sixthiterationlogs | something for nothing

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something for nothing

WHO: Logan Howlett
WHERE: The Inn, poking about outside any of the empty houses, woods - pretty much getting the layout of the land
WHEN: December 14
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Surly mutant Canadian man is super grumpy.
STATUS: Closed

Had Logan been anyone normal, he might have found the irony of his arrival to the village marginally amusing. Only he wasn't normal and there wasn't anything funny about being made into some ugly rebar art sculpture, thrown across a city and into a river to sink to the bottom of.

That was before cresting the surface in the fountain with a sudden loud growl that quickly turned louder when six certain claws didn't extend when they should have. Instead Logan was hollering from the pain and intense pressure radiating through his fists and up his arms.

Hours later, Logan emerged from the woods again dressed in the change of clothes provided to him in the waterproof backpack. None of it made any sense and that didn't improve his mood by any stretch. The mutant knew, however, that he wasn't going to learn anything about the place unless he asked questions. So, he moved around unseen until someone stuck out in a way that would suggest they knew something.

Unfortunately, asking nicely where the hell he was and who brought him here was out of the question.

[Later - Inn; Around the village]

Besides being told the same thing by three different people, Logan was still hard pressed to believe it. As far as he was concerned, this was about him. And it wasn't the first time his mutation had been screwed with. In fact, as he sat at a table in the Inn, everything that happened in Japan shoved its way back to the forefront of his mind.

From there, he wandered, keeping a face on him that suggested he wasn't in the mood to talk. But that never worked for Logan in the past and he was sure there'd be that one person (or, three) who had to stop and talk to the apparently obvious new guy in town.

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The first few times she saw him, Jean thought she had to be imagining it. When she finally saw him in the Inn, though, there was no denying it - this was the man she'd seen at the facility in Canada, the one she'd soothed with her mind and sent on his way when they were trying to save Raven, Peter, Moira and Hank. Someone was gathering mutants. Someone was gathering mutants and blunting their powers.

Jean took the chair across from him and sat down, leveling him with a look. "Someone's doing this to us," she said, no introduction and no preamble. They know one another. She had been in his mind before, after all, and there was no better way to know a person, was there?

"Someone's capturing mutants and bringing them here."

Peggy is beginning to see the merits of the inn, having stayed the previous night when it seemed far too snowy and cold to be out there. Given that her blood had been running warm from being in Los Angeles lately, she's absolutely frigid and has been trying to wear practically every layer she can put on, but even that doesn't do much for her. Freezing, she descends into the common room only to find a dour looking man sitting at the table.

"I know it's freezing out there, but you look as if it's somehow personally offended you," she notes, beginning to rustle around to make herself up the hottest cup of tea she can possibly manage, though even that won't do the trick warming her truly, she suspects.

Logan had been sitting there flexing one hand when the young woman sat down. His eyes lifted to look at her, and then off to the right as of expecting someone else to join them. When it was clear no one else was, he turned his gaze back to Jean.

Now, at first, Logan thought she was talking about people in general, which wasn't news after he'd had the fortunate luck of finding two guys willing to talk about what they knew. Of course, most people would talk if they were being strong armed in it.

But then she said the "m" word and his brow arched. "Yeah? And what makes you think I'm a mutant?" Logan asked, picking up the mug of coffee he got for himself when he came in.

Obviously she knew enough about him to know he was, but he had no idea who she was.

Glancing up before taking another swallow of his now lukewarm drink, Logan regards her a moment carefully. Obviously he was going to be a magnet for chit chat given he was the new face in town and at this point, the mutant wanted more information - anything anyone could give him.

Shrugging, he set down his mug. "It's not the weather that offends me. It's the lack of details of how I got here that do. Not to mention the 'why'."

"I know you, Logan," Jean said, watching him. Maybe he didn't know her face. They had met the one time and she'd been in his head, yes, but he'd been under duress. There were a lot of reasons to believe that he might not remember her face without the touch of her mind to go along with it.

"I was with you when you were captured," she went on to explain further. "Jean. Do you remember? In Canada, at the facility?"

The surly stare never worked for Sandor Clegane, what makes Logan think it'll work for him?

"You're new, aren't you?" Barely a question, he looked far too grumpy to be anything but a newcomer. Arya herself was still angry at being kidnapped, but at the same time felt conflicted, given so many of her siblings were safe here. Including Robb, which should be all but impossible. Her own nerves betrayed with how she was tapping the side of her thumb against the mug of tea in her grasp.

Pretending she hadn't been scowling at her tea just moments earlier, that was absolute crazytalk.

Logan isn't the only person who's prowling around the village. It's a habit of Finnick's, and he, too, tends to keep to the shadows, except for the times when he settles into what remains of the overgrowth of shrubs and trees that tangles around many parts of the village. He has favorite spots: by the police station, near the fountain park, off by some of the houses watching the eastern path.

