ArchivedLogs:Another Mask

Another Mask
Dramatis Personae Dante, Logan
In Absentia	Tuesday Evening The little girl, the end of Shaolin, and the aftermath of the attack at Zabar's.
Location <XS> Gardens
<XS> Gardens From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. The sun casts long shadows as it sets slowly over the horizon, light pouring over the school gardens like a warm liquid flame. It was that time of day that the afternoon birds sing happily as they flutter through the landscape, whilst the crickets begin chirping with content as they awake for the distant rising moon. The bench on which Dante sits is still warmed by the sun's rays, even as it sets past the treeline. The young man sighs softly to himself as he takes a sip of expensive whiskey from a small glass - obviously lifted from the school's kitchen cabinet - and places it next to the bottle on the empty bench seat beside him. The young man is clad in a black tanktop and an old leather jacket, worn by years of wear. Ripped, faded blue jeans cover his legs, and hides the top of his black combat boots, which also show much wear and tear. In one hand, he holds a charred snowboarders mask, clutching it tightly in his slender white fingers. His other hand reaches into his pocket, pulling a cigarette expertly from it's pack, and placing it into his lips. He replaces the pack into his jacket pocket, and produces a zippo lighter with the Japanese kanji for "Courage" engraved onto one side. He lights the stick, and takes a long drag from the cigarette, exhaling deeply and letting the smoke rise around his figure. His long brown hair hides his boyish features, save his bright green eyes, which have been slightly reddened by irritation, perhaps from tears...He looks out to the horizon, silent as the grave, as he takes the whiskey glass in his hand and downs the rest of the drink quickly... "Shaolin, huh?" says a voice from somewhere behind Dante. Logan is standing there, leaning against a stone pillar near another bench, dressed in a hooded X-Men sweater, jeans and boots. He has his arms folded across his chest and his eyes on Dante. "Nobody'd ever figure a drama-teacher for a vigilante - not until they saw ya fight." He pushes himself away from the stone and takes a couple of steps around the garden to sit at a bench opposite the younger man. "You did good with that fire, kid." Dante glances over at Logan, and it seems as if ages pass while the two make eye contact. Finally, the young man scoffs slightly, breaking the gaze to refill the glass of whiskey, pouring until it's about half full of the amber liquid. "Not good enough..." he says softly, his voice trailing off at the last word. To normal ears, his words would probably only be made out to be incoherant mumbling, it was stated so softly. He raises the drink in his hand, pinching the cigarette with his ring and pinky finger as he balances the glass just below his lips. He pauses, looking back up at Logan, and decides instead to reach out to the man with the glass, offering the drink instead of taking the first sip. "A child, Logan. An abandoned child! This little girl is motherless...all because I didn't act fast enough..." the young man snaps suddenly...but when he catches the Wolverine's eye again, he calms his jets as quickly as they burst. He sighs again, taking another long drag from his cigarette, keeping it between his lips as he fumbles into his jacket pocket for his lighter once more, taking a look at it, and tossing it nonchalantly towards Logan. "It should have been me, Logan..." Logan catches the lighter, and holds it in his fingers for a few moments, whilst his eyes search Dante's face. "Thanks," he says belatedly. As soon as the cigar is lit, he passes the lighter back, blowing out a cloud of spicy-scented smoke through his lips. "Fuck that, kid," he snorts, sounding like a drill sergeant or just a bossy older brother. "It /should/ have been the terrorist who lit the fire in the first place! Bastard had some kinda power that... I dunno--absorbs punches, maybe. I couldn't even cut 'im..." Logan bites back a snarl and returns to smoking on his cigar to calm himself down. "It isn't your fault, ok? You did GOOD, kid. But ya still haven't answered my question: what're ya gonna do about it now?" Dante sighs softly, falling silent for a moment. "I dunno..." he says after a few seconds of silence. Absolute silence...no birds, no crickets. It was as if even the gentle sloshing of the pond ceased it's sounds to listen for Dante's response. He grabs the bottle of whiskey, taking a swig straight from the devil's mouth before replacing the cap. All this time he clutched the snowboarders mask in his hand, and only now did he