[incomplete]
Who: Logan and whoever. [OPEN]
When: This evening
Where: In town, random locations
Rating: TBA?
Warnings: Possible violence/profanities/stabbities, if something goes awry.
Summary: Logan does his best to "lay low", as Hojo told him to. Jenovafied weird!Logan finds this very, very difficult, though. D:
He'd lied, of course.
The previous night, Logan had expressed every intention via the terminals that he was, most definitely, returning home later in the hours to be with his surrogate family, aiming to pacify both Jean and his not-quite-daughter. Quite unbeknownst to them, he was merely coaxing the duo into leaving him be. Every reassurance was a word spoken in black, as the mutant stewed with a duality within himself for what the "right" thing to do was, in his case. Something innate swore to him that going to Jean was the only option-- she'd fix whatever was going on. The red-head had a defined advantage insofar as mending small tragedies in his life, consistently proving to him that she'd always be there. She'd know what to do, or try to know. She'd help, if she could. She was love incarnate. She was to be trusted.
Something much more -- eerily more -- deep-rooted, foreign yet comforting, jarring yet serene, told him to leave things just as they were. That latter presence was the one he knew as Jenova. Simple, that. She was clear. Unwavering. She was truth.
But anyway, back to killing dragons...
Hojo's instructions to the leather-clad man had been rather straightforward-- protect GLaDOS, lay low, and other stuff pertaining to allegiances and things of the sort. All good stuff, and happily easy to adhere to, and act on. Logan had visited the warehouse again, the first time since being infected ((such a harsh word, really)), simply to ensure everything was left as he felt it should be, machines whirring contentedly, and the building's purpose left blatantly inconspicuous to anyone passing by. Making calculated circuits throughout the main avenues and alleyways within a fifteen block radius of the place, he'd made pleasurable work of stalking Purgatorium's wandering, unnatural creatures, and gutting them. Joy.
The dragons had proven a miserable match at first, decidedly irritated with the man's initial clawings and singeing him with flurries of heated breath; a mythological beast's way of saying "Alright, no.". He'd lost most of his hair thanks to a rather touchy purple one, eyebrows and lashes blown clear off, growing back again to their pre-flamed state within the eight minutes following. By then, the damnable thing lay slopped about in scattered chunks throughout the street, bone and intestine and muscle creating a grim mosaic on the pavement, accentuated here and there with a vital organ or two, the head perched lovingly atop an obviously unlit lamp post. Why would the gods adorn the streetsides with lamp posts in a place with no electricity? He figured it must have something to do with acting as makeshift pikes... there was no other explanation.
For the most part, the area was secure. Now to spend all evening ensuring that, over and over and over again. Thank the gods for expendable targets, or he might be in trouble...
When: This evening
Where: In town, random locations
Rating: TBA?
Warnings: Possible violence/profanities/stabbities, if something goes awry.
Summary: Logan does his best to "lay low", as Hojo told him to. Jenovafied weird!Logan finds this very, very difficult, though. D:
He'd lied, of course.
The previous night, Logan had expressed every intention via the terminals that he was, most definitely, returning home later in the hours to be with his surrogate family, aiming to pacify both Jean and his not-quite-daughter. Quite unbeknownst to them, he was merely coaxing the duo into leaving him be. Every reassurance was a word spoken in black, as the mutant stewed with a duality within himself for what the "right" thing to do was, in his case. Something innate swore to him that going to Jean was the only option-- she'd fix whatever was going on. The red-head had a defined advantage insofar as mending small tragedies in his life, consistently proving to him that she'd always be there. She'd know what to do, or try to know. She'd help, if she could. She was love incarnate. She was to be trusted.
Something much more -- eerily more -- deep-rooted, foreign yet comforting, jarring yet serene, told him to leave things just as they were. That latter presence was the one he knew as Jenova. Simple, that. She was clear. Unwavering. She was truth.
But anyway, back to killing dragons...
Hojo's instructions to the leather-clad man had been rather straightforward-- protect GLaDOS, lay low, and other stuff pertaining to allegiances and things of the sort. All good stuff, and happily easy to adhere to, and act on. Logan had visited the warehouse again, the first time since being infected ((such a harsh word, really)), simply to ensure everything was left as he felt it should be, machines whirring contentedly, and the building's purpose left blatantly inconspicuous to anyone passing by. Making calculated circuits throughout the main avenues and alleyways within a fifteen block radius of the place, he'd made pleasurable work of stalking Purgatorium's wandering, unnatural creatures, and gutting them. Joy.
The dragons had proven a miserable match at first, decidedly irritated with the man's initial clawings and singeing him with flurries of heated breath; a mythological beast's way of saying "Alright, no.". He'd lost most of his hair thanks to a rather touchy purple one, eyebrows and lashes blown clear off, growing back again to their pre-flamed state within the eight minutes following. By then, the damnable thing lay slopped about in scattered chunks throughout the street, bone and intestine and muscle creating a grim mosaic on the pavement, accentuated here and there with a vital organ or two, the head perched lovingly atop an obviously unlit lamp post. Why would the gods adorn the streetsides with lamp posts in a place with no electricity? He figured it must have something to do with acting as makeshift pikes... there was no other explanation.
For the most part, the area was secure. Now to spend all evening ensuring that, over and over and over again. Thank the gods for expendable targets, or he might be in trouble...