7198/Once Upon a Dream

Once Upon a Dream
Date of Scene:	03 August 2021
Location:	Bronx Safehouse, NYC
Synopsis:	Melina comes back to her old safe house only to find it occupied by an old friend -- a friend she barely remembers, and who barely remembers her. But bodies remember when minds do not. Melina and Logan spend a night of catching up. (PG-13 for implied sexual situations.)
Cast of Characters:	Logan Howlett, Melina Vostokoff

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Logan Howlett has posed:
When you run afoul of some people you shouldn't, best to take your business away from home to protect those you care about. That was a lesson that took Logan more than a century of life to learn, one of the hardest to date. The rule of thumb is: Don't fuck with a cartel unless you make certain that the Cartel is out of commission.

So, Logan drove into the sunset away from Westchester for what seemed like miles until he reached a nice spot in Hell's Kitchen, avoiding the nicer parts of town. Obvious choices are met with obvious consequences. An old safehouse that he used to be in back when he was a Nazi hunter and occasionally worked with Russian Spetznaz and many, MANY other situations.

He tosses his bag down after he walks in through the window and, well, he heads towards the bed. Of course the place wasn't really tended to, but the building was good. No rats, for example.

He laid his head down, and began to close his eyes, his clenched fist comes up near his chest...ready to brandish the claws at the first sign of trouble.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
Weeks 'alone' in New York City had brought bad a myraid of memories, some she thought long ago buried deep, some that never mattered enough to anyone but her to get buried. But she knew someone was watching her. It wouldn't be the Russians if they weren't double paranoid. So, Melina set up her life. Her new identity, new apartment in Brooklyn, new contacts... New everything. And she started her time undercover. Everything was going as well as ever. Until this night. The memories were bad enough and being in someone else's skin crawled across her flesh like ants.

Therefore, she slipped out the back. On foot, down an opposite street, through three different subways, always making certain she's not followed. The 'yuppie' fashion she was wearing is slowly changed out and left in many dumpsters, until she's instead wearing a soft gray sundress she picked up on a side street stall. She even takes the braids out of her hair. She looks a different woman. And that woman still remembers how to jump the window lock in the apartment that was hers -- theirs?? -- twenty years back. Paid off ages ago, she knows it'll be full of cobwebs and dust now. But it's there. So, somewhere near midnight, the sound of incredibly light, stealthy feet creep up the fire escape stairs and the sound of the trick lock on the window is going. This is not some robber. This person knows how to work the safehouse entry.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan's eyes opened.

He had become a light sleeper thanks to those horrible, horrible nightmares. Of times earlier when he had lost his memories, of times in war, of the sickening things that have happened to him over the course of his life, and the sound is heard again as those silent footsteps keep moving. His fist clenches harder, Adamantium claws digging their way through his flesh as they prepare to stab to death whoever walks into that room.

He can hear her breathing. The sound of her heartbeat.

He silently rolls out of the bed into a crouched position. He wore blue jeans and a white tanktop shirt, and he keeps his eyeso n the door, even as he slightly crouches behind the bed. He was prepared to take a few bullets, but was she prepared for the Wolverine?

Little does he know that it's an old friend..the sound of the safehouse entry being toyed with -properly-. Not a robber. Someone from the cartel? an assassin? He clenches his fist tight and the claws come out with a *Snikt!*

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
There is not an inch of her that imagines someone else will be in this building. But, of course, she's still paranoid. Not enough to have a gun in her hand, but a little dagger, just as good at slitting throats and far more quiet than a gun. It's a hint of insurance she's trained to use just as well as she does her rifles. After another moment, she smoothly gets the window open.

That's the moment she realizes something is *wrong*. The place doesn't smell near so stale as it should. There's the scent of someone on the air and doors have been opened recently. She braces herself in silence, heartbeat quickening but not in panic. Just in a more alert state. She even smells like someone... familiar. The faint changes on her hormones and blood that years of the serum the Red Room gave her enacted. It's not a scent like anyone else other than the Widows that come out of the same place.

Now aware someone might be there, she's even more quiet than before. If he didn't have hearing beyond that of humans, she'd be silent as death as she creeps down into the window, her shoulders hugging the wall. Dark green eyes begin to search the darkness for whomever might have invaded her safe space.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan prepares....he's ready.

