EVENT ∞ LOG — July 125

[thediadem]

Event ∞ Log

In the Flesh

Jump ⇅ :: Visits — First Contact — Hitchhikers — Notes

∞ Prologue ∞

It's not real, it's not real.

Somewhere in the Blocks, late at night, a young woman repeats the words over and over, fumbling with her room key. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder again, begging her hand to obey. Her fingers are stiff and smooth, and it makes each movement more difficult. Eventually, the door gives way. She stumbles into the apartment, slamming it behind her and locking several bolts.

Leaning back on the door, she lets her key ring fall to the linoleum as she holds her hand up to her face. It isn't just her fingers now. Painted plastic has taken over her entire right hand, spreading up her forearm toward a ball-jointed elbow that creaks painfully. She grabs her neck with her flesh hand, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to steady her heart.

It's not real, it's not real...

She takes another breath, then turns on the light. The bulb flickers. Hazy light flood the room with an incessant buzz.

She freezes.

A figure stands in the opposite doorway. It doesn't move, stuck in a pose with an outstretched hand—one made of flesh and bone. Her hand.

She screams.

Info & Mechanics — NPC Forum Post — Event Interaction ::: ⇅ Top

Strange Visits

Panorama

For the first week or two of July, life goes on as usual. You have a lot on your plate—jobs, loans, rent, that creep who won't stop staring at you when you're filling up your car—and the last thing you've got time for is other people's problems. Or maybe you find room to listen, anyway? Whatever the case, it's mostly a lot of stories and pointing fingers: a shopkeeper accuses his friend of stealing from him, somebody claims their boss must've skipped town to avoid paying the employees, and a woman is frantic about her missing husband. He never goes anywhere without telling her.

If you decide to look into it, none of the incidents seem connected. After all, people frequently go missing in the Diadem, friends betray each other, and businesses often go bankrupt, leaving their workers to pick up the pieces. Funny thing, though: here and there, you swear you glimpse a figure who isn't entirely flesh. Their features are just...a bit odd. Is it your imagination? When you move in for a closer look, something gets in your way and the figure disappears.

On the other hand, you think to yourself, it's not as though everybody on this planet looks standard. If a man can have horns, why can't his skin also be a bit plasticky?

Use the Event Interaction comment any time you need specifics or some direction for an element you're engaging within the event. This can be an NPC victim your character is questioning, an aspect of the diffusion zone your character is testing, or anything along those veins. While you're encouraged to make things up on your own, too, if you're ever unsure of the results or the answers you might get, approach us there!

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First Contact

The Fringes

Inevitably, you take the risk and head back into the Fringes. It has what you need, and the bizarreness in Panorama isn't making the city feel like much of a refuge, either. Besides, long trips aren't unusual for anyone in the Diadem. As you drive, you might even find yourself reluctant to return to the city. After all, there's so much across the multitude of diffusion zones that regardless of how dangerous it can be, perhaps some part of you is attracted to the thrill of the unknown.

If the promise of loot isn't enough, a note on the Forum might be. Here, you'll scroll across a brief message from who else but the ever-eager Felix Bjurstrom, joined by his daughter, Olive "Ollie" Bjurstrom. (Looks like he's got a new phone again!) If nothing else, the investigative or curious nature in you gets you going. What if this is a piece of the puzzle you need to go home?

If you want your character to scavenge items, check how that works. The Map identifies where each Quadrant is located.

Among the Shadows — Abandoned Mall

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 10-hour drive from Panorama, a standard American shopping mall rises through the cracked and broken highway. A portion of its vast parking lot melts into the road ahead and behind. There are cars in the parking lot, each one perfectly preserved: no rust, no dust, nothing.

The mall's lights are on. The moment you step inside, you'll notice that you're not alone. Inside, shadow corpses are everywhere, frozen in time. Their bodies show no signs of distress. If you try to touch them, a dark, ashy residue coats your fingers. You see a young couple linking arms, a mother bending over to pick up her child, and a man ordering his last meal at the KFC. It's as though they all just...stopped. While eerie, whatever force swept through here is long gone.

