The Universe's Mixer

The sun had set long ago. Unlike many of her nights, Giselle hadn't strayed to the valley in the forest to watch the mountainside turn gold and pink and purple. Instead, she'd found her way from the attic window to the top of Logan's cabin, and there she sat on the roof, watching the sky as it shaded from soft blue to deep navy.

Here in the forest, they were sheltered from the garish City lights. It was almost like home - almost, except that she couldn't ever forget that this was no Andalasia... and her life was very much different, here.

Logan had been gone for longer than she particularly liked. It was strange, living with the man. He was an odd combination of kind and fierce, but never fierce to her. She'd hate to be his enemy. She imagined most of his enemies felt that way, too. There were many good things about Logan. One of them was not how much she missed him. Was it wrong, to miss someone as she missed him? It didn't feel wrong, but it felt terribly un-right, as well. She didn't think she was ever going to make sense of it.

A sound from well behind her caught her attention. She crawled over the roof peak and saw him walking in toward the cottage. A bright smile caught her and she waved happily. He didn't see her. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and she wondered --

-- she didn't wonder what he was thinking for long, because her bare foot slipped from where it was bracing her. She squealed and clutched for anything and missed everything on her slide downward.

The cabin, for the most part, had been relatively quiet. Logan tended to like it that way considering the fact that just about everything else behind the doors was chaotic and noisy. Not that he wasn't a man of action when the situation called for it, and he had been known to start a fight or two in his time, but now that Giselle was around Logan found himself trying to hold on to the quieter moments. That was not the first time in his life he had felt that way, Japan had brought a lot of solace to him as well when it could. It almost felt like home in a way, the familiarity of it touching him some.

Logan was settled on a chair in the kitchen, the newspaper spread out before him. He was browsing through it, trying to keep up with current events. Beyond the random appearances of dinosaurs, something he was used to by now with time spent in the jungle, there was not much else that captured his attention. If the dinosaurs got out of hand...well, this place did have its share of heros that would probably stand up long before Logan had to. Which he didn't mind.

Somewhere about Logan could hear Giselle getting up to whatever it is that had taken her heart. She did so much around the cabin as far as cooking and upkeep. Logan appreciated it.

He had things of his own that took his attention, people that needed tending to and assistance when he could give it. He had yet to bring up the subject of Melody, not that he wanted to discuss it with Giselle. He would keep it to himself for as long as he could not wanting to burden the woman with what he had been up to. Logan wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and he would not dampen her spirits if he could help it. At least, he would try his hardest not to.

From out of nowhere came a knock at the door. Then another. The very wood itself seemed to groan with the impact, which had Logan narrowing his eyes in distaste. The paper was folded neatly and set upon the kitchen table for later before the mutant rose from his chair. "Better be good..." Logan mumbled, heading for the door.

It swung open and already his fingers were clamped down, biting against his palm ready to strike when he saw a familiar face. That was not a face Logan cared much to see. "Help you?" He was trying to be polite for Giselle's sake. He really was.

Giselle had been shopping when the T-rex came to town. After having seen how many other women dressed here in the City, and after having realized that her own mode of dress made her quite noticeable in perhaps not the best of ways, she had opted to try to dress more appropriately. She wanted Logan not to be ashamed of her, or of taking her out with him, either - though he'd never seemed to mind what she wore. In fact, there were many times when he said he liked her dress.

And so, with that in mind, she went to find a few things that looked somewhat like what she wore but also matched the modernity of the City. She'd been doing quite well for herself, too, and even started to think that perhaps she should try working in a dress shop herself, when a great roar shocked her from her browsing. Along with the rest of the people in the store, she hurried to the window to see what the commotion was --

-- and was greeted with a large green tail swiping through the glass. She shrieked and jerked back just quickly enough to miss most of the tail, and to get spattered with flying glass. It left stinging cuts on her skin.

Before she could recover, another roar completely unlike the other blasted their hearing. She got to her feet and this time, instead of running to the window, she ran away from it. It was just as well, as a car was tossed through the rest of the window and landed in the shop just exactly where she'd been a few moments before.

Giselle stayed put, shivering and cowering, until the horrible sounds outside died down. And then, carefully and quietly, she crept back to the window... and out onto the destroyed City street. Dust and debris was still floating in the air in a lazy descent downward. It coated her, that dust, and made her cough. Whatever had happened? She was completely turned around and directionless, but still tried to find her way through the mess.

She ended up in the middle of the street. It was just as well; no cars were daring to run through this mess.

But a double-decker bus thought it was a good idea, just beyond the dust and muck in the air, just out of sight.

