*OOC -- The setup for this thread is based on the X-men: Endangered Species one-shot by Mike Carey.The Professor was sitting behind them
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Damn, Logan. . . Scott thought, though he didn't quite have the breath to form the words.
He switched his visor, quickly, for the glasses, and when he refocused, realized what Logan already had -- that Bruno was cybernetic. That made sense; with a shortage of mutants, Shaw would have to look elsewhere for muscle. Good news, bad news. On the one hand, robot armies were a bitch to fight; on the other, they were usually pretty stupid, and you could slice or blast away at them without feeling any guilt. . .
Which Scott did, directing a sharp optic blast at Bruno's head, using another to explode his remaining arm, then hitting the chest for good measure. You never knew where the nerve center on these things might be.
By the third blast, Scott was on his feet, trying to give Logan a smile that said his ribs were definitely not broken. This quickly turned into a wince, that said, okay, maybe, but hopefully just some minor ones. "Good move," he said. "Do you think there are more?" He tried to look hopeful. The original idea, after all, had been to relieve stress by kicking some ass, which didn't work as well if you were the ones being beat up.
"Indeed, there are many where those came from," boomed a voice from around the corner. "But when Emma contacted me to let me know you boys would be coming, she did make me promise to go easy on you."
As Shaw stepped into the hallway, all bows and ruffles as usual Logan found himself completely unsurprised, both by his appearance and by the revelation of his contact with Emma. Emma knew Shaw's thought patterns like the back of her hand; she would have known he was there just as well as Logan did. And of course she wouldn't want to get her hands dirty; that was, after all, Logan's job description.
The fact that she'd known Logan would take Scott with him to track down Shaw was slightly more surprising, but not overly so. It just meant that she thought Logan was predictable - which, on this particular front, he knew he was.
"Yeah, I'm sure my buddy here really appreciates how you went easy on his ribs," Logan muttered, crossing his arms. They couldn't fight Shaw, of course. A fleet of robots would appear before Logan could ever get close enough to cut him, and Scott's blasts would only power him up. This was a time for diplomacy - something that Logan, for his part, had never been all that good at.
"My ribs are fine," Scott gasped, mostly because he wanted it to be true. Last time he had done something to a rib had been in the raid on Benetech. He had refused to get it looked at until Emma had pointed out -- or rather demonstrated -- that certain activities were more or less impossible. After that, he'd taken a session with one of the institute's healers. Those weren't exactly wandering the streets of New York, and -- he now admitted to himself -- he'd been thinking about staying somewhere with Logan tonight. Summers, you're such a slut, he thought -- though it did take a moment to convince himself the voice in his head wasn't Emma's.
"I'm fine," he repeated, leaning against Logan just a little.
"Very well," Shaw said coldly. "Then you can cease to vandalize my very expensive cybernetics long enough to join me for a drink. In one of our more -- private rooms."
He turned on his heel and swept off ahead of them, not looking back to see if he would follow.
Scott shrugged at Logan. It was what they had come for.
As they walked up the stairs, Scott might have leaned on the shorter man's shoulder a little more than was strictly necessary.
Scott's weight was heavy on Logan's shoulder, but he found he didn't really mind. He'd carried heavier things, after all. For a second, he worried that this meant Scott was more seriously injured than he appeared, but Logan could smell something on him, something that smelled a little like... affection, mixed with lust. Like maybe his leaning was purposeful.
Well, that was interesting.
But Logan didn't have time to think about that, as, seconds later, they reached the top of the staircase and entered the room Shaw had mentioned. Shaw made a flippy gesturing motion with one hand, and they all sat down on velvet-covered chairs arranged around a polished wooden table.
"Let's cut to the chase," Logan said, leaning over the table, unwilling to wait for Shaw, or Scott, to speak. "What the flamin' hell were you doing at that kid's funeral?"
Sebastian raised his eyebrows, all innocence. "To pay my respects, naturally. As members of a dwindling species -- if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less -- et cetera, et cetera" He raised his hand, and gestured. A short man in a velvet coat emerged from the shadows. "Claude," said Shaw. "Do bring out some of the twenty-year armagnac that just came in? Nothing too good for our guests."
Claude approached, with a bottle, but pointedly avoided Logan's side of the table. "Ahh, yes," said Shaw. "Claude would like to make sure that you know he is not a robot. He seems to assume that this would buy him mercy at your hands -- or, rather, claws -- Mr. Logan, as he seems to believe you are a gentleman."
"Nobody's cutting anybody," Scott said tersely, with a glance at Logan to get an idea how true this was. As much as Scott hated to admit it, Shaw had been a perfect gentleman since they had arrived -- barring one robot punch, anyway, but they had sort of asked for it.
That said, Scott still wasn't at all sure he wanted to drink this man's brandy. As Claude pushed the glasses across the table toward them, Scott watched Logan for a cue. With his sense of smell, he could have an idea what was off. Scott had spent too many unpleasant hours in this place to risk waking up tied in a basement with some kind of helmet strapped over his eyes.
Logan leaned back in his chair, the picture of calm. He wasn't dumb enough to try slicing up anyone else, not when they were actually trying to get the info they'd come here for. He was pretty sure Scott knew that.
