

When the X-Men congregated to discuss and plan, the anger in the air was tangible, every person in the room moving with the unspoken need to just do something; he remembered his discussion with Kitty about feeling like he was sitting on his hands waiting for something bad to happen. I was right, kitten. I fucking wish I weren't.

Going back to his bed at night was hell. The sheets always smelled like Matty and as much as he just wanted to strip them off for clean ones, he couldn't bear the thought of not having at least some part of her around. He'd get a few fitful hours of sleep before rising and heading for the Danger Room to work off the anger and the tension and the fear.

Tonight, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to head to bed yet. Just two nights before the abduction he and Matty had finally said the words, finally verbalized feelings that both felt but had never said out loud. His chest felt tight when he thought of it, when the worst case scenarios ran through his head and he imagined finding her dead. He dug into his stash of good alcohol, grabbed a bottle of Nikka single cask whiskey bought on his last jaunt through Japan, and headed for the solarium to smoke and drink and maybe get a little numb.

When Matty hadn't called to check in right on time, Logan hadn't worried, but when an hour had passed and his cellphone had remained silent he started to get the nagging feeling something wasn't right, especially when she didn't answer her phone. He got her voicemail and her cheerfully snarky voice and he didn't listen to the whole recording; there was no way she wouldn't hear the ringer or feel the vibration if it was on silent.

His stomach damn near dropped out of his body when he pulled up outside the history museum, his motorcycle idling as he watched a uniformed police officer milling about outside, his presence telling Logan something was wrong even before his nose picked up the scent of something burnt. He drew air in sharply, making the scent stronger, and he knew it came from inside the museum. He killed the bike and stalked past the officer, only having to glare once to quell any protest, and he followed his nose while he tried to shut off the part of his brain that was heading toward rage.

He went straight for where the fire had been. That had to be Pyro, he could still smell the tiniest bit of butane and then the scent of scorched flesh, wrinkling his nose against something he'd never expected to smell ever again; it was a scent out of his nightmares. The scorch marks were contained to a room and a hallway and he could tell John had fought hard.

Another scent was pulling at him so he moved on. He had to go down a floor to get it full force and for a moment he thought his vision had gone red, but no, that was just a lot of blood. Under the copper penny scent was Matty and he knew she'd gone ballistic, likely over someone hurting 'her' kids, he knew she'd have fought like a lioness. None of the blood was hers but it was small consolation as he felt his own beast rising to the surface and he couldn't control it, the slide of claws bursting from his hands and a roar of anger and agony that someone could hurt his pack like this.

How long he remained the animal, he wasn't sure. At some point he found himself on hands and knees outside the back of the museum, losing everything he'd eaten that day. Under the anger was the realization he hadn't caught any scents except the ones he was familiar with, nothing that could point him in the right direction, and he knew fear.

He collapsed against the building and tried go get his breathing under control, tried to stop seeing horrible images that his brain conjured up for what they were doing to his friends, his lover, his children. Matty, Kitty, Marie ... He said their names in his head like a mantra, over and over, promising he'd get them back, he wouldn't let them be hurt anymore.

When he could see straight again he dug his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Tony Stark. He wanted Iron Man at his back and Tony's ability to ferret out information.

Gaia had thought long and hard about whether or not she should take her day off and swing up to the Institute. And by long and hard, she meant that she'd mulled it over while sitting out on the fire escape and smoking while drinking her third cup of coffee and listening to Mr. Kahn bitch at his son about his American girlfriend. Yay, drama.

That had made up her mind and she'd gone inside to pull on some clothes and get gone.

She reached the gates of the compound and stared at them for a second. Totally not going to stop her. It was a matter of a small shift in the fabric of reality to open the gates enough to let her in and close them again without setting off any alarms. And getting into the building at this time of day was a no brainer. It was a school the doors would be open.

Gaia allowed herself the liberty of snooping around a little bit. She peeked in on a math class being taught by a dark haired man to a classroom of predominently bored teenagers and another history class being taught by a woman with white hair and dark skin. Now that was just sexy as hell.

