To Meet a Wolverine
Roleplaying Log: To Meet a Wolverine
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Wolverine and Batgirl have a chance meet-up.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: September 05, 2019
IC Location: Gotham Rooftops
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 13 Oct 2019 03:23
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Gotham, late night, stars hidden behind the haze of light pollution and the threatening low hanging clouds that always flow up river. It's a grim night that's had a patter of rain droplets steadily, not enough to really be called rain but enough to cast a sheen upon the city proper. It's a night in the Bowery where the street traffic is slower, and what foot traffic there is is quick as people scan around themselves to make sure they're not being followed. Furtive, like much of the city's population.
But not like the man that has been across the street for the last few hours.
It's a rooftop garden. The labor of love likely from a family that's trying to share a bit of green with the world, get some veggies in those long glass cases. It's there that the man known as Logan has taken up a place to observe. Seated in a folding lawn chair that's seen better days, arms folded over his broad chest. There's the steady patter of rain upon the plastic tarp that's spread over the veggies and over him, just enough to break the rainfall and to shield a little from the wind.
He's been there unmoving since the sun set. And the only thing that's been there to give him away… is the occasionally gleam of a red ember as he take a drag on a cigarette. Usually shielded from the street level. But if someone were on the rooftops as well… it might stand out against the skyline.

* * *

Memories of endless stretches of beautiful, untarnished starlight only make the dim light of Gotham's stars seem pitiful. But she's trying not to think about that open sky and keep her focus on the streets. As she promised herself, she's minimizing how often she wears the cowl, but tonight she's on a mission that requires it.

She's here for him, after all. But, little does Batgirl know how hard it is to use her usual sneaking technique to get the drop on Wolverine. He would be able to hear the hush of her grapple gun, and then little click of release, and then the soft sound of her boots crossing the rooftop. She crosses her arms as she comes up behind him — but still a good, safe distance. "You know, we usually are pretty territorial about who hangs out on our rooftops," she says, her hip cocking out to take her weight in a casual slouch. It isn't the Batman pose, but she's never boasted being that kind of Bat.

"You looking for someone?"

* * *

With his hat lowered just a bit, the grim looking man turns his head a little, touching a fingertip to the brim and lightly flicking it up so he can meet her gaze with his blue eyes. In the shadow of the canopy only a few slivers of light from the nearby lamp give her a glance at the man.
He's severe looking, weathered, with features that look like he's seen much and it's left its mark on him. He gives her a once over, gaze lifting and lowering before he turns a little to face her, "I figured I already earned my merit badge. Didn't know there was another sheriff that needed tellin' I was runnin' around."
But then his gaze slips back towards the bar and laundromat on the other side of the street. Both run down places, both dimly lit. Though the bar has a bright PABST and BEER sign gleaming in the window. None of the motorcycles out front have moved, haven't moved for the last four hours. So he looks back.

"You with the others I met up with?"

* * *

"'With' is a broad term," Batgirl remarks with a slight shrug of her shoulder. "But, we're on the same team." Which is basically being with, but she's trying to play this cool. She steps forward several long strides toward the sideburn-accented man, ands he glances slightly over him from head to toe. "This town is full of sheriffs," she remarks.

Then she glances down toward the bar from this vantage point only for her eyes to trail back to him. "Gotham is a special kind of turf. We like to know who is on which roof." She's not entirely serious, but the humor just barely suffuses her words.

* * *

"So I can see," The remark offered as rejoinder at her mention of the town being full, he gives a small nod and then ashes his cigarette out on the plastic arm of the chair. Once it's suitably dead and extinguished he twists it up and tosses it away in the small fertilizer bag sitting next to one of the garden bins.
It's then that he straightens up and rises to his full height, meeting her gaze. And curiously enough his own half-smirk might well mirror her own, eveng going so far as to be suppressed with just as much vigour. "Mmm," He says succinctly.
"Is this the part," He lifts a finger to scritch at his eyebrow, as if trying to figure all of this out. "Where you shake me down fer my lunch money? Or tell me ta get outta town? Or you more just wanna know who the hell I am and what my deal is?"

