Summary:Jean runs into Logan at the pizza parlor and digs for a little bit more information about the mysterious stranger. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It is late in the evening, after when families and most respectable types have dinner. There is some after-movie patronage, some guelling for a late of (further?) drinking, and some students. There is also Logan, who is at the counter. A few crumpled bills are spread out on the counter in front of him, and he's pawing through a handful of change, seemingly seeing if he scrounge the last few cents together to buy whatever it is he's ordered. The attendant stands with crossed arms and an impatient look, seeming less than impressed.
Tonight, Logan's dressed in jeans and a Whitesnake t-shirt, with a jean jacket worn over top, unbuttoned.
Jean came back into town just a little earlier in the evening. Spring break, alas, is over. But before she goes back to the dorm, there's time for one more fling. With a piece of pizza, that is. The last time she was here, things got weird. There was semi-sentient cheese. It was very strange. But they still have the best pizza around, so she's willing to risk it.
She didn't expect to see the guy from the park again, but it's not an unpleasant surprise. In fact, seeing him at the counter, she steps up to slide a five into the stack of money with a smile for the cashier. "That cover it?"
The cashier glances down at the new bill, looking crisper and less like it was balled in a pocket for the past several days. He offers a smile and nods. "Yup. Be about 10 minutes," he advises, then rakes the bills toward himself, leaving a couple of ones. He pushes a few more coins back by way of change.
Logan glances toward Jean, not seeming surprised to see her entirely. He smirks and offers her a nod. "Heya, Red," he greets. "Thanks for the help. You want some slices? We just bought a pie."
"Depends," Jean smiles crookedly, leaning over to glance back toward the kitchen. "You didn't put anything weird like olives and pineapple on it, did you?" She leans a hip against the counter, giving the whole place a quick once over, almost like she's expecting to see something that looks like trouble, but finding no such thing.
"What do you take me for?" he answers rhetorically, before offering a flash of his sharp canines. He turns as well, leaning against the edge of the counter and folding his arms across his chest. "You live 'round here?" he asks. "Funny seein' you way out there and then here too." He lifts one hand to scratch at the stubbly underside of his chin.
"This," Jean notes, "Is the best pizza in town. So. It's worth a trip. But no," she shakes her head. "I go to ESU. I went up to Westchester for the end of spring break though and just got back into town, so I figured I'd stop for some good pizza before I went back to school for the final stretch. Just a couple more months left."
Logan tiltts his head to the side as he listens, grunting and nodding subtly, agreeably. He unfolds his arms and leans with one ahnd on the countertop near the cash register, though then someone is coming forward to place an order. Logan then steps forward, having to sort of side-step around Jean to move aside from the till. "So will I have to call you Dr. Red then?" he asks. "Or you just wrappin' up the first or second degree in your collection?"
"I'm going to take that as a compliment on my assumed intelligence," Jean laughs, stepping aside as he does to make space at the counter. "But no, this is just my bachelors. I'm honestly not sure if I'm going to take it further than that. Education is great and all, but that's a long road and there are so many things I want to do now. Can do now." She purses her lips, wrinkling her nose as she glances toward the door. "I mean, what am I going to do, set up a practice listening to other people talk about their lives and never go out and live mine?"
Logan smirks and then lifts a shoulder. "I don't know," he answers - more as though it weren't such a dichotomy. "A shrink's a pretty good thing. And, no, don't sacrifice on yourself for other people, but… I don't know." This time those three words are voiced in more uncertainty, or at least in hesitation. "Things ain't so bad as they were, for kids born different. I like to think there'd be somebody they can relate to, to help 'em through the shit they go through for bein' different, you know? Don't get me wrong, you gotta live your life too, but…" He shrugs then, leaving the rest of the thought unsaid.
"But people need that too." Jean smiles faintly, pushing a hand through her hair as she looks away. "Yeah. I get that. And you're not wrong. I was actually- You know, for a long time, I thought my only real option was to go be a teacher or something. Which is great, don't get be wrong," she adds quickly. "It's a calling, it's important, it's useful. It just wasn't what I wanted to be when I wasn't being…more. But recently I realized that's not the only thing kids need. And it wouldn't be freeloading if that's what I was doing."
Logan dips his head once in emphatic yet understated agreement. "You do that, it's the last thing from freeloadin'," he declares. "A good teacher's good, but you help out the kids that really need it - and kids that grew up like us really need it - that's… bein' a hero." He shrugs to that, then adds, "But look after you to look after them, I'd say."
