2019-05-07 - Logan and Kitty Lose a Sandwich


Kitty runs into Logan for the first time in several years. Another sandwich is lost.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Tue May 7 21:07:59 2019
Location: Katz's Delicatessen

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Logan is on a lunch break. He is dressed in jeans, work boots, and a salt and pepper t-shirt that has seen better days, a little undersized given his thick frame, but mostly covered with an unbuttoned jean jacket.

He rolls his shoulders as he approaches the deli - more a habit than anything, there is no difficulty associated with the grunt work he's doing today. He makes his way into the front door and the lunch rush is on. There is a press of people, lined up to get their sandwiches - workers, tourists, students, and those idle today all intermixing in a landmark of New York cuisine. There are rich smells of grilled meat and there is a drone of conversation from a group this large. But something familiar registers for Logan and, in an instant, lunch is forgotten. His eyes scan the deli… that scent… he remembered it from a half-world away, years before. But she was hard to forget. Would-be assassins are memorable.

The scent wafts across his nose, carried on the drifting air. Even in his quick look around the room, Logan would realize that the girl's scent is coming from a different direction. A sudden rush of it as the door to the deli opens and air blows in from outside.

There she is. The girl from Tokyo, about three or four years ago. She's older, probably eighteen now. Less of a girl, more of a woman. The same brown hair, though grown out. When he knew her before it was chopped short, cut off along with her clothes by slices of Ogun's katana as he literally took the girl apart before building her mind back up. It does look so much better long.

Kitty Pryde turns down the sidewalk once she leaves the deli, but only to move over to a bench. She has a bag in hand and a cup with a lid. The scents Logan might have noticed as she walked out suggest roast beef and cheddar, with a spicy chipotle mayo. Hold that. With -extra- spicy chipotle mayo.

Kitty sits on the bench and gets out her sandwich and unwraps it. She looks at it longingly like it is a delicacy she has not had in a long time. She starts with the dill pickle though, delaying her sandwich gratification as she crunches on the pickle.

Logan turns back out of the deli and walks slowly - almost cautiously - along the sidewalk. Effortlessly, he slips into silent paces, even in his workboots. He approaches the young woman obliquely, from the rear, and her scent grows stronger to him. Finally, within arm's reach, he leans forward to poke the back of her shoulder. It's not aggressive, but it's certainly not a gentle poke. "Gimme a bite," he insists by way of introduction. He works to contain the grin that threatens to spread across his features - a comrade in arms, one who rose through adversity under your tutilage, is a strong bond and he can't entirely contain the simple pleasure of seeing her again. Even if he won't say as much.

"Hey!" Kitty says at the poke, turning towards what she probably expects to be some rude street person. Like the one who stole her favorite sandwich the last time she tried to get one from Katz's Deli. But it isn't. Or, well Logan -could- be a street person, and he can be rude. But he'd be a welcome rude street person if he were one.

Kitty's sandwich is set on the bench and forgotten as she jumps to her feet. The girl had a big heart, and it shouldn't come as a surprise as she tries to give Logan a big hug. "Oh my god, I haven't seen you in so long!" she tells him. "What are you doing in New York?" she asks. If he hasn't dislodged himself from the attempted hug by then, Kitty will let go, though her hands still on his arms as she looks at him. "You look like you haven't aged a day," she tells him.

Logan is separated from Kitty by the intervening bench. Still, he wraps his arms around her in a contented yet suitably obliged-seeming hug. For all his apparent prickliness, however, there is a certain tenderness for the young woman. Logan, indeed a rude vagrant, unwinds his arms from around her after the enthusiastic greeting. "I live here for now," he answers her, only now winding his way around the bench. He lifts a shoulder in a slight shrug at the comment about his appearance. "You have," he observes. "All grown up, Half-Pint. Might even have graduated to a full pint by now." Now that he's on her side of the bench, he reaches out to ruffle her hair - something that was likely annoying when she was 15, and now is only likely more so. From his toothy grin, showing off his too-long, too-sharp canines, he likely knows it.

