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🍻-- Hard boiled? The guy looked like he was going to be sick. Logan raised a brow but only offered a slight shrug and grunt in return.
Logan grumbled, snorting as he raised the bottle he'd had in front of him to pour himself yet another glass, "Who in the hell names their money somethin' like 'dust'?"
Nothing came out of the bottle, already drained dry. He eyed it, lifting it above his head to look at the bottom as if that would change things. Huh... He'd gone through the whole thing.
...That was probably enough though for the night. It had been a long time since he'd drank like this and he was obviously flushed and drunk. Not exactly what he'd been going for, but after so long without the ability to get even slightly flush, of course he'd go too far.
He grunted slightly as he twisted to slip off the bar stool. "Nice talkin' to ya."
What a freaking weirdo. Small, burly like a lumberback, can drink shit that tastes like motor oil. This guy looked to be hard boiled, probably good in a fight. Badou won't keep him, though, just offers a lazy wave.
🍻-- Bodies of water hadn't been much of a friend to Logan for some time now. Not that it had ever stopped him. The boat ride the the cove was making him a bit nauseous despite his plentiful experience. Maybe it had just been too long since he'd last been out on the water like this. Or maybe it was that he knew he didn't have his healing factor - normally that would sort of clear up the problem of drowning. Even it was painful he could just walk across the sea floor to safety. Normally he had the endurance to paddle a shot distance even against his own body's demand to sink.
Either way he was at the rail edge of the boat ferrying them all across and looking a big green.
There was something about the sea breeze and the rippling and crashing of waves that resonated deep within Dan Heng's heart. It wasn't necessarily a welcome feeling, but at the same time it wasn't unpleasant either.
It was simply... familiar, in some primordial way.
He shut his eyes, taking in a long, slow breath. Even though the seas here were not the ones of his birth... they still spoke to him almost as readily. Perhaps even more readily, lacking in the shadows that haunted those waters.
Not everyone, though, was as comfortable as he was. He couldn't help but notice the greenish tint on the face of the man next to him. "Are you alright, sir?"
🍻-- Logan leaned slightly over the side rail, trying to breathe his way through the nausea. He had heard someone coming up beside him, but he was a little busy willing away the tumbling sensation in his stomach. The sea breeze was doing a good job of quelling him. Focusing in on all the little intricacies that it caught in its own scent: salt, brine, various marine life, algae, the iodine-like scent of exposed seaweed.
He turned slightly. He nodded, straightening up as he exhaled slowly.
"Yeah, just fine. Been a bit since I was on a boat is all." His voice was slightly rougher than usual though that was hard to tell considering the way that he tended to growl and snarl.
Blue eyes appraised the other man before turning towards the cove they were heading towards. Fixated towards the top where he could make out collapsed stone structures. He leaned slightly back against the railing he'd been leaning over moment ago. He was at least a little less green and pale now. "You know anything 'bout some temple ruins up there, bub? Just lookin' for some general information. Was hopin' to do some research but we're outta service."
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🍻-- Logan stared back. What the actual fuck was 'dust'? His expression said as much. His nose wrinkled as his mind landed on what that could be.
"I'm not being a drug mule. Rather fight 'em." He took another drink to drain his glass. He didn't miss the way the guy coughed either. "Don't have'ta drink it if you can't handle it."
"Not drugs, dude, holy hell." Though he doesn't doubt there might be something magic related. Maybe something to ask about if that's something to worry about....
"That's-- the money's called that. You can do a normal job." He sniffs loudly. "I'm hard boiled, I can handle it."
🍻-- Hard boiled? The guy looked like he was going to be sick. Logan raised a brow but only offered a slight shrug and grunt in return.
Logan grumbled, snorting as he raised the bottle he'd had in front of him to pour himself yet another glass, "Who in the hell names their money somethin' like 'dust'?"
Nothing came out of the bottle, already drained dry. He eyed it, lifting it above his head to look at the bottom as if that would change things. Huh... He'd gone through the whole thing.
