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Post by Panthera on Oct 2, 2010 11:23:56 GMT -4
Good, I just learned to hide my fear with pheromones. Go me.
Logan was definitely having an identity crisis or an ego problem. Sam wanted to recall if he normally acted like this or was he possibly infected with some virus. She tried to remember without making it obvious. If they had done “it”, wouldn’t she have really remembered it? Maybe HE was that bad and it was so traumatizing she didn’t want to remember it. But the scent, the one emitting off him was so intoxicating, so intriguing. Samantha knew that every scent she ever came in contact with always stayed fresh in her mind. Did someone erase these scents?
“You’ve been hanging around Bobby too long”, came out. The feline attempted to keep the flirtation disguise up allowing her anger to overcome the fear. This battle was giving her headache, or maybe it was the beer. Maybe she really did need a good…..
She looked down at the hand on her knee and back into his eyes. He was playing with her. Ok, two can play this game. Leaning in, she replied giving him a small purr, “hope you brought enough cash, because you’ll need more than an hour with me….bub.”
Where the hell did that come from.
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Post by Creed on Oct 4, 2010 23:56:05 GMT -4
Villain. Hero. Predator. Lackey. Soldier. Mercenary. Murderer.
Father? Lover? Caterer? Freedom Fighter?
Victor Creed's mind was a shifting, vicious landscape of broken and jagged shards that ripped painful, bloody pieces of hallucinations, implanted memories, recollections from what was long ago. From what never was. From what might have been. Of what might yet be.
Torn from the core of his being. Reassembled. Torn again.
You couldn't really call it a soul. Not any more. Maybe never. And Creed couldn't care less. He was a fast healer. He just couldn't tell what was real. Any more. Any less. If he had ever cared to know, that was a different Creed. A different time. A different life.
And none of them mattered. Not those lives. Not this one. Not his. Not anyone else's. How could they? He died. He killed. He grieved. He laughed. Sooner or later, it all came around again. Hallucination. Memory. Fact. Fiction.
What's the difference?
Who cares?
Chumps, that's who. Pain and hate and blood and guts. These were the constants. The things Creed could trust. There were other constants, too.
Beer.
And that damn Wolverine.
Long as he could remember, if he really did. Didn't matter. Chump would show up again sooner or later.
And so Creed could not have been less surprised as he strode into yet another forgettable bar and found the same familiar stench invading his personal space. Time enough to rip flesh later. Creed needed a drink more than a fight.
He didn't have to look to be far more aware of the midget and every other stinking piece of meat in the place than he ever wanted to be. He scowled as he waded past all of them and found a place open at the bar.
"Beer", he demanded as he sat and threw bills at the bartender. He got what he asked for.
Creed drank it.
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Post by Logan on Oct 5, 2010 9:29:57 GMT -4
Things were getting pretty interesting. Long as he was going to hang around at this school and try to figure things out he might as well have a little fun, and this one seemed like she might just be what he needed to take his mind off of-
The door slammed open and someone else entered the bar. With the inrush of air came a scent so powerful that once again Logan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight out on end. His hand still on her knee, he turned his head as a large figure walked past him. Logan could tell by the stride and just with one sidelong glance that this was someone who knew how to handle himself.
With narrowed eyes he studied the profile of the man with a detached feeling that he’d seen that ugly mug somewhere before…
He shook his head while the man behind the bar scrambled to pick up the bills that had been thrown at him. Sliding his hand off of her knee with deliberate slowness, Logan kicked back against the bar a little, putting a booted foot on her stool as he fished out a cigar. His eyes were on her, but he was watching him.
“Pretty sure of yerself, ain’tcha?”
It was directed at both of them.
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Post by Panthera on Oct 5, 2010 11:02:21 GMT -4
Hormones and pheromones were bouncing off the walls like ping pong balls. The change in atmosphere was unusually calming. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. More familiar feelings and senses began to meld their way around. Were they just a big tease to one another and nothing ever came of it? Or did they both do “it” and just too darn proud to admit to anything?
His hand gracing Sam’s leg was tingling and sensual (at least to her). Hairs on the back of her neck rose, until the door slammed. Her heart nearly skipped a few beats as the large burly figure strolled, no, stormed by. The scent was unbecoming making the feline mutant go from flirt to defensive to scared kitty. But, somehow Logan’s presence was comforting. Could she be safe?
Sam did notice he was somewhat occupied with the new patron, but he kept his demeanor focused on her. Sapphire eyes watched the boot lie rest on the stool. Even her eyes wandered over to check out the huge interruption. She decided to ignore the fear and continue with what was more pleasing. It made more sense and it was definitely less stressful. Samantha glanced back to Logan continuing the flirtation and picked up the third beer. Raising it in a small cheer, she responded a bit sarcastically,
“Touche”.