* * *

With a slight arch of a brow, the Bat watches him snuff out his cigarette on the chair. Then she takes a little step back when he stands back up, and she easily meets his gaze, her blues serious beneath the humor.

Then he's asking about her shaking him down for his lunch money, and she snorts indelicately. "Wrong Bat. I don't usually care much about who is lurking as long as they aren't lurking to cause trouble." She arches a brow at him all the same. "But yeah, wouldn't mind getting the low-down on what you're doing up here, and why the bar seems to be a hot spot of interest."

* * *

For a brief moment the man known as Logan lets his eyes slip to the side, noting an aspect about her that gets a small smile. Though it's a short-lived smile as he shakes his head slightly, looks down, then back up and replies to her, "The name's Logan." He touches the center of his chest as he speaks to indicate himself. Then he steps back under the tarp, leaning against the brick wall of a chimney, still shaded by the drawn tarp as rain droplets patter around them.
Arms folding across his chest he keeps his gaze level with hers and replies, "Been tracking some coyotes that have been runnin' people over the Southern border, nasty guys. The kind that'd plant people in the middlea the desert and threaten 'em just ta get every last peso out of 'em."
He then motions with one hand, "Down there, is a kid goes by the name of Benny Urquidez. Low-ranking gang member, works with em. My only link to the bastards. He's a messenger. Moves around a lot. When he does… I'm gonna follow him."
That said he lifts his chin a little. "That alright with you? Or do I gotta find another roof?" At that last his lip twitches, slightly. Almost a smile.

* * *

The sampling of her features has Batgirl straightening up a bit even while a frown creases her brow — unseen mostly save for the crinkling at her eyes. Then she offers a slight nod. "They call me Batgirl." Which isn't her name, but she suspects that Logan is definitely his. She tilts her head slightly back into the rain, only then stepping forward toward the tarp without actually invading his space.

Now she looks down at the bar. "We have coyotes all the way here in Gotham?" Her mouth sets into a frown. She crosses her arms at her chest, one boot planting itself on the roof-top edge. "What's he doing this far North?" Beat. "And East?"

* * *

"S'one gang, and the coyotes don't just run people, drugs, and guns like the mess we found the other day. Though some like ta be taken further in." He steps out into the rain to stand beside her, letting his gaze slip back downward toward that bank of four motorcycles, all sitting there at peace as the occasional car rolls by, water sloshing from its wheel wells.
One eye scrunches up as he takes off that hat and holds it on one hand, a rough and calloused hand pushes through that wild mane of his as he murmurs, "So, brace yerself. I think Gotham might have a crime problem." His tone is so steady, so level, utterly deadpan. Who knew that Logan could pull that off?
Then he tilts his head at her and says, "Batgirl." He gives her another once over then shakes his head and looks away. "Thinka somethin' else. I ain't callin' you that." And on the other side of his face away from her… he gets a small half-smile.

* * *

"Huh." It's a thoughtful, almost distracted syllable. She continues to look down at the bar, and then to the motorcycles. She's trying to stay all serious and then Logan says something as outrageous as Gotham might have a crime problem. She snorts a sudden laugh, and squints a glance at him. "No. Go on. Here? We're the picture-perfect example of a crime free city." Oh, the sarcasm.

Then he's discarding her alias, and she snorts out a breath. "Something else?" She squints at him. Then she relents a bit, offering, "You can call me B.G. if your manly sensibilities can't let you call me Batgirl." There's a hint of dry amusement there before it sobers out. "What are you going to do after you track this kid?"

* * *

When she laughs she can see him giving a small boneless shrug as if to say, 'hey, I hear things.' but he remains silent for a little longer as she lashes him with her wry sarcasm. The rain continues to fall on him and he brushes a forearm over his brow as he looks towards bar across the way, then shakes his head and turns his back on it.
Settling down on that rooftop edge, the low wall that separates the roof from the abyss, he looks up at her sidelong and says, "BeeGee works,"
But then she asks what he's going to do and he grimaces a little, "You sure you want ta know?" Though he knows that the people she runs with don't exactly play nice. They play rough.
After the space of a few heartbeats he tells her, "If the kid's just a messenger, won't need him. M'tryin' ta find a guy named Reynaldo, he'll know the whereabouts of the people I need ta find." There's another pause then he looks up at her, "This ain't gonna go gentle, B.G., and some folks'll get hurt. Or dead. Might be me. But then again might not. You got a problem with that then we might need ta have words."

