tallverine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tallverine) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2014-02-28 07:57 pm
tallverine) wrote in ataraxionlogs2014-02-28 07:57 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
CHARACTERS: Wolverine & whoever
LOCATION: the bar
WARNINGS: copious alcohol, probably foul language, a not insignificant possibility of bar fight-ish violence
SUMMARY: James/Logan Howlett is going to drink his brain off the Tranquility
NOTES: after unexpectedly totally failing at all plots this month, i'm going to try to jump back on track here and get some momentum going for march. apologies to all the cr i was supposed to make then and didn't, anybody still interested despite my total feburary fail feel free to invite yourself in here!
It hasn't been a good month. He's spent most of it adjusting, settling in - or failing to. Failing to mutiny, failing to fight through the mental attacks without embarrassing himself, failing to resist the strange siren call of engineering, failing do anything productive once he got in there, failing to hold himself together much better than anyone else once it spat him back out, failing to find a way out of this place or any real satisfying answers about it at all, failing, failing, failing.
His cabin has been shredded - anything soft enough to come apart between his claws is currently littering the floor like decidedly uncelebratory confetti. Anything he couldn't cut or bend or snap in half has been flung about and the door slammed shut on the heaping mess of it all. There's not much left to do but drink. That's probably the only redeeming quality of the Tranquility: it has a bar.
He sits on a stool up at the counter, hunched over a glass, a half-full bottle at his elbow. The flannel shirt stretched tight across the tense breadth of his shoulders has seen better days - it looks like he might have tried to put it on or take it off with his claws still out, the middle of each sleeve rent and slashed.
LOCATION: the bar
WARNINGS: copious alcohol, probably foul language, a not insignificant possibility of bar fight-ish violence
SUMMARY: James/Logan Howlett is going to drink his brain off the Tranquility
NOTES: after unexpectedly totally failing at all plots this month, i'm going to try to jump back on track here and get some momentum going for march. apologies to all the cr i was supposed to make then and didn't, anybody still interested despite my total feburary fail feel free to invite yourself in here!
It hasn't been a good month. He's spent most of it adjusting, settling in - or failing to. Failing to mutiny, failing to fight through the mental attacks without embarrassing himself, failing to resist the strange siren call of engineering, failing do anything productive once he got in there, failing to hold himself together much better than anyone else once it spat him back out, failing to find a way out of this place or any real satisfying answers about it at all, failing, failing, failing.
His cabin has been shredded - anything soft enough to come apart between his claws is currently littering the floor like decidedly uncelebratory confetti. Anything he couldn't cut or bend or snap in half has been flung about and the door slammed shut on the heaping mess of it all. There's not much left to do but drink. That's probably the only redeeming quality of the Tranquility: it has a bar.
He sits on a stool up at the counter, hunched over a glass, a half-full bottle at his elbow. The flannel shirt stretched tight across the tense breadth of his shoulders has seen better days - it looks like he might have tried to put it on or take it off with his claws still out, the middle of each sleeve rent and slashed.