ArchivedLogs:We All Got Demons

We All Got Demons
From one weapon to another...
Dramatis Personae Logan & Kris
In Absentia	April 30 A day or so after Kris' first combat evaluation with Logan, they meet up in the woods early in the morning. Logan has been up all night, and now tries to beat the demons out of him by turning a tree into a punching bag. Kris is just looking for some peace and quiet, and instead finds Logan - who is neither.
Location Woods, Xavier's School
On a normal day (as normal as any day in Xavier's School can be) the woods are generally quiet. Peaceful. Somehow the trees and the spaces between them manage to feel...safe, all year round. It is not uncommon to find students out here, exploring, training, playing... or just taking a moment to be alone. In the quiet. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound echoes through the trees, carried on the wind like a bark drowning out a whispering crowd. In amongst the 'thumps' one can also hear the 'ching' of metal striking wood, and upon drawing closer - the grunts of a masculine voice (deep, growling) in both pain... and anger. It is early morning; the weather is mild, and while there are students around, outside the campus, most are inside the main building. None, thus far, are in the woods. And there Logan stands in front of a large oak - punching at it with is fists, and later slashing it with his claws. Blood stains the trunk and runs in rivulets down to the ground at Logan's feet. The man is perspiring, his lips curled into an angry snarl, and his eyes squeezed shut. He wears trackpants on his lower half, and just a singlet on his chest. A razor-sharp, ancient Japanese katana lies on the ground next to its sheath and the tree. The sound continues to echo across the woods, to the lake and beyond. Kris is wandering the woods herself. Being in forests (and when possible, jungles) takes her back to a more primal self. Life as a child soldier was hateful, and awful, but in some ways, it was much simpler. This reminds her of that simplicity without that hatefulness. So of course she wants to go out into the woods. And she does so without shoes, of course. It only takes one look to see why. While she has painted her nail pink, her feet are tough to the point she likely doesn't need them even in rocky terrain. Hearing the thumping, then the ringing of metal, and the the grunting... Well, that's going to make a lot of people curious, and it's easy for someone like her to follow it through the woods. So when she sees Logan through a stand of trees venting his spleen on a tree, she takes a moment to quietly lay there and watch, rather than approach. She knows better than to get close and surprise someone like this, after all. In fact, she even clears her throat as she leans against the tree, "Ackhrm. I am thinking that maybe you have won. The tree has obviously lost. All the damage in the world done to your body will not fix what is wrong right now. I have learned this." She points at the katana laying on the ground, "That is one of the most beautiful and ugly things I have ever seen." Nostrils flare at a familiar scent. Logan glances sharply to the side, pausing in his attack upon the tree to glare the one who has intruded upon his solitude Air fills his lungs to capacity with each breath and is expelled just as deliberately, and his lips curl even more at Kris' opening comments. SLASH. With an anguished growl, the Wolverine carves three deep gouges into the tree-trunk with the claws in his right arm, and he looses a hiss through his teeth - although his ire is not aimed at Kris, or anyone in particular for that matter. Moments later, after the girl has spoke, the claws vanish back into Logan's arms and he flexes his fingers - eyeing Kris all the while. "Wait til yer my age, kid, before ya start yappin' about what you've learned," he snaps. He ignores the blood on his hands, at his feet and on the tree, and moves to the katana and its sheath, picking them both up. "Can ya use one o' these?" he asks, holding up the sheathed sword in his left hand, eyes watching Kris' for more than a verbal answer. "I have a lot more to learn," Kris replies, nodding. "You are my teacher after all. You would know better than I. All I mean is, I tried doing hard, painful things to... cope. After the fact, in therapy, the people who talked with me and debriefed me said I was not allowed to do it." Kris begins fooling and fidgeting with the end of one of her long strands of hair, "I am sorry I have insulted you, esteemed Professor. It was not my intent to step out of my place." As for the sword, Kris merely asks,"With your permission, sir?" She'd been intending to get some practice done, so she'd checked her 'weapon' out. With an effort of will, blue light crackles into life above her open and extended hand, and solidifies into a long, slightly oddly shaped bladed weapon, "Give me five minutes with it, and I can make one." What she does with that weapon is put it through a series of exercises. It's obvious they're meant for a longer, more traditionally shaped blade, but she's... adapting, "This barang is not meant for the exercise, not long enough, but my machete is wrongly shaped..." It's a nasty weapon form, like something designed to hack an opponent apart like an animal being butcher. Not pretty, but lethal. "Many say there is no art in escrima. I am sometimes inclined to agree." "No art in escrima sticks, huh?" Logan reaches a hand up to itch the back of his neck, looking puzzled. His left hand holds out the katana to let Kris have a go with it. "I don't think o' killing - with any weapon - as an 'art'," he ventures aloud. There's a shrug immediately after. "More of... a necessity. But it ain' always necessary. Hmph. 