"Like us, huh?" That smile quirks a little deeper at one corner, a glimmer of humor in her eyes. "Don't know what you're talking about." Lying is definitely not something Jean should go into. Not her forte. "What about you, then?" she asks, looking more squarely back at him. "You live around here? Or just getting yourself some good pizza wherever you find it?"
Logan lifts one hand in a simple shrug. "I live in different spots, different nights," he answers. "I'm the kind of fuck-up you don't want those kids growin' up to be." He answers that smile with a more subtle, wry one of his own, though it is not lacking in confidence.
Jean quirks a brow, giving him a more careful look. "Doesn't have to be that way, you know," she says gently. "If you don't want it to be," she adds, raising her hands. "Not gonna be the one to tell you how to live your life. I know that works for some people." She pauses, smile quirking once more. "I just ran into someone last night who was talking about how being alone and not getting close to people was easier after you've lost a lot of people."
Logan gives a brief, singular laugh at the option she presents, the sort of quick, reactionary, humourless laugh that may be more warm than a scoff, but serves the same purpose. "It's how it's gotta be," he answers before smoothing it over with some deadpan humour. "But it gives me the freedom to get the best pizza, wherever it's at." He doesn't give any reply to the bait about losing a lot of people.
"Yep, that's what he said, too." Jean shakes her head, amused. "Maybe it's a man thing. You're not going to tell me you don't have any friends, are you?" she asks, arching a brow back at him.
"Maybe," Logan concedes with a shrug. "Can't speak for him. I just know I ain't got an option. 'Less we're shakin' up." He offers another flash of sharp teeth at that, going on the offensive against the question.
"Something tells me the roommate wouldn't go for it," Jean smirks, rolling her eyes slightly. "But if you ever find yourself in a difficult situation where you actually want some help…" She trails off, digging into her pocket for a business card. It's simple (and a little battered from being in a pocket), embossed: Xavier Institute. Jean Grey. With a number with an area code that matches Westchester.
"Roommate, huh?" Logan answers, lofting a brow and offering a wolfish smile. He reaches forward and takes the card, looking at it for a moment before tucking it into the breast pocket of his jacket. "That you?" he asks. "Jean?" Once given confirmation of that, he adds, "Listen, Jean, I ain't against takin' help. Hell, I appreciate the money you slapped down over there. There ain't much else anybody can do to help me is all." His eyes flit toward the pizza oven. "Our pie's done," he declares. "You gonna stick around for some?"
"Hey, I came here for pizza, I'm eating pizza," Jean grins, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. "Besides, I don't believe in unfixable problems. As the kids these days say, chellenge accepted." She winks, stepping away from the counter to grab a couple bottles of soda and a handful of napkins, sliding a little more cash over to cover the drinks.
As predicted, the pizza is done. It is boxed up and slid across the counter for Logan. He picks it up and turns. Watching Jean, he narrows one eye slightly, considering her appraisingly. Then he makes his way to one of the tables, off to the side of the room, and sets the box down. He brushes some crumbs off the tabletop and then eases himself down in a chair. It creaks in protest at his weight. He watches and waits for her to approach before opening the box. Inside is a pizza fit for a carnivore.
"Oh good. I didn't take you for a vegan." Jean winks as she slides into a chair, passing over a soda and some napkins before reaching in to grab a slice for herself, not shy in the least. "All right," she says around a mouthful of pizza, waving the folded slice in a circle. "You don't wanna talk about fixing stuff. Let's talk about…Star Wars. Who's your favorite character?"
Logan reaches forward and takes a slice as well. "There's that keen human observation again," he notes in response to the vegan comment. He takes a bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before stuffing the morsel into the hollow of his cheek. He says around it, "Obi-Wan. What's that say about me, Doctor-to-be Red?"
"Dunno," Jean laughs, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Don't have enough information. How come he's your favorite? Why do you like him?" It doesn't even seem like she's digging. She just sees to genuinely enjoy atlking to people and learning things about them.
"Buzzfeed quiz said I was most like him," Logan answers before taking another bite of pizza. He grins across the table, chewing for a moment before swallowing. "Nah. Honestly… I don't know. He's got a whole experienced vibe. He's at peace. He's wise, but he still comes out, at the end of the day, gives his life to protect others. Gotta respect him." He points toward Jean with the vanishing slice in his hand. "What about you? And don't say Jar Jar. He's everebody's favourite."