But that scent? It's familiar. Like a warm summer's day. No...that's the perfume. But it's something about her. He never -ever- forgets a scent...but that doesn't mean he will remember the face it belongs to. His eyes briefly close, as if he's -trying- hard. But now is not the time to reminisce.

Now was the time to spill blood.

As soon as the Widow enters the room, Wolverine rolls around the corner, roaring a battle cry as he tries to leap and dropkick Melina right in the chest! It's a sudden move, but it's one that maybe Melina wasn't quite anticipating. The claws are out, but he's going to try and knock her down before even thinking about going for the kill.

He doesn't even have time to get a good look at her face.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
Fortunately for her, Melina was on guard for some sort of attack. Maybe not one straight to her chest, but it means she falls back with a dramatic sweep and a cough of her breath, rolling smoothly and slicing forward with the knife in her hand as she rolls straight back up to her feet, about six feet back from the threat in front of her. Now she's moving, her hazel eyes wide with adrenaline and trying to remember why the scruffy face in the shadows looks so familiar.

"How did you FIND This place?!" She hisses to him in accented English, the Russian edge behind her words all too clear. She's not in disguise right now, so she's not speaking in disguise. She cuts violently in his direction again, not stabs meant to kill, but slices meant to warn away and injure. She wants to subdue her opponent while she learns more. He was not a target.

But why, in the back of her head, did he somehow make this place feel more like home?

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan manages to dropkick Melina!...'s guard. Fuck. But with her falling back with a dramatic sweep, Logan manages to swiftly get back up to his feet, hands clenched, claws out, teeth bared as he cracks his neck. The fight was on! Especially as she seems to draw a knife to attack him. Logan tries to swing his claws once...twice...but he misses!

Melina, on the other hand, is apparently extremely precise. She slices at his chest and arms, though on the final strike, Logan brings his right hand slightly upward, trying to stab Melina straight thorugh the forearm! "This is -my- safehouse." Logan growls out.

"How did YOU find this place, bub? Talk quick, or yer losin' an arm!"

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
Ironically, it's the moment she realizes that those knives are coming out of his hands, not some strange weapon, that a memory or two slots into place. Enough that she redirects another stab that was going straight for his shoulder up, probably just slicing across a bicep instead. But it's slower compared to her expert attacks earlier and he gets those impossibly sharp blades right through her arm. A hiss of pain and shock crosses her lips, several curses in Russian before she forces her brain to code switch back to English.

Her knife is at his neck, arm twisting into the pain of his claws, but catching them with the way she moves, so his hand is pinned for but a few moments. "This is MY safehouse. Bought 1976. Renewed 1982, 1996... Melina. Vostokoff. Mine. And you..." She stares down at the blood running across her arm, pain pinched at her face, but she's really looking at his claws. "... were here too... sometimes. I think."

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan got her!

His claws embed themselves in her forearm and they -hold- there, not quite trying to rip out the claws or find a way to impale her through the arm. Instead, he's holding her gaze with fierce, animalistic eyes. His other hand is on standby in case she tries to make a move...but what Melina will notice? The cuts that she inflicted on him seem to have either disappeared or dissipated.

Healing factor? She can heal fast too, but maybe not as fast as -that-. They nearly closed as soon as they were opened.

But the knife is suddenly at his neck, but Logan doesn't fear it. Suddenly though, she shifts her arm, twisting into the pain to talk to him.

Vostokoff...Melina? Melina. The name sounds familiar. But as she talks, she may notice the feeling of...well, reminisce for lack of a better term. His eyes move away from her. "Vostokoff..." He ponders. Ponders harder, until he looks at her. "We...shared it?" He questions her, and in that moment, his claws sheathe themselves back into his hand immediately, freeing Melina's arm...but that doesn't mean she's going to drop the knife.

"Logan." He gestures to himself.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
The woman can't heal near so fast as he does, so as her claws embed into her forearm hot, red blood drips down onto the hardwood floor of the room. At least they were lucky enough not to have landed on the rug. Blood is so hard to get out of rugs. She stares up at him, breathing through the pain in slow, deliberate inhalations. She's had training in separating herself from pain, pushing it to the back of her mind, fighting on even when she's been horribly mangled. This isn't near the worst she's had.

