20375/Eternal Tea with Dane and Logan

Eternal Tea with Dane and Logan
Date of Scene:	05 April 2025
Location:	Garrett Castle, Washington, DC
Synopsis:	After a lovely cookout, Black Knight impales Wolverine by the pool, while Sersi offers helpful tips.
Cast of Characters:	Dane Whitman, Sersi, Logan Howlett

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Dane Whitman has posed:
In the bright wash of afternoon sunlight, Garrett Castle stands with an austere majesty, its gray stone walls catching the light in sharp contrasts of gold and shadow. The central spire pierces the sky like a lance, framed by a sweep of clouds drifting lazily above. The castle's rooftops, clad in dark slate, glint subtly where the sun strikes them, while the tallest tower casts a long shadow over the tangled greenery below. Ivy clings to the lower walls, waving gently in the breeze, as if the castle itself breathes with the rhythm of the woods surrounding it.

The grounds are wild but not abandoned, more like a place set apart from time. Thick trees ring the castle's edge, their leaves shifting in dappled patterns across the cobbled path that leads to the iron-banded gate. Birds nest in the high alcoves, and wind rustles through arrow slits and broken gargoyles, making music of the stone. Despite the bright day, the structure radiates a quiet intensity, as if it remembers far more than it reveals. Garrett Castle doesn't simply rise from the earth, it endures, standing watch as it always has, in sunlight as in storm.

In the shadow of Garrett Castle's towering stone walls, Dane Whitman stood barefoot on the backyard flagstones, squinting at the old barbecue like it was a battlefield schematic. The sun caught in his tousled black hair, and the sleeves of his Henley were pushed up, revealing forearms that had once held the Ebony Blade, now wielding tongs with cautious determination. He hovered over the grill, poking at a neat row of hot dogs as if they might leap into combat at any moment. Smoke curled upward in lazy spirals, carrying the faint scent of char and mustard through the warm afternoon air.

Behind him, the castle's austere silhouette looked almost surreal next to the shimmering blue of a surprisingly modern in-ground pool. A pair of towels hung over a wrought-iron chair, and someone had left flip-flops under a nearby tree. Dane didn't seem out of place, though, just a knight on his day off, trying to master propane instead of prophecy. The hum of cicadas filled the air, and somewhere off to the side, a Bluetooth speaker was softly playing classic rock. For once, his shoulders were relaxed, the ever-present tension in his eyes softened by sunlight and the smell of grilled food. But even here, in the quiet bubble of summer and sizzle, the weight of the castle, and the legacy behind him, never fully let go.

Sersi has posed:
It was entirely too cold for the pool but never too cold for a cookout. Unless one had a heated pool. In this case, they did. Thus the reason for abandoned flip flops was because Sersi was in the warmth of the pool. She was dressed in a red two-piece bathing suit and floating easily in the water as she watched Dane at the grill.

What was it about cooking with fire that men loved so much? She'd been alive forever and it had always been the same. It was a running joke but it also was very true. Of course not ever man and there were plenty of women that enjoyed it as well but it was never something that appealed to Sersi personally. She loved the results! Nothing quite beat the taste of something cooked on the grill that made it better than something done on the stove or in an oven.

She moved to the edge of the pool, folding her arms there and resting her head atop them.

Logan Howlett has posed:
It's a little under five hours from Westchester County to Washington DC. For those who aren't able to bob and weave through midday traffic, that is. But most people aren't riding a 1981 Low Rider that's been rebuilt... eight times so far. Increasing the diameter of the bores has made for an especially obnoxious amount of noise from a bike that was already notorious for infuriating the residents of quiet Westchester neighborhoods, and scaring the horses in the Morph Memorial Stables.

Wearing a helmet just protective enough to keep him from getting pulled over, Logan steered the bike up the previously serene drive toward Garrett Castle. Cobblestones aren't the most fun to ride over on a two wheeled vehicle with a stiff suspension, but Logan's sitting bones had certainly been through worse. A man less devoid of whimsy might have been tempted to let out a long 'Aaaaah' as he rode up the stone drive, to hear the vibrations in his voice with each bump. But if Logan had ever been a more whimsical man, he certainly couldn't remember it.