"I mean, no self-respecting woman doesn't like Leia," Jean muses. "She might be a princess, but she can pick up a gun and fight, too. But she knows how to be a diplomat too." She chews on a bite as she looks toward the ceiling, pensive. "I really like Poe, from the new ones. I like that he manages to be the hotshot and a leader without having to fall into all of those toxic masculinity traits we've come to associate with both of those things. He has feelings, he encourages people, he pushes for teamwork and sacrifice."
Logan rests a forearm and an elbow on the tabletop. "He's a real dreamboat, that guy," Logan answers with a nod of his head and a wry grin, deadpan in his humour. Then he adds, sucking the grease off a couple of fingers before moving on to the next slice, "I don't think the princess angle is a plus. Just goes into that thing, how from the start, we tell girls 'you gotta be born with it'. Ain't no self-made princesses that I ever heard of." He takes another bite of pizza at that, before speaking around it again, manners something to be desired. "But what do I know?" He sets the pizza down then and reaches for his bottle of soda.
"Well, except she's not really born with it, is she?" Jean reaches for another piece of pizza, shrugging. "Technically her mom's an elected official and her dad's a creepy, whiny former slave." She wrinkles her nose. "I maintain that there was definitely some mind-messing going on between those two. She had way too much sense to say yes to that creep without being pushed into it."
Logan gives a wry grin and shrugs, lifting his bottle slightly before aligning it with his lips and taking a draught. He sets the bottle down and he notes, "I figured it was who adopted her. But you know, perpetuates the princess-industrial complex." He picks up the pizza and then adds, "Wait, Luke was creepy? I mean, ignoring that he wanted to bang his sister. Though she said she always knew and kissed him so… I dunno, they're both creepy."
"Princess-industrial complex," Jean snickers, shaking her head. "I don't think it's quite as big as that. But to be fair, I didn't exactly have an entirely normal childhood, so maybe I missed out on some of the princess bits. And no, not Luke. I mean, Luke was a doofus, but he wasn't creepy. Anakin. Anakin was creepy. The prequels are like…a manifesto of mens rights activists or something." She shudders dramatically. "No way he wasn't mind-whammying Padme into staying with him."
"Oh, *that* creeper. Yeah. I got no argument there," Logan answers with a nod. "This is why you should always find a guy too dumb to manipulate you. Avoid the trap." He nods to that, significantly, and takes another bite of pizza. Abruptly shifting topics, he asks, "So, this institute of yours… that where they wantin' you to teach?"
Jean laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Yeah, but the smart ones are more fun," she admits, taking a sip of her soda. The change in topic brings a change in posture as she looks away, lifting one shoulder in an awkward shrug. "I mean, I don't think it's like that. Just more of a…Well, they're my friends, and they miss me, and they'd like to see me more often. And teaching there would be one way to do it, but I don't think I'm really cut out for classroom teaching. I'm not…excited enough about it myself. It was always just a means to an end for me."
"Ah shit," he grouses in response to her admission. He makes no further comment, taking another bite of his pizza. "Okay. You go to that institute? Sounds real fancy. Xavier's the rich guy bankrollin' the operation, I suppose?" There is a light dusting of questions, conversational, causal as can be over pizza and soda.
Jean quirks a brow at the question, smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "I mean, he's the Headmaster, at least. My understanding is that the place was a family estate before it was a school. How much money and where it comes from is above my pay grade though. I started there when I was 10, so I practically grew up there. It's kind of like knowing how your parents pay the bills at that point."
Logan gives a grunt of acknowledgement, nodding along to the information Jean provides. His brows arch. "Shit, yeah? Since you were 10? He's been in the job for a while." He chews on his next bite and then adds, "Maybe I'll have to get my GED. Correspondence study." He sets the rest of that half-eaten slice down in the box again and takes another swig of his soda.
"Yeah, I…" Jean pauses, setting her slice of pizza down and rubbing a napkin between her hands, almost nervously. "I came into things young. There was a- an incident. I lost my best friend. And things were…rough for a while. I had almost no control and way too much power, and the Professor was pretty much the only one who could help me, so…Yeah. I went to the school and I pretty much stayed there. I mean, it's not that my parents don't love me," she adds quickly. "Just…they knew they couldn't do what I needed then."