But there's the slight growling of her name too. She remembers that voice. Instead of spiking anger in her, the way he says her name makes a far different kind of shiver cut across her stomach and chest. She lets out a bit longer of a breath as he frees her arm and slowly lowers her knife as well. An act of mutual trust, even as her eyes narrow at him.

"...Logan... but also... aren't you... James?" She asks gently. She's not certain why that name feels right, but it does. She finally slips her knife away so she can press a tight hand against her bleeding arm. It would not do to bleed herself into unconsciousness before they figured this out.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan has never measured his healing factor against anyone else, except for maybe Victor Creed...a brother turned enemy. What he -does- do however, as soon as his claws seem to release themselves from Melina's arm, is use a claw to cut off a piece of fabric from his shirt and offer to wrap it around Melina's arm as a form of gauze. "Hang tight with me, I didn't hit you in an artery -- which means your luckier than most people, bub."

...why does he care? Why does his heart feel like it's pounding about eleven times faster than just having a conversation with anybody else? Is it because he hurth er and he feels bad? Is it because he wants answers from her that only she, at the moment, is able to give to him? He doesn't know. -WHY- doesn't he know?

Fucking amnesia.

"Howlett, according to this." He lifts up his dog tags a bit, then drops them so they fall back to his chest. "You're...I.." He shakes his head for a second, like he's trying to clear his head enough to remember. "Melissa? No...Melina." He settles then. It's not that he is writing her off as some one-hit wonder, he just...genuinely has to try hard for these things.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
While there doesn't quite seem to be the emotional struggle around her lacking memories that he has, whether it's because she simply doesn't care or, possibly, she's that broken, it's not clear. Hazel eyes now, in the dim light, look far closer to green as she stares down at him working on her arm. There is a softness there which she doesn't normally let show. "You should kill me now, you know? I have put my blade away. Let my guard down. You have every opportunity." She lists out, factual and simple, like she was telling him the weather in her soft Russian accent. And yet, there is no fear there either. Her body instinctively moves just a bit closer.

His touch felt good. She doesn't remember why, but as his fingertips brush across her arm, her eyes dare shut a few moments in enjoyment. If he was going to kill her, maybe those few moments were worth it? But she trusts him enough that he won't. "Melina. Yes. But no one calls me that... any more. Not in a long... Long time." She admits softly, some mirroring exhaustion behind her voice to what he feels. It is weary, to live a life as long as they have.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan frowns a moment to himself. He felt guilty for stabbing her in the arm, yet some part of him was extremely relieved that he didn't hurt her more than what he had already done. As soon as his gauze job was done, he takes a deep breath, his claw sheathing itself back into his forearm, his eyes rest on hers after lifting to them. "Why should I kill you?" He grumbles. "You could've killed me when you had a knife to my throat...or at least you could've tried. I don't die easy, you woulda been the first if you actually succeeded." Logan gruffs out.

He didn't know why, but her skin felt so smooth. Just the touch of her even being close to him made his heart race...and he could hear her heart beating too. Too fast, too quickly...or was that his? He wasn't completely certain.

Even if he had an incredible urge to kiss her.

Logan looks at Melina then. "It's a pretty name." He looks into her eyes, like he was looking for her very soul. He wasn't going to kill her. His muscles weren't tense enough, his eyes had lost the killer instinct he had shown before.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
As he dares to tell her it's a pretty name, and she can feel the secure wrap of a tight bandage around her arm, helping slow the bleeding into clotting far better than it would have been if she just let it bleed, her eyes reopen. Melina studies his gaze, trying to swallow her heart back down her throat. This was important. *He* was important. One of the things she fought to hold onto. She cheated to keep. His eyes.

"Logan. You... only used Logan... the last time. You didn't remember. Neither of us... did. I feel like... we've done this before." She breathes out softly, so close he can probably feel each word against his lips. And then, suddenly, she's moving up. Onto him. Her lips to his, good arm tightly around him in a way that isn't about violence at all. She's pushing him back towards the couch as quickly as they pounced on each other with violence before. But this this time it's passion. If her mind doesn't remember everything, maybe her body will.

