Notes:
Authors: MizukiArsenus&Nikole Magnus
[[ Nikolw is not a member of FF. ]]}
About:
Wolverine and Tripp.
[[Tripp: My original X-men character. ]]
- Nikole's role is Wolverine.
- My role is Tripp.
- Nikole started.
- There are breaks showing who wrote.
Disclaimer: I, nor Nikole, own X-men or anything except the writing style and my character.
"Come on, Logan, it's easy. Like, all you have to do is, you know, sit here." Dark blue eyes glinted in a steely way, unconvinced. Logan glanced over at Kitty, wondering just how dumb she thought he was. The girl in the hospital bed just screamed feral, from the healing factor to the slightly lengthened teeth. He could smell it, too; a strange, slick, musky, animal scent that clung to the back of his throat. Often, he could smell it on himself, too, and it disgusted him. reminded him of Creed.
"Ya don't know when she's gonna wake up, Kitty. No one does. Ain't gonna fool me about it." Nevertheless, he crossed his arms and sank into the chair next to her bed. The hell're they gonna want off me next? read her a damned bedtime story? He thought, his chin sinking onto his chest as he relaxed. Kitty slipped out of the room by the simple virtue of passing through one of the walls. Logan snorted. "Show-off little girl," he rumbled, from deep in his chest.
Instead of drifting to sleep, as he likely should have, Logan pondered the day's events. The raid on the Morlocks that he'd helped stop; the looks on the faces of the poor, unfortunate mutant kids down there. Chuck's responding look when he'd grabbed the images out of Logan's brain. Opening one blue eye to a slit, he glanced down at the girl in the bed. She'd been in the middle of all of it, and in the confusion of the fight, he'd stabbed her, momentarily ripping through her spine. It was likely that that had managed to put her out; as a rule, not a whole lot got to any of the ferals. A slight smirk crossed his hard-lined face as he remembered ousting Creed and stabbing him through the ugly mug. The poor bastard had been out of it for weeks. The memory turned bitter, though, as he remembered sneaking in to do some damage. Jimmy, Creed had called him. Crooned at him. Had reached out to touch him, and when Logan reached back, there was nothing pained or hateful in his touch. It had messed with Logan's head, seeing Creed like that.
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Tripp was alone. In her mind, her consciousness, alone. She thought maybe she'd go insane if she didn't wake from this soon. Too bad she wasn't sure when that would be. Everything that had happened that day, it was all a blur, almost her imagination she thought. Though when she tried to move, or talk, or even think, all that came was a heavy pain and drowsiness that made her want to forget more than remember. Looking back on the prior events was hard for Tripp because every time she tried to look back, and find out what exactly had happened, the only thing that came to her was the thought of her spine snapping on the metal claws of the male, the sight of her own blood, spilling out on the ground, and the thought, again, that she was most likely dead or dieing. The only problem with that theory was her healing factor. She would already be healed, there was no need for her to not be able to wake herself up. It perturbed her just a bit.
Tripp willed herself with everything she had to wake from this seemingly endless slumber of psychological distress. All she wanted by instinct was to wake up, though, anytime she thought of what had happened, where she might be, what might come of her awaking to the conscious world... Pain and disturbing images of blood, death, and hate greeted her making that thought, much less appealing by the second. Tripp, laying helpless in a bed, in an unknown place... What was it going to take to wake the female?
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Dully, Logan listened to the beeping and whirring of the machines that were supposedly telling him or someone something about the girl. It wasn't until there was a loud noise from one of them he cared. Opening his blue eyes, he gave her restraints a cursory glance before checking the machines. Ah. Something to do with her brain. Maybe she was waking up? His eyes flickered over her nervously. Should he call someone? Then again, calling someone in had never really been his thing.
Leaning forward cautiously, he took a deep breath and caught her scent. Female. Fertile. Familiar. Feral. He could hear her pulse, too, apart from the quiet noise of her heart monitor. It had quickened slightly. "You dreamin', girl?" He asked, murmuring it roughly. Momentarily, he considered her dreams. Were they like his? Full of tanks and watery prisons, pain and teeth and nails? What did she remember of the shit they'd done in Weapon X? Did she, sometimes, remember killing people? Killing women? Killing kids?