...That was probably enough though for the night. It had been a long time since he'd drank like this and he was obviously flushed and drunk. Not exactly what he'd been going for, but after so long without the ability to get even slightly flush, of course he'd go too far.
He grunted slightly as he twisted to slip off the bar stool. "Nice talkin' to ya."
🍻-- A short exhale through his nose was enough as he recognized the footsteps even before Uriah had come through the underbrush. Well, he supposed that it would only be a matter of time before someone came looking for him. Logan had been missing from the townhouse for a couple of days while he sorted himself out. Packed a rough bag and hiked out almost as soon as it all came flooding back.
Usually he did just fine enough at keeping a lid on it all, but having his senses come back like that had done a number for that caged animal feeling that cities could often give him. - Not that he didn't want to participate or do as man did, but...
Logan grumbled slightly as he looked up at the traitorous predator circling them. And he'd told her to keep it hush and that he would be back in a few days. No sense in worrying the kid. He'd even left a note though it didn't really explain anything.
"Ya don't have'ta do that. Pretty hard t' come by real quiet when you got senses like mine. Besides, I kind of got it outta my system now."
Even so he was picking up his sack of clothes and following behind.
"I know I don't. Your senses remind me of my own. I figured I could show you where it is if you ever wanted to disappear again with such a vague ass note." He doesn't want to say he was worried, but Uriah did find himself waiting for Logan's return as the days passed by.
He must have gotten used to being around people. Strange.
The trek to the place isn't too far. Once they get through the clearing of plants and bushes, Uriah stops by the riverbank. The sound of water gently running down the stream, the sounds of birds chirping in the distance, and the wind blowing against plant-life do enough to drown out some unwanted noises.
"I used to sneak into the forest back home, too. My hometown, The Silvercity's always loud. Tall buildings, machines, and anything else you can think of."
🍻-- So the kid had preternaturally good senses too... A small comfort of having someone who could at least understand that aspect.
As for worrying, Uriah didn't have to say anything. Logan could smell the worry on him. That was the thing about emotions. They all give off different scents and he'd learned them all well enough long ago. He wouldn't say anything about that though. No point to it.
And he grunted slightly. "Didn't have a whole lotta time for the note."
He could admit that he could've done better at it and tried to explain more. The itch had been too strong. ...But he supposed he had to remind himself that the people here didn't have the same experience with him that his teammates did. Not that even his teammates understood any of it much better than the people here would. They at least could pull him back and convince him not to go wandering off for too long at a time.
Logan followed along after Uriah, ears pricking at the sound of water and birds, and whatever other little things he could hear.
"I've lived in the forest a good bit. Helps when the city noise feels like it's too much. Never liked cities all that much."
Harukaze reached up to wipe away a smear of deep violet from his cheek, teeth gritting together.
"I was fine," he hissed, glaring at the ground, littered with the bodies of the gang members he'd confronted earlier, unconscious at best. "I didn't need help."
His skin was prickling with indignation as his glare shifted toward the man who had taken down a good number of them -- the ones that Harukaze himself hadn't managed to get before one of them hit him with some kind of shock bolt that locked up his internal mechanisms. It was to be expected, he supposed -- the Etude guild had spent some time analyzing him while he was in the Conductor's grasp, so it was reasonable they'd come up with something to counter him after he escaped. It wasn't perfect, but it did slow him down enough that he took a few hits.
That was when the other guy had showed up. Slightly shorter but easily twice as broad as Harukaze himself, clearly a seasoned fighter... and Harukaze, of course, was mortified that he'd been rescued.
"Besides, you sure you want to get on these bastards' bad side?"
🍻-- "I'll leave ya alone next time then. Never known anyone who likes gettin' shocked and clubbed over the head with a bat though."
Logan shook out his hands. He still wasn't used to the ache that came with fighting, though he was glad that he could still even move half as well as he normally did considering the weight of the metal inside of him.