That's where he is today, hunkered down behind a snow-covered bush that had berries on it when he'd first arrived, and still has its foliage under its white powdery coat. He is, as he so often does, watching the approaches into and out of the village, trying to study the patterns of his fellow prisoners, tributes, whatever they all are.

Unfortunately for Finnick, his clothes are as obnoxiously red as ever under his coat, and neither red nor black blends well with now. Nor is he a small man, so though he's done his best to conceal himself, someone approaching from an unexpected angle would not be fooled by the attempt.

Peggy gives him a wry look over her shoulder as she pours water on to boil, feeling like this is a particularly nasty little joke that people keep playing on her, but she keeps being asked to explain things that she's currently being run around about. "Well, I don't know how much you're going to like this, but details are scant, even for me, and I've been here months and months and have been aiming to find answers since the first day."

She sets her cup down in order to settle at the table opposite him. "You can ask and maybe I'll have some answers, but I can't make any promises."

Credence walks because he's not quite sure what else to do, if he's being wholly honest with himself. He know he looks a sad sight--pure white scrubs, pale skin, only a black peacoat and a bowlcut of shockingly black hair actually visible. The rest of him just seems to blend in, save for the tips of his ears, which have been pink the moment he wandered out of the inn.

He keeps wandering around the same set of buildings, trying to figure out if he'd even want to live alone. He's not sure he can handle it--he was never truly alone back home, despite the sinking feeling of loneliness everywhere he turned. He'd had his adopted sisters, and then a silver tongued wizard who told him he had incredible potential.

Now he's trapped, and not unlike a caged animal, Credence feels like he's pacing. He's nearest the treeline, examining a large house and admiring the snow on the rooftop, when he sees something out of the corner of his eye.

The figure emerges, and Credence immediately thinks of all of the stories about rugged figures. He's reminded of Johnny Appleseed, and Davey Crocket, and he thinks all that's missing is a raccoon hat and probably an axe of some sort.

He waits, hands in his pockets, and he can't look the other in the eye but he does muster enough courage. The other's changed, at least, maybe he's not new?

"Welcome."

Despite his prickly exterior, Margaery did what she often did for new arrivals. She set a mug of tea before him and placed a blanket by his side, should he want it. She took her normal seat by the fire, collecting her ball of yarn and the cloth that she was practicing her needle work with. She was at least showing signs of improving. Her seams were no longer apparent, but carefully done as her mother used to wish.

She smiled gently at Logan, trying to break through his frosty exterior. "Did you manage to find a room for yourself? There are houses if you prefer to be alone."

There's one thing that it's important to understand about Killian Jones. That is that telling him that something is a bad idea isn't enough to keep him from doing it. In fact, it makes him more likely to do it. He's not one for following the rules, you see. So while 'don't talk to Logan' might not actually be a rule, just a look on the man's face, it's one rule (or look) that he's not going to pay attention to.

He plunks a basket full of fish down on the table near Logan. "If you're in need of something to do, you could grab a knife and help me with this."

The way she was explaining wasn't good. After that first sentence, his gaze dropped and he probably looked like he normally did seconds before the claws came out. The words she chose "I was with you when you were captured" suggested she was apart of Stryker's team.

Only then she said her name. Logan's face eased and fists unclenched as the image of her older self merged with her younger and from then on it was impossible to ignore, or doubt, that she was anyone else.

"No," Logan stared across the table in mild disbelief. "I only remember why I was there."

Eyes watched and followed her until she sat down. It was hard not to scoff, or show disdain over that fact, which happened to be made clear with the two people he tried to force information out of. Maybe he wasn't threatening enough anymore. Maybe it was more they really didn't know anything; a fact made even more truth in talking to Peggy.

"How 'bout you tell me what you know. Sounds like you've done it a few times now."

And he could ask questions regarding things that weren't really clear after.

Logan glanced up and looked Arya's way when she spoke. "Is it that obvious?" he answered dryly, though with more sarcasm than anything else. It made sense the people who'd been there awhile would notice a new face.

'Making conversation' was hard enough, but the fact she was a kid had him act less like an asshole and more a guy who didn't have a lot of patience.

There isn't really much to not notice. Logan, being the guy he is, happens to notice far more than the average person would. That's not part of his mutation, no. It's part of his almost 200 years of existing and spending as much time as he did out in the forests of Canada.

That unexpected angle is from behind and a little to the mans right. But it's quick and quiet enough that it could be compared to an attack by an animal.

Grabbing the back of Finnick's coat, Logan spins him around and slams him against a nearby tree and all but traps him there with the weight of the metal in his body. Getting in his face, Logan practically growls. Really, the other man looks like he might be doing some kind of recon work for whoever is keeping them there.

"Getting some good information to take back to your boss?"