Kitty Pryde is all grins as Logan comes around to her side of the bench. The sidewalk is full of people going and coming from lunch breaks, or off running errands in the time they have allotted. Even a stray dog off in the distance, trotting down the sidewalk. People hurrying past the two old friends, or at least teacher and student, the latter flashing a big smile up to Logan.

"Grown up a little," she agrees with a smile. "I've been at Oxford the last two years. Finished up a degree in computer engineering," she tells him. "Just got back a couple of weeks ago. Will be doing grad school here now." Kitty gives a soft laugh at the hair ruffle, reaching up to brush her fingers through it after to straighten it.

"Much better than the butch cut," Kitty says, though the memory makes her smile's brightness slip just a little bit as she is no doubt remembering events. It is something she'll never forget. Logan knows enough of Ogun's technique to know that even if he is dead and unable to take her body for his own… the darkness he put inside of her mind is still there. Still has to be fought every day by the girl.

"I'm still getting a place here in town set up," she says. "Staying at my old school up in Salem Center in the meantime," she says. There's faint scent of paint about her, and soap, as if she washed up after painting perhaps.

Logan is waging a war against smiling too much. Mostly he wins, but not altogether. Still, she knows him well enough to see the mirth in his eyes, the pleasure he has at seeing her again, and seeing her do well.

"Degree from Oxford, huh? And more school to boot?" His eyes roam over her open, warm expression and he offers a singular nod. "Ya did good, kid," he assures her - the extent of praise she's likely to get from him for such a laudible accomplishment. "Keep it up with them books. You don't want to actually have to work for a livin' when ya get through."

When her look goes distant for that instant, when the darkness comes for her, he reaches out. His hand gives a light, bracing squeeze to her shoulder - just enough to prompt her back to the here and now. "You're paintin' too?" he asks. "Exercise the… hey."

The last word is for the stray dog, who has opportunistically padded forward for Kitty's sandwich. Pity for the dog, Logan's senses have alerted him and just a look is enough to communicate to the canine, no. The dog whines, licks its lips and sits on its haunches, tilting its head to look at Logan expectantly. Questioningly. Kitty's sandwich is safe! … at least from that threat.

The comments about her educational achievements bring back more of the warmth into Kitty's smile. Though it's a somewhat humble smile as she makes a motion with her hand as if it isn't anything worth discussing. Though it is clear enough she liked hearing the compliment.

"Oh, have a friend in Mutant Town that has a Makerspace. I was just helping out. I actually may end up renting a room there," Kitty confides. "If you're staying in the area you should come by and meet them. Doug's a great guy, really old friend. And Illyana, one of my oldest friends," she tells Logan.

The dog eyes the sandwich and back to Logan. The man's feral nature seems enough to overcome the enticing scents of roast beef, and the dog turns to trot back away finally down the sidewalk, in search of food somewhere else.

"What's a Makerspace?" Logan answers plainly. True to form, he doesn't mince words or bother hide when he's in the dark about something. Also, he's not up on anything like current jargon.

His attention mostly remains on kitty as he stares the dog off, sending it moping back into an alley. Logan's focus is still divided for the moment, but having safeguarded her sandwich, he returns his gaze to her, oblivious to the threats gathering overhead.

Kitty has forgotten the sandwich for now. Even if it's her favorite and she's failed to get a single bite of one since she got back. Teleported off to fight demon lords in literal mid-bite so her teeth closed on air, and also the victim of a sandwich-napping. Her attention is on Logan, unaware of the large crow circling overhead that has spotted the food sitting relatively unguarded.

"A makerspace is sort of a community center, but devoted to creating things. As high tech as 3D printers and computers and laser cutting tools, all the way down to sewing machines, needle and thread, paints and drawing supplies," Kitty says. "There are classes, sessions, mentors. A spot kids and adults can come to learn, or just work. It's perfect for Mutant Town, what with everything else that we have to deal with there," Kitty says, her jaw tightening a little bit as she touches on the ever-present prejudice.

