coercive | (no subject)

[She lets the others go ahead of her. The window to get to safety is so small, but she's not ready to leave yet. Promising Delilah that she'll show up eventually, Laura watches her friends leave. Rictor guides the group quickly, and Laura watches them until she can't see Bobby with his Wolverine doll any longer. When she's truly alone she turns to stare at the grave she's watching over. Day turns to dusk, then quickly to night.

She's standing guard over the man who made her promise to move on and not be what she was created to be.

It's after midnight when she finally sits, resting against her backpack.

She dozes off once or twice, but never actually sleeps. She watches the sunrise over the lake, then sets to putting wildflowers on the freshly piled dirt. Knowing that she needs to try and find her friends, she starts to get up to leave.

The sound of something beneath the dirt catches her ear. She thinks it sounds like a muffled scream. When the dirt starts to rustle, she realizes what's going on. Her heart catches in her throat and she makes a muted scream of terror as she hurries to start digging. She moves in a frenzy, scooping and digging with her hands. She ends up with bloodied fingers and knuckles that heal right away, but the end result is her staring across at a very alive Wolverine.

Logan.

Her father.

She stares with wide eyes, and reaches up to touch at his face. Lips trembling, she tries to wipe away some of the dirt and mud. There's so much of it, along with the blood.]

Daddy?

[It doesn't feel strange to call him that. Not after saying it already. There's not a ton of distance between them, but she launches herself at him anyway, arms wrapping around him in a crushing hug.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ he doesn't march with much purpose toward the truck they've stolen, but his strides are longer than they'd been before. there's still a limp to his step, a favouring of one side over the other, but logan feels like he's a little fresher than he was yesterday. that's a bonus. ]

[ without any possessions to put in a backpack (or a backpack), logan easily follows her to the truck. surprised she's taken the passenger seat, he sheds it quick and hops into the driver's side. turning the ignition on, he looks in the mirror to see where the police and housekeepers are, before he backs out slowly, not wanting to draw any attention to them. ]

[ leaving the carpark, he doesn't hit his foot onto the gas to go fast. ]

We're going to have to stop for food. [ he doesn't look at her, not particularly interested in seeing her reaction to his conversational tone. he's not quite disturbed by the presence of a police officer, knowing that they're ahead and suspecting the officer will be more preoccupied with searching the premises and then their room. they've got time. ] What do you want?

[She ate so much last night that food isn't a pressing need for her right now. But he still needs to eat, and she can't deny the fact that her stomach has a little rumble. So she shrugs and looks out the window, eyes scanning around. There's a few fast food places in close, but she wants to put a little distance between them and the police. Unlike him, their presence makes her edgy.]

Waffles.

[She decides, figuring that if she gives him a specific food he can find someplace that serves it.]

With chocolate milk.

[Her eyes glance up to the rearview mirror as they drive off, and she relaxes back into the seat. She really is too tense for an eleven year old.]

[ and it all comes crashing back to him that she's just a kid. with adult-like instincts and the need to stay ten steps ahead rather than be ten steps behind, sometimes he forgets she's just eleven years old. logan doesn't remember what it was like to be her age; all he can recall is that he'd been a kid, happy with victor, confused once those claws had shot right through the skin of his hands, and ever since he's been feeling like he's on edge, living on borrowed time even though someone would say he's earned it. ]

[ he thinks he's earned it now, even if his body doesn't agree. ]

Waffles and chocolate milk. [ dryly, ] You really like the good stuff, huh?

[ but it's an answer, and so logan tries to keep an eye out for a place that he thinks would serve it — and have her looking a little less tense. his gaze shifts to the rearview mirror a few times to see if there's anyone following behind them, but finds that there isn't at all. ]

[ muttering, ] We'll find you a place. Sit back and don't play with the lock.

[His telling her not to play with the lock creates a beacon over toward the lock that she otherwise might not have paid attention to. Her hand goes to rest over it, just to satisfy the urge to not be told what to do. She gives herself credit for not playing with it though, and thinks he really should too.]

What do you eat for breakfast? Whiskey and cigars?

[Not that you eat cigarettes, but she's just making a point here. That he shouldn't make fun of her choices in food. That's just rude, Logan.

She doesn't want to be too much of a little shit though, knowing that his patience is probably thin thanks to the fact he's still recovering. So she slumps back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest, doing a good job of looking like she's sulking.]

[ looking at her from the corner of his eye, his brow rises ever so slightly in challenge. if she presses that lock down, he's not too sure what he'll do — they both know he only has the energy to verbally snap at her (and that's all he'd ever do, even if he was at full strength). charles' voice invades his mind, as though the old man's in the backseat once again. she's just a child, but she's also an annoying child. (must be his genetics.) ]

I eat food. [ his eyes remain hard on the road. it's almost as though he won't speak further, but after a few minutes, the corner of his lip turns upward, ] I have whiskey and cigars for lunch. More whiskey than cigars these days.