With a snarl, he pulled the attachments to the wall free, shutting the machine off. A siren sounded from somewhere, but it was better than the questions in his head..
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Tripp, after laying unconscious for so long, began to see things. Flash backs to horrid memories she could only wish to forget. Blurry images of where she'd killed people. So many deaths that were justified, and so many that weren't. The faces of children scored with long claw marks, or covered in blood, laying dead in a mass of their own pooling blood. Had she been awake when this happened, she may have thrown up. It made her sick. Not only the horrifying images, but the fact that she'd done this. How could she allow this? Why would she be so easily led into such horrid actions? It made her feel like shit. She was the cause of such sadness and pain.
Tripp heard something. It was muffled, and rough, but familiar. She couldn't quite place what it was however. It made her squirm, she was so used to everything being unfamiliar since she was with the Morlocks. Only a bit after that she felt free. Loud sirens went off, but it was like she'd been set free from her state of unconsciousness. She jerked awake and looked around frantically. There was only one other person in the room. Someone who looked sickeningly familiar, though at this moment, in the confusion of everything, she could not place the face.
The sirens were squealing loudly, making her mind not think straight. Tripp growled slightly and leapt from the bed, landing on all fours on the ground. She stood and looked around for a way out.
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"We c'n do this one o' two ways. Ya can lay the fuck back down and talk it out with me, or I c'n make ya lay back down, and by god, we'll keep ya down." He trapped one of her legs behind his own in a carefully done lock, twisting her arm back with his free hand. The position felt... oddly intimate.. /Must be goin' fuckin' crazy, if this shit feels good./
The sirens continued wailing on and on, driving him crazy. Should Hank have come up now to relieve him of this feral bitch? And the goddamned alarms - what, were they just for show or something?"Not so fast, darlin'." Logan wrapped an arm around her throat, pressing his wrist to her windpipe. Choking someone out was a messy, painful way to get things done, but he didn't want to slice this girl up. Not again.
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Tripp was surprised as the male jumped for her and grabbed her by the throat. So surprised she fought relentlessly to make him release his grip but it only got tighter as he spoke. "We c'n do this one o' two ways. Ya can lay the fuck back down and talk it out with me, or I c'n make ya lay back down, and by god, we'll keep ya down." he said as he grappled and trapped one of her legs behind his own and carefully twisting her arm back with the free hand.
The female was scared, no doubt, but this position he had her in was in a lot of ways intimate and quite sensually enjoyable for her. It almost calmed her, but Tripp's heart raced as she thought of what to do next. She didn't think she'd be able to talk, not only had it been years since she verbally spoke, but also he had a lot of pressure on her throat, causing her to be even more questioning. She fought and fought, but ended up no where. Tripp panted heavily as she hung from his choking hold. "Let..." she growled roughly and coughed. She was almost positive this wasn't going to work now. She could barely choke out on word. No way to look menacing like that, so she decided that she had to give in. If all else failed she could fight her way out of this later.
Tripp let her muscles relax completely and she fell limp in his arms. She hoped by doing this she'd show her defeat and he'd let her go, if not she could, again, always fight her way out of this situation later. By now, he head was throbbing angrily as the siren killed her eardrums. She was breathing heavily, had a killer migraine, and one hell of a man hanging onto her like she was his life line. This was gonna be fun... She hated how this was playing out. Hopefully the sirens would quit soon, she may have a better chance of talking verbally if she could think staright.
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Logan sighed as she went limp. Without letting go, he pushed her back down into the bed, face-first, his arm twisting hers up behind her back painfully. Awkwardly, he was kneeling behind her on the bed, his knees between her thighs as he kept her in the submission hold.
Playing possum was a favorite trick of Creed's, and Logan had no way to tell if this bitch had picked anything up from him. He'd eased off her throat, though, ad she was heaving in breaths beneath him. With his free hand, he slammed the button over the headboard that shut off the alarms, which had been rattling his brains for the last few minutes.
