18864/The Rocks Cried Out

The Rocks Cried Out
Date of Scene:	18 August 2024
Location:	Warehouses - Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis:	Domino responds to a ping from a hijacked inhibitor collar to discover that the thing wasn't much use to the militants, this time around. Philosophical words are exchanged with Wolverine.
Cast of Characters:	Logan Howlett, Neena Thurman

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Logan Howlett has posed:
There's a lot of reasons folks out there would target the Wolverine. He's earned the wrath of more than a few dangerous characters, and has unearned ire on an even broader scale; if Logan remembers the causality at all, of course. Tonight, a group of gang hooligans with automatic weapons and a well-timed ambush and a penchant for skull aesthetics are to blame. Any number of factions could tell them this is an unwise vendetta; he's the best there is at what he does, and what he does is not very nice.

Their error tonight is twofold though-- their collar is a dud. A plant. A ruse. Not that it ever finds its way around Wolverine's neck. The thing is prematurely activated, bleeping its silent alarm, and shorn in half on the floor. It's a state not unlike the killers who sought to cage this particularly feral runt, to be honest.

One nondescript warehouse in a whole line of such structures has been converted to an armory and would-be prison; a place to store and sell the gang's metahuman enemies. It's not a nice dream, and it's been quashed in its infancy-- this time. There was no talking them down, there was no warning them off, and only those who fled the blossoming violence still draw breath. It's a proud moment, right? The slaughter of one's enemies; the triumph over the heartless and immoral.

Someone might want to tell that to Logan, knelt in the center of the open floor, his head bowed. In prayer? In mediation? In lost fugue? The man's denim and flannel is soaked with blood, much of it his own judging from the bullet holes and cuts in the cloth, his granite-hewn face set in deep, pensive mourning.

Neena Thurman has posed:
The signal went through, alright. The proper 'authorities' being notified. Though as fast as the Brotherhood can be there's always going to be a slight delay. Those being sent to handle the call need to be assembled, equipped. Teleportation services need to be arranged. No matter how fast they can get the process down, short of having people on standby for no other reason than to answer these sporadic distress calls, it's the best they can do.

Which is more than enough time for a Wolverine to completely trash the joint.

With a pop of light the sound of two combat boots lightly falling to the warehouse floor can be heard, the lone dispensed mutant sweeping something through the air with a whine of power as it charges up. A call of "Who wants to regret their life decis...?!" rapidly trails off to a confused and mildly disappointed sounding "Uh."

Domino lowers what had been a raised silvery staff of some fashion, turning in place to see the carnage which she didn't get to be a part of. "Hmm."

There's one figure left upright, though kneeling on the floor. Too bloodied to be recognized. One of the wider ends of the staff wanders in Logan's direction, lingering. Hovering. The albino keeping a healthy distance, and a healthy guard.

"You, uh. Need a moment there, pal?"

Logan Howlett has posed:
It's a flash of violence, extreme but brief, once they finally pushed Wolverine too far; crossed the point of no return. Sherlock or Will Graham would reconstruct only a scant breadth of instants of action amid the carnage, precise and ruthless, blunt force trauma and lacerations or punctures from impossibly sharp blades. The Brotherhood operative's save is well timed despite the charnel context; swift, capable.

Logan's first reaction is to inhale deeply, the simple act telling him more about his interloper than any twenty questions. Then the runty canuck grunts, shifts, and pushes smoothly to his feet despite the accentuated girth and weight that has nothing to do with his beer quota. "Took one." Wolverine answers brusquely, simply, as he fishes a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and then picks through it for the first unbroken smoke.

The cig ignites courtesy of a worn old lighter as he studies Domino from over the suddenly blooming cherry. "Bastards called one hitsquad and picked on another, eh?" He blows out a plume of acrid tobacco smoke, eyes tracing its wistful transit upwards. "Bad luck; or really bad plannin'. Sorry to rain on your party." He's not. It's a bit derisive, in fact.

Neena Thurman has posed:
It's the voice which sparks recognition. Not many people talk like old "Logan? Didn't recognize you under all the viscera. You look like shit."

The staff powers down with one end coming to rest against the floor, Domino looking a bit grim at the gory sight. "Someone sure pushed a fucking button. Guess they won't be doing that again."

