Post by Cory W. on Jul 22, 2016 11:46:08 GMT -5
The issue is completed and just awaiting some proof reading before I send it off to Dave for next release. However, I figured I'd leave you all with a little sneak peek... Enjoy!
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Logan sat at the edge of the Xavier estate’s boating dock, one leg sprawled out and the other hunched up to his chest. One arm hung off his arched knee, a half-smoked cigar in hand, as he gazed out across the vast lake at sundown. A cowboy sat upside down next to him with a pack of cigars and a Zippo lighter in it. He took a puff from the stogie in hand and inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly.
Although he found some form of tranquility in the estate’s cemetery and the surrounding orchards, the docks were where he found the most peace. It was there, somewhere on the edge between the scientific advancements of the future found in the institute and estate’s open natural expanse, where Logan felt like the observer that he had become, free to come and go between the two worlds that he inhabited. The world of man was changing and he didn’t quite belong in it anymore. Maybe he never did…
During his respite, Logan was blocking out the sounds of teenagers talking, laughing, and running about in the distance, instead choosing to soak in the warm sun and feel the cool autumn breeze. The mansion had gotten awfully crowded in recent months for his tastes. Research staff and new students moved about, mindlessly prattling on and chatting amongst themselves, going about their studies and research, building something… It was of no concern to him because he had nothing to contribute. He wasn’t a teacher. He wasn’t a scientist. He wasn’t even formally educated. All he was, and has ever been, was a murderer; a weapon; a tool for others to exact their will or at worst his own.
He rested the cigar on his lips and glanced down to his knuckles, examining the discolored calluses that formed over where his adamantium claws emerged from. He rubbed them gently and exhaled smoke from his nose. The staff and students were unsettled by him. Scared of him. If only they knew the truth: he was but a relic of the past; a war machine running out of steam; a tired old man with no other place to go. Who else would have him?
Logan took another puff from his cigar and retrieved it from his mouth, exhaling a puff of smoke. It dissipated into the air above the lake. He let his thoughts dissipate similarly… that is, until a woman’s voice called out to him gently from the back of his mind.
“Logan… Logan, it’s Jean… I’ve been wanting to speak with you… Please come back to the mansion…”
With a bit of a tired sigh, Logan took one last puff from his cigar and put it out on dock, and left it behind with his hat, cigars, and Zippo. Jean had been trying to summon him periodically throughout the evening. He reckoned it was finally time to stop avoiding her.
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Logan sat at the edge of the Xavier estate’s boating dock, one leg sprawled out and the other hunched up to his chest. One arm hung off his arched knee, a half-smoked cigar in hand, as he gazed out across the vast lake at sundown. A cowboy sat upside down next to him with a pack of cigars and a Zippo lighter in it. He took a puff from the stogie in hand and inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly.
Although he found some form of tranquility in the estate’s cemetery and the surrounding orchards, the docks were where he found the most peace. It was there, somewhere on the edge between the scientific advancements of the future found in the institute and estate’s open natural expanse, where Logan felt like the observer that he had become, free to come and go between the two worlds that he inhabited. The world of man was changing and he didn’t quite belong in it anymore. Maybe he never did…
During his respite, Logan was blocking out the sounds of teenagers talking, laughing, and running about in the distance, instead choosing to soak in the warm sun and feel the cool autumn breeze. The mansion had gotten awfully crowded in recent months for his tastes. Research staff and new students moved about, mindlessly prattling on and chatting amongst themselves, going about their studies and research, building something… It was of no concern to him because he had nothing to contribute. He wasn’t a teacher. He wasn’t a scientist. He wasn’t even formally educated. All he was, and has ever been, was a murderer; a weapon; a tool for others to exact their will or at worst his own.
He rested the cigar on his lips and glanced down to his knuckles, examining the discolored calluses that formed over where his adamantium claws emerged from. He rubbed them gently and exhaled smoke from his nose. The staff and students were unsettled by him. Scared of him. If only they knew the truth: he was but a relic of the past; a war machine running out of steam; a tired old man with no other place to go. Who else would have him?
Logan took another puff from his cigar and retrieved it from his mouth, exhaling a puff of smoke. It dissipated into the air above the lake. He let his thoughts dissipate similarly… that is, until a woman’s voice called out to him gently from the back of his mind.
“Logan… Logan, it’s Jean… I’ve been wanting to speak with you… Please come back to the mansion…”
With a bit of a tired sigh, Logan took one last puff from his cigar and put it out on dock, and left it behind with his hat, cigars, and Zippo. Jean had been trying to summon him periodically throughout the evening. He reckoned it was finally time to stop avoiding her.
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