'Spose it's an art, or a dance... whatever. For me, it was a job. A life." Growling at himself, and glowering at the ground for a moment, the dour-faced older man then lifts his chin toward Kris. His eyes watch her every move with the barang. "You got skills. An' I ain't easily offended, kid," he says after a while. "S'don't worry about it. I been meaning to ask--" and he motions to the conjured weapon. "--Whose choice was it? To put that in a safe place. Yours, the Prof's? Someone else's? Who said ya couldn't be trusted?" She takes her barang, and flips it with the ease of someone who has done it often (and for practical reason), catching it by the tip. Then she throws it, sticking it into a tree. Kris then takes the katan in two hands carefully and bows to the man. She unlimbers it, and begins eyeballing it, examining it, and even swinging it through a few trial runs, "I will need to practice with it, as every blade is different even when it is the same type, but... it is a good weapon..." She does more than a few odd, repetitive stuttering motions with it, and those violet eyes of her actually take on a soft, purplish glow. After she has completed her bizarre examination, she offers it back to the man hilt first with one hand. Meanwhile, her barang transforms into blue light and zips into her hand... Only now, it's a perfect replica of Logan's katana, "When killing, we were taught to think of it as chopping a tree. I... acquired an iPod after some time. If I could only hear the music, it was easier to think of people as trees." As for the question of 'the box'? "We... agreed on it. When I wear it around, it is all to easy to... use it reflexively when I am upset or surprised. I have left the jungle, but it has not left me, you see? There were... incidents before I came here. Noone was killed or permanently injured, but... some people were hurt. Carrying it around also is... threatening to people. It can draw challenges.. It's not as if it can be kept from me if I truly need it. It is like your claws. You always have them, but you do not show them off, yes? If I... slip up again, the alarms on its box will let you all know there may be trouble to be dealt with." Logan shakes his head. Then he holds up both hands - closed into fists, the backs of his knuckles facing Kris. "This," he says meaningfully. "Is that--" and he points to the conjured blade. "Here." And finally he lowers one hand to his hip where a sheath might be secured. Lowering his other arm a bit, he points an index finger directly at Kris' chest, taking a few steps to narrow the gap between them both. "The weapon's here, Kris," he tells her directly whilst looking into her eyes (assuming she meets his gaze). "That blade over there... just part of it, get me?" The grizzled old warrior makes more jabbing, pointing motions with his finger at the centre of the girl's chest. "Here... hilt, pommel, guard, tang, ricasso... and blade. There--" and he looks pointedly at the barang. "Edge 'n point. You wanna lock up the weapon for safe-keeping? Stick yerself in a cage. It ain' about the blade over there." He lowers his arms and lets out a breath. "If it makes ya feel safer... who'm I ta tell ya otherwise? But I don' like it... How much trouble do ya have?" His frown shifts from 'reproach' to 'curiosity'. "How hard are ya findin' it? - keepin' control." "Eskrima follows a similar philosophy," Kris first replies. "The blade is merely an extension of the arm. I do not like thinking of myself as a weapon. I just want to think of myself as a girl. They did not even allow me that before." She crouches, frog-like, as she examines the sword with some mix of awe and disgust. Then it transforms into a combat knife and she shoves it into a back sheath. Weapon put away, she says, "I have... a lot of trouble. For nearly three years... I solved all my problems with blade and bullet. They kept calling me William. When I didn't want to fight, I was beaten. I nearly starved to death until I cut the fingers off the boy stealing my food. Which I was then beaten for." "Once I decided to die and refused to keep fighting, so they made the kava powders and dosed me with it. Always before a fight, the kava. It made my head pound, and made me thirsty for blood, and made everything feel so good and not hurt." She grinds the palm of her hand against her eyes as if thinking about tears. "I 'detoxed'. But I still hunger for the