(Untitled)

[meowminx]

WHO: Logan (heavymetalclaws) & Selina (catmasked)
WHERE: Selina's posh new apartment
WHEN: Jan 17th, evening
SUMMARY: Selina talking about her fucked-up life.
FORMAT: ParaNovel

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[heavymetalclaws]

Logan had known about the new place for a couple of days. It hadn't been hard to track her down: a few bills in the right hands, and where that didn't work a flash of his claws and an inquiry about how much the person wanted to see their guts steamin' on the concrete in front of them did just as well

[meowminx]

"Oh, they got better," Selina replied with a slight ghost of a smile. It vanished quickly. The fight had been little more than a pointless brawl, not really worth the damage on either side.

She made her way carefully back to the living room. The apartment was one of those pre-furnished interior decorator deals: ultramodern and a touch impersonal. Selina had already hung the photos Peter gave her for Christmas to help with the latter.

Instead of the usual booze, Selina had made tea. Something of a sentimental choice--it was one of the first things her Sensei had taught her how to do. Still, she hadn't had a drink since the real trouble had come to town, and this wasn't exactly the best time to start.

"Hope this is okay," she told Logan as she settled on the low couch. Though she didn't say anything else, her eyes were easy enough to read. If he asked, she'd answer.

[heavymetalclaws]

Logan followed her through to the living room, instinctively taking note of her movements, how she walked, how she held herself. The pain that threaded through her scent like a cold steel wire was faint; manageable. The bruises on her face and hands were days old. Nothing serious. She'd taken care of it.

Didn't make him any less angry, though. Any less willing to go out and find the guys who'd caused her pain, teach them a thing or two with his claws. It was just how he worked. Throwing himself into other people's fights because he knew he could survive them.

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair opposite the couch. The smell of the tea was familiar. Comforting. It made him think of blossoms and sweet white wood, and a grave in the snow.

"Fine with me," he growled, lowering himself into the chair. He leant forward, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. For a moment he simply looked at her, weighing the words he wanted to say in his mind.

"Is it true? What that clown said about you?"

[meowminx]

And there was the question Selina had been waiting for. Part of her was surprised just how few had asked. But she knew he would