Leaning close, so his upper body was prone and pressed to her shoulder-blades, Logan asked in a low, grinding voice,"You gonna co-operate, girly? I been in yer position b'fore. I c'n give ya another shot. Ya think ya c'n take it?" Her scent had changed, slightly. It had been neutral and very, very slightly distressed, before she'd awoken. Now, the girl smelled like lust. Logan fought back disgust with himself for his own curiosity.
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Tripp grunted as he pushed her face into the bed. She was still panting heavily and her head was still killing her. At this point he was kneeled behind her with his knees between her thighs. This was quite awkward and thrilling at the same time. It was almost more intimate than the last position he had her in and she liked it. She wanted to growl but that would have been bad in her current position so she bit it back.
The male finally started relieving pressure on her throat and slammed her fist on something, and whatever it was, it was great relief to her. The alarm stopped wailing and her head stopped throbbing. A good trade off she supposed. The male leaned in close, so close she could feel his breath, and his upper body was pressed almost directly against her shoulder blades. Now, in a low voice that almost made her shiver he said, "You gonna co-operate, girly? I been in yer position b'fore. I c'n give ya another shot. Ya think ya c'n take it?"
Tripp's heart skipped a beat as she thought of what to say. Hell, she was gonna have to do one hell of a good job to even speak let alone put words together well. How long had it been exactly? The female couldn't quite remember but she decided, since the male smelled much like herself he'd understand this... She whined. No a lot, just a little. Enough to let him know she was of no danger to him and would sit still. For now at least.
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Logan laid entirely off her throat when he heard the quiet, submissive noise she made. Weird, he thought. Maybe she didn't speak English. Either way, he pulled away and rubbed the back of her neck for a second, in an apologetic way. she smelled a little different, now; a little heated, a little confused. He felt bad. If she hadn't been a feral, he would have hurt her, and badly, too.
"S'rry 'bout that." He mumbled, sitting up and helping her to a more comfortable position. "Caught me off guard." He paused, thinking. What if she couldn't speak English, and he was prattling on like an idiot.
"Eh... Sp-sprekeen zse doich? Or, uh.. Parleez-vous francees?" He watched her from his seat on the side of her bed in confusion, runnnig through another ten or twelve languages with a terrible obvious accent.
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The female gasped a bit as the male lifted off of her throat. She breathed in and out heavily for a few seconds and sat up on her elbows. It took her an actual effort to sit up and turn to the person who had been watching her. Tripp was slightly confused. She knew him. At least, she thought she did. He looked... so very familiar.
She cocked her head as he began speaking in several different languages. A few of which, German, French, and Japanese, she understood. Tripp looked down, her eyes focused on one point on the bed sheets, her mind sifting through her brain for what to say; and how to say it. In hr mind she could think of what she should say but her mind wasn't working with her mouth. "I..." she started. She what? She was sorry? She wanted to know where she was? She wanted to die? These were all true, but she was getting frustrated with her voice.
"Long... time..." she thought. Could she write instead of talk? Her scrawl would be almost illegible, but to her, if it meant not talking, she was willing to try. "Paper...? Write?" She said looking up into the males blue eyes and cocking her head again. She only hoped he understood her. She was kind of speaking weird.
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Growing impatient, he'd been about to give up until she asked for the paper. He rummaged through a few drawers until he found a steno pad and some pens. Why writing would be any easier, he hadn't the foggiest. There had been times he'd forgotten English, and it had come back first as a language, not a written thing.
Nevertheless, he handed them over to her, watching the red mark on her throat fade. He felt like he should apologize. Even more confusing was the girl herself - he had that nagging sense that he knew her from somewhere, though he didn't know where he would have known her from
"I'd pr'fer ya just... Talked. T'd be easier 'n ye writin." He paused, looking down at her. Dimly, he could remember what it was like not to talk - terrible and encapsulating, particularly around people who could talk. When you were around animals, it wasn't so intolerable. He wondered if she felt the same.
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