Getting to know you... Who: Logan & Karr What: Logan's idea of quality time When: Saturday night, May 22nd Where: The Haven, and then not >.> Warnings: TBD. It's Logan. And Karr. We can pretty much assume there'll be profanity and bloody violence at some point. XD
Sometimes Logan wasn't sure whether he was asleep or awake. Dreams or, rather, nightmares would often seep into his waking life or into memory like an ever spreading red symphony of blood and mayhem. He couldn't trust any of his memories now, and so he had spent the better part of the last two months in and out of the Haven, following leads, investigating, digging up his own past whenever possible. But mostly he had been trying to find clues as to who had done what they did to him, who had turned him into a killing beast, who had turned his whole skeleton into unbreakable adamantium. As if his own, natural feral mutation hadn't turned him into an efficient enough killing machine, he thought bitterly to himself.
Logan knew for a fact that he couldn't trust his memories, because he had visions of other lives and countless wars. Oh, he knew he had bounced around from one war to the next and brawled his way into making himself a cripple in between, but he simply hadn't been enough years on this earth to have all those insane memories of ancient wars, like the World Wars, and even stuff that felt like the Revolutionary war. That wasn't him. Those memories had been implanted in him. He was James Howlett, Jr., born in 1973, the runt of a long line of loggers in Canada. He knew this to be true, but those memories were vague and broken at best. He was beginning to think none of the things he remembered best were real. His most vivid memories were the illusion, and those fragmented, colorless ghosts he could barely grasp were the real thing.
He wasn't dreaming when he woke up to the sound of his motel door being torn off its hinges by a SWAT like team of Sentinels. His nightmares of clawing his way through a sea of men until all he could see was red came true that night. He would never get the smell of blood off his good leather boots, not as far as his enhanced sense of scent was concerned. He was well and truly resigned that he was very good at what he did and, apparently, what he did best was killing. Not one of his attackers survived that night. Once the bullets and the knives pierced his skin, the pain triggered a berserker rage. He tore up the Sentinels, then the room, then a messy swath of destruction out into the woods. He had woken up in a small cave up in a mountain about three miles away, naked and caked with blood. Going back for his things had not been fun, and he had been jumpy and aggressive for days after.
Coming back to the Haven was always bittersweet. He had a woman he had to learn to love. He had a son he had to get to know. He came to the pragmatic determination that, if he couldn't trust his memories of the past, then what he needed to do was to forget. And what better way to forget than to go get drunk somewhere he'd likely get into a brawl? No better way. Logan dropped his things off right after he arrived, went by the hangar to give Serena a kiss and tell her he was going to spend some quality time with his kid.
Not much later, he was knocking on Karr's door. It was Saturday night, and he knew just the place. He was sure James would understand Logan taking his kid drinking and not him on his first night back.
"Hey, kiddo. You decent?" he said gruffly after the knock. "Get dressed. We're going out," he called right after. It wasn't that he expected Karr to drop everything to spend time with him, but he figured asking was a damn waste of precious time. The boy had a perfectly good mouth, and he wasn't afraid to use it. Logan was sure that if Karr had other plans, he would mince no words letting him know. As far as Logan was concerned, the less words said, the better. If he could get away with speaking in monosyllables all the time, he would be just as happy as anything.