The roar of the engine grew quieter, as the feral mutant from Upstate New York brought the vehicle around back, his presence almost assuredly broadcast by now. It can be dangerous to sneak up on sword wielders and spell casters though, so perhaps the obnoxious route was the wiser one after all.

The kickstand was dropped, the bike leaned over, and a pair of western-style boots hit the pavement after an extremely short pair of blue jeans swung over the side of the bike. Beneath a heavily-used leather jacket, a very short, stocky, chode of a man removed his 'barely legal' helmet and shook out an impressive though unusually shaped mane that seemed to have been fighting back against the helmet's repression the entire time. Lighting the cheap cigar clenched in his teeth, Logan took a few steps with just a hint of unsteadiness as he adjusted from riding to walking.

"You know this place don't show up on the GPS? Good thing it's the only castle in this neighborhood..."

He didn't say 'in this country', even though that is also probably a true statement.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane flipped a hot dog with a little too much force. It landed with a sad bounce. The rumble of Logan's bike had been shaking the cobblestones for two solid minutes, loud enough to make the gargoyles wince.

He didn't look up right away. "Subtle as ever," he muttered. "Didn't realize they let tanks on residential roads."

He glanced toward the pool. Sersi was watching him, chin resting on her arms, the faintest smirk playing at her lips. Her red suit gleamed against the blue water like something out of a Renaissance painting, if Renaissance paintings included Bluetooth speakers and half-burned hot dogs. That look told him everything: You're doing that thing where you get annoyed and cute at the same time. He sighed and gave her a quick wink. Fine. He'd play nice.

The grill hissed. Smoke curled up. Dane turned as Logan dismounted, all boots, leather, and 'come at me' energy. Of course.

Turning back to the grill, Dane raised the tongs like a microphone. "Welcome to the American edition of Garrett Castle," he called out. "Slightly less haunted, moderately more propane. We even have a pool now. That's castle number two, if you're counting. Some of us collect red heads, others collect real estate."

He raised the tongs like a sword. "You brought beer, right? Or are you just here to scare the birds again?"

Sersi has posed:
He wasn't subtle. Which was odd because Logan could be quiet as a church mouse when he wanted to be. But this was his norm. Loud and in your face. Thus the motorcycle. Admittedly, Sersi was a little surprised he'd bothered with the helmet. She knew it wasn't because he needed it. His own skull was far harder than that little helmet he'd been wearing. It had to be for reasons that had do with traffic laws. Maybe he had actually wanted to get here without racking up a few hundred dollars in fines over those hours of riding.

"For now. We were thinking of getting a lot down the street and adding another. There just aren't enough castles in the United States sadly. Though there are a few," she added. "Ones not even owned by us."

Us. As though it was her place. Which since she had finally agreed to try that whole living together thing with Dane it maybe was? Though they weren't married. As soon as her mind touched on that thought she moved away from it. Not that she would mind such a step but just moving in had taken her a good two years to agree. She took things slow, wanted to be sure of them, before taking those important steps. In lesser things impulsivity was fine but this was her heart in the works. It deserved time. Though, she had to admit to herself that she sometimes took too much time. She forgot how short the lives were for humans. Two years for her was a blink. For him? A percentage of life he wouldn't be getting back. Hopefully it had been worth the wait.

"The pool is also heated so if you would like, I'm sure Dane has something you could wear to have a nice soak," she offered by invitation. Though she did take a moment to arch a brow at the redhead comment.

Logan Howlett has posed:
To a man so in tune with his senses, Garrett Castle takes a second to process. A sharp contrast between ancient and modern that shouldn't really exist, but the senses don't lie. The smell of moldering leaves and aging wood, the hiss of the meat on the grill. The warmth of the midday sun against the chilly East Coast humidity. The sight of skyscrapers in the distance, above the sort of serene garden where Lancelot might have gotten it on with Guinevere. And there's the smell of familiar people, one of whom was turning the heated pool into a large batch of Sersi Tea.

