When the phone rings, he's yelling for everybody to get moving, because the carpool is going to leave without them, and they'll have to walk to school (no it's not and no they won't). Ignoring the phone seems like a good idea until he realizes that their phone isn't the only one ringing. There are so many of them all at once that, to his sensitive hearing, it's like some kind of bizarre echo. It's not so much that he cares about answering it, especially not to toe the line. It's more that, now, he's curious.
He's not really sure what to make of the message. "What the fuck," he mutters, just as he's reaching out to return the phone to its cradle. That's when it hits him, and the phone ends up clattering to the floor as he braces himself against the table.
"Fuck," he says again, this time more of a guttural, angry denial. His memories of life before this town have been slowly coming back to him, and there still seem to be some gaps. From what he does remember, though, he suspects that those might never go away. This newest bit of information--he's not quite sure about when it goes, where to slot it away among all of the other bullshit. It serves to dredge up other memories. Similar experiences, in clinical environments, surrounded by people in lab coats. Some of them aren't terrible. He recalls one instance where he was lying on a table, but it was of his own volition, and a beautiful red-haired woman stood over him. Jean.
The clearest in his head, though, is Alkali's lab. The tank. The huge fucking needles, and the adamantium. Whatever this new piece of the puzzle is, he doesn't think it's related. What the hell does it mean? What the fuck did they do to me, this time?
A growl starts to build deep in his throat as he picks up the fallen phone and presses it to his ear again; but of course, there's nothing to be heard, now. He sets it down on the cradle, the steady calm of his action almost belying the rage he can feel starting to build. It erupts suddenly, along with his claws. He stabs the phone violently, along with the table where it's sitting. The phone is stuck on his claws now, so he flings it against the wall, where it breaks apart into pieces.
And then, just like that, he retracts his claws and yells, "Hurry up, I'll be in the van!"
Open @ school
Logan is very clearly in a bad mood. He's late to his first class in the morning, which means no time to stop for coffee in the teacher's lounge, which means bourbon flavored bourbon instead of coffee flavored bourbon will be his drink of choice for much of the morning. He's stealthy about it at least. It's in a coffee mug. It's fine. Everything is fine.
His main problem is that he's not sure where to aim his anger, and that's not really a new problem; but it does certainly make him a pain for his students and colleagues to deal with today. The fact that some of them are probably also out of sorts for the same reason might lead to hostility or to a shared commiseration. I'm an experiment. You're an experiment. Usually he's not one to talk shit out without some coaxing, but he's going to be cool with it today probably. Fuck the rules. He's kind of been feeling that sentiment more and more as the days and weeks wear on, and he recovers more of himself.
During class time, his students will probably see him carving away at a block of wood while he's not helping them with their own projects. It looks like it might turn out to be an animal. Maybe. A cat? A dog? An alpaca? Who knows. His carving tools are his own claws, though, for the most part. He doesn't hide the fact that he's different; that he's a mutant. It's never been a problem, here. If it were, he would have raised hell about it already.
He spends his prep period in the teacher's lounge, chatting to friends and colleagues, maybe discussing the mayor's weird message from earlier in the day.
Open @ other
After school, he tosses the keys to his oldest daughter and decides to walk back home, hoping that it will clear his head somewhat. He stops for dinner somewhere, and also probably definitely hits up a bar. After the day he's had, he certainly wants to drown it in something.
Open @ wildcard
If you want to meet him somewhere else or have another idea, feel free to hit me with whatever!
Logan | May 15th | Closed & Open
When the phone rings, he's yelling for everybody to get moving, because the carpool is going to leave without them, and they'll have to walk to school (no it's not and no they won't). Ignoring the phone seems like a good idea until he realizes that their phone isn't the only one ringing. There are so many of them all at once that, to his sensitive hearing, it's like some kind of bizarre echo. It's not so much that he cares about answering it, especially not to toe the line. It's more that, now, he's curious.
He's not really sure what to make of the message. "What the fuck," he mutters, just as he's reaching out to return the phone to its cradle. That's when it hits him, and the phone ends up clattering to the floor as he braces himself against the table.
"Fuck," he says again, this time more of a guttural, angry denial. His memories of life before this town have been slowly coming back to him, and there still seem to be some gaps. From what he does remember, though, he suspects that those might never go away. This newest bit of information--he's not quite sure about when it goes, where to slot it away among all of the other bullshit. It serves to dredge up other memories. Similar experiences, in clinical environments, surrounded by people in lab coats. Some of them aren't terrible. He recalls one instance where he was lying on a table, but it was of his own volition, and a beautiful red-haired woman stood over him. Jean.
The clearest in his head, though, is Alkali's lab. The tank. The huge fucking needles, and the adamantium. Whatever this new piece of the puzzle is, he doesn't think it's related. What the hell does it mean? What the fuck did they do to me, this time?
A growl starts to build deep in his throat as he picks up the fallen phone and presses it to his ear again; but of course, there's nothing to be heard, now. He sets it down on the cradle, the steady calm of his action almost belying the rage he can feel starting to build. It erupts suddenly, along with his claws. He stabs the phone violently, along with the table where it's sitting. The phone is stuck on his claws now, so he flings it against the wall, where it breaks apart into pieces.
And then, just like that, he retracts his claws and yells, "Hurry up, I'll be in the van!"
Open @ school
Logan is very clearly in a bad mood. He's late to his first class in the morning, which means no time to stop for coffee in the teacher's lounge, which means bourbon flavored bourbon instead of coffee flavored bourbon will be his drink of choice for much of the morning. He's stealthy about it at least. It's in a coffee mug. It's fine. Everything is fine.
His main problem is that he's not sure where to aim his anger, and that's not really a new problem; but it does certainly make him a pain for his students and colleagues to deal with today. The fact that some of them are probably also out of sorts for the same reason might lead to hostility or to a shared commiseration. I'm an experiment. You're an experiment. Usually he's not one to talk shit out without some coaxing, but he's going to be cool with it today probably. Fuck the rules. He's kind of been feeling that sentiment more and more as the days and weeks wear on, and he recovers more of himself.
During class time, his students will probably see him carving away at a block of wood while he's not helping them with their own projects. It looks like it might turn out to be an animal. Maybe. A cat? A dog? An alpaca? Who knows. His carving tools are his own claws, though, for the most part. He doesn't hide the fact that he's different; that he's a mutant. It's never been a problem, here. If it were, he would have raised hell about it already.
He spends his prep period in the teacher's lounge, chatting to friends and colleagues, maybe discussing the mayor's weird message from earlier in the day.
Open @ other
After school, he tosses the keys to his oldest daughter and decides to walk back home, hoping that it will clear his head somewhat. He stops for dinner somewhere, and also probably definitely hits up a bar. After the day he's had, he certainly wants to drown it in something.
Open @ wildcard
If you want to meet him somewhere else or have another idea, feel free to hit me with whatever!