2012-07-29 Finding the Way Home

[Westchester]- Xavier Institute - Rear Grounds The rear grounds of the Xavier Mansion tell of its dual purpose. French doors open from the cafeteria onto the spacious patio, offering a splendid view of the surrounding mountains and forest or a perfect place to catch the sunrise. Marble tiles form a smooth, even surface that's perfect for relaxation. Indeed, that's the primary purpose, as shown by the several sets of elegant patio furniture set at regular intervals. Just beyond the patio and to the left is a large, Olympic-style swimming pool with a paved deck area around it. Further out, the full size basketball court dominates, demonstrating the other use the area has been put to. While their teachers may enjoy lounging on the back porch, the athletic field gives students a place to work off excess energy and just generally be children. On the far side of this section of the estate are the horse stables, organic herb and vegetable garden, and the greenhouse. The front grounds lie south of here, just around the corner of the mansion itself, and the rest of the grounds are enclosed by the trees of the forest. The pool house is nearby, offering changing rooms, showers, and storage space.

It's been a rough night at the Institute. The events of the previous day were both physically and emotionally draining, more the latter than the former though there were some surprises. The new day brings the sun, thankfully, and the heat threatens to be high. Doesn't matter to the blue fuzzy elf, however; he's on the coast of the lake, ready to board the new sailboat that Warren had sent in. Kurt likes to think it was something of a gesture to friendship, but let's face it; it does allow the Angel the opportunity to lay out and get some sun.

Wolverine disappeared as soon as the Blackbird landed in the Ukraine, and when the team filed back into the plane, he was already there in his seat, waiting. Covered in blood.

He didn't have a whole lot to say on the way back home, and he disappeared again as soon as they landed.

This morning, the freshly showered tracker trudges to the lake, a five-pack of beer dangling from his index finger. Now that he sees Kurt in the distance, there's no more need to stop and sniff around for his brimstone-laced scent; instead, he waits until he's about fifteen feet away, plants his feet, and sticks a couple of fingers in his mouth.

A sharp, high pitched *TWEEEEEEEEEEET!* rings out across the lake as a warning, and then he lobs the beers underhand to Kurt; once free of his burden, he resumes his approach.

Turning about at the sound of the whistle, there is a smile that doesn't seem to quite rise to those yellow eyes. There's a heaviness in them, and it's no reflection of the sight of a friend, but rather, and echo of that which goes on within. Windows to the soul. Kurt takes a leap up at the lobbing of the beer, disappearing into the ether before reappearing about 15 feet higher, catches the beer, and with a *bamf* lands once again. (And the beer won't be //too// shaken!)

"I count five," comes, though there's no surprise in the observation. Nor is there any disapproval. If anything, he pulls one off the tab, "Dispensation for the early hour." Without much more ado, he cracks the can.

The beer is cheap, domestic; it's also cold, so at least there's that. Logan's eyes flick up and down, tracking the fuzzy mutant's jaunts.

"Yeah," Logan says of the count--and dispensation, once his companion settles on the ground. Now is as good a time as any for beer, as far as he's concerned, even if he won't be having any himself. He folds his arms and gives Kurt a careful once over before and asking, "How you holdin' up, Kurt?" with narrowing eyes.

Kurt sits where he is, tail laying flat on the ground but for the tip that curls. The beer is cold, which does a great deal for its palatability, particularly for the German, and he takes the first swallow. And a second.

The blue elf shakes his head and twists to look at the other man, his gaze falling after a moment. "Give me a couple of days away from the newspapers, and I will begin to believe again that man isn't that.." Cruel. Horrible. Terrifying in their coldness. "I thought that was long past."

A deep breath is taken, then another deep draught of the beer. "How are you?"

Logan just peers down at the other man as he enjoys his drink and offers a slow nod when he trails off. He passed a mass grave at one point; he can fill in the blanks just fine, and the thought of it draws a low growl from the back of his throat. Once he's squelched that sound, he carefully takes a seat before Kurt; his eyes drop to the ground.

"Killed a girl the other night," he quietly admits. "Hacked her to pieces; didn't even think twice about it. Thought she'd--" He closes his eyes for a moment, nose twitching as the scent of blood fills his memories.

"There was a kid involved; had to protect her." There's a beat, and then he looks up - barely - to Kurt, exhausted. Angry. "Then it turned out that nah, I /didn't/ kill her." Another growl emanates from the feral mutant and he looks out past Kurt, to the lake. "This--I dunno," he roughly murmurs. "Must be in college. Might be a mutant. Plays with people's heads--makes 'em see whatever she wants 'em to and feeds off 'em. Kid's broken--can't figure out how to control herself." His hand twitches a little - he's one beer down this morning, why not make it two? - and then he just leans back on his elbows, groaning.

"It's gotten outta hand; she's workin' on a bodycount--or she /was/. Not anymore."

Kurt listens, his gaze moving from his friend to the lake and back again, yellow eyes narrowing. It's easier, so much easier to listen to another, and far preferable for the elf. There's something of a familiar ring to it, and as the recounting ends, either for the breath, or just a pause, there is a quiet interjection. "I've come across someone like that. Young girl. There is something.. inside her that feeds on fear, on nightmares." And it's someone that he's not willing to meet in the future, even though the girl needs help.

