Logan (canucklehead) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2014-10-08 01:08:00 |
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A week spent drunk in the woods had done nothing to dull the edge that had carved away at him. He liked to say it was the idleness, that the lack of space, time, and things to punch was all that was chewing at him. It was why he'd tromped out into the forest with an axe, even if he'd never swung the thing once at a tree like he'd intended. It was why, namely due to the fact that he couldn't even respect his own, basic, reaction, that he was feeling guilty. He'd broken two promises in that week and, even if they were to kids he didn't know, it hadn't been right. Even though he'd corrected on of those mistakes, with plans to hopefully correct the second by tomorrow morning, it had done nothing to squelch the sense of guilt that rolled through Logan's mind as he stared at the blank space that was his bathroom mirror. It was why when, for whatever reason, he'd opted to respond to the post about Carol's absence on the network. It wasn't a topic he even wanted to look at, nor think about, but maybe that wasn't the point. After all, Kitty had told him he would, eventually, end up some kind of teacher. What kind of teacher, what kind of man for that matter, could Logan really call himself if he just sat back and did nothing when it came to teaching, to being there? It was with that in mind, and the subsequent news of their conversation that followed, that Logan had snatched up the keys to his apartment, locked the door, and made his way down to the gym without delay. There wasn't room for a screw up, not this time. This girl had even gone so far as to call him her mentor and, even if Logan didn't have the slightest idea who she might have been, it didn't matter anymore. He was supposed to be there for those kids. It was what they knew of him, and, just as importantly, it was what he knew of himself. He wasn't a man who sat in a corner and sulked openly when his loved ones were taken away. He wasn't someone who sat on the sidelines because his own emotions, all too often, got in the way. He was The Wolverine. When the world took something from him, he got even. It was that simple. Even in times when there was nothing to get even with, to exact his revenge upon, Logan had learned the importance of bringing that balance back to the world. Time had, once again, proven to the immortal teacher of a man often too damn stubborn to lay down and die. It was why, no sooner had he stepped into the gym, that he threw off his jacket. It was why he didn't bother applying the tape to his wrists like a sane person might have and why he didn't waste time finding the same, old, bag that he and Steve had worked over. It was why he didn't lay into it was all his wrath and fury that he felt. It was why he took slow breaths, keeping the beast inside him to a dull roar, and let the gentle rhythm and the sound of his fist against the canvas bag carry him to a place of calm and peace. He was too stubborn to lay down and die -- and that meant he was too stubborn to let himself get beaten by who he had been too. Now he just had to hope he could live up to whoever he had been when this kid had known him. |