9349/No visitors

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No visitors
Date of Scene: 28 September 2019
Location: Campsites - Breakstone Lake
Synopsis: Logan and Shannon discuss life, recent events, and the darkness and light everyone has within them--all over the gruesome task of skinning and butchering a deer.
Cast of Characters: Nightingale, Wolverine




Nightingale has posed:
     It was with no small amount of relief that a certain winged teen hurried out of the mansion and took to the air, stretching her wings fully for the first time in well over a week. It felt good to be flying again, with the wind cooling Shannon's flaming face to a tolerable degree. There were other things to turn her focus towards now, and she had to get her head in the game. Her path through the air took her towards the lake, and the woods just beyond, a spot she had only come to once before. This time, though, she's understandably cautious, hovering near the edge of the woods, taking a moment to look around. She'd not forgotten that her friend and mentor had found out the hard way that being a pincushion was no fun, and was not keen on meeting a similar fate.

Wolverine has posed:
It isn't hard to find Logan out here. Mostly because he isn't trying to hide. If he were, it may be an entirely different story. Instead, he stands by the campsites - themselves encircled by trees and down a trail from his cabin - and stands over ... something.

Looking closer, it appears to be a carcass. Bloodied and skinned. A deer by the look of it. His forearms and hands are caked in drying blood and earth, a bone-handled blade in his hand working to separate skin from sinew with a busy grunt. He doesn't so much as lift his head as Shannon soars overhead.

Nightingale has posed:
     Well! That was a messy business. While it looked as if Logan had matters well in hand, Shannon landed nearby; the rustle of leaves beneath her feet and a woosh of wind from her wings alerted the surly Canadian to her presence. "Need a hand with that?" While she's clean as a whistle, it seems she's not afraid to get a little messy if need be. A ghost of a smile curls her lips upwards as she looks on,

Wolverine has posed:
"Not really," Logan grunts at her over his shoulder, the grisly sound of skin being torn away filling the air, "You'd make a mess a' yerself, anyway."

He pauses for a second, looking at the deer carcass with a wry smile, "'Sides, I reckon this one's prob'ly a bit past yer help at this point. Whatcha doin' out here, darlin'?"

Nightingale has posed:
     "And you think I'm afraid of a little mess?" Really, did she seem all that delicate? Well, perhaps in comparison to Logan, Shannon -was- a little wisp of a thing. However, if he were to glance in her direction, his advice on their last meeting appears to have been put to good use. While the change isn't drastic, she definitely seems a bit more toned.

     She shakes her head slightly, a short laugh escaping her as she crouches down next to the carcass. "Figured it was long past time to come back out this way. First it was your turn to be a pincushion, then mine."

Wolverine has posed:
"Didn't say that," Logan tells her pointedly, "Don't go takin' offense t' things that weren't meant t' offend. Life's exhaustin' enough without fightin' fights y'didn't need t' fight."

He continues skinning the deer, still keeping his attention on what he's doing. For all the violence of the act, he seems to pay the slain creature a great deal of respect with each motion. He momentarily mutters something in a language that certainly isn't English, but sounds as though it might be of Native American origin. Once that's said, he glances back at Shannon once more.

"Saw what y' did fer Kitty. Grateful fer that."

Nightingale has posed:
     A light blush creeps into Shannon's cheeks, so recently cooled from her thorough embarrassment on the flight out to the woods. She's silent, not replying, but only listening to that strange language. It was not one she could remember ever hearing, but the intent was clear. It had almost a musical quality all its own, and hearing it made her smile a little bit.

     "It was nothing. Would've done the same for any of you. Or most anyone who needed the help." There's no small amount of tension in her voice, but she's working on keeping her expression a bit more relaxed.

Wolverine has posed:
"I know that," Logan nods once more, raising a forearm to wipe sweat from his brow and leaving a trail of blood behind it, "Can't help but get yerself in the thick of things, soakin' up people's injuries for 'em. That's who you are, much as folks prob'ly keep tellin' you t'keep yer head down and not get involved. But that's about as easy as not breathin' or not flyin', I'd wager."