The office she was looking for was actually at the end of the hall and empty. Heehee. Oh, Wolvie. It was easy to tell it was his. The scent of those cigars he loved so well lingered in the air. She laid a hand on the doorknob, mentally clicking the tumblers open. She walked in and re-locked the door behind her. "Damn, Wolvie. Getting a little posh." She murmured as she looked around the room. She debated taking a few moments to snoop, but then decided it didn't interest her.

Instead, she sat in the big, swivveling chair and turned it to look out the window while she waited.

Logan was roaring mad. Literally. He'd gotten into the Danger Room before Ororo and if the walls hadn't been reinforced he'd have destroyed the damn room. He'd have to remember to thank Tony for that and the zombie program when he remembered how to think straight.

Once done killing a metric fuck-ton of undead he'd changed into looser clothes more suited to martial art training.

On a muted growl he sank down onto the hardwood floor of the gymnasium and began a meditation which he hoped would calm him down some before Kitty arrived.

The boathouse on the edge of Spuyten Dyvil Cove was crudely but fully furnished with a couch, tables, chair, a queen sized bed, and a small kitchen. Most of the time it stood empty but Logan had taken to using it as a refuge from the chaos of the Institute; he'd done it after he'd returned from Alkali Lake, and he'd actually lived in it during the entire time the Institute had been rebuilt. At times he'd entertained the thought of just living there full time, almost a full mile away from the school, his own little piece of not-civilization.

The arrival of Scott and that whole blowout had renewed his sense of urgency to get out, even after Ororo had smoothed things over in her usual way; the anger and rage he'd felt only served to remind him he was a wild being who occasionally found it difficult to maintain his grip on his humanity. He had the discipline and the sense of responsibility that Scott had accused him of lacking, but sometimes ... he just needed to be himself.

It hadn't been difficult to convince Matty to stay the night with him out there. She could play her guitar to her heart's content in the warm weather that had finally come to stay, she could sing in her clear alto voice that he'd come to love hearing, come to need to hear.

And that was another reason he wanted to get away. He'd come to the realization the other night while out with Tony (and what a night that had been) that he loved her. The heretofore unfelt emotion was something he wasn't sure he could keep contained because it filled him to bursting, made him have the insane urge to shout it from the rooftops, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to hide it from the handful of telepaths and empaths that lived in the mansion.

So after his strange email conversation with Gaia he'd asked Matty if she'd come with him, and now she was playing some bluegrass tune on the small boathouse porch and he was lighting a cigar, listening to the song of his lover melting out into the bigger song of the woods and the water surrounding them. Life couldn't get much better.

"Hey, Matty, how would ya feel about goin' to a strip joint?"

Then he had to go and say something strange like that.

The kids had been waiting long enough, he'd been waiting long enough. Now that things were settled between him and Ororo and Scott, the equilibrium was balanced again and he wasn't ready to kill someone with little-to-no provocation, it was time to get things started.

The halls of the Institute were deathly quiet this early in the morning, everything dark and shadowed in the pre-dawn light just beginning to peek in through the windows. Logan had left Matty curled up in his bed (well, their bed now), grabbed a shower and a quick bite to eat in the kitchen on his way to issue an early-morning wakeup of epic proportions.

The door to the bedroom shared by John and Bobby flew open hard enough that it bounced back off the wall and was caught by Logan's hand before it could peg him in the face. "Rise and shine, ladies," he announced in a voice that was entirely too gleeful for the time of day.

Ororo had spent the better part of the night in the Danger Room trying to get a handle on her temper. Spending hours letting her abilities rage at computer generated zombies had helped (whoever put that video game protocol in the Danger Room commands was a godsend), and the fire had cooled to an icy calm.

She'd just finished teaching her morning history class to a room full of students who knew something was up just based on her mood. Now she was waiting in her office for Logan and Scott to arrive so that they could 'discuss' the issue at hand.

She tapped her pen impatiently as she tried to grade papers while waiting. At this point she just wanted to get this over with.

They'd let the kids hang for long enough. For his part, Logan just didn't want to deal with any of it, his role was usually to laugh at the adults who were in charge for being dumb enough to choose such a vocation, but here he was and it just wasn't as funny on this side of the desk. He wondered if Scott would ever come back, if he even wanted Scott to come back, if he'd ever have a chance again to just be Logan instead of Headmaster of Xavier's Institute for Gifted Children. What a huge cosmic joke that was.

