xp_logs | [log] Logan & Marie, Monday night (Reply)

(The sound you hear is Logan's brain switching gears without a clutch.)

Marie read up on the storm of emails from the journals while she dried off after a shower. The flight with Shiro and the scare he'd given her had left her with a sheen of sweat and fear that she found distasteful. The more she read the more irritated she became. It wasn't Marko himself; it was the fear he engendered in the others and the fact that they should have any reason to feel that way /here/. Frustrated all over again, she pulled a snug black hoodie over her head and tugged it down to meet the drawstring waistband of her favourite black jersey running pants. Ninja clothes, she thought, and wished she were sneaky enough to do something Dreadful. Instead, she tucked her gloves into the hoodie's pocket and stalked off to Logan's room to vent at him.

Logan had just gotten out of the shower, his muscles still warm from his practice session in the Danger Room. He pulled on grey sweatpants and his Xavier's sweatshirt, then padded over to his armchair to stretch out and smoke a cigar.

Only habit stopped Marie long enough to knock on his door. She was seething with an outrage that she /knew/ was fueled by past fears, but knowing didn't make it less. She rapped sharply on the wood and her bare knuckles stung with it. Hands on hips, jaw set and angry, she waited for his response.

The knock jarred Logan from his musing and he took a deep breath, smelling past the cigar to the scent of Marie outside his door. And from the sound of the knock, she was pissed. "C'mon in, Marie!" he called, chewing around the end of his cigar to speak.

She flung the door open, stepped in, and shut the door again all in one motion. Leaning with her back to the door, she fixed him with a hot, dark stare and growled, "I am going to rip that bastard's head off and give it to the kids to play soccer with."

He blinked. It obviously wasn't him. "Who?"

"Marko." She pushed away from the door, body tight and angry. "Arrogant, uneducated, pig-headed, son-of-a-bitch," she said smoothly, low and angry. She pulled her gloves out of the pocket of her hoodie and threw them on the table, then turned to face him, arms crossed under her breasts. "I don't give a shit who he is. He can treat the kids here with a bit more respect or someone /will/ take him up on his offer to come and 'see' him personally, and it'll be me. And since he's got such a negative opinion about my gloves, I suppose I'll just have to leave them off." There was no arrogance in her words, just pure vitriol and pragmatism.

She practically hummed with energy. He'd never seen her like this, so filled with anger and tension. He couldn't look away. "What'd he do?"

"Refered to the kids as spoiled little whiners and maggot vomit, mocked us for needing 'special space' to pout and cry because we 'miss our mommies', told us we were here because we're dangers to society, and accused us of not having any respect for the Mansion, the Professor, or any of our teachers. And that was just in his initial public post to the student body," she said coolly. "Needless to say, it was inappropriate and I let him know. He didn't appreciate that at all. He can't talk like that to the kids here. I don't give a damn who he is, I won't let anyone drag that kind of shitty attitude into /this/ place. Period." Her jaw was set and stubborn and her eyes were still flashing as she ran her fingers through her wet hair and shook her head. "He's just /such/ a prick."

He chewed on his cigar for a quiet moment. "Whiners, huh? 'Cause it's real whiney to hafta find sanctuary from the rest of the world because you're different. What's he hidin' from, here?" His eyes were focussed on her hands, threading through her hair. He so rarely got to see them.

"I don't know." She put her hands on her hips. "But if he'd like to 'talk' to me about my lack of respect for this place, I'll know soon enough." Her eyes narrowed and a small smile curved her lips, though her voice remained angry. "I can't believe the fucker had the nerve to inform me that it's a cruel, hostile world out there, much less accuse me of wanting a perfect life handed to me. He can contemplate my disrespect and poor grasp on the realities of the world after he gets to know me, which he's welcome to try and do any time."

His eyes were drawn from her hands -- beautiful, with pale skin and glittery pink polish on the nails, the colour of cotton candy -- to her eyes. She was serious. The realisation burned through him and he grinned, a hint of viciousness in his own eyes. "You're serious."