Logan likewise isn't particularly concerned about the sandwich. His eyes are on Kitty. There are all the scents and sounds of the city all around them - a crow is not an unusual sight here, so he pays that sensory input no real mind.

The corner of his lips lift slightly when she describes the ongoing issues with prejudice. He opens his mouth - and some blaise observation is likely to be forthcoming, judging from the expression - but he never gets a chance. His eyes widen and he reaches forward - to try to catch that dive-bombing crow. But Kitty's in his way. He bumps her slightly and catches some tail feathers. An angry squak announces the near miss, but then Kitty's beloved sandwich is seized in the crow's talons and, in an instant, it's flapping it wings and soaring above the street, raining down contents as it goes.

Kitty is oblivious to the thieving magpie until Logan acts. She turns only in time to see the top bun fall to the pavement, and about half of the roast beef, smothered in sauce. A taxi runs over it in short order.

Kitty stares glumly and murmurs, "Toasted sourdough, done just perfect so it's a little crispy and it soaks up the grease from the meat and holds it. Extra chipotle mayo, just a little bit of heat but not too much to keep the taste of the roast beef from coming through." Her words are a mournful eulogy for The Sammich.

She sighs and looks back to Logan, then to the long line she'd have to wait through to get another. "Crap. I'll get a Big Mac on the way back," she says, shaking her head. "Hey, so… I know a bunch of other mutants. We work together. Help people that need it. Other mutants especially, but, it's a good group of folks overall. Illyana's one, and Doug is still kind of part though he's got a job that takes him away sometimes. You should come by and meet them. We could use someone with your skills," she tells her old sensei.

Logan is left staring at the bird absconding with the sandwich, ignorantly dropping the perfectly-selected ingredients to the pavement below. Logan's brows arch slightly, sympathetically, at the eulogizing of the sandwich. His lips draw into a line and his eyes lower. There is a mournful shake of his head. Logan enjoys a good sandwich. He can sense the loss.

Finally, his eyes lift after their shared moment of silence. He lifts a brow and he shrugs lightly. "Uhh," he begins. It's the delaying tactic of a mind pulled in two directions at once. "I'd like to meet your friends," he finally decides with a small smile and a definitive nod. That much is true. He pointedly avoids any commitment as far as his skills are concerned.

"And there's not any obligation if you do meet them," Kitty says. They only spent weeks together, and not many at that. But she apparently picked up enough of who Logan is to guess what was going through his head.

Or maybe she developed telepathy as a second mutant power?

Kitty pulls out her phone and unlocks it, tapping in his name as a Contact and then offering it with a, "Want to give me your number and I can arrange something? Maybe dinner," she suggests. "Molson's Ice, was it?" she asks of his favorite beer.

Logan smirks at the question. "You shouldn't be buyin' *anybody* beer, half-pint," he notes with a toothy grin. Nevertheless, he takes the phone on offer and plugs in his number. "But… I'm a dynamic man. Ever changing. Plus, it's hard to get Molson Ice around here. I'm good with whatever. PBR a lot these days." He hands the phone back to Kitty with a wry grin. "You need to jet?" he asks. It's rhetorical, really. She seems to be wrapping up. "It was good to see ya, kid," he offers, smile fading as he gives a nod - almost solumn in its sincerity. "Gimme a shout soon, though. Burner phone. Can't really get on contract."

She'd know of course. The blank slate that is his life, unknown to him. That his name - the one he gives - is merely a sense, not even rooted in fact. She would well know the transient, unofficial life that comes with the lack of any official identity papers too, from their time together in Japan.

Kitty Pryde tells Logan, after his question of her having to leave, "Not yet, but wanted to get your number for sure," she tells him. Kitty sees the last half of her pickle is still undisturbed at least, picking it up and crunching on the crisp pickled cucumber as they talk. Kitty looks thoughtful as he mentions the lack of contract which casts her mind back to his situation. "You know, I've got friends. They are good with helping people with lost memories. I don't know if they'd be able to help or not," Kitty says. "But I'd be happy to introduce you to them, too. They are part of my team."