He could hear something inside the other, presumably younger, man ticking and clicking. Some sort of machinery that has shorted when he got shocked.
Logan snorted.
"Pretty sure I've been on worse people's sides, bub."
He didn't know who this group was, but he could use something to let out the pent up everything that was welling inside of him. Not exactly the rage, but the animal that lurked below the surface. He'd been trying to stick around more for Uriah since the kid was worried about him, but it was setting him a little stir-crazy. He was still getting used to having his senses sorted out again and that wasn't helping anything.
"Now. You wanna get outta here before they wake up? Or d'you wanna go for round two?"
🍻-- Bars were basically a staple at this point for Logan. Not really for the drink, though he liked it well enough when it was good, but the intel and the people watching were always a show and a half. Good way to get information, that: get 'em drunk and they'll say plenty that they wouldn't sober.
More than that though it was a low-pressure sort of social where he could, typically, be around people without getting heavily involved. ...Even if more encounters than not ended in a bar fight of some sort...
In any case, as of late, he'd been enjoying the ability to actually feel it when he drank. 200-some odd years of having to drink high-proof alcohol for hours on end just to feel even a buzz, but was... almost nice to get on without it. He didn't necessarily want to be drink (he'd learned long ago that that was no way to block out anything), but it wasn't like he'd lie and say he didn't enjoy feeling a bit tipsy or more every now and then over the past while.
At the moment, he'd made his way into a tiny nondescript bar and was slowly nursing a second beer.
🍻-- Logan took a sniff of the air. A daily ritual that had extisted for him long before coming to the Isle. Habits he had picked up from his time in the wilds. A ritual to taste and assess anything that might be coming down the line weather-wise. To see if there was anything that had changed over the night. After all, his sense of smell was difficult to fool.
Something floral. Chemical. Perfume. He could clock it instantly no matter how subtle it was. It made him wrinkle his nose.
He sniffed again, turning to the source.
One door down, a woman in the little yard outside of the townhouse. One of the neighbors. Huh.
Then she looked at him. "Sorry. Didn' mean ta stare."
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Sunflower Festival - Drabble - Gateway Flea Market
🍻-- The market and piqued his interest previously, but he hadn't really gone to take a good look at it yet. Now with all the buzz of stalls and wares from beyond this place (as well as specialties that could only be found at this festival or time of year) he was even more interested. Maybe he could find something from home. Maybe something of his own or something of someone else's. He didn't know how much he trusted those rumors, but, well, it couldn't hurt to take a look. Nothing better to do anyways.
It reminded him a bit of the hawker stalls in Madripoor. At least here he didn't need his Patch persona to get around and haggle. And there was probably less chance of getting caught up in the criminal underbelly of the city. Not that that had meant much in Madripoor considering that the whole island was a criminal haven. In any case the market was full of stalls and tents and wares. It was practically a maze. But far from the lawless concrete jungle of Madripoor.
Logan meandered and peered at things, asking prices here and there as he wandered the tent and maze of stalls and booths. He cautiously sniffed at aromatics and spices. Took a free sample when something seemed especially good. More than once or twice he thought he spotted something he recognized. Some manifesto, a small trinket he knew belonged to someone back home. Hell, he was certain he'd seen some bit of a Sentinel sitting around - that was a little more difficult to tell though. He was also certain that he had seen one of Itsu's combs, One of her kimono's…
As he was inspecting that avenue though and trying to determine if it wasn't just some coincidence, something else got his attention. A little pocket knife, a razor really, that sat nearby.
He recognized that knife… Little engravings. A fancy and worn J.H. along the dark wooden handle. It was nearly faded with the age and use of it, but it was still there. Faintly.
Logan reached out and picked it up slowly, flicked the blade out with a practiced swish of his wrist. It popped open easy enough. A whole hell of a lot easier than he'd thought it would. It also looked used but not… ancient the way he'd expected. It wasn't dull either. Still had a nice shine and seemed almost as if it had been recently taken care of.