The upside is that nobody will bother you while you look around—aside from other fluxdrifts, of course. The shops and their offerings are stuck in the 90's. Big electronics are cosmic touched, rendering them worthless, but smaller electronics like cassette tapes, CDs, and Walkmans are all viable. You can also grab clothes, snacks, and (cheap) jewelry.

And, as you pass by the store windows, you see many mannequins on display. That's normal, so you don't think twice. At least, until you swear one of them keeps moving around the store. Though its pose never changes, it almost appears to...follow you? That can't be right. You must be seeing things.

Zone Effects
Touching any of the frozen shadows will cause the victim to believe that their companion(s) have transformed into monstrous creatures. Attempts to approach you will only register as an attack rather than placating gestures, while words will sound like snarls or spoken threats. An induced panic will make it more difficult to think logically and see through the hallucination. The illusory creatures can take the form of anything that might frighten or threaten you the most.

You can break free of the illusion through a variety of methods, including your own willpower, being knocked out by your friends, or seeing/hearing something that makes you realize it isn't real. The hallucination isn't overly intense, but it can cause a bit of havoc among you and your companions...and increase the likelihood a mannequin might make contact unnoticed.

Wall of Refuge — Strange Temple

©

In Quadrant 1, about a 6-hour drive from Panorama—and on the way to the abandoned mall above—stands a geometric structure made of metal and stone. Sharp angles shoot up from the ground to form a distorted hexagon. The gateway is littered with sigils: some weathered by time, others freshly carved into the rocky surface. They glow when you drive forward, beckoning you closer. Come in, whispers an unknown compulsion in your mind. You are home.

You may succumb to the whispers for any number of reasons: sleep deprivation, desperation for a place to rest overnight, or a need to hide from raiders or dangerous creatures lurking in another nearby zone. Regardless, you give in and enter the triangular entrance. The stone gate lifts to grant you passage, revealing an effigy of a multi-limbed being. A deity? A symbol of power? Though you're unsure, you continue deeper. Your footsteps echo across the cavernous halls.

Behind you, the heavy gate slowly closes with a rumbling finality. Despite the chilly entranceway, the interior of the temple is warm and inviting. Candles line the walls. Fountains flow peacefully. You can enter one of the many rooms to find a soft bed, fresh cakes, succulent meat, and fine wine available for you. Behind a silk curtain is a steaming bath lined with soothing floral herbs and oils.

Meanwhile, throughout your explorations, you might sense a figure or a shadow in the passageway. A glimpse of shiny plastic appears oddly out of place in a temple of this kind.

Zone Effects

• If you are a believer and decide to trust the gifts bestowed upon you, then you may safely indulge. The wine will warm you up, the food will fill your belly, and you can sleep through the night. When you awaken, you can safely leave the temple refreshed. Your vehicle will be outside, untouched, as if some power within was protecting your belongings.
• If you are a heretic and doubt the offerings you've been graciously given, the gifts will begin to rot and all amenities will crumble to dust. The more your cynicism betrays you, the more the temple will take until nothing remains except the oddly textured walls bearing down on you. As you examine the surface, you realize the stone is built from a manifold of dozens—no, hundreds—of twisted bodies. Their arms are raised in reverence, piled upon each other like human bricks. Their gaping mouths are frozen in a silent scream. As for you and your companions...what fate will await the nonbeliever?

The Last Stop — Foggy Town

©

In Quadrant 4, about a 3-hour drive from Panorama, east of the currently unused train tracks, a thick mist rolls through the highway. Here, the sky darkens rapidly into night and the temperature drops. If you've traveled unprepared, presuming the heat in Panorama spreads into the Fringes, you'll find that's not so. A chill spreads into your bones and creeps up the back of your neck.

Then the ground rumbles. The tremors shake your vehicle. Maybe it even makes you lose control briefly or sends you swerving off-road, straight into the fields. And in the middle of the fog, you see it: a figure standing in the middle of the field. Behind it are a few houses, making up a tiny rural town. The houses are dilapidated, many crumbling. Supplies within are minimal, and many items are broken or spoiled.