When the drinks came, Logan saw Scott's sideways glance, and he picked up his glass of brandy. Logan's metabolism processed drugs and poisons within seconds; if the liquor was tainted, Logan would feel the slight discomfort, but it would wash away immediately. He picked up his glass, sniffed for a second to see if he could detect anything that way (he couldn't) and took a long drink, kicking Scott under the table to make sure he didn't follow suit.
The liquid burned down his throat - it wasn't bad, really - and settled in the pit of his stomach. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then he felt it - a pinching in his intestines.
Shaw didn't intend to kill them with their drinks, but he did intend to make their lives somewhat uncomfortable. It was a strangely low-brow move for Shaw, but then again Shaw should have known that the drug wouldn't affect Logan. Either the man was getting sloppy, or he wasn't the one controlling the whole of this interaction. There was a good chance they were barking up the wrong tree.
"Thanks for the drink, bub," Logan said, setting his glass back down. "But I'll take my next one without the laxatives."
He switched his visor, quickly, for the glasses, and when he refocused, realized what Logan already had -- that Bruno was cybernetic. That made sense; with a shortage of mutants, Shaw would have to look elsewhere for muscle. Good news, bad news. On the one hand, robot armies were a bitch to fight; on the other, they were usually pretty stupid, and you could slice or blast away at them without feeling any guilt. . .
Which Scott did, directing a sharp optic blast at Bruno's head, using another to explode his remaining arm, then hitting the chest for good measure. You never knew where the nerve center on these things might be.
By the third blast, Scott was on his feet, trying to give Logan a smile that said his ribs were definitely not broken. This quickly turned into a wince, that said, okay, maybe, but hopefully just some minor ones.
"Good move," he said. "Do you think there are more?" He tried to look hopeful. The original idea, after all, had been to relieve stress by kicking some ass, which didn't work as well if you were the ones being beat up.
"Indeed, there are many where those came from," boomed a voice from around the corner. "But when Emma contacted me to let me know you boys would be coming, she did make me promise to go easy on you."
Shaw. Scott gave Logan a look. Fucking great.
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The fact that she'd known Logan would take Scott with him to track down Shaw was slightly more surprising, but not overly so. It just meant that she thought Logan was predictable - which, on this particular front, he knew he was.
"Yeah, I'm sure my buddy here really appreciates how you went easy on his ribs," Logan muttered, crossing his arms. They couldn't fight Shaw, of course. A fleet of robots would appear before Logan could ever get close enough to cut him, and Scott's blasts would only power him up. This was a time for diplomacy - something that Logan, for his part, had never been all that good at.
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"I'm fine," he repeated, leaning against Logan just a little.
"Very well," Shaw said coldly. "Then you can cease to vandalize my very expensive cybernetics long enough to join me for a drink. In one of our more -- private rooms."
He turned on his heel and swept off ahead of them, not looking back to see if he would follow.
Scott shrugged at Logan. It was what they had come for.
As they walked up the stairs, Scott might have leaned on the shorter man's shoulder a little more than was strictly necessary.
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Well, that was interesting.
But Logan didn't have time to think about that, as, seconds later, they reached the top of the staircase and entered the room Shaw had mentioned. Shaw made a flippy gesturing motion with one hand, and they all sat down on velvet-covered chairs arranged around a polished wooden table.
"Let's cut to the chase," Logan said, leaning over the table, unwilling to wait for Shaw, or Scott, to speak. "What the flamin' hell were you doing at that kid's funeral?"
Reply
Claude approached, with a bottle, but pointedly avoided Logan's side of the table. "Ahh, yes," said Shaw. "Claude would like to make sure that you know he is not a robot. He seems to assume that this would buy him mercy at your hands -- or, rather, claws -- Mr. Logan, as he seems to believe you are a gentleman."
"Nobody's cutting anybody," Scott said tersely, with a glance at Logan to get an idea how true this was. As much as Scott hated to admit it, Shaw had been a perfect gentleman since they had arrived -- barring one robot punch, anyway, but they had sort of asked for it.
That said, Scott still wasn't at all sure he wanted to drink this man's brandy. As Claude pushed the glasses across the table toward them, Scott watched Logan for a cue. With his sense of smell, he could have an idea what was off. Scott had spent too many unpleasant hours in this place to risk waking up tied in a basement with some kind of helmet strapped over his eyes.
Reply
When the drinks came, Logan saw Scott's sideways glance, and he picked up his glass of brandy. Logan's metabolism processed drugs and poisons within seconds; if the liquor was tainted, Logan would feel the slight discomfort, but it would wash away immediately. He picked up his glass, sniffed for a second to see if he could detect anything that way (he couldn't) and took a long drink, kicking Scott under the table to make sure he didn't follow suit.
The liquid burned down his throat - it wasn't bad, really - and settled in the pit of his stomach. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then he felt it - a pinching in his intestines.
Shaw didn't intend to kill them with their drinks, but he did intend to make their lives somewhat uncomfortable. It was a strangely low-brow move for Shaw, but then again Shaw should have known that the drug wouldn't affect Logan. Either the man was getting sloppy, or he wasn't the one controlling the whole of this interaction. There was a good chance they were barking up the wrong tree.
"Thanks for the drink, bub," Logan said, setting his glass back down. "But I'll take my next one without the laxatives."
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