Log:The Great War
|The Great War
15 May, 2018
Seven awakes in Logan's house and is introduced to civility with new clothes and a proper breakfast. And by pure coincidence - or is it fate? - he meets another soldier from the great war...
Early in the morning, Seven did soak in a bath long enough that he had to change the water; the second time it doesn't turn all brown either. And he'll pile his dirty clothes somewhere to be discarded, almost becoming civilised. Amazing what a bath and some shampoo can do to a man. Still, he sleeps in the bathtub over night, throwing a cover in and then another over himself, locking the bathroom door if he can. Little does he realise the door to the bedroom itself is locked from the outside.
Not until he awakes after a very long sleep and he finds the clothes laid out, puts them on and then heads for the door. The knob is rattled a few times and he starts to get a bit frustrated...
The clothes really suit him, too. They're like a nicer, slightly more modern version of what he came in with -- there's even a reproduction of his leather jacket, more or less.
But amazingly, after just a few rattles, the door opens and the Golden Boy is there, fully dressed in a t-shirt in gradients of blue down to white, jeans, and low-top white Converse. His arms are folded as he leans up against the doorframe, grinning. "Morning, Seven. Sleep well?"
By the looks of him, he slept really well. Eyes are more alert and he's all straightened up to his full height. The clothes combined with the clean up made wonders - he looks much less beastly. Of course, the cunning, sly maliciousness remains in his gaze, and the toothy grin is a bit too wide. "Yes." He keeps it simple. He tugs at the sleeve of his jacket and nods - he likes it. Noticeably, however - he has not thrown away his old one, but has folded it carefully on a chair. "Door broken," he points, indicating the door knob.
Logan, of course, looks guileless and bushy-tailed. Doesn't he? He glances down at the door knob and smiles his smile. "Not broken. It's supposed to be like that. Want some breakfast? Emma made some." He doesn't wait for Seven -- he's already heading down the stairs, whistling to himself.
Seven gives Logan a suspicious look, but then he nods once and follows along. "Emma," he says, a half-question. Testing the name. With evening coming up the sun isn't that strong and he seems more in his element; he's moving with the sinuous grace of a predator, no matter his size, and habitually choses to walk where there's most shadows. Eyes dart about alertly, searching for any signs of trouble, even in this 'fortress'.
Walking where there are the most shadows proves trickier than usual in a house where almost everything is white and there are so many windows. Somewhere along the route towards the big, open dining area, another figure-- tall, thin, and dark-- detaches from one of those scarce patches of shadow and falls in line with Logan and Seven. "Logan," says Dross, with a quick look at the Fairest leading the Beast to breakfast. His gaze turns toward Seven, then, whom he studies at length without a question or even another word.
Logan draws Seven out of the bedroom. The morning light fills the 'fortress' beautifully, like it was practically meant to do that. Which it pretty much was. Downstairs, Logan gives Dross his beautiful grin and gestures to the wolfman. "Morning, Dross. I have someone I want you to meet. Seven, this is Dross. Dross, Seven." Just like Seven were any other houseguest and not a wild wolfman who tried to break into his house in the middle of the night. It smells heavenly down here, like very fresh scrambled eggs and oranges.
If Seven had a tail, it would probably whip about in that way it does when animals get suspicious or startled. He growls a bit at Dross and doesn't like being surprised, clearly. The calming voice of the Fairest and the introduction has him quickly quenching any such urges though, looking at Dross with cunning animal eyes; he leans in to sniff him a bit. Whatever he smells, he seems to find this acceptable - he nods to the other man. He also smells the food and ignores both of them as he goes in search of this. Social skills - not so much.
Dross holds quite still for that inspection... Almost disturbingly still; just as if he weren't animate at all. After Seven leaves him and Logan behind to pursue the doubtless more appealing scent of scrambled eggs, the Darkling gives their mutual host another silent, rather pensive look. But, in acknowledgment of the introductions that Logan made, he does nod and continue walking after the others down to the dining area.
Logan reaches out to place a hand on Dross' shoulder, which he squeezes. "Don't worry, Dross. He's just here because he's new. He broke into the shooting range last night." Why does he sound so cheerful about this? Like it's really all quite fun. "It's kind of crazy, isn't it?"
Seven, meanwhile, will find that the breakfast table in the kitchen is laden with all sorts of delicious breakfast goodies and, fortunately for Emma, she is nowhere to be seen, because someone like Seven might startle her a touch...
So much food - it makes Seven drool again. He licks his lips, running a tongue over his long canines and then stabs some bacon with a claw, before propping it into his mouth. He makes a surprisingly cute sound; like a little whine of appreciation. "Bacon," he remembers, and chews it down fast. He starts picking things up with his hands but realises that scrambles eggs doesn't work well to hold on to. What should he do? That's when he sees there's plates and he dumps food on top of one, still using his hands to do so.
Dross looks hard at Logan out of the corner of his eye while the other man addresses him, but at the end of that speech, the tension in the narrow shoulder under that golden hand does seem to abate... A smidge. "Yes, Logan," he says. Low, even voice. Then the sound of bacon getting chewed down fast draws his attention to the kitchen. He doesn't say anything to the wolfman about how or what he's eating. Just watches him go, pale gaze flitting now and again between Seven and the Golden Boy.