Do you approach? Do you drive past? Merely staring for a second too long will be enough for the hitchhiker to choose you as its ride, but its appearance may not be all that keeps you in place. In the distance is another bigger shadow. A much bigger shadow. It looms in the distance without true mass or form. Within the void of its body, a searchlight sweeps over the misty town. It does not move. It simply looks while the ground shakes. Each time its light catches a glimpse of something that doesn't belong—an animal, a vehicle that drove too deep into the tall grass, a raider that went too far into town—a sonorous howl reverberates through the zone.

Then the shadow will teleport to its target and crush the intruder without mercy before retreating back to its watchful post. And the intruder is indeed crushed: any living organism caught by the Light Guardian will be flattened with a horrifying crunch of broken bones and squished organs.

Zone Effects
While the Light Guardian can't be defeated or confronted, you can outrun or hide from its sweeping beam. If you stop far enough on the side of the road, it won't notice you...but you can still watch as it mangles an unfortunate raider or traveler. Possibly, you see the spray of blood or hear the screams before you run. Perhaps you realize how easily you could've met your own gory fate.

If you've left your car and gone too deep into the town before you realize the danger, you can do one of two things: you can risk hiding in an abandoned house in the town and hope that the sunrise comes. In zones like this, the day/night cycle is unpredictable, and many places are permanently cast in darkness. Or, you can try to run back to your vehicle and pray you don't get caught.

Alternatively, you've plowed directly into the field when raiders in pursuit force you into the zone. Should fortune favor you, they'll be obliterated by the Light Guardian while you flee. The beam tracks quickly, but can only shine in one direction at a time so the key is to bob and weave.

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Hitchhikers

Anywhere

Not everyone who enters the diffusion zone will pick up a mannequin, but the possibility is there. Once you make first contact, you will gain a hitchhiker. Unlike most aspects of the diffusion zones, this one has gathered into a storm, meaning the effects will breach even normally stable and anchored strongholds like Panorama.

Some fluxdrifts will brush off your problems while a few might believe you. Others will offer solutions in their own way, including a doctor who'll pay to obtain strange plastic limbs. Not everyone will pitch in to help. The city's big, populated, and somebody on the street turning doll-like doesn't affect them (...until it does). They've got a job to get to and mouths to feed.

Unwanted Passenger

When do you first notice your passenger? At any point, really. Perhaps it goes like this:

You glance in the rearview mirror and glimpse a figure in the backseat. When you spin around, there's nobody there. Then it happens again. This time, you realize it's not a person, but a dummy. A mannequin. It's sitting upright. And is it...wearing a seatbelt? Or maybe it's thrown itself across the back bench as though somebody tossed it there, uncaring.

This time, when you look back, it's still there. You pull over and dump it on the side of the road. That's taken care of, you think. You drive some more. For a few hours or even a day or two—depending on how long you've traveled—you don't think much of it. Then suddenly, it's back. And it keeps coming back no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

Or it goes like this:

You return from a standard trip into a diffusion zone. It went pretty well, you think. You found some clothes at a creepy mall and now you're ready to get some sleep. When you open your trunk to retrieve your belongings, you notice a mannequin stuffed inside, limbs bent at odd angles. You're a little weirded out, but you decide to dump it on the street and move on.

You shower. In the bathroom mirror, the mannequin suddenly appears behind you. Over the next few days, this continues. The mannequin appears in a booth across the diner as you're eating your eggs. It's behind a shelf in the corner store. It's in your closet. Each time you check, it vanishes...but then, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's right there in plain view. It'll even let you throw it away, burn it, anything you can think of. But it always comes back.

However it plays out, you realize that people around you do notice it...sometimes. That doesn't mean anyone will believe you that things are just that weird. Most people have better things to do. They don't know you, after all, and even if they did, well, this place does have a habit of driving people a little crazy. Witnesses casually push the mannequin aside and tell you that's a funny prank. Your regular waitress pats your shoulder and suggests you get some sleep. You're not looking well. The shopkeeper demands you take that thing before you go. He's not responsible for your junk.