He watches her closely as her demeanour subtly shifts. For Logan, she may as well hold neon signs showing her emotional state. The slight shift of her pulse rate, the tiniest shiver or flush of perspiration, it's all plain as day for him. He stops his absent eating and drinking to listen to what comes out, in his mind, as almost a confession. "So he helps folks like us?" he asks, eyes mapping Jean's features before he gives a singular nod. "Solid. I like him already." He lets a beat pass before he offers, "I don't remember fuck all before I woke up one morning." He's looking at the pizza again, focusing on picking up the slice, maintaining a casual demeanour about his own revelation.
"He does, yeah," Jean answers with a small smile, clearly more comfortable discussing other people's powers than her own. "He's helped a lot of people. Though that sounds like a newer one." She tilts her head, shifting to sit cross-legged in her chair. "Nothing? That's some serious amnesia. Did you have any signs of trauma when you woke up? A bump on the head, anything to suggest things hadn't been normal for you before?"
He lofts a brow slightly, considering Jean in silence for a moment, clearly taking the measure of her as they sit across a cheap table from one another, casual over-pizza conversation progressing to something more worthy of assessing her for a moment. Finally, he says, keeping his voice low, "I been… changed. Implants. Military stuff. Combat stuff. I don't think I could get amnesia from a blow to the head. I figure I was a weapon." He takes a final bite, chewing it while watching her steadily, seeming to anticipate a particular reaction, even as he tosses the remainder of a crust into the box.
Jean tilts her head at the explanation, less surprised than he might think. No doubt growing up as a mutant from such a young age means she's heard any number of stories. "Well, that could certainly explain an emotional trauma that would cause you to block your memories," she says quietly. "It's normal, by the way," she adds. "Blocking traumatic memories. Less healthy than coming to terms with them, but sometimes it's for our own safety. I've got blocks. The professor's been removing them for a few years now, a little at a time."
"I'm not sure it's just that," he answers, a pensive frown creasing his brow. "I don't… think I work that way. It's hard to explain." He shrugs once more as he reaches forward to pick up the bottle she bought for him. He takes another swig before he sets it down again, focus back on Jean. Evidently not offering more than that at the moment.
"Well, unless you're an alien, you probably work at least something like that. But it's possible the blocks could have been put there by someone else," Jean muses. "Someone like me or the professor. Probably more like the professor, I'm not really very good at that sort of thing yet. If you wanted, I could set you up an appointment with him. He might be able to help you remember."
Logan's lips quirk upward slightly at the alien comment. "Maybe. You're the expert," he concedes, though it seems more for the sake of putting an end to the question than a true concession. He folds his arms across his chest then. Lifting his chin slightly, he adds, "Sometimes best to let sleeping dogs lie, no? Though… I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't curious. Though maybe I want you to do it." There is a direct look given at that. Challenging, perhaps?
Jean quirks a brow at that. "I mean. It's your brain, but most people I know kind of like their brains working and working right." Her smile twists, rueful, at the last. "I- Like I said, I've had some…" She stops herself, squaring up to the table and setting her hands flat on the edge. "I came into my powers when my friend was hit by a car while we were playing. I…felt all of it. I felt her die. And I couldn't handle it. The professor put in the blocks because I couldn't handle everything that was coming in through the telepathy side of things. We've been working on removing them, on figuring things out, but…My brain is kind of like a nuclear weapon. It's possible to make a tactical strike, but it's also possible to end up with a giant irradiated wasteland."
Logan seems unperturbed by the imagery she summons. He grins crookedly, flashing his sharp canines once more. "Now you're just flirtin'. And you said you don't like dumb guys." He snorts at that before giving another grin. "But… maybe I'll come by and see this place of yours. Some weekend you're there," he suggests.
"Now you're making sensible suggestions," Jean smiles crookedly, nodding once. "I'm usually up there most weekends. If you want to come up some time, I can give it a try. And that way if things take an ugly turn, the professor will be there to smooth things over and make sure I don't, you know. Leave you a drooling, half-braindead mess." She's joking, right? She doesn't seem like she's joking as much as she should be…
"I ain't nothin' but sensible, Red," Logan answers. "We'll do it sometime, sounds good," he adds, as though unconcerned about the prospect of being left a vegetable, or perhaps not believing she could leave him in that state. "Though, if I'm gettin' ya to pick through my brain, you gotta buy me a drink first. I ain't that cheap a date." His wolfish grin returns. "May as well throw that on the agenda while we're at it, huh?"