* * *

"As long as you don't sing Disco music at me," Batgirl warns, though there's still more laughter lighting up her pale eyes. Now she advances forward toward him until she slips down beside him. The abyss doesn't scare her — but nothing much does. She's sitting next to a man who could probably just flick her off the roof at a whim. But, she doesn't seem afraid of him.

Her eyes tick toward him now that she's seated. A slight frown settles onto her lips. You sure you want ta know? "You know, Gotham is not exactly the place to throw around threats. Us Bats have a code." But Batgirl has been seen in the company of Frank Castle, so perhaps her adherence to the code is a bit flexible.

"Hmm." She squints back down at the bar, clasping her hands on either side of her with her yellow boots crossed at the ankles. "We don't kill people unless there is no other choice here in Gotham, Logan. Those aren't my rules." Again, a slight deflection. "Those are Batman's." She arches a brow at him. "So, we still going to have words, or are you going to tell me that it will only be a last resort?"

* * *

One arm resting on his knee, Logan's gaze is distanced on the storefronts down below, those motorcycles unmoving though within the bar beneath them they can see subtle shifting shadows against he soaped over glass. He uncurls a hand towards her as he says, "M'not gonna go lookin' ta spill blood." Then again he never does really. Unless he's got a mad on.
His blue eyes slip to the side and his gaze meets hers, seeking the thoughts that might be lying behind her irises. Then he gives a nod, "I can tell ya I'll do my best. But sometimes when folks are tryin' ta kill me…" He grimaces and there's a faint whisper of metal sliding along metal as a trio of blades slither through the flesh of his knuckles. Just a hint of blood that quickly seals from the mutant healing factor.
"It can get rough." Which is a curious confession, but an honest one, sincerely granted. And if she's a student of a person's character she might well be able to tell that.
The claws whisper back into the housing of his forearm and he looks away, most likely expecting some sign of revulsion on some level. And used to it, but that admission might give her some understanding.

* * *

Batgirl narrows her eyes for a heartbeat, and then she nods slowly. "That's all I can ask." Then she looks away, or she begins to — her eyes dart back to the flash of blades that cut through the flesh of his knuckles. She starts at the sight of them, but again manages to hold her balance on the roof's edge. "You're…" What? Metahuman? She licks at her lips. "Never seen that before."

She can't take her eyes off the blades even when they whisper back behind the knuckles of the man's hands. In fact, she's leaning over and reaching for the hand like she might start inspecting him — the danger of a curious mind. "Doesn't it hurt?"

* * *

Sharp blue eyes watch her, though not directly. More the reflection of the two of them in the tall windows of the building beside them. His eyes narrow slightly, gauging her. Measuring her manner. But then he gives a nod as if accepting her interest for what it seems to be.
"Long story," His voice is a low rumble though he doesn't shy away from her curiousity. Instead he turns his forearm over so she can take a look if she wants, but isn't exactly gonna make it easy on her. She'll have to close that distance. "A little bit of mutation. Mixed with a mess of man's inhumanity ta man."
If she does look closer she'll be able to sense the difference in skeletal structure, the firmness of the bones, and just the severe /weight/ of that forearm if she holds it in her hand with his muscles let lax.

* * *

Batgirl's expression opens up in surprise at Logan's explanation — the details behind his embedded claws. Then her brow frowns over her eyes, and her lips set in an equally disapproving line. "I'm sorry." The words are tense. She glances up at him once before she gently takes his forearm after she's both leaned and scooted closer on the roof's edge. It is hard to feel through muscle, skin, and gloves, but she can almost trace the strange alterations beneath his skin. She turns over his hand, palm up, then back again.

"You re-generate, don't you? That's why there's no marks on your knuckles." It isn't an impossible leap. She brushes her gloved thumb across his knuckles where the claws had shot free, but there's no blood or marks that she can see. She releases the hand and arm with a sharp exhale of breath.

"We really are pieces of shit."