But there's a small chance you run into someone who seems to be going through what you are. Unfortunately, they seem to actually have it worse and aren't making much sense. Still, you can try questioning them and see what answers you get. At least, before you lose them for good. For some of you, the victim you run into is in especially bad shape...and you have to wonder how long before you end up the same.

Trading Places

For some of you, the mannequins might not do more than be a nuisance. While that's not ideal, either, it doesn't completely upend your life. Others are less fortunate. If you're one of the latter, you'll begin to notice symptoms.

The first time it happens, you're startled to hear the mannequin speak. To begin with, its voice might be guttural and unnatural, incapable of stringing more than a few words together. Then it seems to learn. It talks in full sentences. Its voice smooths out. It starts to sound more and more like you...right down to your speech patterns and accent. As symptoms progress with varying intensity—over days or weeks—you realize with dawning horror that you're losing parts of yourself. When you wash your hands, you notice a part of your skin is smooth and shiny. The next time the mannequin appears, its previously plasticky appearance is more flesh and blood.

Eventually, the mannequin becomes independent. It shops with your money. It steals while wearing a face that looks nearly identical to yours, especially from a distance. It calls your friend and says the things you would never say out loud to them. They're thoughts you've had, sure, but you know better than to hurt your friend's feelings...except apparently, you have. And now you can't even use your own voice to explain yourself. Your leg has been getting stiff. Your joints don't bend properly.

Meanwhile, the mannequin is now striding around smoothly. Its appearance is still uncanny and odd if anyone pays attention, but at a glance, it easily passes as a part of the crowd. As its final act, it's even absorbed small bits of your abilities if you have any. Not all of them, but enough to cause trouble. Throughout everything, you cannot harm your hitchhiker. Some unknown force stops you any time you think about it. You simply can't.

Related Incidents

The impact isn't contained only to those directly affected. The hitchhikers' influence spreads through the city. For some incidents, it's difficult to trace back to the source. For others, that's a little easier. Regardless, these occurrences could help you determine how to solve your own situation. Alternatively, if you've escaped unscathed, you can still find yourself dragged into a situation involving someone else.

Return to Sender

July 11 — The Forum: An anonymous poster contributes this bit of information that might catch the eye of those affected. You can try the same method, but it's a risk going back into the diffusion zones. No one can guarantee the specific zone you found the mannequin in is still standing. Further, you have to remember where you made contact to begin with.

If you decide to try it, be sure to take a friend. The less independent the hitchhiker, the more likely it will stick to your side even as you return it home. If the assimilation has progressed too far, though, you might have to utilize methods such as duct taping inside your trunk or strapping it down with ropes. It may struggle and say vile things to you or your companion.

Victimless Burn Victims

July 14 @ 03:00 — The Pavilion (East End): A handful of troublemakers grabbed some freaky mannequins wandering the street and, in a drunken stroke of genius, set them all on fire for no reason other than that they wanted to. Not only has this resulted in damage to the corner store nearby, but Enforcers have linked the incident to four hospitalizations at roughly the same time. Doctors from Saint Margery's Hospital (located in the Blocks) report that all four individuals suffered massive shock and claim to have endured unimaginable agony as if they had been "set on fire."

Curiously, none of them bear any physical wounds and, by all accounts, are completely fine (trauma aside). Notably, all four individuals were also suffering from various stages of "joint stiffness" and "hallucinations"...which have since completely vanished. You might wonder, is this the solution? Or perhaps the better question would be, is it worth it?

The Sculptor

July 15 — The Pavilion (Medical Clinic): Around July 14 onward, word begins to spread that a Dr. Maggie Wright (who insists on being called the Sculptor, though nobody seems to heed this request) will not only do an amputation for free, she will pay you for your limb if you are boasting an "unusual trophic change to the skin, resulting in a smooth and shiny texture." All she asks is she gets to keep the sample. Her promise is that she will study it to find a more permanent cure and, if she does, she will return the limb to you for reattachment.

Some end up trusting her. You wonder, maybe she could help? Dr. Wright will happily accept you as her patient if you agree. Her methods are indeed proper and sterile: she'll put you under and provide you with plenty of pain meds. She appears to have all of the equipment required to preserve the limb, too.