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Post by Creed on Oct 5, 2010 23:48:27 GMT -4
The midget spoke, but Creed wasn't listening. The scent of the girl, the shifting rhythm of her heartbeat was a whole lot more ....interesting.
It set his hunter's instinct on edge.
Something about her....it wasn't normal. There was something animal about her. Rapidfire images shot across Creed's mind in no particular order.
He was hunting her, laughing at her while she ran for her life. He was slicing open her throat, raking claws across bare flesh. Tasting blood. She stood next to him, arms pulling him close, heart beating not from fear....but from desire...
Hallucinations. Possibilities. Might be. Could be. Will be.
Never be.
All the same.
"Beer", he said again, polishing off the last swallow from the bottle in his hand and looking impatiently for the next. "An' keep 'em comin'", he grumbled.
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Post by Logan on Oct 6, 2010 14:20:22 GMT -4
There was the distinct feeling that Logan was looking at a piece of history. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced back up at the big man and watched him downing beers faster than the nervous bartender could manage to dish them out.
Logan looked back at Sam, not liking the fact that she was positioned between the two of them. He flagged down the bartender and pointed at a bottle of El Cheapo whiskey. He put up three fingers and quickly got three tumblers filled with the amber liquid.
One he slid to Sam. “Hold that thought,” he said to her with a grin. Then he slid the other glass across the polished bar toward the newcomer. It came to a stop right in front of him. He didn’t know why exactly, but it felt like something he’d done a thousand times.
He then took his own glass and held it up in front of Sam. “To…sleazy motels and cheap booze.”
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Post by Panthera on Oct 6, 2010 17:07:52 GMT -4
When the glass went across the counter to the burly figure next to her, Samantha eyes widened slightly. She wasn’t expecting him to just up and buy her a drink let alone a stranger too. Logan’s ability to heal was known in the mansion or maybe it was just something Samantha remembered about him. Why she remembered that fact was beyond her knowledge, she just did. Well, if she was going to find out about cheesy motels with him, better be a little tipsy then scared out of her mind. Right?
The glance to the sailing shot turned back to Logan who lifted his up for a cheer.
Fear arose that this whole thing was building up to be a two on one. Wait a minute, why? His adamantium claws could take down the feline shape shifter in one fell swoop. There would be no need for backup. She glanced slightly over to the very large man and took another deep long swallow. Delicately, Sam raised the small glass and gave her “date” (if that’s what he was now) a weakened smile and cheer.
Politely, she took the shot in one gulp. Her voice was low not knowing if the other man could hear her or not. “Do you know Grizzly Adams over here?”
Oh boy, the alcohol was definitely going to the brain now.
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Post by Creed on Oct 7, 2010 8:44:04 GMT -4
If he was honest about it, Creed wasn't sure if part of the reason he and the shrimp perpetually crossed paths was his own fault... Some subconscious need for revenge or for something real and familiar that drove him to hunt the midget down. He just couldn't reliably say. There were too many possible memories to choose from.
And it could just as easily have been Logan's fault.
Creed just never thought about it much. Either way, it was the same. It pissed him off.
Creed glared at the tumbler of whiskey, trying to figure out what the game was. He decided it didn't matter. He picked it up and downed its contents without a glance at the other two.
“To…sleazy motels and cheap booze.”
"Classy", he mocked. "Y'always did have a way with words, Jimmy."
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Post by Logan on Oct 7, 2010 9:05:24 GMT -4
“Do you know Grizzly Adams over here?”
Logan didn’t bother looking over at him, but just shrugged. “Just bein’ neighborly.” Though he appeared to be at ease as he made his toast and clinked his tumbler against hers, he was anything but. Glancing over the top of his own glass he watched as Grizzly stared at the drink with an unreadable expression before downing the contents.
"Classy. Y'always did have a way with words, Jimmy."
Narrowing his eyes again, Logan glanced at Sam and then stuck his cigar in his mouth. That name. Images flashed through his mind. Dreams of a different life. A different person. Him.
Jimmy.
It was the same as it always was. Bits of something flirting with his consciousness. Taunting him with who he was and where he’d been. Only this time it had a physical face. Logan looked at him directly while he clenched the cigar in his teeth and lit it with a wooden match.
Letting the smoke swirl around his head for a moment, he finally spoke directly. “I know you or somethin’, bub?”
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Post by Panthera on Oct 7, 2010 10:17:37 GMT -4
Tension could be cut with a butter knife, or maybe it was the swirl of smoke around Logan’s head from that foul smelling cigar. Either way, it made the hair on Sam’s neck stand on end. A tingle of trepidation surged up the feline’s spine as they spoke to one another.
Jimmy? Who the heck is Jimmy?