Logan found himself scoffing just slightly. Not a bad noise. More mystified. Of all things, he hadn't expected this. He could still remember the way that his father, John Howlett, had used that very blade to cut his cigars. And shave his face. And peel or cut fruit. A real multi-purpose thing this had been. John had always taken good care of it and made a point to tell Logan when he was young that 'a man must to put effort into maintaining the things he cares about'. Appearance and appliances both.
…Fleeing the estate hadn't allowed him time to gather any mementos. Shortly after his memories had blurred and become lost to him as his healing factor wrote over the trauma of it all. It had been long too late by the time he chose to visit the Howlett estate again nearly two centuries later. It had been done away with, rotted and bulldozed to make way for modern land developments as Cold Lake grew.
Logan tucked the razor back in and held it carefully.
Tl;dr: Base Logan = man with animalistic tendencies and conflicting instincts but functions in human society
Feral Logan = survival instinct slides to base animal instinct, often punctuated by running off to live in the wild, tends to serve the same mental purpose as an average person withdrawing during a difficult time in their life (feral state often follows tragedy or betrayal, generally poses no danger unless he thinks you're a threat)
Berserker Rage / Berserker Logan = blackout murder spree where he does not remember how he got from A to B (usually triggered by watching someone he loves get hurt or triggers like a panic attack , he wants to kill you and will not stop until he does)
Broadly speaking, Logan has two pretty distinct states of that he can enter depending upon the situation he finds himself in: feral Logan, and berserker rage. These two mental states can appear similar, but they are very much not. Both stem from his X-Gene mutation:
At it's most base level, Logan's mutation is classified as "feral" and grants him animal qualities. This is then combined with his healing factor and claws. His base mutation, however, is the type that "evolves" - as in it will eventually, almost inevitably, reduce him to an animal state mentally. This escalation is partial curbed by the heavy metal poisoning from his Adamantium skeleton. It keeps his both his healing factor working overtime and suppresses his mutation. Once, when stripped of his Adamantium skeleton by Magneto, he immediately entered that suppressed animal state and his healing factor spiked in its effectiveness.
Typically speaking, Logan is simply a man with animalistic tendencies, but he overall functions in human society more or less just fine.
Feral Logan
When feral, Logan has given in to his animal instincts, allowing them the take the wheel. Typically, this state manifests in the face of tragedy such as the death of a loved one or a major betrayal. The feral state acts like a defense mechanism, a shield similar to how some people may shut down when they hit an emotional wall. In his case, Logan will hit an overwhelming emotional wall and choose to isolate.
Being human is too dangerous so he'll run to the wood, commune with the animals he feels most comfortable with. He will usually remain in this state until he either works himself out of it, or, in more serious cases, is snapped out of it by outside forces. During these times, he usually finds a wolf pack to join and lives with them, hunting with and protecting the pack - nurturing them to make himself feel better.
Logan can get himself out of the feral state, usually, but often chooses not to because he enjoys being around wolves. It's important to note that in this feral state he does not randomly attack people. In this state, he also retains both his combat ability(1), and his desire to help(2). Feral stints, however, can also go on for so long that Logan may forget what speech is (such as needing to re-learn speech after the years long torture of Weapon X and his following feral period).
Logan is still fundamentally himself.
(1)He has been thrown into the Danger Room in a feral state before to test how far he degraded mentally and they discovered that he was still an expert combatant
(2)There are numerous instances of him coming across someone injured or in danger while in this feral state and he still helps them out even if he's operating on a different set of instincts and understanding
Berserker Rage / Berserker Logan
This is slightly more of a "what you get what it says on the tin" case. In this case, it is usually triggered by seeing someone he loves in mortal danger, but it can also be triggered like a panic attack response. He can also lapse in his control and it takes over that way. It's the sort of state he was put in during his time with Weapon X.