bother to steal a glance at it, before returning his gaze to Logan. "I lived in California for a few years before coming here...There was a girl there - Cassie - that I fell in love with. We wanted a family...she was the only one that didn't seem to care that I was.../different./ I always remember she wanted a girl, wanted to name her after her mother...Jillian...I always thought it was such a pretty name..." His voice trails off once more, as he flicks the ash growing on the end of the cigarette, and takes another puff. "I had to leave the state...I was helping people long before I invented "Shaolin." I wasn't as careful then. Cassie always said she'd move to New York and contact me when she could...I've been here seven months and not one word from her..."He pauses, allowing Logan a moment to process the story, and perhaps letting him make his own conclusions as to where it was leading... "The little girl at the terrorist fire...Her name was Jillian..." He sighs again, as a single tear rolls down his eye. He drops the mask to wipe it away quickly, sniffling slightly as he looks back up into Logan's eyes. "What /do/ I do? Part of me wants to find this guy. To do...terrible things...another part of me feels like I need to say 'fuck it' and find a way to take care of this girl..." "Dunno what to tell you about raising a kid," Logan admits. He takes the cigar out of his mouth, to speak, and holds it between two fingers as he rests his hand on his thigh. "I'm not exactly the posterboy for 'father material', ya know what I'm sayin'?" He shakes his head from side to side, a rueful twist to his lips. "The girl's probably gotta come first, I guess - ya don't have to raise her yourself. Social Services can help out there... What do I know? Hmph." He sticks the cigar back in between his teeth. "Cops never got our guy," he says a moment later in quiet, foreboding tones. "Bastard made a clean getaway. Don't think Cerebro's gonna help on this one, so we're gonna have to find him the old-fashioned way. Suits me. I came here to see if ya wanted in - I also got 'em to put a program into the Danger Room: for fightin' guys ya can't punch, kick or cut." He stops. He looks at Dante with grim eyes that smoulder with suppressed anger. "You in?" he asks. "'Course they didn't. New York's finest don't seem to know the first thing about how to handle terrorists...let alone mutant ones...But I dunno...I've never fought anyone like that before. Never dealt with a fire, either. I've just been feeling so...helpless...the past couple days..." Dante responds, taking a final drag of his cigarette, before pushing it into the bench, snuffing out the smoldering ashes into the stone. He brushes the hair from his face, and raises an eyebrow as Logan mentions the new Danger Room addition. "Sounds interesting..." he ponders the idea for a moment, assuming he meant to train immediately. He couldn't complain too terribly. After all, the one thing that had been Dante's center his whole life had been fighting. Perhaps it would be good to blow off some steam the only way he really knew how, other than drinking...A morose, yet optimistic smile curls across his lips. "Looking to test the program today?" he asks. Logan shrugs. "It's there for when you want it. I'm still workin' through new programs as they come up - but never had one against a guy I couldn't stab..." He takes a pull at the cigar again and exhales heavily through his nostrils. "Tonight, I'm goin' huntin'. Gotta good look at him at least - and we got others monitoring police channels to see if anything comes up. This guy managed to really piss me off... but I wanted to give you the choice first." Logan rises to his feet, looking down at Dante with determination and sympathy in equal measure. "Have a think, but don't take too long. 'Shaolin' may be finished, but ya an always put on another mask." Dante nods slightly as Logan speaks, taking everything in. He remains seated, even as Logan stands to leave. Unswirling the cap from the almost empty bottle of whiskey, Dante raises it to his lips for another sip, enjoying the sting of the fiery liquid as it runs down his throat and coats his tongue. Without looking up from the bottle, he pipes up once more. "Perhaps your right...I'll sleep on it, and how ‘bout tomorrow, I'll let you know after a little Danger Room training. God knows I could probably use the distraction..." "Oh, and Logan?" He adds a moment later, sitting still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the man in the sweatshirt. He pauses for a moment, and forces another small smirk. Despite the pain behind his eyes, the action itself seems to warm the young man's face, if even only slightly. "...Thanks..."