Any Logan You Can Walk Away From

June 13, 2014: Cal finally manages to track down Logan.

Logan's apartment, Tribeca



Mood Music:

Two years ago, after Cal recovered from the injuries that brought him to this reality, it was a shock to ask where Logan was and be told 'Who?' Since then, Xavier's computers have been searching the news and other online sources looking for the mutant based on his names, keywords (claws, for one) and various patterns that match the man he knows. Just not here. There were pings now and then but the trail always went cold quickly. But thanks to social media, the trail just got hot. Someone was talking about a fight between a man and woman with claws and even uploaded some pics. They're indistinct, taken from a safe distance, but it could be. Cerebro finally had a small enough area to scan and then Cal set off on the hunt. It's been a while but he was certain he'd recognize the scent of one of his best friends. The trail leads him to an apartment. *knock knock knock*

Logan blinks against the harsh sunlight straining in through the flimsy curtains, grimacing and pushing himself up and out of the mattress on the floor with one arm. He hears the knock but he takes his sweet time answering the door, pulling on a pair of jeans for clothing and grabbing a half-spent bottle of whiskey from the nightstand. The most noticeable thing about him as he pulls open the door is the hefty smear of dried blood around his arm and shoulder. Even a cursory glance would show no actual wound there. He looks Calvin up and down critically, takes a draw from the bottle and grunts.

"The fuck're you?"

Cal's leaning a shoulder against the door jamb. Despite the wait, he can smell and hear that someone is home and when the door is opened, he smiles down at the shorter man. "Call me Cal. You're a difficult man to track down, Logan. Or do you go by James still? Mind if I come in? We should talk."

"Yeah, I do fuckin' mind, bub," Logan growls, glaring daggers up at the man in the doorway, "You think I just let any ol' asshole who knows my name come traipsing into my place? Go peddle whatever yer sellin' down the hall. I ain't buyin'."

That said, he reaches up to try and slam the door shut in Calvin's face. Not at all the mildly genial if introverted and lonely Wolverine of the X-Men.

The door closes easily as Cal makes no effort to prevent it. Why should he when he *BLINK*s into the apartment as soon as the latch clicks. "My apologies for intruding but you don't want your neighbors to hear." Which hopefully will keep this violence free too. "How many people know who James Howlett was? Or what you are and what you were made to be? I'm an enemy of the Weapon X Project, by the way so don't think I'm one of them."

"Don't know who yer talkin' about."

The man teleporting into his apartment seems to have been enough for Logan to view him as a threat. Throw on top of all that the fact that he smells weird and he's talking about Weapon X and you have a Wolverine backed into a corner. He takes a few steps, making distance between himself and Calvin before leaning against the dresser.

"Listen, bub, I don't give a damn who you are but you know who I am. I'm givin' you a five count to back th' hell up and out of here or I'm tearin' you a new one. Two … "

James Howlett? It's a familiar name but he can't place it. Weapon X? He knows that name well enough but he's not about to trust a strange mutant teleporting around and claiming not to be a part of them.

Behind him, his hand seeks out and clenches about the hilt of an old but immaculately-kept Fairbairn dagger lying on the dresser amidst a pile of change and a scrunched-up receipt from the Up-All-Night.

"Five minutes." Cal suggests, holding up his hands. "You can ask whatever you like. Such as how I have these…" *SNIKT* The claws disappear almost as quickly as they appeared to avoid giving the impression of a threat. "Obviously, like you, I'm a mutant too. Unlike you, I'm not from this reality originally which is how I know you. Four and a half minutes?"

"What're you, another clone? How many of you assholes did Weapon X make?"

As Calvin goes on to explain, Logan keeps his hand clasped tight around the dagger on the dresser. He doesn't pop his own claws. He knows better than to do that at the drop of a hat. So far, this guy only has photographs and archive footage to go on. He's not about to give him undisputed proof that he is who Calvin claims he is.

"Another reality? Tell me somethin', dimension boy, is bargin' into a man's room and callin' him names somethin' they do all the time where yer from? I got no questions for ya. I want you out of my house 'fore I perforate yer skull."

"So that was Laura then." Cal comments as Logan mentions clones. "I wondered if she existed in this reality." How many young women with claws can hold their own against Logan? Well, too many. "This is your home." he agrees. "And I do apologize for the intrusion. But you must admit there weren't a lot of options." he points out. "I'll take off but I'm going to leave you my phone number." He slowly reaches into a jeans pocket (which are snug enough to obviously not be hiding any weapon) and pulls out a piece of paper.

"Not a lot of options? Option one: actually takin' off when the master a' th' house slams th' door in yer stupid face. Option two: leavin' when he tells ya t'leave."

Logan growls, animalistic nature trickling forth and causing the hairs on the back of his neck to bristle. He doesn't let go of the dagger but he doesn't wave it at the man, either. He just stops and watches him, nodding to the beaten old table not far from Calvin.

"Whatever yer leavin', leave it there and hey-presto back th' way ya came. Tell whoever's runnin' Weapon X now that the next flunky they send is comin' back in a soup can."

"If I was working for Weapon X, we wouldn't be standing here now." Cal notes. Holding the paper on the palm of his hand, it BLINKs over to the table. "I'd have already delivered you to them. I go by the name Mimic when I'm out in public. A simple search of the news will give you some more info on who I am." He looks around the shabby place before turning back to Logan. "Give me a call and we can meet somewhere to talk more. I'll bring the six pack." Giving the man a nod, he disappears in a flash of pink light.

"Fat chance," Logan snorts as Mimic disappears, moving over to the table but taking the Fairbairn dagger with him as he goes. He looks down at the number on the paper, screwing up his nose and glaring sidelong at the door.

After a moment he reaches for the disposable cell phone lying on the table. He picks it up, taps in a number and holds it up to his head. He waits and then speaks.

"Yeah. It's me. I'm buggin' out. Do me a favor and sweep this place after I'm gone. Huh? No. Some oddball claimin' t' know all about me. Tracked me down once, didn't he? I don't give a shit. Find me somewhere new. Good."

He moves the phone away from his ear and then clenches his fist, adamantium bones and superhuman strength making short work of the thing as it cracks and shatters to a pile of useless plastic that he drops to the floor. Before long, he's scooped his jacket up off the back of a chair and heaved most of his belongings into a duffle bag. In a few hours, it won't look like he was ever here at all.

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