Logan's skin is still melting and healing as fast it melts, what with his upper body having been spattered with whatever substance made up the blood of the last creature they'd fought. "Because I could go for a fucking beer after this."
Lately the X-Men had been working with the government for big, secret things like this-- mutants were apparently helpful so long as nobody knew they were being helpful, and though Logan had obvious problems with that, he also couldn't tell Charles "no". They needed rapport with the government, he said. Helping them now would help us later, he said.
So now here Logan is helping a guy named Hellboy, apparently because Logan's the only one sturdy enough (with the adamantium and the healing factor) to take the same shit this one did. The stupidity of the name isn't lost on him, but at least he doesn't say so out loud.
He takes one last look at the poor boat rental shop they'd totalled, and then the dead mess of a monster on the shore just barely touching the ocean (it'd tried to escape into it), and lets out a huff. "We supposed to just leave this guy here for the feds to clean up?"
When Hellboy had originally been told the B.P.R.D. was going to be taking on cases with a collection of Like-Minded Individuals, he'd assumed more paranormals. More of the government's ever-rotating roster of dirty little secrets. The X-Men, though, well they were more like the red-headed stepchildren of the human race. Genetic freaks rather than occult ones, not that it mattered much to him how they got there. Not that they were much different at the end of the day.
He'd had his assumptions about it either way; he'd spent enough of his life at this point taking on the brunt of things just because he could handle it better, he'd kind of figured this particular gig would be more of the same. Some new guy thrown his way who'd carry his weight right up until he didn't, but Logan proved just different enough. Could take a hell of a lot of shit before he went down, and after he did he didn't stay there long. Nice change.
Which is how he's currently staring at the guy, torn between the urge to knock him upside the head (it's not an unreasonable question, he knows that, doesn't make it less irritating) and the weird kaleidoscope effect going on across his skin from the monster blood.
"What's the fun in riding around in a garbage truck if the rest of the crew doesn't act the part? We stop it, they clean up the mess."
A beat, and then the inevitable eye roll.
"And yeah. I can drink. You might want to find a firehose or something though, if you don't want to scare off everybody in a three block radius."
Logan looks down at himself, the continuous melt and regrow of his muscles sending his nerves in enough of a frenzy that it just all feels like one big, numb sensation. "...right."
His pants are melting off too, he realises. God damn it.
"Normal water's gonna get this off?"
It's not like he knows anything about the occult. He does, however, know that the boat rental shop also did surf rentals, and finds a faucet somewhere around the building with running water. It's a bit of an awkward thing moving to lie down in the small space meant for the water to splash and slide down the drain, but the water smacks him in the chest and Logan shuts his eyes to keep the blood from getting in his eyes, of all things.
"Ugh. Jesus."
At least this teaches him what to expect next time, though.
Turning his unseeing eyes towards where he can hear Hellboy's breathing, Logan chirps: "Beer's on me when we go."
Best guess, at least, and he can always change tactics if it doesn't seem to be the case. Abe hadn't been the clearest on that part (although he also might not have been listening. Either or) and nine times out of ten he's ended up immune to whatever the crap is anyway.
Either way, he wanders after him and checks his stash in his pockets, just in case they need to get a little heavier duty about it. Fortunately, dilution seems to be doing the trick, so he settles in against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he waits.
"Hopefully that crap didn't eat your wallet or else we're screwed."
The thought of his wallet melting from hellspawn blood makes Logan snort, one eye opening to peer Hellboy's way. "I keep my wallet in my back pocket."
Good thing, too, because when the feeling in his chest returns and he realises he isn't melting any more, the front of Logan's trousers have pretty much gone to shit. Quite a few inches off the hem have melted off, and the ends where they stopped are charred as if they'd been burned with fire.
He sits up, then reaches behind him to where the back portion of his jeans are sagging downward in an open flap with nothing up front to support them. True to form, his wallet's safe and sound, though he imagines being wet'll probably work wonders for the old leather.
"Heads up," he says, tossing it Hellboy's way. He pulls his ruined jeans off and stands there in boxer shorts, though takes note of how the upper part of the garter up front have the same terrible, burnt edges on them. "There should be, uh... eighty dollars in there? Whatever." And clearly he isn't too concerned with Hellboy just taking the cash and bolting. There're some pictures in there too and a points cards for groceries and all, but nothing for credit.
Logan's jeans are just as wrecked as the shop, so he dumps them in a trash bin, may they rest in peace. Then he walks over. In his boxers and his boots.
"Is there a bar without the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' mantra?"
He catches the wallet without much issue in his non-stone hand but doesn't even bother opening it to take a peek inside, just tucks it away in his own not-underwear shorts for safe keeping. If he's at all bothered by Logan's current look (he isn't) he doesn't give any sign, just thinks over the question.
"Not one I can think of around here, no, but I doubt your fashion choice is gonna be what holds 'em up."
Just saying.
"We can always grab a couple six packs and some burgers and find a roof somewhere though."
Ha. Giving himself another look, Logan concedes. "Okay."
And with that, he walks over, passing Hellboy and making his way from the shore back to the pier, and then back to civilisation entirely. His microphone and tracker's pretty much been burnt to shit, but he gives Hellboy's a cursory look as they walk, hand lifting to gesture his own index finger towards his ear in reference to it.
"You still gotta keep that on you?" He doesn't know the protocols for this, really. Charles had handled most of the logistics and Logan hadn't paid enough attention after being briefed by someone even worse at holding his attention than Cyclops. But, off-handedly, it'd be nice to talk without the knowledge some old white fucks in a garbage truck would be listening to their every word.