Logan Howlett has posed:
Logan feels it himself, his eyes looking into hers. And some part of him remembers. Some part of him remembers the Melina that he would laugh with in an abandoned building while they both watched the exit points like hawks, or back in the days of Stalin and the Cold War, where they would watch several HVT's and make sure they didn't move a single inch. He knew her...but he didn't remember her.

But with what comes next? His body certainly will.

She pounces at him with passion, and powerful arms catch her and press her against him, lips parting as he drank all of her in. Fingers explored, his teeth sought her neck. He doesn't stop her movements, his body landing against the couch with him trying to pull her closer into him.

Even if his hands are trying to pry off every inch of clothing he can get his hands on. Too bad there's no music.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
This she remembers. Melina isn't certain why, but the musk of his throat, familiar stubble and sideburns. Even the way his hands claw at her clothing, more rough and passionate than anyone else in her life. Normally, she's the one doing the seduction, laying the honeytrap. But here, he's as passionate and determined as she is. A little moan of happiness mixed with memory escapes her throat as their lips part and she turns to kissing down the side of his neck.

Her dress rips away fairly easily, but then he's going to find her strapped with many more weapons. A long machete-like knife down her back, two syringes of something strapped to her right thigh. Her left thigh has several other vials and two daggers. As he reaches for her legs, she curses gently and pulls back, "Shit... shit, shit, I... neither of us need hurt." There's also the thin edge of a garrote build into the underwire of her bra. This woman is wired to kill. It's the medical equipment that has to carefully come off, though, as she tries to catch her breath.

Logan Howlett has posed:
The softness of her lips, the smooth touch ofh er skin, the -warmth- of her against him...this is the stuff that dreams are made of. But this was a dream made real, of a woman he thought he had never met before this day. Even her firm grip and the fire she drives into his body when her lips find his neck let out a moan of pleasure from the Wolverine, his hands gripping her tighter even as her dress rips away to reveal-!

Weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.

"God, that's amazing." Logan doesn't even seem to mind, reaching his hands to take off her weapons and arms, but he's stopped by her concern. His are built into him, and unless she feels like trying to dig through muscle and flesh and through unbreakable bone...she's in for a rough night. But if Logan has his way about things?

Weapons are going to be on the floor...but he knows that it's a careful process. Don't want anybody getting stabbed, prodded, or sliced....even as he slowly reaches to lift his shirt up and over his head.

Melina Vostokoff has posed:
His reaction makes her pause, staring back over at him in a bit of confusion. Melina's brow furrows, but then a short, slightly bitter laugh barks from her lips. It's an incredibly Russian sound. "Most men, they run when they see this. You only want to kiss me more. I think I am remembering why this worked so well." Then she's grinning, heat behind her eyes still.

It's those vials that are the most important. Possibly poison, possibly smuggling something else. She carefully unstraps them from her legs, and the two syringes, putting them on an old, dusty shelf in the apartment where she can reclaim them later. She must trust him implicitly, to be stripping all of her defenses off. He can help with the knives. She gives him her back to get that last one. And the bra, settling back into his lap. "...Better." And then she's kissing him again. It's his turn for her hands to start peeling clothing off of him, as she drags him backwards, on top of her on the couch. Unless he stops her for any reason, they are going to have a lovely, somewhat shocking tryst without more questions.

Logan Howlett has posed:
"I'm not most men."

That single sentence alone may help her feel about the whole situation. It's true, most men would run. But unlike most men, Logan has no fear of death. In fact, women who are more than capable of being complete and total death machines have always been the kind of people Logan's been strangely attracted to.

He watches her as she grins, a chuckle from Logan as she mentions how they were able to work. Neither of them have -no- idea just how well they worked in the past.

Yet even as she takes off those vials and sets them aside, along with knives, which he -gladly- helps her in removing, even the one that seems to lead to her bra. After unstrapping it and removing it, tossing it aside, he can't help but let her have her way with him.

Shirt is off, pants are sliding off, the only thing truly left on him is his tog tags as he's pulled on top of her.

There's no way in hell he's going to stop her. What's the old saying, From Russia with love? Well, that kind of love is going to last all night, as passions win the day, and the only sound left between them is gasps and moans.