Archiving: Feel free, if you're that masochistic.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Does that bother you? Too bad!
Feedback: Sure, bring it on.
Authors notes: This is Khaki's fault due to her damn "Opening line" challenge, but hey that's not a complaint!
And the headings are almost getting longer than the fic....
-------------------------------------
They died instantly.
They always did. On a very regular schedule to be very blunt and honest about it. That's the
real reason Logan went away at regular intervals. So regular that you could use his coming and
going from the mansion to tell what date it was. Or the time of the day really.
Logan did whatever he could to make people think he was out there chasing his past but it had been a
long time since anyone had believed that. They didn't say it to his face though since no one was inclined
to further add to the growing pile of "they" that died.
There were several kinds of the ones that always died, but as yet no one that had been a mutant to the best
of the X-men's knowledge.
It was one kind that most of time didn't even make it back to the mansion. Not most of them anyway.
And the second kind was even more sinister so Logan made sure that that kind didn't survive long either. Most
of them were dead and gone by the time the time had reached the 10 p.m. mark.
But that wasn't the end of it. Far from it. The most vicious kind was still around and on the prowl,
but no matter how cunning they were they were always outsmarted by their prey. Which served them
right really. Who would be stupid enough to consider the Wolverine as prey?
Anyway, they were usually done for it at around 01.00 a.m.
But some always managed to sneak away. Which only meant that the procedure had to be gone through
again and again until they all had perished.
Which wasn't saying much. Logan, being Logan, was masochistic enough to go into town bringing more of them
home - still pretending he was looking for his past.
What he had failed to explain so far is why that past could be found in New Yorks finest tobacco and
liquor stores. Whatever his past was, it couldn't be found in cigars, bottles of Molson and bottles
of Southern comfort.
Or could it?
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Does that bother you? Too bad!
Feedback: Sure, bring it on.
Authors notes: This is Khaki's fault due to her damn "Opening line" challenge, but hey that's not a complaint!
And the headings are almost getting longer than the fic....
-------------------------------------
They died instantly.
They always did. On a very regular schedule to be very blunt and honest about it. That's the
real reason Logan went away at regular intervals. So regular that you could use his coming and
going from the mansion to tell what date it was. Or the time of the day really.
Logan did whatever he could to make people think he was out there chasing his past but it had been a
long time since anyone had believed that. They didn't say it to his face though since no one was inclined
to further add to the growing pile of "they" that died.
There were several kinds of the ones that always died, but as yet no one that had been a mutant to the best
of the X-men's knowledge.
It was one kind that most of time didn't even make it back to the mansion. Not most of them anyway.
And the second kind was even more sinister so Logan made sure that that kind didn't survive long either. Most
of them were dead and gone by the time the time had reached the 10 p.m. mark.
But that wasn't the end of it. Far from it. The most vicious kind was still around and on the prowl,
but no matter how cunning they were they were always outsmarted by their prey. Which served them
right really. Who would be stupid enough to consider the Wolverine as prey?
Anyway, they were usually done for it at around 01.00 a.m.
But some always managed to sneak away. Which only meant that the procedure had to be gone through
again and again until they all had perished.
Which wasn't saying much. Logan, being Logan, was masochistic enough to go into town bringing more of them
home - still pretending he was looking for his past.
What he had failed to explain so far is why that past could be found in New Yorks finest tobacco and
liquor stores. Whatever his past was, it couldn't be found in cigars, bottles of Molson and bottles
of Southern comfort.
Or could it?