Typically a berserker rage will fade on its own, and there are ways that Logan can snap himself out of it (such as thinking about something good, whatever helps soothe the anger). However, sometimes, it may require him meditation of days of telepathic interference. And in this state, unlike when he's feral, he does not remember anything about what happens while he's in that state. It's raw blood lust.
A complete blackout.
In a berserker state, much as the name and all its connotations implies, Logan does not feel pain no matter how he's injured. He will simply push through whatever is happening to him until it all catches up with him and he collapses. It's pure adrenaline and a loss of all touch with his human side.
He has a target that he wants to kill and he won't stop until he's done it.
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🍻-- He had been wandering the archives for what was most certainly far too long trying to figure out where the book went back to. By this point he was getting fed up. He'd thought it would've been simple to remember where he'd gotten this from... Was the age really getting to him without his healing factor there to offset things? The same way the Adamantium now needed to be counteracted by medication. On second thought, this was hardly his fault. The library was damn big and had way too many books packed into each floor to be reasonable.
Logan looked up when someone spoke. Down one of the aisles. What did this guy want? - He knew that he was on edge from being dragged into this situation.
The frustration was smoothed as he was told that the book he held belonged there. He looked down to it, and his brows raised high.
He was going to be cordial when the second half of the statement, however, caught him. He paused as he was about to put it back. Logan's head tilted up. His expression grew even more soured. He knew that he should play nice and that he shouldn't really be picking fights where he didn't know what people were capable of and where he didn't have any sort of field advantage (Not that he needed it or cared. He was used to being at a disadvantage). But now he was actually offended, and he shoved the book none-too-carefully back into the spot that had been pointed out. The guy spoke as if he were personally messing up the book orders on purpose. (It crossed his mind that maybe he should just for the sake of it. Right in front of this guy too). He glowered up at the man who quite literally looked down his nose at him. "Thanks."
However... being told that he wouldn't be leaving soon was unsettling to say the least. It was enough for him to eye the other man when he was just going to leave. "And what do you know about that?"
Maybe he wasn't shaking people down for information the way he'd usually do, but he would still take the chance to ask where he could. Even if this guy had already rubbed him the wrong way.
myst stares , dipping his brows a margin lower at the sight of books forced out of their ORDER by the man's frustration. a neat line unceremoniously set to disarray. chaos. in it , there is a brief wonder over what had went wrong to provoke such a reaction — was it something he had said ??
he could ask , perhaps. people become so easily distraught over very little , after all. ALAS. the thought becomes eclipsed by a different query , and it settles a cold blankness over his expression like first snow. a blink , then another.
" what do i know about . . . WHAT ? " myst finally returns , bringing the tome in his hand to a close. " about souls ? about the fact that YOU are an island resident ? i suppose it doesn't matter in the end. "
he's said far too much. knowing this , the abbadon heaves a sigh.
" — think of this as . . . AN ACT, and you are one of its many players on the stage. an actor abruptly leaving mid-play is unthinkable , no ? "
🍻-- Logan took, perhaps crassly, to leaning against one of the shelves with his arms crossed tight over his chest. He looked at the other man. Then he snorted.
So this guy play dumb, wold he? Acting like he didn't know exactly what Logan was talking about. He was already irritated with all of this, wishing he had his claws. He hated feeling them under his skin but not being able to pop them out.
"About not leaving soon. The 'island resident' junk. You're sayin' it's like a play... Pretty terrible play if you ask me." He was more upset by the fact that he'd recently learnt that many had been here for years with no sign of getting back to where they came from. Just... acclimating to being trapped... Personally, Logan didn't do well with feeling stuck and trapped. At least there was some nature he could go out into when he felt the need - he also disliked the fact that he'd somehow been stripped of everything that was, more or less, a comfort to him. Turned into a human. He didn't like it. Not one bit.
He'd never really been a mutant who was concerned with how far he 'drifted' from humanity. He'd made a sort of peace with all of it ages ago. Tried to live with it. Work with it.
"So what're the people in charge here playin' at? Some 'chosen one' bullshit?"