He fiddled with a pencil as he looked at his comrade-in-arms sitting across the desk from him. "I'm thinkin' some kinda manual labor involves me wakin' 'em up at five in the mornin', drill-sergeant style."

Maybe it had been a bad idea to let Logan choose the bar. This had to be the most rundown dive Tony had ever stepped foot in, and that was saying something, as Tony had seen his fair share of dives. And though he'd tried to dress down for the occasion, in jeans and a plain t-shirt, he still attracted attention. Tony couldn't help it if he was just that pretty.

Still, he tilted his head down as he and Logan took their seats in a dark corner, seeking privacy. The stares followed him. Tony had some difficulty not starting something. Ever since this thing with the heart, he'd had to grasp the concept that he was virtually defenseless without the suit.

That, and he was Tony fucking Stark. He was going to attract attention no matter where he went. He figured it was just Logan's presence - he appeared to be a regular here - that kept anyone from approaching them. For now.

Out of restlessness, he grabbed the darts from the dartboard while they waited for their beers.

"So," he said, then stopped. He frowned, focusing on his aim, and threw a dart at the board. Missed the bullseye, but it was close enough that he smirked, and readied himself for another shot. "Remember that company I was telling you about? Sentry Industrial is the name." He missed the next shot, by a significant margin. Cursing under his breath, he turned away, just as the waitress, an older woman who looked like she bore the weight of the world on her shoulders, brought their drinks. He accepted his beer graciously, and gave her a larger tip than he should've. Hey, he liked his charitable causes, especially when he was drinking.

When she left, he took his seat, sipped his beer, and continued, "Well, it's beginning to look like they're the ones behind these mysterious disappearances of yours."

Who: Rogue and Logan
What: Logan giving Rogue a lift to the airport
When: Night
Rating: TBD I guess
Status: active

( Read more... )

There was something relaxing about the shuffling of cards, the way that they felt sliding through his fingers and the soft fluttering sounds they made. He had been using them since he was much younger, a child on the streets finding ways to keep himself entertained on the cold nights, and later when he discovered his mutant ability, as a weapon.

Remy LeBeau always had at least three packs hidden on his person. Trench coats were good for that. He huddled further into his, making sure that it was done up as he turned another corner. The duffle bag sitting over his right shoulder was old and worn, its dark tan colour somewhat faded with age.

It wasn't like he couldn't afford to buy a new one, more that he didn't want to. This was the bag he had done a lot of travelling with. He was attached to it.

His fingertips tingled as he played with the cards, slipping them into his pockets as his feet stilled and he took a breath, trying to find his center - or whatever rubbish that was - to pull the power back into himself.

He knew the Institute was just around the corner and he blew out a breath, tucking errant strands of auburn hair behind his ear as he picked up his feet and began moving again, concentrating hard on keeping those tingles at bay, that power inside himself.

Once the building came into view with the impressive gate at the front with an intercom and a buzzer, he strolled closer, inspecting the keypad and then looking beyond into the grounds themselves. It looked like it was an easy enough place to get into, the wall wasn't too hard to scale, especially for someone like himself. He supposed it would be bad form to stroll up to the front door, though.

And since he was rather sure he needed help, he decided on the boring, normal way of getting in contact with people and he pushed the button on the intercom.

"This place kinda looks like de Hilton," he said to himself, peering through the gates again whilst he waited for an answer, one hand curling around one of the metal bars, his concentration slipping enough that his fingers started to glow.

((This is insanely long, I'm warning you. It clocks in somewhere around 1,300 words. Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking, either. This post is one part narrative, one part threading between a much-needed conversation between Matty and her X-Man.))

It was a rare, rainy day in Genosha. Damien sat perched on his windowsill, his forehead against the cool glass as he stared outside, watching the rain fall. His ribs still ached from where his father had broken them, and there were still the faintest signs of bruises across his cheekbone. His ribs were healed, but sense memory was a bitch, and had always been a far better liar than he ever was.

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