6 - [Action]

[snikting]

The mission was a bust. Logan was steamed. Sure, the nature hike in and around the jungle had been fine. The soldiers weren't a bad bunch, either. He made some friends from the other enclosures, as well. But they had one skirmish. One. Damn. Skirmish. The soldiers picked them off with their guns before they even got close enough for Logan to join the fray. That had been his entire week. Patrol duty. For nothing. When they gave him his orders to head back to Luceti, he punched a hole in the nearest tree. Which is why when he got into Luceti, all he had to show for his trip was a blood-stained but completely healed right hand.

In the X-House, he ends up greeted by birthday well wishes from his teammates. A birthday announced by some meddlesome kid. It was a day he'd never shared with his team because it didn't have any kind of associations he could be happy about. If he'd been mad before, he's livid now. He'd been nearly forgotten the occasion, except for that lingering instinct of awaiting Sabertooth to ambush him in the jungle at any moment. Hell, he'd have been glad if he did. The fight would've done him good. So upon seeing cake and ice cream waiting for him, Logan snarls, turns right around, and leaves. His intent is to go into the bar, order as much booze as he can, and then go sit somewhere quiet and drink as much as he can.

When he's got enough booze in him, he decides to get some action of his own. Which is why he spends the twilight hours in the forest, searching out that wolf god everyone's talked about before. He figures either she'll give him some satisfaction of drawing out his primal instincts or, at the very least, give him one hell of a fight.

But eventually, as the morning hours settle in, he writes a short note in the journals he won't be answering. But his nose has made one conclusion.

[Written]

the wolf god is long gone

((ooc: To sum it up, Logan will arrive at home, be steamed at the birthday shenanigans, and make himself scarce. He'll make a very brief stop at the bar before confining himself to the top of Building 1 to drink his way through a twenty-four pack of booze. After that, he'll be in the forest and unstable, tracking down an elusive scent.

He won't respond to the journal.))

Comments

[herotypical]

She remembered the last time she'd tried to impose her will on the man. And she remembered that bar brawl he'd gotten into. And, even still, she moved to put herself between him and the back room.

"You mean...you're here to ask nicely for a case."

[snikting]

He snarled. "Get out of the way. I'm in no mood to play nice today."

He continued to approach until there was less than a foot between them.

[herotypical]

She glanced upwards.

"...As if you have the sole patent on non-nice moods. What gives your mood any more right not to not play nice than mine, huh?"

[snikting]

"Because I ain't concerned with property damage."

The threat had an obvious meaning. But he'd restrained himself from popping out his claws just yet.

[herotypical]

Ugh. Property damage. Yes, it was absolutely one of her pet peeves. This showed in the hardening of her jaw and the wrinkling of her nose. But an even greater pet peeve was letting stoic bullies have their way. And so: "You've been around this place long enough to realize that property damage ain't much of a big deal, here. A temporary headache, at best."

After all, certain integral parts of the bar had indeed mended themselves after this same brute's oh-so-rude brawl the other week.

[snikting]

"Then I'll put it this way, simple, since you seem to have trouble listening. Either you let me through now or I carve a new door way instead."

There was the claws. They slid out, all at once, as he leveled his threat at the wall.

[herotypical]

"Why can't you just tell me what you want, and I'll go get it? What's so impossible about that? Boundaries, y'know, are here to be respected."

Her arms remained crossed. Do your worst, wall-wrecker. Or, y'know, be decent.

[snikting]

He growled, but he relented. Retracting his claws.

"A case. Cans." He paused, then glanced over his shoulder at the bottle she poured already. "That stuff."

[herotypical]

...Under circumstances such as these, she decided she could do without the common courtesy of a 'please'. Next time, though. Next time. And so, Buffy relented -- but with a warning: "I'm not convinced we have cans left. But if we do? You got'em."

The bartender disappeared into the hallowed grounds of the back room.

[snikting]

He was a fit to be tied still, but he was as patient as he could be. Arms crossed, sometimes growling under his breath. The truth of it was, he'd have preferred more of a conflict. He'd just wished it would have come from someone else. He didn't want to go roughing up some mouthy little girl.

[herotypical]

...After almost a minute, she returned sporting a dark green cardboard case in her arm. Its hops-and-aluminium contents clattered dully with each step. Buffy, on the other hand, was happier without the fight. She never minded a smackdown but she rarely went looking for one. At least not with people who weren't direct threats or enemies. For this reason, she missed Spike. And Faith. Two people she could have counted on to indulge a tangle here or there. All strictly business, of course.

"There," she said as she held the box out for the man who was (refreshingly) about her height. "Try not to burn through it too fast. We're not a bottomless pit, here."

[snikting]

He accepted the case and held it up as if to ensure it was all actually there. He gave her a suspicious look over before nodding. He turned to leave. He'd just as soon not say anything, but he's able to muster some sort of gratitude.

"Yeah, I hear ya."

Some sort, anyway.

[herotypical]

And with no reason to hold him back, she watched him leave. The guy was a bit of a downer, no doubt. But Buffy knew he had associates in town and -- somewhere -- she had something of a soft spot for the stern and quiet ones.

Either way, she offered him a sarcastic little salute on his way out.