Kitty rests one of her feet on the bench so her thigh is horizontal and she can lean her arms upon it while they talk. "What you taught me… has saved my life a few times. I mean, apart from… from Ogun himself, even." Kitty gives a little nod and says, "Thank you for that. And as always for the not killing me yourself, part," she says to the man she tried to kill.

Logan narrows his eyes slightly - thoughtfully - as Kitty returns to the subject of her friends. The mention of a school. Other mutants. A team. One that has people that can help with lost memories. It's a series of things he's heard before. A brow lifts slightly. Though it takes him a moment to put it together and by then he's playing catch-up. "Wasn't your fault, kid," he assures her. "You were more a victim of that than I was." His eyes roam over her features again and he gives a small, bittersweet smile. "Wished I didn't have to teach you that. Wished you coulda just… stayed how you were before." Innocent. Safe.

He clears his throat and pushes on from the moment of sentimentality. "As for your team… you're not…" He glances around. It's a busy street without much opportunity for discretion. He folds his thick forearms across his chest. "You're not friends with Scott and Jean and them, are you?" It seems from his tone that he would not be impressed if her answer were yes.

At the mention of their past, Kitty says, "I was involved in things, my team, even before then. I just didn't really tell you about them as you were a half a world away." She reaches up, running her fingers through her hair and raising an eyebrow then as Logan mentions Scott and Jean.

"I guess you're familiar with them? Unless I'm misreading your voice, not very enamored either?" Kitty asks. "Yes, I'm friends with them. They've both saved my life a number of times," Kitty says. She leaves out the reverse being true. "You met them? Something went poorly with them?" Kitty inquires, looking concerned.

"Too familiar," Logan grouses in a low rumble. "She's a fucking psychopath. He's… well, he's just an idiot, bein' led around by her, by the short 'n curlies." He shakes his head, an unspoken declining of the invitation he had expressed interest in moments earlier. "Tell you what, *you* need somethin'? You know I'd be there. Them? Those two anyhow can take a 12-foot walk off a 10-foot pier."

Kitty Pryde muses quietly at that description. "It's more than a two-person team," she tells him. "Come meet Doug and Illyana? I'm not sure what happened with the others, but hey, I turned out ok and I'm on the team too, right?" she says, reaching over to give him a playfull little poke in the ribs.

Kitty picks up her beverage cup, taking a sip of the contents. The final remains of her avian-aborted lunch from Katz's deli.

Logan grunts noncommitally as he's poked. His lips twist slightly and he frowns at Kitty, plainly affecting his grumpiness, even if she can tell from the softening of the muscles of his shoulders, apparent even through his jacket, that she's having some effect on his mood. "Yeah, I could meet them if the other two bozos don't come around," he concedes with difficulty.

"My other friends live at the Makerspace. Those two don't," Kitty confides. "So probably not too much worry there, no," the older teenaged girl tells him. "And, there are others who might help with your memory that I doubt you've met," she offers.

Kitty glances at her phone to check the time. "And now I actually do need to jet. Great to see you again, Logan," she tells him. Kitty moves over and if he doesn't prevent it, gives Logan a tight, long hug again before letting him go. "I'll call and we can figure out a time," she offers.

Logan reciprocates the hug, folding his arms around Kitty once more for a few, treasured moments. Then his arms are unwinding and he takes a step back. He gives a narrowed look down the steet in the direction the crow flew with her sandwich, but then its back to the here and now. He gives a small smile and nods once. "All right. Makerspace," he agrees. Once again, she gets a clasp on her shoulder, a steadying grip from that heavy hand, and he says, "Glad to see you. We'll talk soon." With parting nods and smiles, he checks the time. No time for a Katz sandwich for him, either. Not with this undocumented labour job he has.

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