Those Who Wander [for Rogue]
Mar. 13th, 2017 01:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
After it was all over, after the dust had settled, the dead were mourned and the school was back in motion, Logan had taken off. He couldn't stand to be there anymore, seeing ghosts in every hallway and classroom. Jean, the Professor... hell, he even missed that insufferable dick Scott.
It seemed like perverse justice that he steal Scott's motorcycle one last time to make his get-away - he wasn't gonna be using it anymore, and was it really stealing if it no longer belonged to anyone? He figured maybe Scott would understand; he'd liked the bike, and would want it to be ridden and cared for. Logan could do that. It was about the only thing he could care for, these days.
So the miles stretched on, as did the days, until it turned into weeks, then months, then years. He never stayed in one place for long - usually because he couldn't keep the asshole comments in his head from coming out of his mouth, and wound up in fights, which inevitably lead to people realizing he was a mutant. It was a useful mutation, but by itself not even that inherently dangerous. The adamantium claws and his military training, however... that was dangerous. And without the Cure available any longer, there were rumblings about "other methods" being used to help "tame" the mutant population. "Just the dangerous ones." Yeah, sure. It'd be just his luck for some nutjob to report him to the authorities and he'd wind up on some Top Ten Most Wanted list in a post office. He didn't want that, not least of which because he didn't photograph well.
So he kept moving. Minded his own business, but other people kept making their problems his business, which was a pain in the ass. He had enough problems of his own, he didn't need yours, thanks anyway.
Riding through the desert one evening, he came across an oasis - literally. He rolled into a city and realized as he stared up at the large neon sign with undulating lights around the word "Oasis" that he'd somehow hit Las Vegas without even realizing it. He wasn't even sure he realized he was in Nevada before this, which was probably a sign that he should stop driving, at least for the night. (Truthfully, if it hadn't been for the heat, he wouldn't even be sure he was in the U.S., which even his stubborn brain realized was not a good sign.)
He parked his bike a ways off, not wanting the valet boys to get a load of the customizations on it and decide for a joy-ride (probably wrap it around a tree and break their damn fool necks, and you know he'd somehow get blamed for it), then wandered into the casino. He desperately needed a drink, and then maybe he'd find a game to buy into. He was running a little low on cash, and he was good at picking up other people's tells with his enhanced senses.
The bar was nicely dim, but clean and well-kept. He patted his jeans to get some of the dust off, before making a face. Screw it. I just got in, I'm tired - oh, and also I don't give a fuck. He moved over and selected a table that afforded him visuals on the bar and the entrance, then raised a hand to signal for a waitress.
When was the last time he'd even had a drink? No wonder he felt like shit, he was completely sober, even more than his healing ability usually made him while actively drinking.
It seemed like perverse justice that he steal Scott's motorcycle one last time to make his get-away - he wasn't gonna be using it anymore, and was it really stealing if it no longer belonged to anyone? He figured maybe Scott would understand; he'd liked the bike, and would want it to be ridden and cared for. Logan could do that. It was about the only thing he could care for, these days.
So the miles stretched on, as did the days, until it turned into weeks, then months, then years. He never stayed in one place for long - usually because he couldn't keep the asshole comments in his head from coming out of his mouth, and wound up in fights, which inevitably lead to people realizing he was a mutant. It was a useful mutation, but by itself not even that inherently dangerous. The adamantium claws and his military training, however... that was dangerous. And without the Cure available any longer, there were rumblings about "other methods" being used to help "tame" the mutant population. "Just the dangerous ones." Yeah, sure. It'd be just his luck for some nutjob to report him to the authorities and he'd wind up on some Top Ten Most Wanted list in a post office. He didn't want that, not least of which because he didn't photograph well.
So he kept moving. Minded his own business, but other people kept making their problems his business, which was a pain in the ass. He had enough problems of his own, he didn't need yours, thanks anyway.
Riding through the desert one evening, he came across an oasis - literally. He rolled into a city and realized as he stared up at the large neon sign with undulating lights around the word "Oasis" that he'd somehow hit Las Vegas without even realizing it. He wasn't even sure he realized he was in Nevada before this, which was probably a sign that he should stop driving, at least for the night. (Truthfully, if it hadn't been for the heat, he wouldn't even be sure he was in the U.S., which even his stubborn brain realized was not a good sign.)
He parked his bike a ways off, not wanting the valet boys to get a load of the customizations on it and decide for a joy-ride (probably wrap it around a tree and break their damn fool necks, and you know he'd somehow get blamed for it), then wandered into the casino. He desperately needed a drink, and then maybe he'd find a game to buy into. He was running a little low on cash, and he was good at picking up other people's tells with his enhanced senses.
The bar was nicely dim, but clean and well-kept. He patted his jeans to get some of the dust off, before making a face. Screw it. I just got in, I'm tired - oh, and also I don't give a fuck. He moved over and selected a table that afforded him visuals on the bar and the entrance, then raised a hand to signal for a waitress.
When was the last time he'd even had a drink? No wonder he felt like shit, he was completely sober, even more than his healing ability usually made him while actively drinking.