He rests back on his haunches for a moment, the bone-handled knife dangling between his fingers, "Those sentinels came outta nowhere. Didn't even notice them comin'. Just ... there all of a sudden."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles a bit ruefully, inclining her head towards Logan, tucking a wisp of pale gold away behind her ear. "Maybe so. But you were right, when you came to see me in the medbay the last time. I've got to be able to say no sometimes." She takes a deep breath, and lets out a sigh of relief, a great deal of tension she hadn't realized was there melting away. Things were plain and simple out here. It was small wonder this was his home and refuge. She spreads her wings slightly, leaning back against a nearby tree--a maple, by the splashes of blazing orange dotting the leaves above, and the ones falling to the ground. "At least I managed to talk the other healer into staying put. So that'll be a big help. Yeah, there's doctors and stuff, but still... there were times it felt like going it alone."

The young woman just falls silent to listen, her brows furrowing with concern. "Things happened pretty quick for all of us there, I think. But we all did the best we could, and we all got out alive. That counts for something."

Wolverine has posed:
"Guess so," Logan answers with a shrug of his shoulders, yanking something free from the carcass with a grisly cracking noise and not so much as a flinch, "Don't s'pose it matters too much now. Sentinels're gone, their leader - whatever the hell he was - dead, too. Soon enough they'll be movin' on to their next weapon t'make 'em feel safe. Best to be ready fer that."

He pauses for a moment, resting back on the heels of his boots and placing his palms on his thighs. He's bright red up to the elbows, and he leaves similarly red handprints behind on the denim.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon grimaces slightly, but her gaze has shifted back towards the mansion. "I hope they haven't already." Her voice has gone slightly grim, and she shifts her weight a little bit, with the rustling of leaves crackling beneath her feet. Silence reigns for a few moments, as she chews her lower lip, considering just how to say what needs must come next. Trying to pussyfoot around things had never seemed to go over well with her mentor, so it seemed to make little sense to try it now.

"A couple days ago, there was an attack, down by the western wall of the gardens. Some really strange, metallic-looking, lizard-like creature busted in, and a woman who had a grenade launcher. She fired off a few rounds that had some sort of chemical that was meant to set Laura off." She grimaces, rolling her ankles a bit, as if to test and make sure they still worked. "Sam Morgan got the launcher away from her, and I did a flying drop-kick on her that my ankles and right leg did -not- thank me for. Andrea ripped that lizard-thing apart and Triage had a time of it healing her. I wasn't in the medbay long, but Andrea got stuck in there overnight."

Wolverine has posed:
"Sounds like y' need t' strengthen those leg muscles," Logan suggests, apparently glossing over the news about the attack for a moment, "Runnin' with ankle weights, I think. Ain't the slim, twig look the frails go in fer these days but if yer gonna be finishin' fights yer gonna need a couple a' legs you can crack walnuts between yer knees."

He continues to work the bone knife between the skin and flesh, peeling it away with an organic, tearing sound as he goes.

"How is Laura?" he asks after a moment, it's no secret that the young woman is his daughter in a manner of speaking.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly. "I'll add that in. Been running a few miles every morning for a while now, but time to up the game a little bit." The talk of a look boys go for these days actually brings a short, almost bitter laugh. "No luck in that department, but at least I'll be alive to try again." Oh, my. The joys of growing up.

Her smile, when it returns, is a bit more relaxed, and she runs her fingers through her hair. "Well, Cannonball had to knock her out with a nice little dive-bomb into the ground, but the last I saw her in the medbay, she was just unconscious. If she heals anywhere near as quick as you do, my guess would be she's okay. But I can make a point of looking in on her if you like." She shrugs a little, and smiles a little bit more. "If it helps any, I didn't see her in the medbay the next morning, when I went to look in on Andrea."

Wolverine has posed:
Logan frowns, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing. Something has annoyed him, no doubt, and it shows in the way he suddenly tenses. But then it's buried, and he once more appears as calm as ever - if not a little more gruff than usual. He gestures behind him at Shannon, signaling her over.

"Get over here an' help me with this," he says curtly, pointing at one of the folds of skin that he has peeled back from the carcass, "Get a hold on that an' pull."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly and pushes away from the tree, moving around to crouch down on the other side of the carcass. She doesn't even flinch when she curls her fingers into the grisly mess, gripping the hide, with blood now staining her hands as well. Her grip is firm, but relaxed, definitely not enough to make her knuckles go white. She pulls back against nature's inclination to keep skin and flesh joined to one another, straining the connection of tissue to the surprisingly tough hide.