As she makes this observation she's looking at a severed arm with a yet working watch on the wrist lying nearby, as if she's checking the current time.

As the red-stained runt lights up and 'apologizes' Dom immediately huffs in disbelief and calls him out, "No you're not. In fact, I think you're more sorry that -you- went ballistic on 'em. I caught you on the floor 'atoning for your sins,' or whatever that was."

What she doesn't say is 'at least my conscience gets to stay clean today.'

"Well. This isn't how I expected to spend my afternoon. You saved yourself, good job. I've no beef with you, either. So" she pauses to look around. "These guys got a fridge or something? I know someone in need of a drink when I see one. Like myself."

Logan Howlett has posed:
Another grunt, another ember's glow, another puff of smoke. Wolverine stalks to the side to root through the gang's accruments. Weapons, drugs, face paint. They do have a fridge; but it's the bottle of whiskey on top of it that Logan targets first.

"Been said." Somehow, the hirsute, wild-maned, scruffy runt doesn't seem particularly struck by looking like the blood-spattered remains of last week's roast. Know what you are; wear it like armor. He uncaps the cheap liquor and chugs straight from the bottle before offering it over, and rooting in the fridge; in this case, for yogurt, which he begins to pound straight from the container like an even tastier drink. Wiping the dairy moustache from his lip, Logan notes dourly,

"Ain't no atoning for shit yer gonna do again." The right kind of asshole fucks around, the Wolverine will make sure they find out; but it's not a point of pride for the grizzled Canucklehead. It's clearly a point of some sorrow, and more pain. It's a question of duty; of dubious, dirty, dissonant refrains of honor. "But if you don't keep your heart honest, an' humble-- you're just another flamin' zealot." It's not a prayer for them, not a meditation to respect the fallen; just a quiet reverie for the humanity of the predator and prey, the warrior within.

"Every fucker from every walk thinks they're righteous and justified." It could be shade to the Brotherhood, to Domino's own eager attitude to engage; it could just be a broad truism. What humans have to tell themselves to do such horrific violence on one another, without the dissolution of self. Logan's self has dissolved more than once, and remains remarkably profiligate in its traumatic truisms. "At best this shit's necessary." And he wants that whiskey back, judging from the grabby mitt.

Neena Thurman has posed:
Ah, whiskey. Even better. Domino doesn't mind waiting a turn, finder's fee and all, so long as she DOES get a turn. When the bottle's passed over she makes a point of catching it by an area which isn't stained red. Not her badge to wear, though it is her laundry to clean.

"Someone's feeling philosophical" she dryly jokes as Logan airs his thoughts, matte black lips finding the open bottle for a slug. The yogurt thing though, that's unexpected. Why did the owners of this place have so much? Follow-up inquiry: Why does Logan care?

"Let's not go down that path" she warns, her voice leveling out more like the edge of a honed blade. "We're having a nice if not unexpected reunion tour here. Just two weapons who do what occasionally needs to be done." Or viewing one another's aftermath. She does surrender the bottle but only after laying out her rule. Judge not, they're both guilty of plenty.

Seeing as the place is clear of baddies and no help is actually needed she takes the opportunity to check out the stash of weapons the previous tenants had collected, boots and staff alike clunking along as she drifts. She may as well make the trip worthwhile!

"Find any meaning in life lately?" she wonders. "We don't rub shoulders often these days." A pause. "Laura's well, by the way." In case he cares. She doesn't know their family dynamic other than claws and flannel are involved.

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Yup."

When one tries to live their life according to old books and archaic creeds, it lends itself to too much thinking; and occasionally, at least enough. Just because this particular sin may not be eligible for forgiving just now, it doesn't mean the similarly aged Canucklehead isn't atoning for /something/. It's likely a substantial list. The why's of the yogurt are no big mystery-- a healing factor's gotta eat, and it's low fat protein. Opportunistic scavenging is for everybody, sometimes it's even tasty as hell.

For the most part, the gang's gear is similarly tasty but not 'special' to an operator like Domino. Black market AR refurbs that don't match any factory config, quite. A variety of handguns and slugthrowers. And one nasty, Purifier-tech looking carbine. Probably the same supply chain that brought them at least one inhibitor collar.

