Logan (ex_canuckleh340) wrote in x_aftermath_x, @ 2008-02-29 22:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | gambit, storm, wolverine |
Who: Wolverine, Storm, and Gambit (open!)
When: Saturday, March 1st, 2008, early morning
Where: X-Mansion, the grounds and lobby
What: Return of the Wolvie
Status: In progress?
Rating: TBD
The roar of a chopper thundered up Graymalkin Lane, startling a nest of sleeping birds into suddenly taking flight. Their annoyed racket was drowned out, however, until a lone figure astride the motorcycle cut the engine suddenly, plunging the road into silence. Wolverine sat atop his wheels just outside the driveway to the X-Mansion for several long minutes, just thinking. Behind him, Graymalkin was littered with leaves, illuminated here and there with shifting patches of light filtered down through the trees. Down that road was freedom, and the say-so to do as he wished without a damned thought for humanity, or mutant-kind, for that matter; He wouldn't have to live by another's leave.
He could go that route, go back to Japan - Forget about the unholy mess that was the States now - And he'd be lying to himself if he thought for a moment that he wasn't half-tempted. He'd considered it, knowing Xavier wouldn't coerce him into staying if he didn't want to. And yet there he was, drawn to the building below as if against his very will.
"Home, again," he muttered to himself. Even from this far away, he could plainly see the grounds - the courtyard, the gardens. He hadn't missed them. Hadn't stayed there long enough to build the compulsion to. Scratching idly at his muttonchops with one hand, he imagined the others would be sleeping still. "Heh." All of them except perhaps for Slim, and maybe Charles himself. He frowned and lit his cigar then, fire flashing in his palm. It wouldn't be long now before the mansion was alerted to his presence; There were too many blasted psychics and the like around for a moment's peace, let alone the element of surprise. Oh well. He reasoned he wasn't much for 'fashionable entrances', as Marie might put it, anyhow. Deciding he'd stalled enough, he wheeled the bike down the driveway.
Damn, he hated doing this. Surely all the teenagers would start fawning all over him, or the younger ones would just stare at him all doe-eyed in that way that made the small hairs on his body stand on end. And the adults - he growled under his breath - they weren't much better. He wasn't looking forward to the awkward silences he was doomed to receive, accumulated over the long twelve-plus months he'd been gone. And then there was the barely veiled hostility; Oh goody. And, of course, he couldn't forget about Red. Red and Slim. Alive.
Chuck had been good enough to drop that bomb on him. Jean was alive. He hadn't killed her. She had begged for death, and he'd done the only thing he could for her, telling her that he loved her - And she wasn't dead. He should have felt relieved. He should not be dreading an encounter with an alive Jean Grey and her equally not-dead fiance. Now he would have to deal with them both. They were alive, and together, and in love, and... Strangely he was Ok with that.
He ducked his head and grinned, one corner of his mouth tugging upward. A lot could happen in a year, it looked like, and his trip to Nippon had been nothing short of momentous. Well, as long as he didn't let on, he wouldn't let a little thing like that spoil his fun with One Eye.
Toeing the kickstand into place, he got off the bike and jogged up the steps to the mansion just before him. Now it was time to pay the piper.
He ducked his head through the door. Just inside, he could smell and see no one. Good. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope he could get to Charles' office without a hitch. He stepped through the lobby and still all was quiet. No timmies running circles 'round the pillars, no traffic on the stairs. In the back of his mind, a small current of thought mused on how it was almost too quiet. He regretted the thought instantly, for no sooner had it crossed his mind, he found the way blocked by a pixie, blonde-headed little girl not possibly older than eight with coke-bottle glasses...
'No scent,' he mused, as she stared at him with her impossibly exaggerated blue eyes. He put his index finger to his lips and shushed her but, as his luck would have it, the dams opened, her eyes welled up, and the most heinously pitiable wail ever to assault his sensitive ears peeled out of her mouth - Superhuman senses be damned.
He sputtered for a moment, trying to get the screaming girl to calm down - Damnit, he wasn't the goddamned bogeyman! - but in the end he gave up and settled for pinching the bridge of his nose irritably with one hand. He briefly wondered if stuffing her into the laundry shoot would be frowned upon.
'So much for stealth,' he sighed. Or sanity.