Now, Kurt's attention is fully on his friend, sympathy and understanding playing on the blue face, reaching those eyes now. "I am glad you're home, Logan. I am certain there are many places you could have gone, but like me, you have come home."

Another swallow is taken, and there comes the realization that he's finished the can. The can is crushed and set to the side, the urge to take another resisted for the moment. If only the moment.

"Of all the things that could have been done to you.." Mind tricks are the worst, particularly for what Kurt does know of his friend. "It is difficult to take comfort that this is real, mein freund.. but we need to take the little blessings where we can."

"That 'somethin'' - if we're talkin' about the same screwed up girl - is /her/," Logan murmurs. "Far as I'm concerned, anyway; she's a kid with a lotta power and no self control." He meets Kurt's eyes, and along with the anger and exhaustion, guilt is evident in his expression. "But like I said: she ain't gonna stay like way, not if I can help it." Shaking his head, he returns his attention to the lake.''

"'ppreciate the sentiments all the same, though, Kurt; world as screwed up as ours, it's--real easy to get lost."

"If it is the same, I fell victim of her attack, but.." and Kurt sounds almost ashamed of himself, ".. teleported out. It was my reaction to the fear. But, I returned quickly." The urge is given in to, and he picks up a second beer and pops the top, though he doesn't take a first swallow yet.

"There have been people sitting on the edge of a lake for centuries, thousands of years, wondering how the world has gotten to the point that it has. Not for the first time in history, there are people rising to say that it is not right. Our danger now is whether we feed into the evil in the guise of good." The Crusades.

"I know there were more than mutants that died yesterday," and it's said with knowledge, "It was difficult for me to stay my hand inside the tank. I had a shield of steel between me and those who carried out those orders against the innocents." And he didn't kill. "I sleep knowing that no matter if I lose my way, I have a way back." Here, he looks to his friend, and he reaches to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Thankfully, there are others around to help find a way back when it looks.. unfamiliar. Or too familiar, but too far from home."

"Ain't no shame in that, Kurt, I--" Logan's brow twitches at the distant memory of blood dripping on the concrete as it sluices from his claws. Rubbing the back of his head, he mutters, "--it ain't pretty, facin' all the crap we keep locked up inside us; I seen harder men than you break under that kinda stress. You got nothin' to worry about; you're a good guy..."

YESTERDAY

"Next," Wolverine growls, eyes twitching frenetically across the faces of a group of armed camp guards. With a wet *shnk!* his claws retract and the body they were holding up falls, limbs splaying lifelessly as it joins half a dozen more at his feet. The guards hesitate to make their decision; after half a second of waiting, the mutant decides to make it for them, leaping into their midst with a blood-curdling roar.

NOW

The hand on his shoulder brings him back. "--too good t' sweat losin' your way," he quietly utters with a furrowed brow. He lifts his head a little, and while he does not reciprocate the contact, he manages a tight, fleeting smile of appreciation for it before looking away. "The fact that you're doin' it anyway says plenty; far as that power'a yours might take you, I ain't had to worry about you losin' your way yet.".

Kurt exhales softly, and reclaims the hand, and now, he takes that first swallow of the new can. "Thank you for the confidence, Logan. There are times when hearing it from another helps with that inner voice."

How exactly is it that speaking to the hardest of the X-Men seems to help the most?

"Though I lied." Here, a smile actually quirks at the sides; it's weak, but there all the same. His tones are lighter in the 'confession'; an attempt at jest. "There is no official dispensation for drinking this morning. It will lay as a black mark upon my soul as it will not be confessed tomorrow morning." Nothing like a friend to lead one astray!

"Would you like to go for a sail? Warren has left the keys to the sailboat, and it is new. I think it would be a maiden voyage."

Logan glances askance at his devilishly religious teammate, eyebrow arched; after a silent beat, he pops a can from the pack, cracks it and downs half of the thing in one go, turning away as he tilts the can further and further back.

"To lighten the load a little," he dryly murmurs once he lowers the can. "Figure I've done enough sinnin' in my time to take the hit." He starts to drag the back of his hand across his mouth, but pauses at the invitation; after mulling it over, he shakes his head and rises to his feet, hand falling to his side.

"I ain't a water guy, elf; you go on and enjoy it." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he starts to make his way away from the lake. "Unwind; you deserve the rest. Just figured you could use that, after yesterday." He tips his head towarsd the six pack. "I got a lesson plan t' work on."

"Danke," is given in response to the offer of taking the sin onto broader shoulders. "It is good that there are some things that remain constant." Kurt takes another swallow of his beer before he rises.

"Thank you, Logan." And it's honest and genuine, seen in those yellow eyes, and on his face. He looks down at what's left, and picks it up. "You are right. They will not be wasted." Brows rise, however, and Kurt barks a soft laugh. "The school year will be starting soon. I was asked what I will be doing for parents' orientation. I was thinking a scene from Othello. Or Hamlet." Uh huh..

Watching his friend depart, Kurt watches for a few moments before he disappears from his spot, reappearing on the deck of the sailboat. Soon after, the sound of boat engines can be heard, and the sailboat slips its mooring.