She looked over at Logan and wondered about his past. Maybe his name was Jimmy before and he changed it from bad memories. Then again, maybe Mr. Adams was a psychopath who believed he was Jimmy when in fact his name was Logan. A pinch on the nose tried to relieve the buzz brewing in her brain, but to no avail. No, she needed to just quit drinking liquor for a few and sober up…a little.
No flashbacks came, no feelings, nothing.
She placed a hand on his arm trying to intervene, but it probably would do no good. He was stubborn and from the attitude coming back, Grizzly beat him in that department. “Maybe we should just leave and find that hotel room…to chat.” Sam looked over her shoulder but never made eye contact with the “neighbor”. Eyes returned back to Logan with obvious fear and concern. “We need answers, maybe some fun for once. I don’t think he has either.”
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Post by Creed on Oct 7, 2010 13:38:24 GMT -4
Amber eyes glared through slitted eyelids. Creed considered both of them.
“We need answers...." “I know you or somethin’, bub?”
Though it looked like it fought him, his scowl turned slowly upward into a smile. It didn't make him look any friendlier.
"...'parrantly not...", Creed answered through dagger-like teeth. "...but I know you."
He gave the girl a scan from head to toe, stopping again somewhere around halfway up. Then his eyes followed the tumbler as he set it down noisily onto the bar.
Creed picked up another beer.
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Post by Logan on Oct 7, 2010 14:54:43 GMT -4
He didn’t really expect an answer to his question and didn’t act particularly surprised when he didn’t get one. He knew the answer. Somehow this guy was tied to his past. Funny part was, Logan thought he would have remembered an ugly mug like that one.
Then he looked at the hand on his arm and into Sam’s imploring eyes. It was like she saw a storm coming and was just trying to find some shelter. Her desperation wasn’t lost on him. “Like ya said,” he muttered around the sides of his cigar. “We need answers.” He patted her on the hand. Plenty of time for fooling around later.
The bartender passed by again and Logan flagged him down. Next thing he knew he had a whole bottle of El Cheapo sitting in front of him. He stood up and positioned himself between Sam and the man, taking the time to pour another healthy glass of rot gut in his glass while puffing his cigar to a bright orange glow.
He didn’t ask any of the obvious questions.
Didn’t need to.
“Yer wrong about tha name,” he said without removing the cigar. He squinted his eyes as he looked at him. “You got one?”
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Post by Panthera on Oct 7, 2010 15:09:09 GMT -4
At least his voice showed concern back and the pat was reassuring to her beliefs that maybe something was about to happen. She gave him a smile back, but then he stood up. “What are you….”, she started but didn’t finish as Logan placed himself in between life and death (her's). Deciding it was better to stay quiet, Sam relied on feline abilities to listen without distractions.
With some effort of concentration even if her brain was buzzing, Samantha was able to allow her mind to only hear the conversation between the two. Everyone else’s words and commotion seemed to just slip away. It felt like wearing earphones to a favorite song on an IPod.
She half-expected Grizzly to actually stand up and then see a bear enter the bar. Eyes glanced to the bartender who took notice to the situation. He offered her another beer, but Sam declined mouthing the words “just water”. He nodded and returned shortly with the request. Sam nodded with a smile and waited for all hell to break loose.
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Post by Creed on Oct 7, 2010 18:58:36 GMT -4
“Yer wrong about tha name.” “You got one?”
What kind of a dumb ass question was that? Sittin' on what passed for the midget's brains obviously wasn't making him any smarter.
"Have it yer way, Sport", Creed answered with heavy sarcasm. "Makes no diff'rence ta me."
"Name's 'Creed'", he replied.
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Post by Logan on Oct 8, 2010 10:27:30 GMT -4
“Creed?”
What kind of name was Creed? Sounded like he belonged in a death metal band. Looked like he belonged in a death metal band. And the smell…
Now that he was closer it was something indescribable. He smelled like history. He smelled like death. And Logan knew without any doubt that somehow this was tied to his past. With the smoke burning his eyes, he took out the cigar and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.
In the best of times Logan wasn’t the most patient person in the world. This wasn’t the best of times. It was only unbridled curiosity about his own past that was shrouded from his memory that kept him from opening his mouth with the wrong thing to say. That was becoming more difficult by the second.
He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. If something broke out he was sure he could end it soon enough. This guy didn’t know who he was dealing with.
Or did he?
Either way, he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Whether she was a ‘teammate’ (a concept still foreign to him), a friend (also foreign), a play thing or something more…he felt a certain connection to her that he couldn’t put a finger on. Protective instincts ran high with him anyway, right now they were at their peak.
“Yer a man of few words,” he said as he lifted his own glass to down another shot. He leaned forward, resting his arms tucked in flannel sleeves on the edge of the bar. It was clear that he knew something. Logan wasn’t going to ask again. Not directly.
He put the cigar back in place and poured another shot.
“Where ya from?”
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