open log
Character: Wolverine & OPEN!
Date/time: January 30th, evening.
Location: Smoke's.
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: It's been a long week. Wolverine deals with what he saw on the Fourth Floor by doing what he does (second) best.
It wasn't that he'd forgotten. He'd been counting like everyone else, marking down the weeks on a scrap of paper he kept folded in the back of his journal. Fifty two little black scratches marching out his life across the page. Happy goddamn birthday.
Better late than never.
Wolverine rolled the whiskey across his tongue, relishing the warm dry ache of the alcohol. Not that it'd do anything but make his gut burn and his skin feel too tight across his bones. Still, right now the promise of drunkenness looked far more appealling than cold sobriety. Stupid games and a Wilderness full of demons and getting stuck in the elevator: not exactly an unusual week in the Sphere, but something about the memory he'd seen on the Fourth Floor had stuck like a thorn in his paw, making him want to limp and snarl and tear at the place with his teeth.
The girl. His mind kept coming back to the girl in the chair, and the way she'd looked when the kid who was now Genius had made her forget. The empty look in her eyes, like she was as lifeless as the machines around her. Just something dead.
Wolverine reached for the whiskey bottle sitting beside him at the bar. Poured himself another couple inches, then lifted the glass with a hand as steady as a rock.
"Happy goddamn birthday," he muttered, downing the shot. It tasted bitter.
Date/time: January 30th, evening.
Location: Smoke's.
Rating: PG for now.
Summary: It's been a long week. Wolverine deals with what he saw on the Fourth Floor by doing what he does (second) best.
It wasn't that he'd forgotten. He'd been counting like everyone else, marking down the weeks on a scrap of paper he kept folded in the back of his journal. Fifty two little black scratches marching out his life across the page. Happy goddamn birthday.
Better late than never.
Wolverine rolled the whiskey across his tongue, relishing the warm dry ache of the alcohol. Not that it'd do anything but make his gut burn and his skin feel too tight across his bones. Still, right now the promise of drunkenness looked far more appealling than cold sobriety. Stupid games and a Wilderness full of demons and getting stuck in the elevator: not exactly an unusual week in the Sphere, but something about the memory he'd seen on the Fourth Floor had stuck like a thorn in his paw, making him want to limp and snarl and tear at the place with his teeth.
The girl. His mind kept coming back to the girl in the chair, and the way she'd looked when the kid who was now Genius had made her forget. The empty look in her eyes, like she was as lifeless as the machines around her. Just something dead.
Wolverine reached for the whiskey bottle sitting beside him at the bar. Poured himself another couple inches, then lifted the glass with a hand as steady as a rock.
"Happy goddamn birthday," he muttered, downing the shot. It tasted bitter.