Logan had been so busy lately putting the current finishing touches on the last part of the gym that needed tending to. The only thing left to work on was the name. He had something he had been toying with, an idea of what to entitle the place but he had no right to even attempt to name something with a title that didn't belong to him. The work he had poured into the facility showed; he was glad to see Steve Rogers utilizing it for its purposes on the regular. It pleased the Wolverine a great deal knowing his place was useful. That he could still amount to something.

But completion of the building meant that the time spent with Giselle working on the task was also done and she would once more need a task to occupy herself with. He enjoyed her company a great deal and he knew he could get caught up in his work, which he had. When Giselle retired from painting her mural and retired to the cabin, Logan often found himself working onward without her. On the promise to return soon, of course. Though some nights had turned into days and then nights again before he returned to the cabin exhausted and in need of a shower. The exhaustion never lasted, he was built with more stamina then anyone would know what to do with, but still.

It had paid off, though. And he was satisfied with it.

He waited patiently at the table in the kitchen for Giselle. Perched in the seat, Logan browsed the last bits of the day's previous paper though the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window dwindled. His keen eyesight allowed sharpness of the words despite the growing darkness. Logan had promised to take Giselle out, whatever she wanted to do, for being away from her so much. He felt he owed it to her and he wanted to ask a favor of her. That unfinished part of the gym commanded it. Steve Rogers needed a name to call the place he went to blow off steam. Logan would give it to him one way or another. But first things first.

"Hmm...intrestin'," Logan breathed softly to himself. He closed the paper, folded it gently and set it aside so that his hands were free to devour the last of the beer in the neglected brown glass bottle nearby. It was warm and bitter but it soothed him while he waited. Ever so patiently.

The sun shined, and Eric found himself to be extraordinarily happy. He mourned the loss of Logan, but had hope that the boy would return. He still felt the progeny in his blood, so he was somewhere. Perhaps not in this world, but somewhere. Alive, and hopefully thriving.

He had never been one to live in a nest, yet he was finding the company at the castle to be ... nice. Perhaps it was because two of them he was already familiar with. Having a second version of himself and Pam was not so much like having two other vampires there, and yet they were very clearly their own. The world that they had been on had been so very different that they'd become something that himself and his Pam had not. Something more savage and wild. He enjoyed them thoroughly.

Pastor John Tudor was an acceptable choice for a son. Much different than Logan. John wasn't vain and cocky. He wasn't harsh and ready to kill. But he was still taking to being a vampire quite well, and he was lovely in his own ways. Eric was having a little bit of trouble being around the newborn, as when he saw him all he could think of was Logan. He wondered if the two would get along. If Logan came back, would he fight for his right to be the only son? Or would he take to his new sibling?

Technically speaking, Eric had now sired three. Pam, Logan, John. In that order. He wished that his middle child were here to share in the nest and learn what he could from the other vampires. Every individual had secrets and powers to share. Knowledge.

Little Melody was a strange one, too. Eric had met her during his time in that other world, and he was still fascinated by her. She was human, and yet he felt the death within her. They called her a living vampire, and he could see why. She fed off of the dying as much as they did. Could kill, even. She also had the ability to control the dead, which made him nervous. But his mirror had assured him that she had not tried such things and knew that if she did she would be destroyed. So he would not touch it.

Eric had spent a very long time becoming familiar with his wife again. Because of that, they were back to the way they had been since he'd apparently disappeared. And he was back to full strength against the brutal sun.

Maybe he was a little too caught up in his thoughts, or maybe he just hadn't expected a little redheaded human to be so careless as to run into somebody and get paint all over them. Whatever the cause behind it, Eric was bombarded by the sudden scent of wet latex-based paint and near the same moment, covered in it.

His suit was expensive, but he didn't care so much about that. It could be replaced. Usually he was fast enough to get out of the way of people who might run into him. This time he hadn't. He could only guess that she'd been walking that erratically, and he'd been that caught up in his thoughts. Still, it wasn't that which bothered him.

Eric looked at the color dripping off of his hand and down his front.

"Violet? Really. Really. Who even paints their house this color." He flicked his wrist and paint spattered against the sidewalk.

The sun hadn't quite yet made it up into the sky yet, but Giselle was already very hard at work in the kitchen. She was trying to be quiet, but every so often she'd make a tiny little sound - the soft clang of a pot touching the side of another pot, or the squeal of an un-oiled drawer as she opened it. Overall, though, she believed she was being highly stealthy, and she was quite proud of herself.

On the arm of the couch, Pip was still sleeping. He never was a morning chipmunk, and Giselle was quite surprised he even managed to make it this far. Then again, it wasn't every day she cooked such a sumptuous breakfast - and she'd been planning it all week with her dear friend.

