(no subject)

[coercive]

[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.]

Comments

[regenerative]

[ at her accusatory tone, he smiles a little smugly. he can't quite help it. having bested her when she's always been a step ahead of him with her sharp nose and her easy distrust, it's a little victory for him to have gotten the upper-hand in something that's so trivial. ]

[ he doesn't respond to her. instead, he watches her, steering clear of her little storm as she sweeps through the room and slams the door. that'd be his cue to get to his feet, but logan stays put. as tired and sore as he is, he finds he's not lagging behind because of any pain. it's charles' words, telling him to enjoy the moment that keeps him from getting up and being a bigger storm. ]

I slept. [ logan hasn't moved from his seat in the armchair. he hasn't really dressed to take on the world beyond the door, either — but, then again, logan's idea of dressing has always been a simple wife beater and a jacket or shirt thrown over it. ] You slept in. You needed it. [ his brow arches and the corner of his lip follows. ] You're welcome.

[coercive]

[He certainly looks proud of himself. Rolling her eyes at the way he looks so pleased, she lets him have this moment. It's not like his letting her sleep really is a bad thing, even if it ruined her plans of letting him sleep in comfort most of the night.]

Maybe.

[Her arms cross over her chest, and she looks every inch his bossy little daughter for a second as he looks over at him.]

But now we need to go. You are making us more late.

[And then she takes some of the new clothes she's grabbed for him and throws them at him, hoping to hit him square in the face.]

[regenerative]

[ she looks like a kid when she behaves like that. ]

Yeah, yeah.

[ logan doesn't react to the clothes being tossed toward him. he catches a shirt, but the rest hit him and collapse in a pile on his lap. they fall to the floor when he stands up, and he has half a mind to leave them there but ends up picking them up from the floor and heading into the bathroom. changing his shirt, he sweeps those bullets he'd left in the sink into his pocket, and walks out, other shirt in hand and the clothes she'd tossed at him over his shoulder. ]

Let's go. [ looking at her, he then adds with the intention to shit stir, ] You're making us late.

[coercive]

[Her head turns to watch him, eyes narrowing into a frosty glare. He thinks he's so funny, she can tell. Angrily grabbing her backpack, she runs and pushes past him so she can try to get to the drivers side of the car first. She shouts at him in Spanish as she goes, more teasing than actually angry. He's heard her angry yelling before, and this isn't it.]

They are coming -

[She notices the manager walking with a couple of housekeepers and a police officer. ]

Mira, look!

[All playing is gone now, as she hurries into the car and slides over to the passenger seat.]

[regenerative]

[ 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?

[coercive]

[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.]

[regenerative]

[ 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.

[coercive]

[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.]

[regenerative]

[ 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.