The chlorine was a bit low. Logan said nothing about it.

"Can't have a cookout without Molson."

Anyone watching might have noted the faint reluctance with which he turned away form that tableau. But the ancient mutant managed to only gawk the appropriate amount of seconds before turning to grab his meager contributions to this little soiree from his saddlebags. The frost on the six packs indicated they were picked up mere moments before, and the race against the environment had now begun. As he walked with a six pack of beer in each hand, it might have seemed that he was a little overly ambitious with the amount of beer for a gathering of this size. But as he began stuffing the beers into the cooler near the grill, twelve suddenly didn't look that impressive.

With a familiar 'SNIKT!' a single claw emerged, easily popping the tops off of four bottles, and leaving one next to the grill master.

He seemed amused by the suggestion of a soak, but as he walked over toward Sersi with three bottles of beer, he didn't seem especially eager to get into the pool. Or to remove his jacket.

Perhaps he was dying again?

"Never been much for swimming trunks. But I don't think this is that kinda cookout."

The last two beers were for him. There's that mystery solved.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane's fingers flexed around the tongs as he lifted the last of the hot dogs off the grill. The sun hung heavy. He turned just enough to catch the tail end of Sersi's words about the other castles. 'Us.' A word that still sounded foreign on his tongue, but not quite as much as it used to.

Logan was at the cooler now, beers in hand, his usual don't-give-a-damn air surrounding him. Dane couldn't help but grin, despite himself. "Oh, yeah. We'll have to get the lawyers on the phone about relocating castles, tariff exempt, I'm sure." He grabbed a pair of yellow Adidas swimming trunks from under a towel, their tag still attached. "Though, if you're planning to soak, these'll work." He tossed them in Logan's direction.

He grabbed a plate and stacked the hot dogs neatly, already dressed with mustard and ketchup, but no onion, and then made his way toward the pool.

"Here," he said, offering one to Sersi with a slight smile, the warmth of the food in contrast to the coolness of the water behind her. "Got you one with all the good stuff."

Sersi has posed:
The beer had been accepted with a smile. "Thank you, Logan." She even took a quick sip of it. "And no, this is not that sort of party. Though I would not be offended." It wasn't like she'd never seen a naked man before.

Then Dane was approaching with the food. She should get out of the pool to eat. It was only proper. "Please set it on the lounger for me? And this with it?" She offered him the beer. Then she pushed back from the edge of the pool and swam toward the ladder. It was that or the opposite end where it was shallow and the steps were located. This would be faster. A climb up the ladder then padding across the surrounding concrete to the lounger in question. She grabbed her towel to dry off a bit then the black sarong laying there was slung around her hips in a skirt style.

"Thank you," she also murmured to Dane as she picked up her plate and sat down to enjoy her meal. Though before she even took a bite, she glanced at Logan. "It's been some time since we we've seen you, Logan. I hope for good reasons." A way to ask for information without actually asking a single question.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Somehow, one of the beers was already gone. But anyone who had spent any time around Logan already knew about his tendency to have a pre-beer beer. It's all the post-beer beers that one has to worry about. If there was any physical penalty to be paid for living each day like Lemmy Kilmister, Logan had yet to begin paying it. The extra carbohydrates helped him lug around a hundred pounds or so of Adamantium, and the alcohol helped keep his liver from getting too bored.

Catching the trunks with his non-beer hand, Logan debated for a moment before setting them to the side. He wasn't an especially shy person, despite being short and covered in more hair than a pawn shop owner with mob ties. Why then the bashfulness, if it could be called such.

"I'd uh..."

A long sip of the Second Beer, as he made his way to the grill. He wasn't an especially reticent sort of person either, but seemed to be weighing a question of propriety. In the wild, such questions were easy to avoid. But here in this bastion of ancient civility...

"I actually had something to show you guys. But probably better to wait until after you've eaten. It's... not a big deal. Just a little gnarly."