If you're suspicious, you can also pay her a visit, but you won't have much luck getting her in trouble or sniffing out any evidence of nefarious deeds. Her office hasn't got anything strange, she is indeed a real surgeon, and there are testimonials from patients who've had success under her care in the past. Plus, nobody's going to her who isn't doing so voluntarily (they've signed waivers)—even if you could argue how much desperation plays into their decision. Still...the thing about her "title" is a bit weird, right?

Dr. Maggie Wright is 5'2, Caucasian with a light Northeastern accent and silver hair often worn in a bun. She's in her 50s and looks fairly good for her age. Her voice is soothing. She has intense, wide blue eyes, which some might find unnerving, but that's not necessarily her fault.

∞ Notes ∞

• Mannequin contact is not required. Not everybody who goes into the diffusion will make first contact, and many won't. Characters can explore the mall, the temple, and the foggy field without ever picking up a hitchhiker.
• The diffusion zones described are only examples. Others will exist where mannequins can be found, including grocery stores, gas stations, abandoned parks, and more. You can make up your own, but check with us if you have any questions about limitations!
• The speed and intensity of all mechanics are entirely up to you. Generally, the earlier a character makes first contact, the more severe their consequences.
• Investigating the zones or helping others are perfectly fine ways to participate! Since the hitchhikers are meant to be more insidious, it won't be strange if your character isn't in the middle of the action right away or notices things a bit late.

Questions? Ask here

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Comments

[primepool]

[And wait around outside the door like someone's kicked dog? No thanks. This way was way more fun -- until Logan found him. Not that he's embarrassed by that; all he proved is that he's basically this world's Catwoman.]

I, uh... [He rubs over the back of his head.] Guess so, yeah.

[But he came to do it! Is that not worth anything? Wade leans against the counter, but with the way his arms cross over his chest, it's clear he's suddenly not ready to dive into the fridge and steal a drink of his own. He's watching Logan instead, some kind of weight in his chest.

If this was another apartment and Al was cursing in the background, it'd be home. Almost. He knows this Logan doesn't know him, and Other Logan is... they had something. They got each other. This one, though, makes Wade feel like he's learning another language he still hasn't got a grip on, on top of not being able to explain why it matters he gets fluent in it.

Wade frowns for a second.] Lie about what? [He doesn't have many good points, but for the bare minimum he could maybe claim that he doesn't lie. A lot. Sometimes, when it's funny --] Oooh.

[When it's funny.]

You mean the healing factor thing. [Okay, now he knows what he's dealing with, he straightens up, his shoulders not so curved anymore. It's gonna be a weird, hard sale, but it is the truth. Wade takes a breath, lets it out.]

Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but I mean it. I was doing it as a gag, 'cause... I thought you were someone else. And then it was clearly not him, but I'd already sort of, uh, done it, and look, a lot was happening. New world and all. [He shrugs with his shoulders, arms still crossed as he shifts.] This guy, he's you, but not you-you. Another you. I know you're from the pre-variants timeline... fuck, this sounds stupid. I didn't write this! [This is why they don't send him to monologue, okay? He gestures wildly, finally uncrossing his arms.] There's a whole multiverse out there, and there's multiple different versions of everyone, and one of them happens to be you, and he happens to be my, uh... my roommate.

[Oh my god. It sounds like a fanfic.] Figured at the time, since I'm here, he must be too. But he's not. It's you here, and you're not him.

[And that's without mentioning that he's the original. The Anchor Being. Bonafide Grade A Canadian Beef.] Look, if you wanna stab me to make yourself feel better or sort through the complications of coming to term with a multiverse, at least you know it's not gonna stick. In fact, I'd say that's how a lot of character growth happens.

[carcajous]

[ ...

What. ]

What the fuck are you saying.

[ No, he knows what Wade is saying. He hears the words. He understands them, grammatically. He just. What?