She paused and frowned at him, the glare changing focus. "I wouldn't say anything if I weren't. We don't need someone inside these walls spouting poisonous shit that we could get at any old Friends of Humanity meeting or, for the less fortunate among us, back at home, sweet home. No further discussion needed. He's so damn sure he can bully people into doing what he wants. What he's going to get is a first hand demonstration of exactly how much damage someone here can do and if he's lucky, it'll be me and not one of the kids he scares into losing control. Artie and Yana are terrified of him, and M-A's no better off. Not. Acceptable."

Artie was afraid of the guy. He'd had a soft spot for Artie ever since the incident at Alkali Lake. "I don't think he'll be feelin' lucky if you go after 'im," he mused, watching the way her body thrummed with tension. He knew firsthand how it felt to be on the receiving end of Marie's powers. He doubted Marko would be feeling anything but pain.

"Of course because /I/ am the mature one in this situation," she spat, flinging her hands up in frustration. "I can't do jack shit until he actually starts something. Son of a bitch. Somehow reporting him and forwarding everything to the Professor is massively unsatsifactory." She half-flew, half-flung herself onto the bed and lay there staring at the ceiling, arms out and palms up. "I /hate/ being reasonable."

He growled out a laugh, shifting to watch her on the bed. His bed. "Think you'd be more like me, you got so much a me in you're head." He shrugged. "Never was much for waitin' on the rules. Your way's probly better, though."

She rolled over to look at him, propping herself up on her elbows. "At the least, it doesn't do anything to make the little kids feel safer if I go doing damage to someone who just mouths off, right?" She shook her head and bit her lip. "I'll have to settle for verbally castrating him for the time being," she said, anger still seeping into her tones. "I do respect this place, far more than he does, because I have a clue what it /really/ means. He's just not been educated about that yet."

"Sanctuary," he said, his tone still a growl. The anger in her voice echoed in his ears. He was still buzzing from it, from the newness of it, and the intensity. He chewed on his cigar, puffing once, then plucked it from his mouth and dropped it into a half-full coffee mug. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned back against his desk, still watching her.

She tilted her head back a little to meet his gaze. "Precisely," she said in a soft, determined voice. "And I won't let anyone take that away from us, not with words and not with guns, no matter who they are. Not again."

His eyes flashed agreement and he took a deep breath, pushing down his reaction to her determination, her viciousness. He pushed away from the desk, walking toward the bed to sit near her head. "You won't be alone, defending it."

She rolled over on her back again, lying close, looking up at him. "I know." She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against the outside of his thigh affectionately, almost like a cat. "It's like gravity, you and me."

He stroked her hair, petting her like the cat she imitated. "Jumpin' up only to get pulled right back in," he murmured, thinking of her attempt to go to university.

"Some things are the same no matter where I go. I could be on the moon and I'd feel the same about this place and I'd still come back if they needed me." She sighed contentedly at his touch, some of the tension slowly seeping out of her. "I want to believe in this place. And if I can't... I'll make a place I can, I suppose."

He scritched gently at her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. "I think the place deserves believin' in." He wasn't sure he should ask, but, "What was Marko pissed about, that he was yellin' at the kids?"

She made a face. "Oh, general disrespect of the grounds and the house. And he was mad at me for sitting on the porch roof... though he said tromping around the roof in general and I don't tromp, I fly and there is no way that my ass on the porch roof is going to cause a leak in the attic, thank you, so he can shove that theory where the sun doesn't shine. Worse, if he'd just asked for help fixing the place up, I'd have helped him. That's what really pissed me off."

He nodded, untangling his fingers from her hair and instead running his hands through his own hair. "A leak in the attic and he's callin' kids maggot vomit? Bit touchy."

"Just a little," she agreed, then stretched out full-length, arms over her head, to loosen the tension in her body. "He was out of line."

"Mmhm," he growled, watching her stretch. The tension was easing from her body, but he still thrummed with the memory of her rage. She was so like him and yet so different. His girl. His Marie.

She looked up at him, contentment rapidly replacing anger in the lines of her face. "I knew you'd understand."

He closed his eyes for a second, nodding, and took a deep breath. Opening his eyes, he grinned. "Course I understand. We think alike, you 'n me."

She gave him a brilliant smile then and sat up and hugged him. "Thanks for putting up with me."

Wrapping his arms around her, he murmured, "'s what 'm here for."