Another mystery solved. Apparently he didn't drive nearly five hours from Westchester County in order to have a beer with friends. The other boot was going to drop eventually.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane set the plate on the lounger with a careful hand, the hot dogs gleaming in the afternoon light. He watched Sersi climb out of the pool. There was something effortless about the way she moved, but it only made the tension in his face more apparent. The quick glance she threw Logan's way hadn't gone unnoticed either, she was always able to find the right way to ask without really asking. He'd never quite figured out how she did it, but it usually worked.

As Logan circled the grill with his second beer, Dane leaned against the counter, tongs in hand. "Well, if you change your mind," he said, nodding toward the trucks, "The powder room's available for a quick change. Unless you're both so ancient that you pre-date barns? Wait, you don't, do you?"

He watched Logan sip his beer, face as if there were a ticking bomb. Whatever it was, Dane could already tell this wasn't going to be a simple hangout. It never was with Logan. Something else was coming, and he could feel the shift in the air already.

"Should probably eat first," he agreed. "But hey, whatever it is, I'm sure we can handle it."

Sersi has posed:
"I predate most things," Sersi admitted with a bit of a smile. She'd been alive for millennia. She gave a little apologetic shrug to Dane because that wsa hard to swallow for a lot of people.

But Logan's words brought her back to the conversation at hand and she turned to him with a more serious expression. "If you prefer, we will wait until after lunch." Leaving the ball in his court. After so long, it was hard to really be bothered by much in the way of things. She wasn't one with a weak stomach or the like, even in the worst of times. Probably wasn't the truth when she was new to the world but now? Not so much. "We're always happy to help you," she reiterated, adding to what Dane had said.

She focused on her dinner and enjoyed the nice cold beer with it but now her mind was racing along trails as she wondered what it could be that had Logan preoccupied enough he would come see them. After all, he had a lot of resources available to him, including his own team. Or two. Maybe three? It had been some time so she wasn't even sure now.

Logan Howlett has posed:
The hairy Canadian managed to do a pretty convincing job of looking unbothered, for a man who was bothered enough by something to drive through morning traffic in DC. Still wearing the jacket, he helped himself to the perfectly charred combination of fats and protein which was ostensibly his purpose for dropping by. Never let it be said that Logan had ever turned down any calories, and he had to stop himself from scarfing down his food the way that he would the entrails of a freshly-gutted reindeer.

He lived in society the way that a particularly well-trained caveman might have, flubbing the rules only occasionally, and generally managing to avoid grossing out everyone around him. But a selection of processed meat hated to see him coming, even if he wasn't actively growling at anyone who happened to look at the food he reflexively hunched over.

In between bites, he recounted the story, still covered up by his jacket. Like all Logan stories, it began in the middle of an improbable scenario, and grew less believable from there. And yet, there are probably some eyewitnesses to confirm this one, as he rarely told the stories where there aren't any.

"You know how I always say 'Don't drink anything without a label in Madripoor', right? Well... the waitress had a trustworthy kind of face, and it DID have a label on it. I just couldn't read it. Real old bottle, made of copper... I figured... got to be some good shit, eh?"

He made the sort of sounds a junkyard dog might have made in a bowl of wet food as he polished off another hot dog.

"Well it was some good shit, alright..."

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane took a slow, deliberate sip of his beer, the cold liquid cutting through the heat of the day. The hot dog sat heavy in his stomach, the mustard a sharp contrast to the faint bitterness of the drink. He wasn't hungry anymore, though. Not for food, anyway.

Logan's story, typical of him, was already twisting into something bizarre, and Dane let it wash over him like background noise. He was used to Logan's wild tales. They never made sense, but they didn't have to. Not when Logan was involved. He leaned back in the chair, one arm resting on the table.

Sersi's soft laugh made Dane's lips curl into a smile, and he glanced at her again. There was a quiet focus in her gaze, but she was good at hiding her curiosity. He could tell she was wondering what Logan wasn't saying, just like he was. Whatever had brought him here wasn't just about a drink in Madripoor. It rarely was.