Look, specific circumstances are required for Logan to sustain a level of bad blood:

1. Someone tries to kill his friends.
2. Someone tries to kill him, repeatedly.
3. Scott.

Actually, he's starting to get over number three (a bit. Kind of), though he'd chew a handful of razor blades before he confesses that out loud.

Point being, Wade pretending he was dying for no good reason doesn't fall under the above. When he asked why Wade lied, he figured he'd get some bullshit rambling that he'd roll his eyes at, tell Wade to forget it and shut up, and then he'd drink the shitty beer and eventually kick Wilson outta his room once he had enough of him. That'd be that.

This? What Wilson's speaking of? Where's he supposed to begin? The part where Wade claims there's another version of him running around? The bit where they're apparently living together?

And hell, he wishes he could brush it off as more bullshit. More of Wade fucking with him. It's tempting. It's fucking tempting to insist he doesn't get where any of this is coming from. He can't. That's the real spanner in the works right there, ain't it? Because the reason he's having such a hard time digesting is that it makes sense. The missing puzzle pieces he'd dismissed as Wade being Wade, it suddenly fits. That's why Wade keeps following him like a lost puppy. That's why Wade knows what he drinks, how he takes his coffee. Why, every so often, he looks at Logan as if he's seeing somebody else. Is it 'cause of the time travel? What, so when they changed the past, it somehow brought them together? Is that—?

A niggling thought surfaces. That shard of familiarity that's lodged into his brain ever since Wade opened that big mouth of his. As much as he's tried to ignore it, he can't pretend it hasn't tugged him in Wade's direction in return.

Quietly, carefully, he lowers himself onto the scuffed armrest of a ratty old sofa. ]

I can't tell you how, but... [ His brows stitch together. He releases a disbelieving huff of air. This is stupid. ] Sometimes, I swear we've met before.

[primepool]

[Yeah, this is about what he expected. The slack-jawed stare of someone who's hearing the words he's saying (rare), trying to comprehend them (even rarer) or make some kind of sense out of the fucking multiverse bullshit (not even worth the time, but it exists whether they want it to or not!)

Wade just stares back, gives another one of his noncommittal shrugs of his shoulders. Either he accepts it or doesn't, or gets pissed at him for a new reason. He really is gonna end up with thirteen reasons why by the end of this, huh? For why Logan's claws are in his stomach (again).

But then Logan sits, but it's the way a dog collapses when it's had a hard day. He... huh?

Oh, for the love of -- that's why he gave him that weird fuckin' look before, huh? He still has shreds of -- ugh, Wade doesn't even want to think of it. He thought he erased that shit from the planet.] Like we met in another life? Yeah, you could, uh, say that.

[He finally comes out of the kitchen and flops onto the other side of the sofa. Logan hasn't kicked him out yet, so.] It's not exactly Chances Are. And with way less implications of incest. [And it sure as shit didn't come with one of the best Cher songs out there. Though that would've been a marked improvement in Origins. More Cher. ♪♪ After all that we've been through, it all comes down to meeee and yooouuu... ♪♪] Pretty fucked up, yeah?

[♪♪ Two angels who've been rescued from the fall... ♪♪]

Look, don't have a big beefy freakout about it. I know you're not him, and vice versa. For one, he is way more angry, and that's saying something. [For good reason.] There's just a lot of... [Fuck. He gestures, throwing up his hands and dropping them,] familiarities. [He means similarities, but close enough.] Actually, met a lot of yous. Most of them were more stab first, ask questions later. But without the questions.

[carcajous]

[ Another life, is that right? Logan shifts, uncomfortable. This what it felt like when Pandora's box opened? Jesus. His memory's a goddamn disaster as it is. He doesn't need this shit. He doesn't need different versions of events he can't fucking remember, and he doesn't need it to seemingly involve so much of a man he barely tolerates on a good day.

He's not freaking out. He's—absorbing. Logan opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. A derisive snort escapes. ] Gee, I wonder why.

[ Winning personality like Wade's, what else was gonna happen? He's lucky Logan hasn't stabbed him yet, and that's probably only 'cause up 'til a week ago, he thought ripping out the man's intestines would actually kill him. You know what? That offer Wade made just now doesn't sound too bad.