A surprisingly quick hand snatches the bottle before agreeing to anything, turning his back to Domino to upturn the booze once more into his maw, like it doesn't still burn going down. The harsh rasp that follows is proof enough of that.

"Enough to sleep most o' the time when I wanna." It's a fair metric, by certain schools of thought. Logan cares, he cares a lot; it's why he keeps on keepin' on. Not that he's showing a lot of warm fuzzy happiness as he turns sidelong to eye Domino over one shoulder, alongside a slow drag on his gradually dwindling cig. "Just don't fuckin' try to kill each other."

From any other guy, it'd be a bit judgemental. Poor Logan just remembers all (some of) the trysts with opinionated living weapons that ended just that fucking way.

Neena Thurman has posed:
A sculpted black brow hooks upward with how quickly Logan takes the bottle back, resulting in a similarly hooked smirk before Domino wanders aside. It must have been a -real- good time for Logan.

Damn. Oh well, space on the asteroid's limited anyway but Dom's not leaving Purifier tech lying around if it can be helped. One for one, it's coming home with her. A good deed done for the day. A new toy to play with later.

"Mmh?" she wonders aloud about not killing each other. "What, Laura and I? Got it backward, we're all good." Maybe not -friends- per se, it's not a label Dom throws around a lot. Though they've ran jobs together, they've worked well together, and -so far- they seem to be able to continue to do both without issue. "She helped me through some scrapes. Good kid."

With the carbine slung and staff in one hand the even more bristly looking albino drags a chair over to settle into just outside of the spread of blood. Her face wears a look of idle amusement like the rest of her wears blacked out leathers.

"Sleep is good" she belatedly agrees. "Things must be working out with that crew then. For the most part" is added with another slow look around the room. "Bumped into Xavier a time or two. Sounds like the old man's having some family troubles. Never a dull moment."

Logan Howlett has posed:
"Girl's a lone wolf worse than I am." Wolverine observes, simply. It's enigmatic, but not without confidance. "Knows what she's doin' though." What -does- make a 'good parent' to one's erstwhile adult progeny of various duplicitous and conventional means? It's an ongoing riddle.

Far as his own team, well. "Shit's sideways everywhere." Logan notes simply-- makes it a day that ends in 'Y'. "Think the Prof's old man probably gives the worst fuckwits a run. He does alright." Five Stars.

The runty mass of canuck takes one more swig from the whiskey and polishes off his cigarette, handing the remnant of the former to Domino before extinguishing the latter between two saliva-slickened fingertips. It's not evidence he means to leave here. "Watch yer ass, and keep your head." It's advice with layers to infer. True wisdom.

"I'm gonna call this shit in-- don't be hangin around when they land." To who, exactly? He doesn't elaborate.

Neena Thurman has posed:
"You're both still a pain in the ass to find" Domino says with a note of amusement. "Though if you keep doing what you're doing we might be bumping into each other more often." Using inhibitor collars, as it were. How Logan ended up finding one in the first place is some serious blind luck, and it does appear to have been luck since he wasn't expecting another mutant show of force to pop in from the looks of it.

Gosh, she probably dropped in during a very private moment he was having.

Eh! Too bad for Logan.

Shit is indeed sideways everywhere. One sarcastic remark leads to another which results in a slow bobbing of the 'bino's head. "He seems to be trying his best. Kind of a shit situation any way you look at it."

Getting another turn with the bottle rather comes at a surprise but she'll take it, leaning way forward from the seat to reach the glassed goodie. She figured he was going to polish the rest off himself. "Right back atcha" she says, putting the last of the whiskey out of its misery then casually tossing the bottle aside to shatter on the floor. The place is already due for a deep cleaning, what's a bit of broken glass added to the mix.

As for calling it in she simply says "Yeah" then taps on her communicator to mutter, though with Logan's hearing he'll pick up on every word: "Sitch clear, false alarm. One ready for home."

Dom stands and takes two lazy steps away from the chair, giving the Wolverine one final look. "Good seeing you again, Logan. Go find a damn shower."

The portal splits open behind her, permitting the mercenary to take a step backward through it and back out of the city.