powders. When someone looks at me sideways for choosing to be the woman I am, my arm trembles and I want to grab the thing that sat at my waist for three years and use it. When someone surprises me, walks up behind me, I still reach for it. I do not summon it simply because I am so used to it already being there." She heaves a long shuddering sigh. "I hate it, because I can't ever quite feel safe without it... It is like a drug. As days go by, it is easier and easier. But it is the unguarded moments I worry about. People here though... they are so careful to be kind to one another. And I want to be part of that." "Well..." says Logan uncomfortably. He makes no move to try and comfort or console the girl, but the muscles in his face tense and move in concert with a number of emotions - empathy being among the dominant ones. "We'll work on that," he finishes a bit lamely. He glances at his hands. They're still stained with his own blood. "I ain't exactly one t'talk, kid," he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough to be heard. "Ya are what ya are - but'cha can be more 'n that." He looks back at Kris' face. "Ya hear me? More - not instead of or somethin' else, or some other sh--ah, fuck." He closes his eyes and snorts derisively at his attempts to control his language. To recover, he motions to the katana. "I get it you know some swords, but 'aven't used one o' these before? Why doncha hold on ta that one for me for a bit? Get some practice in. Careful, though... it's older 'n I am." The girl rises to her feet. Her hands shake as she holds them out, watching them. They finally steady after a moment. "It is the only thing I can do. So... I suppose working on it is the best answer, is it not." She looks at Logan's hands, then, and seems... sad, "I think, as much as I wrestle with this... You wrestle with something far more complex. My answers are... rough, but definite. Am I wrong in thinking your answers are not so easy in coming?" Kris looks down at the sword, now. "You can swear in front of me. You know I have heard worse. I learned to swear in four languages. Did you know, the worst insult in latin when it was still in use was translated as 'funny little penis man'?" She rolls her shoulders, continuing to examine the blade,"My people make blades to resemble mythical animals. I suspect this one would've been seen as a dragon's tooth." She smiles slightly,"It is a fine boon to lend this. Sometimes you seem older than everyone else here, the way you act. So that means something." She seems to deflate a little. "I feel... tired suddenly." Logan chuckles. It feels good to chuckle. "Funny little penis man... Jeez, kid - that's a keeper." The smirk lingers a while longer until finally, his expression falters and dissolves into something more grim, once again. "We all got demons..." he agrees, casting a glance at the tree that had to suffer the Wolverine's rage. Logan lifts a hand toward Kris' shoulder, but doesn't quite touch as he starts to walk slowly back toward the mansion - beckoning Kris to follow if she wishes. "'Dragon's Tooth', huh? Not a bad name fer a sword, as names go... C'mon. We gotta day ahead of us, an' I want at least one coffee in me before I gotta teach again. Weren't hungry before, but I could go fer somethin' now... 'N ya can tell me why they kept callin' ya William, if ya like. Kris suits ya much better, kid." The smile becomes more and more wide as Logan goes on. Kris even reaches out to pat the hand overing near her shoulder, but follows the man back. "I will cook you breakfast. I have a strong blend I keep in my room for special occasions. I took it with me before I left Cebu City. You can peel paint with it, but we sell it to tourists for two hundred dollars a pound." She seems to find this exceptionally amusing. She cradles the sword carefully even as they walk. "The Moro, they called me William because they found out it was the name I was born with. Kristen is the name I chose when my parents filed for my name change. What I am is... an abomination to them. Gays and transgender people are to be exterminated, as far as they are concerned. Giving me boy clothes and calling me William was their way of 'fixing' me." There is an odd look of satisfaction on her face, "But you cannot fix a thing if it is not broken." That toothy smile, while happy, isn't a particularly warm smile, either. "Do you like waffles? I think we also have bacon." "Sounds good to me," Logan replies at the mention of food - waffles, and definitely the bacon. He wears that lopsided, smug smirk on his lips for most of the walk through the woods, and past the lake - heading back toward the mansion and listening to Kris along the way. The mention of 'gays and transgendered people' gets little more than a raised eyebrow from him. "Broken's in the eye o' the whatsit," he says with a snort as they head past the gardens, nearing the back porch, conservatory and sitting area outside the kitchen. "Or whatever the cliche's 'sposed ta be," he adds a moment later. "World's fucked; 'n they think we got problems..." END LOG.