He exchanges the beer for a bottle of bottom shelf gin instead. Charles lives here with him and he doesn't want to explain why there's a patch of blood staining the carpet. ]

If I'm not him, why do you give a shit if I'm pissed at you or not?

[ What's the point of—? Maybe it's not a fair question. Maybe he's just sick and tired of people who know him better than he knows himself. Yeah, he gets it. That's what happens when your memory's full of holes. Doesn't mean he likes it. And the idea that Wade hasn't just met him, he lives with him, is...that's far too fucking intimate. Makes him feel uncannily seen. ]

[primepool]

Because of my warm, haunting personality and devilishly handsome looks?

[He doesn't even miss a beat. If you ask him, Logan just has a fetish for killing ugly guys. Maybe that's it, huh? What an asshole. (And definitely not because he was showing up to attempt to drag them back to the TVA to fix the whole Dead Wolverine trope.)

Wade props his feet on the table until Logan abruptly pushes them off, so he just sort of awkwardly continues to half-lay on the sofa with his arms behind his head.] Why do I? [He echoes the sentiment.] No fuckin' idea. You're a total dick even though I paid for lunch. [One time. Weeks ago. It matters.

Wade sighs. Logan's gonna make him say something. Feels like he should say something.]

Still saved my life. You didn't know better. [Wade shrugs again.] It's what you do.

[He saves people. Doesn't matter which Logan it is. And what about him, huh? Every single one of him worked for Cassandra because they were complete pieces of shit. No morals, bad costumes, not able to do their own stunts. Zero colour coordination, to top it all off.

And yet, the two of them? They saved everything. Everyone. Wade's got a family to go home to because that's who Logan is. And this one isn't him, but he kind of is, too.] I care because you're you. [Ugh, it feels so real.] I guess.

[Now he can claim he didn't mean it, probably.]

[carcajous]

[ Silence. Logan stares at Wade, chugs a fifth of the gin. He did save Wade's life. He's not gonna deny that he'd have done it no matter what, but it's not about who he is. He's...fuck, he doesn't know. Ever since he spoke to Charles about Rogue, he's been sitting on it, and the words don't sink in how he thinks Charles was hoping. Or maybe Charles knew they wouldn't, knew some part of Logan would always reject the sentiment, but he said them to him, anyhow, because that's what Charles does.

Then again, Logan isn't walking away. He didn't leave this conversation ten minutes ago the way he might've in the past. He's...he's trying. To be the guy that actually stays even when there isn't a war to throw himself into. He doesn't know what to think of Wade yet, between all these damn revelations, but the reality is this: Wade's wriggled his way into being one of Logan's people. The other day was the second time Logan's gone off the minute he suspected Wade was in trouble, something he doesn't do for just anybody. No coming back from that. (How the fuck did this happen? Of all the assholes on this godforsaken planet?)

And the kicker is, this whole time he was already one of Wade's people in another life. He just had no fucking idea. Yeah, he heard what Wade said about knowing they're not the same. But what Wade says and what he's been doing are two completely separate things. 'Cause for the past two months, Wade's been...this. Trying to be his, whatever. His friend. Which they aren't, obviously, but he—

Hell, he isn't sure. And he can't say what possesses him to ask, but he does, the question falling out before he can take it back: ] You miss him?

[primepool]

[Oh, god. He got too real. Can feel it in the way the silence is creeping in underneath his skin, making him feel especially naked, real suddenly, without his suit squeezing him in. Wade barely knows what he's doing on a second-by-second basis; explaining why he feels things is like asking him not to dive into a fountain and pick up all the loonies he can find.

It just doesn't happen.

The question catches him before he has a chance to ever build a wall, if he would've bothered (probably not.) 'Cause it hits like a weight, this thing he keeps thinking about but doesn't think about, because he can't do shit about it.]

