Logan (canucklehead) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2014-08-11 19:26:00 |
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Logan's teeth clamped down hard against the end of his unlit cigar as his hands stuffed into his pockets. He couldn't deny the fact that, at many points in his life, he'd longed for just what this place had given him. It was a chance at peace, a chance at happiness. It was all the quiet and Zen he really could have wanted. Even with the recent turbulence, this place had given him more than he could ever ask of it. Hell, he was even mildly convinced there was a real shot at... An audible grumble spat out against the late night darkness. Those weren't the kind of thoughts Logan felt comfortable allowing himself. Even with the reality of it so close he could taste it, he found it hard to trust. A lifetime of seeing the things, the people, he loved snatched away and tortured. To know that everyone he'd ever come close to had been either a piece of the game, or wounded to torture him, to keep him in line? It was why he hadn't knocked on Carol's door, why he hadn't gone to see Steve, or Stark, or anyone he might have even had an inkling of familiarity with at all. It was why he was out here, alone. It was why he took these late walks away from everyone, even if he kept his PDA immediately on hand. Even though he knew he was never more than a pip or call away from anyone who might want him, or anyone he might have wanted to see, Logan left it unattended. Besides, this town had enough heroes present to keep itself safe -- or at least that's what Logan liked to tell himself anyway. He could take a night off, take a stroll, maybe hit the gym, couldn't he? Then Logan remembered the last time he'd been in the gym. He shuddered visibly at the memory for a moment and silently cursed himself. The animal that had so often welled up inside of him had found its way loose in that moment and, like any of those times, Logan felt a distinct sense of shame about the whole thing. It was a constant reminder of what he was, who had been, and what he would likely battle for the rest of his unnatural life. It was the kind of thing that drove the toes of his boot harder into the pavement as he veered off to find someplace to sit, to think. And to smoke his cigar already. |