With each passing second, Logan is growing more and more impatient with the lack of information. He's not sure what to believe and after the run in with the guy in the trees, which ended in gleaning nothing of use, the mutant was hoping someone else would shed some light on the craziness of the situation.

Intimidation always worked where he was from, and while he did a more aggressive lead in with the last one, the guy he notice now was a bit more fragile looking. Someone who might crack easier under some stress..

Logan eyes him as he draws closer. "You been here long?" he asks directly.

Logan didn't expect a lot of attention most times, even less charity. It seemed since arriving he was getting both and he'd decided that there wasn't a way to really stop it. So, the mug placed in front of him got a quick look before they shifted to the blanket left at his side and then to the woman's back as she retreated.

For a second the silence preceding the offerings was a relief. But then she spoke and rather than offend after the show of kindness, Logan felt it was owed to answer.

"How does that work? The houses."

Even before the fisherman spoke, Logan had watched him come in. He never expected to approached like that and it earned the guy some points. There was none of that greeting bullshit, or gentle approach given he looked like he was about to murder someone for even blinking in his general direction.

But Logan didn't move to help. Not yet. Instead he raised a brow up incredulously, staring at Hook.

"Do I look like someone who needs something to do?" Which loosely translated to 'you could have asked nicer than that'.

"I freed you from there. I hope you got away. You seem to be able to handle yourself, anyway, but we seem to be both trapped this time around." Jean didn't bother with trying to get into his head. Her telepathy had been spotty at best since coming to this place and it was her suspicion that some way, somehow, whoever held them here had a mutant that could suppress the powers of other mutants. If that was the case, there was very little that any of them could do to escape other than use force and that was something Jean had never had much of herself.

Logan, though - he was a strong man even if he wasn't a mutant. "Anyway. I was...I was glad to see your face. I'm sorry if I bombarded you."

"Unfortunately," is her calm, even reply when he remarks that she's got quite a bit of experience in this avenue. She tips her head to the side and debates what she does know and can tell him. "We all arrive in the same way. I've yet to meet anyone here who didn't come from the fountain. None of us understand how it is we've managed to get there and no matter what we do, no one can find a means of escape."

"There are limited supplies, but rather confounding arrivals of packages every now and again, addressed to us," Peggy shares. "It makes no sense," she says. "That's the main thing I can tell you about this place. None of it makes any sense. For instance, most people here aren't from the same year."

"You didn't." Logan said, glancing across the room yet again. There was no escaping the constant suspicion he was always in and being here now only made that worse.

After a long moment, the mug was raised and finally drunk from. "How long have you been here?"

He wasn't sure he'd bring up the fact that he knew her when she got older. At the moment, it definitely seemed to him that it would make things all the more hard to believe.

"So someone is watching." Logan surmised aloud. That seemed to be the running theme for him nowadays. Why stop now? Yet that wasn't the part in all of this that confused him the most. The question he found himself asking was who was powerful enough to bring in people from different years to this place, and for what reason?

Logan glanced around. "Someone who has a lot of power." A beat. "And what are year are you from?"

"Just a few weeks," Jean said, shrugging a little. She looked down at the table, tracing little patterns on the wood as she tried to gather her thoughts. She wasn't sure, exactly, how to put together who and what she was without her abilities and when she saw a little ice show up as she traced along the table, she quickly covered it and looked back up.

"Since I got here, my telepathy isn't working right. It's not as strong as it was, my telekinesis is not right and...I got a secondary mutation. I don't understand it, Logan. I don't understand what's happening to me."

He pointedly glances as Logan's idle hands. "Yes. There are plenty of people, in fact just about everyone here, who would agree that no one eats for free. There's food here, there's water, there are other things we need, but if you just sit on your arse all day, no one's going to be inclined to share them with you." It's not a warning. He's just informing the newcomer of the situation.

"Anything that you can do, someone will appreciate."

You don't get to be a victor of the Hunger Games by being easy to sneak up on, and you don't get to be one by being careless. Finnick, in general, is neither, and he's relying on his hearing and his jittery-sharp reflexes to alert him.

Unfortunately, half his life spent studying the Games and ten years watching for death from the shadows aren't a match for Logan. So the first Finnick knows of the man's approach is the strong hand at the back of his coat, and by then it's too late for reflex to take over. He tries to twist, slip out of the grip, to escape, but in moments he's pinned up against a tree by a strength he's never felt before.

Finnick wants to struggle, wants to resist, wants to fight, but he's been fighting those instincts for years. If he fought every time he found himself trapped, no patron would ever lay their hands on him. This time, he's not trapped by the President's commands, but he is caught by the pressure of a man far heavier than he should be.

He wants to fight, but a couple of probing attempts to struggle meet only resistance, so instead, his body goes limp. Submissive. The only defence he has left, though his mind is still panicking.

"What are you talking about?"

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something for nothing

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the inn

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wildcard aka that thing we only vaguely discussed but yolo

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