Dane's eyes flicked back to Logan, still covered in his jacket. His posture, casual but tight, told Dane that whatever had happened, Logan wasn't about to spill it all at once. And, as always, Dane wasn't in a hurry. He could wait.

For now, the beer was enough. But the tension in his gut was a little harder to ignore.

Sersi has posed:
"Oh dear." That was the most that came from Sersi as far as an interruption. She didn't want to interfer with Logan's tale but the fact he did drink from something when he didn't know what it was, despite all his warnings to others about the dangers of such thing.

Honestly, it was very Logan. His healing factor tended to make him less concerned about such things. Though as Sersi knew, there was always something out there that was dangerous, no matter the person nor their abilities. Yet, it was hard for someone so young to understand that. And he was young. Not even two centuries under his belt.

She continued to watch but was prepared for the 'gnarly' part even as she was trying to leap to conclusions in her head. Which never worked out. It just led to theories and guesses. All of which were just silly when the man was about to explain it more.

Logan Howlett has posed:
The story wasn't going anywhere fast, and Logan hadn't even gotten to the part with the ninjas yet. Fortunately, the rest of the beer had been put on ice, because it was beginning to look like one of those afternoons. The weather was warming up nicely, and the sun was shining on a face that looked just the right amount of weather beaten to never get asked for his ID ever again, unless he asked for the early bird special at Denny's.

There was a possibility that it could take all day, but everyone seemed to be done eating by then. And the thought occurred that these lovely people might have other things to do than hear about what he encountered down the wrong alley in Lowtown.

"Well... maybe it's better if I just showed ya's."

Standing up, he finally unzipped his jacket, a bit slowly. But it seemed more likely that he was a bit nervous than trying to build suspense or a sense of titillation.

Still no sign of anything especially odd as he tossed the jacket over the back of a chair. Everyone present had probably seen a hairy guy in a wifebeater before. But when the white tank top began lifting up enough to uncover his midsection, it was clear as day. Centered around his belly button was some sort of tattoo, a set of runes that they definitely don't use in Madripoor. Extending outward from the blood red mark, a tangle of what appeared to be veins, digging rootlike across his skin and probably further into his gut.

He set the t shirt aside calmly as well, and stood before them wearing the world's worst souvenir.

"You guys... uh... you deal with this kind of thing, right?"

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane sat forward in his chair, setting his beer down with a quiet clink, his eyes narrowing as Logan pulled his shirt up. The tattoo wasn't just strange... it was disturbing. The intricate, blood-red runes marked deep into Logan's skin, and the veins spreading from them gave the impression that whatever it was, it was growing inside of him.

He leaned back slightly, his mind racing. As the heir to an ancient lineage of knights, he had inherited books and magical tools, tools he wasn't sure he fully understood. But they were in the cellar, within Garrett Castle's stone walls, alongside artifacts that could make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. That didn't even begin to compare to Sersi's knowledge.

Dane couldn't help but feel a pang of worry. Logan had seen and survived things most people wouldn't believe, but this felt different.

"Yeah," Dane muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, "We deal with this kind of thing. But I have a feeling... this one's a bit out of my depth." He glanced at Sersi, knowing she'd likely have more to say, and more to know. She always did.

Logan had a habit of showing up with problems that didn't always have solutions.

Sersi has posed:
Now that got Sersi's full attention. She sat a bit more forward then rose to her feet, approaching Logan but her eyes locked on those runes. There was the tiniest little frown on her face and her forehead was slightly pinched showing her concern. She started to reach a hand forward then stopped herself. After all, it could be trasmittable by touch. Thus touching it would probably be bad.

"Yes, we do deal with the odd situations. Though this is more odd than I have seen in quite some time. I don't recognize the runes nor the language they might be from." Sometimes one could parse together a language if one was close enough to another but this was utterly foreign to the Eternal.

"Without knowing more about it, I'm not sure if I can transmute it to remove it. Or if that's even safe to do." She glanced over at Dane to see if he had other suggestions.

Then back to Logan. "You drank something and this appeared? Did you already track down the server that provided it?"