She wasn't oblivious to that frown, her own brows furrowing with concern. Had she said something wrong? No, if she was the target of his momentary ire, she would not be here right now, let alone working with him to finish the gruesome task before them both.

Wolverine has posed:
Logan's senses are sharp. So much so, that it can often seem as though he is reading thoughts when in truth he is hearing, smelling, and seeing subtle shifts that most people presume are invisible. He shakes his head, grunting as he yanks some of the flesh away from the carcass with practiced ease.

"Laura an' I," he begins, slow to come to the words, "we both come from a place that wanted t' use people like us. Experimented on us t' make us weapons. It ain't my place t' talk about how she feels about it, but me? It makes me raw ... "

As though adding emphasis to the last word, he yanks the skin free hard enough that the whole carcass shakes violently.

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon nods slowly, pulling back on the skin in her grasp hard enough to yank some of it free; it looks for a moment as if she might lose her footing, but she regains her balance, shifting her feet a little bit to compensate. "Either we seem to be seen as weapons, or otherwise as -things- to be used, in some fashion or other. Pisses me off. I don't know Laura really well, mostly just in passing. But the fact that first Loki pulled his bullshit on me... and then Laura is targeted by a completely unrelated attack... WHY?" Her grip on the hide tightens, her knuckles starting to go pale at this point as frustration she's held back begins to bubble to the surface. She pulls back on the hide again, the connective membranes and tissue giving way a bit more. "The more I see... the more I want to fight against it."

Wolverine has posed:
"Don't go askin' the why and wherefore of it all," Logan answers, his voice low and quiet, "I've seen two world wars. Dozen other 'lesser' ones. I never stopped wonderin' at the kind of hate these people can show. Just when y' think they've plumbed the depths a' depravity they show y' more."

He shakes his head, reaching out to hold the carcass steady as he severs the connective tissues that keep the skin in place so Shannon can have an easier time pulling it away.

"People've got a dark heart. Don't matter if they're mutants or not. If yer lookin' fer 'why?' Best answer I can give is just ... 'cause."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon pulls on the skin again, the severance of the connective tissues indeed making the task easier. She shifts to using a more gradual pull on the hide, instead of yanking it, keeping her crouching stance as steady and solid as possible. She flashes the gruff, pensive man a grateful smile, adjusting her grip as more and more of the hide pulls free.

"Yeah," she murmurs, her voice just as quiet, just as thoughtful. "I'm starting to see some of that too. But it's not all I'm seeing. I've seen plenty who are still willing to reach out, and try to hold on to what light there still is. Sam Morgan... miss Munroe... Mr. McCoy... Cannonball... so many others."

The young mutant's smile widens, and she lifts her chin a notch towards Logan. "And you, too. You could be hiding yourself away out here, pretty much saying 'fuck it all, I'm done'. But you're not. When I asked if you were willing to take me on, you could've said, 'Beat it, kid'. But you didn't. That counts for more than you realize, and it means a lot to me."

Wolverine has posed:
"I might still tell ya t'beat it," Logan warns, although there's not much sincerity in the words to suggest he'd consider that, "If y'ain't careful."

But slowly he rises to his feet, waving Shannon away as the skin is finally cut loose. He rolls it up over his knee, binding it tight together into a roll and shoving it into the girl's hands. No care given for her clothes or any blood it may leave on them. That done, he hefts the skinned deer carcass up over one shoulder and turns slightly.

"Now, figure I'm gonna butcher this an' yer gonna help me."

Nightingale has posed:
Shannon smiles with surprising warmth, even as the bloody, rolled-up hide is thrust into her arms. Yeah. There was going to be no salvaging that t-shirt, and it was going to take a few washings to get the blood out of her jeans. "Hey now, I'm doing my best to stay out of the medbay. Let the other healer take up some of the slack for a while." She hefts the hide over her left shoulder, balancing it there; oddly enough, the blood doesn't seem to stick to her wings, or otherwise stain her feathers.

"Don't know a thing about butchering. But I'm not afraid of trying." Indeed, what could it hurt to try something new? There had been surprising nuggets of wisdom to be gleaned from these talks with Logan so far. Something told her that this would be no different. The prospect of it made her smile.

"I can definitely see why you like it out here. Simple, quiet, things actually make sense for a little while."