Yeah. God, yeah. [It comes out an exhale, his feet dropping from the table as he leans forward. Yeah, he misses Logan, because he wouldn't need to explain any of this to him. Not because Logan knows him head to toe, because he sure as shit doesn't, but because he --]

We had something. We went through something, something I can't ever replicate. [And he wouldn't want to, even if he could. That shit was the most stressed he'd ever been in his fucking life, and that includes staring down the barrel of Stage 4 cancer. It's like Cable -- these tentative connections he makes with people going through the most fucked up plots imaginable. And it wouldn't happen if he wasn't in the middle of the fucked up plots.

Which is why he looks at Logan now, this Logan, the original, and thinks so it's never gonna happen here. But he wants it to. How stupid is that? It's not about replacing the Logan he knows, because he loves that angry, crazy bastard. And how do you explain to a guy you waited a long, long time to team-up with him? It's this sick mix of hero horniness and maybe a bit of cock hero worship.] I mean, I know you look at me and you see this loudmouth moron who gets chopped up for fun. And that's --

[He hesitates.] Probably all you're ever gonna see, huh?

[carcajous]

[ Yeah, the regret's hitting him, too. 'Cause he can see it in Wade's eyes that this is something bigger, something more than just a roommate who might be sitting around wondering who the hell's gonna pick up the other half of the rent. Shit, he thought it was complicated when he kept feeling as if he knew Wade from the recesses of his memories. Apparently he does and he doesn't, and Wade does but doesn't know him, and what's it all supposed to mean? Wade keeps saying he's not looking for a stand-in. But how the fuck can he not, huh?

How's he gonna look at a man wearing the same face and name, and not see something that isn't there?

Funny Wade brings that up, quiet and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy dumped on a stranger's porch. 'Cause it isn't true. It isn't true that's all he sees or else he'd have never gone looking for Wade the other night, would've deleted his number off his phone ages ago, wouldn't even be sitting here asking, Do you miss him? Like the answer matters. Like he cares whether this idiot he's known for two whole months misses a version of him he never met, that isn't actually him, will never be him. He doesn't need to be missed. He doesn't want to be missed. It's just—

Fuck, he'd have an easier time if Wade didn't clearly give so much of a shit about him. If Wade had said, you're not him and shut that door and walked out. If Wade didn't come here with an apology over something he didn't even understand.

But his gaze lands on the warm beer, and all he can do is sigh. Wade is a loudmouth moron. He also dragged Logan for some cheap noodles and counted out his last few bills for it, and sat there and said I guess you saved them, too and we do the stuff that no one else wants to do.

If he knows anything about himself, it's that in any reality, he prefers to be alone. He doesn't have roommates. He doesn't live with jabbering pricks that don't know when to back off.

And he doesn't let just anybody hang around his motel room or text him at four in the morning.

(So who's the real moron in the picture here?) ]

Yeah, well. [ Logan grunts, a wry note to it, gruff but without as much bite as he could've injected. ] I'm also seeing you're fucking terrible at apologies.

wrapping here or next tag?

[primepool]

[See, next time he's gotta remember to bring a coat and hat, so he can gather them in the polite way of leaving that says It's Time To Go instead of doing what he's currently doing, which is eyeing the window and determining how many seconds it would take him to run to it and jump out of it.

Somehow that feels less humiliating than just, you know, leaving. Through the door.

Oh. Wait. Is that...? That sigh sounds so familiar. Not because it's A Logan Sigh, but because it's the kind of sigh that, impossibly, incredibly, and stupidly, Wade seems to instill in big, murderous men who have tried to kill him. And who have touched his insides. Together.

This keeps happening, Wade might think he got a secondary mutation for animal magnetism.

God! God. He only barely contains himself so he doesn't do a giddy little stomp on the floor. It's such a Wolverine response. And this is where he could jump out of the window, but he doesn't. He does stand, though. Maybe Wade's learned the hard way what overstaying Logan's welcome feels like.] Yeah, but you're still accepting it, aren't you? I can see you. I see the light of acceptance in your eyes. Or that could be glaucoma. [Does he seem a little happy about it? Yeah. He doesn't have much here, but fuck. This... maybe it could be something.

Wade gives Logan a pat on the chest, only barely stopping himself from popping a squeeze. He removes his hand after a normal amount of time.] That's all I needed.