Logan Howlett has posed:
It was a reasonable question, and a reasonable set of assumptions. But this looked like the sort of thing that might be out of the depth of most of the people that Logan hung around in Westchester. It was certainly out of Logan's depth. As he tried to recall any pertinent details, Logan was a bit surprised at how few of them he could actually remember. Memory loss was nothing new for him, but this felt a little more... intentional.

It's generally good advice not to drink anything with a label you can't read, anywhere in the world...

"Nah... she was gone after. But I didn't notice this bad boy until I got back to the States." He pats his stomach absently, and the runes begin to glow and hiss back at him.

"Tried diggin' it out myself... really didn't like that. Shouted somethin' at me in gobbledygook... But I figure you're always goin' on about your big magic sword. So maybe you could just, uh, scoop it out real quick. Before it gets any bigger. I'll never hear the end of it if it sprouts a tramp stamp."

The tattoo didn't seem especially keen on that idea, though it was more of a general vibe than anything vocalized. Whatever its plans were, it preferred to live right where it was. Perhaps because of the steady influx of grilled meats.

Dane Whitman has posed:
Dane's eyes flicked between Sersi and Logan, a frown settling on his face. Logan's flippant attitude about the runes didn't sit well with him. It was one thing for someone with a healing factor to act blase about such things, but Dane wasn't about to risk something like this escalating.

His hand hovered near his side, but the thought of using a sword made him pause. The ebony blade had magic in its edge, but he wasn't sure how well it would work on something so... organic. And this wasn't exactly the sort of thing you just hacked away at. The last thing he wanted was to make things worse.

Looking to Sersi, his gaze was hopeful, searching for some direction. She had the experience, the wisdom that came from millennia of dealing with the unknown. Dane might have the tools, but he trusted her instincts far more.

After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice steady. "Before we do anything drastic, let me run some tests. If we have time, we'll figure out what we're dealing with." He motioned toward the barbecue. "I'll turn this off, and we can head down to the lab. We'll need to get a closer look before making any decisions."

Dane rose to quickly turn off the grill. While he was a man of action, he knew better than to dive in without understanding the full picture... this time.

Sersi has posed:
"I do agree. This needs more research before we go cutting things out of you. The fact that you already tried to..." She let her voice trail off but the look on her face and tone of voice was surely a reprimand for his unwise attempt. Though reprimanding Logan was like telling a honey badger to play nice with the other animals. It just wasn't going to matter to him in the least.

"I would say the blade is probably a last option. I could try to transmute it to something else other than you before we take that opportunity. The fact that it responds intelligently, if instinctively, is concerning as well. I wonder if it has a mind."

She rose to her feet then turned to head for the castle. By way of the cooler, where she grabbed a fresh beer for herself. She had the feeling she was going to need it. Especially if she was going to try telepathically reach out to whatever it was. After some tests.

Logan Howlett has posed:
A lifetime spent defying the odds was bound to catch up with Logan one day, but if he was going to try to roll the dice again he'd probably found two of the best possible companions within a five hour motorcycle ride to do it with. Not only were they well versed in the unusual, but they were mostly sober and came with their own lab equipment. Any fleeting thoughts that he should have stopped by Dr. Strange's wacky condo first were quickly dispelled, both by the professional tone of the couple, and by the memory of what happened last time he stopped by Dr. Strange's wacky condo.

But the fact that they didn't just wish to magic it away, or scrape it off with the Ebony Blade, was a bit worrying. Logan popped the top off of another beer. For those keeping track, it was his sixth. It's a good thing he brought an extra pack of cheap Canadian beer for himself, like a good barbecue guest.

"Yeah... transmute... lab stuff... that's about what I thought too."

The veins of his mysterious tattoo dug deeper into his gut, occasionally pulsing as they drew nourishment from elsewhere within Logan's body. And Logan once again had the familiar sensation of being the guy at the pool party that everyone wanted to put his shirt back on. Only this time it wasn't from any concern that he might clog the pool filters.

"Appreciate you both takin' a look at this. Could have gotten it looked at fer free in Canada... but I thought I might need a specialist."