(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

[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.