"Where the hell's the nearest convenience store..."
A thumb moves towards the tracker, tangentially prompted by the question, but he wouldn't have needed the reminder anyway. It jams against the button, killing the flashing light and everything connected to it in the process, only responding after it's already off.
"Technically yes, but it wouldn't be the first time I shut it off to get a little privacy. They're used to it by now."
They don't like it, but they're used to it and more or less know to leave him be unless he takes forever about getting back.
"Saw one a half mile or so back, if you can make it that far."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
after like a million years oh my god
Logan's skin is still melting and healing as fast it melts, what with his upper body having been spattered with whatever substance made up the blood of the last creature they'd fought. "Because I could go for a fucking beer after this."
Lately the X-Men had been working with the government for big, secret things like this-- mutants were apparently helpful so long as nobody knew they were being helpful, and though Logan had obvious problems with that, he also couldn't tell Charles "no". They needed rapport with the government, he said. Helping them now would help us later, he said.
So now here Logan is helping a guy named Hellboy, apparently because Logan's the only one sturdy enough (with the adamantium and the healing factor) to take the same shit this one did. The stupidity of the name isn't lost on him, but at least he doesn't say so out loud.
He takes one last look at the poor boat rental shop they'd totalled, and then the dead mess of a monster on the shore just barely touching the ocean (it'd tried to escape into it), and lets out a huff. "We supposed to just leave this guy here for the feds to clean up?"
it's fineeeee
He'd had his assumptions about it either way; he'd spent enough of his life at this point taking on the brunt of things just because he could handle it better, he'd kind of figured this particular gig would be more of the same. Some new guy thrown his way who'd carry his weight right up until he didn't, but Logan proved just different enough. Could take a hell of a lot of shit before he went down, and after he did he didn't stay there long. Nice change.
Which is how he's currently staring at the guy, torn between the urge to knock him upside the head (it's not an unreasonable question, he knows that, doesn't make it less irritating) and the weird kaleidoscope effect going on across his skin from the monster blood.
"What's the fun in riding around in a garbage truck if the rest of the crew doesn't act the part? We stop it, they clean up the mess."
A beat, and then the inevitable eye roll.
"And yeah. I can drink. You might want to find a firehose or something though, if you don't want to scare off everybody in a three block radius."
no subject
His pants are melting off too, he realises. God damn it.
"Normal water's gonna get this off?"
It's not like he knows anything about the occult. He does, however, know that the boat rental shop also did surf rentals, and finds a faucet somewhere around the building with running water. It's a bit of an awkward thing moving to lie down in the small space meant for the water to splash and slide down the drain, but the water smacks him in the chest and Logan shuts his eyes to keep the blood from getting in his eyes, of all things.
"Ugh. Jesus."
At least this teaches him what to expect next time, though.
Turning his unseeing eyes towards where he can hear Hellboy's breathing, Logan chirps: "Beer's on me when we go."
no subject
Best guess, at least, and he can always change tactics if it doesn't seem to be the case. Abe hadn't been the clearest on that part (although he also might not have been listening. Either or) and nine times out of ten he's ended up immune to whatever the crap is anyway.
Either way, he wanders after him and checks his stash in his pockets, just in case they need to get a little heavier duty about it. Fortunately, dilution seems to be doing the trick, so he settles in against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he waits.
"Hopefully that crap didn't eat your wallet or else we're screwed."
no subject
Good thing, too, because when the feeling in his chest returns and he realises he isn't melting any more, the front of Logan's trousers have pretty much gone to shit. Quite a few inches off the hem have melted off, and the ends where they stopped are charred as if they'd been burned with fire.
He sits up, then reaches behind him to where the back portion of his jeans are sagging downward in an open flap with nothing up front to support them. True to form, his wallet's safe and sound, though he imagines being wet'll probably work wonders for the old leather.
"Heads up," he says, tossing it Hellboy's way. He pulls his ruined jeans off and stands there in boxer shorts, though takes note of how the upper part of the garter up front have the same terrible, burnt edges on them. "There should be, uh... eighty dollars in there? Whatever." And clearly he isn't too concerned with Hellboy just taking the cash and bolting. There're some pictures in there too and a points cards for groceries and all, but nothing for credit.
Logan's jeans are just as wrecked as the shop, so he dumps them in a trash bin, may they rest in peace. Then he walks over. In his boxers and his boots.
"Is there a bar without the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' mantra?"
no subject
"Not one I can think of around here, no, but I doubt your fashion choice is gonna be what holds 'em up."
Just saying.
"We can always grab a couple six packs and some burgers and find a roof somewhere though."
no subject
And with that, he walks over, passing Hellboy and making his way from the shore back to the pier, and then back to civilisation entirely. His microphone and tracker's pretty much been burnt to shit, but he gives Hellboy's a cursory look as they walk, hand lifting to gesture his own index finger towards his ear in reference to it.
"You still gotta keep that on you?" He doesn't know the protocols for this, really. Charles had handled most of the logistics and Logan hadn't paid enough attention after being briefed by someone even worse at holding his attention than Cyclops. But, off-handedly, it'd be nice to talk without the knowledge some old white fucks in a garbage truck would be listening to their every word.
"Where the hell's the nearest convenience store..."
no subject
"Technically yes, but it wouldn't be the first time I shut it off to get a little privacy. They're used to it by now."
They don't like it, but they're used to it and more or less know to leave him be unless he takes forever about getting back.
"Saw one a half mile or so back, if you can make it that far."
no subject
He's been in worse situations than underwear and shoes and gone on foot for miles like that, after all.
Not that he'd happily brag about it.