It was meant to be a surprise for Logan. After all the kindnesses he'd shown her and all the special care he'd given her, she wanted to do something very nice for him. So, before he left today, she wanted to make him a lovely meal.

The trick was making something without making any noise. She didn't want to wake him up. And, she knew she couldn't actually do the cooking until he was awake, or it'd all get cold. So, right now, she was preparing every last detail -- from the sprigs of herbs, finely minced, to the clean white linen on the table. And all of it, she was doing as quietly as she possibly could.

He had been evacuating people from New Troy, making sure that the citizens were getting out, doing what Eric told him to do, staying behind to gather the strays and assuring those who were weak or injured wouldn't be left to the mercy of whatever was happening to the world. Aidan didn't mind, not really. He wanted to help. Of course he did. But he also wanted to find Dean and Evey. Make sure they were okay. The decision to stay and do his job had been a hard one, when all he'd wanted to do was run.

As the last people were being ushered out the gates, another big quake hit. Aidan remembered feeling the rumble of it under his feet before his brain knew what was happening. The world below him collapsed, and he fell. He fell and fell and there was nothing but black. He thought he'd lost consciousness for a while, he had no recollection of the end of the tremor, and the sensation of waking up. Above him was a great chasm, far away was night sky. He'd certainly hit his head, he could smell his own blood. He felt weak.

The sounds of others stirred him from his self focus, he'd called out to them and gotten moans of pain in return. Death entered his nose, a scent he was intimately familiar with. Aidan crawled toward the closest mutterings to try to calm and assess the injured. He found a man with his lower body crushed, a man who was not going to live. Nearby was another, a woman with a broken neck. Another, a woman with some kind of unseen internal damage, Aidan could see her belly swelling with the blood. And another, a kid who may have just barely turned fifteen, bleeding out quickly.

He tried to do what he could for all four of them. The youth went quickly. The woman with internal bleeding, not long after. But the other two lingered. He saw the pale glow of sun twice before they truly started to die. It was then that he realized that unless he helped himself, he would die as well.

It killed Aidan to do it, but he took the crushed man first. Draining him completely of blood, filling himself up. It wasn't much, but it gave him the strength to stand. He cradled the woman softly. He told her that he was sorry. She told him that it was alright, she knew he needed to live, to help others. She knew that she would not, and she wanted to do something good for the world. She told Aidan that he had taken care of her grandmother in the hospital, that he had been kind. If only for that, she owed him.

This made Aidan feel worse.

But he would not squander the gift.

When he was finished with her, Aidan laid her head softly on the ground, and closed her eyes. She looked oddly peaceful, as long as he didn't look at the angle of her neck.

He'd looked up, dreading what came next, but began the climb quickly.

By the time he reached the top, he was thankful he'd fed before beginning. He was worn out. The hole had gone deep into the earth. Miles. His arms felt numb and weak. His legs shook. He'd thrown himself over the edge and managed to crawl far enough away that he wouldn't fall back in, realized that he was laying on grass, and lost consciousness again.

Waking up now, Aidan felt the grass on his cheek, smelled it. The sun was bright and warm on his back. He still hurt from the climb, still felt weak. How long had he been laying out here? Raising his head a little bit, Aidan spotted a child staring at him, eating an ice cream cone.

Ice cream?

Grass?

Aidan rolled onto his back to look at the sky. Beautiful pale blue with white fluffy clouds. Trees surrounding him. The sounds of children happily playing. And... was that a goddamned kite? A dog yipped happily, Aidan's body tensed, thinking it was one of the wild dog packs, but a frisbee flew by over him and a golden retriever jumped him like a hurdle, tail wagging. None of the dogs had been that clean looking. Nor that willing to play.

"What... the... fuck..." he breathed out, wondering if he'd had too much blood. Usually when he was blood drunk, though, he was scarier to look at. And it was people he hallucinated, not places.

Storm clouds notwithstanding, it had been a perfectly lovely morning on the tropical island Giselle was fast learning to call her home. The afternoon was shaping up rather nicely, too, she thought, as she pushed deeper into the thickness of the leafy jungle before her, a basket looped over one arm.

"Oh, thank you," she said sincerely, when her guide swept back a low-hanging branch for her to step under. But just as she did, the ground began to rumble. Giselle caught her balance on the nearest tree, but only briefly, only just before the rumbling turned into an all-out violent churning. She shrieked and tried to keep her feet under her, but it was of no use.

She found herself on her knees, arms over her head, trying to protect herself from anything that might fall. Terror consumed her breath and kept her silent, even if the ground itself seemed to want to shake her screaming loose.

The shaking stopped abruptly. When she opened her eyes, she was kneeling in the center of a smoothly-paved street, surrounded with great castles of glass and flat, seamless stone. Astonishment painted her face.