* * *

"Mmm," Logan's response is not exactly enthused to start, though there doesn't seem to be any tension in the lines of firm musculature of the man's arm. Curiousity is a first, however. For someone to look upon those blades and the housing within with such a thing is a rarity for him. But then her gloved fingertips leave his forearm and he draws it back and away.
"S'why they figured I'd make a good candidate." A moment passes, then his brow knits together as he frowns to himself, eyeing her sidelong for a moment as if wondering why in the bloody blue hell he'd be telling her this. Though the thought is only held for a moment, dismissed. He shakes his head.
"Not all folks, to be fair. But m'not gonna start goin' all 'What a piece of work is man' anytime soon." His lip twists. Shakespeare. Weird.

* * *

Batgirl's lips stay tight as she regards Wolverine with another glance, only to then look back out at the bar below. She crosses her arms loosely at her chest, her ankles crossing together. She doesn't look away for a long, thoughtful heartbeat. Only then she looks back to Logan.

"I tend to think I'm not all bad," she says helpfully with a little tilt of her chin and even smaller smile. Now she takes a breath, squinting down at the alley below. "Can I ask you a question?" Beyond that one, of course.

* * *

The grim looking man eases down from the rooftop ledge, that small wall providing some support for his back as he turns away from the vigil of his stake out. He'll leave the bar to itself for now with her eyeballing it, perhaps trusting she'll raise her voice if something goes down…
Or maybe something else letting him feel that he'll be able to keep aware of what's going down down there, even without looking at it.
When she asks her question, he sort of looks at her, then looks away. One eye getting a little bigger than the other as if something about the moment sort of surprising him. "Apparently," He scritches a fingertip along the curve of his jaw, the stubble scraping under the nail. "Since I seem ta be all chatty tonight."

* * *

Batgirl doesn't give up the vantage point on the wall, glancing aside toward him as he settles down. She tilts her head slightly, considering him briefly before she looks back toward the city beyond. She would keep that studious focus until he offers up his somewhat flippant response.

She snorts. "I inspire that." The redhead casts him a quick, easy smile, only to sober once more. "If they had asked you instead of choosing and forcing you, would you have done it?" She nods to the arm, and the metal claws within his knuckles and metal that sheaths his forearms.

* * *

One rough hand pushes through his wild mane of hair as he looks past her and beyond. "I'll be honest with ya, darlin'." Logan draws his knees up and then reaches into the pocket of his jacket. A twisted half-cigar is withdrawn along with a wooden match that he scrapes to life against the brickwork. It /snap-sizzles/ with flame that he applies to the end of the cigar, takes a few puffs, then extinguish the match in one of the small puddles on that rooftop.
Perhaps that's why he turned away, so those towards the bar might not see the glow of that ember.
"Back in that day, I was twisted all around. They were workin' us over, messing with our minds. Think at one point I mighta volunteered. So mebbe I ain't exactly innocent in all this."
Then his blue eyes slip to the side, finding hers and flitting between her irises as if seeking an answer behind them. "But if I hadn't had it done, then there were times I wouldn'ta been able to save those I cared for."
Another puff, "So mebbe, on some level, I owe the bastards. Still. Don't absolve 'em."

* * *

Batgirl glances back toward him at the promise of honesty. She should perhaps shift to face him better, but there's something almost safer to keep her back to him, to let him tell his story without interrupting. She frowns at first, brow furrowing.

She pivots just slightly toward him again. "I don't. I don't excuse them, but… I wanted to know the answer." Now she takes a breath and shifts her grip on the roof edge. "There's more blocks for me to patrol." She narrows her eyes at him. "Try to keep the roof as you found it, Logan." Despite the look, there's a little glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

* * *

"Do my best, ma'am." Logan's lip twists into a smirk though he does offer a small wave as she starts to depart. He doesn't rise for now. But he does spare a wave. "Night."

* * *

Batgirl visibly hesitates when she's given the ma'am. She narrows her eyes a bit more. "Not sure how I feel about suddenly being old enough to be called ma'am." She huffs out a breath before she just… hops off the roof. There's the faint hiss of the grappler and then she's swooping across the building's edge and into the alley below.

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