Watching Seven go, eyes still on him, Logan leans over and whispers something into Dross' ear. He squeezes his arm before moving off to head to the kitchen. Hey, he wants some breakfast, too. "IT's not /all/ for you, Seven," he says teasingly, heading straight to the orange juice. "Try to save some for the rest of us, huh?"
Seven can only pile so much food on a plate before it spills over, so - with his mountain of goodies, he pulls the plate near his chest and looks at the other two as if warning them. This is HIS food. With a chuffing sound, he goes to sit down somewhere. Plenty of food left for the other two, so he takes that suggestion to heart it seems. Not bothering with fork and knife, he begins spearing bits with his claws, or just scooping it up with his fingers. Wolfing it down, literally. Least he doesn't just put his face to the plate. "Vermont," he says suddenly. "U.S.A." He says the acronym slowly, trying it out. "Did you fight? In the war."
Seven's accent is noticeably British. Southern England, for those who knows it.
Dross appears to relax -- very, very slightly -- after that murmured word. He moves to a spot where he has a good view of both Seven and Logan. Something about that question elicits a thoughtful look from him: considering the implications, perhaps? "Where did you?" he asks. He, too, has a light accent, though its provenance is unlikely to be familiar.
Seven can eat to his heart's content. Logan is mostly drinking orange juice right now, anyway, though he does reach for a muffin that appears to be made of something that isn't wheat. Seven's question causes his eyes to widen, though. "The war? You don't mean -- World War II, do you? That's what old-timers usually mean when they say The War..." He loosk positively delighted by that propsect, turning to glance over at Dross, who's asked his own kind of question.
The question seems to confuse the beast for awhile. Like whatever lucid moment he had earlier, he's already forgotten it. Seven stares at Dross with narrowed eyes, as if wondering why he is being questioned to begin with. He snaps attention to Logan, staring at him. "No. Yes. The Great War. And the Second big war..." He rubs a temple, trying to remember. "Sommes. Passchendaele. No... Bellau Wood. Americans. Belleau Wood. Did you fight?"
"'No,'" says Dross, drily. "Or 'yes?' Logan asked you about a later war, Tommy." He returns the Fairest's curious blue gaze before looking at Seven again. The narrowing of the wolfman's eyes doesn't seem to put him off in the slightest. His own face devoid of expression as the Sahara of bromeliads.
"Oh, wow. Cool." Logan grins, staring from Seven to Dross. "That's like your war and the one after it, right? I'm too young for that stuff." He waves a dismissive hand as he spreads some kind of chunky fruit spread on the muffin. Looks like apricot. "Hell, Vietnam was over by the time I was old enough for the Army. I guess my generation just got lucky."
There's a glint of recognition, being called 'Tommy'. Familiar from somewhere deep and far in that beastial brain. He focuses on his food contently, but adds; "Both." He fought in both wars, seems to be his meaning. The blank look at the mention of the Vietnam wars suggests he has no idea about that one. But, Dross is given a calculating, sizing up look now - soldier to soldier thing, perhaps.
"Yes," Dross answers Logan. Was he at any of those places -- the Somme, or Passchendaele, or Bellau Wood? He seems disinclined to confirm or deny the possibility. That trace of an accent, however, suggests that, if so, he and Seven would not have been on the same side. He watches Logan spread apricot preserves over that muffin with something almost like a smile before his gaze moves past him to the big windows letting in such a quantity of golden sunshine, not to mention the magnificent view of the grounds and the mountains in the distance. He is still looking out the window when Seven begins to size him up and does not turn back towards the other man. Perhaps he hasn't noticed the scrutiny.
"Dross fought for the other side," Logan says, his grin suddenly ratcheting up a notch. "Maybe you two can wrestle in the yard, for old times' sake." Is he teasing? He might be teasing. Probably. Then he licks some of the preserves off the muffin, rather than taking a bite. He then falls silent for a moment, watching Seven size up Dross, and Dross not looking back, like he's curious to see how that turns out.
"No." Seven's response to that is decisive and firm. He's calm though. Calmer than he has been since he arrived here; he's finished his food and pushes the plate aside, just sitting there like a big slouched monster, watching Dross with half-lidded eyes. Even if he might understand that Dross was once an enemy, he doesn't seem to care about that any longer. "Who won." He turns back to Logan. "The other big war. Who won?"
Dross continues to watch the morning light come up and bathe the Phoibos House grounds rosy and gold while Seven refuses the offer to wrestle him in the yard. No 'yes' or 'no' from the Darkling on that matter... At that question about the other big war, though, he does at last glance at the Beast, just for a moment, then toward Logan. He seems disinclined to answer. But maybe that one was just after his time...
"Oh. We did," Logan says brightly, grinning his delight at Seven. By 'we' he clearly means 'America.' Not even the Allies. America won! "We blew up Japan, twice. Well. Dropped some bombs on them. Pretty brutal stuff. But it ended it all, so that's what matters, in the end." That grin just gets bigger as he drinks some OJ. "So don't worry. All your struggle was not in vain, or something like that." He turns to look at Dross, and winks. For no apparent reason.
Seven grunts something but seems to find that answer acceptable. He shoots to his feet suddenly, but only so he can go to that fridge with the drinks, throwing the door open to find something he can quench his thirst with after that hefty breakfast. He choses orange juice too, drinking directly from whatever container it is in. "Where do I fight now?"
That wink raises one of Dross' eyebrows... But there is, just possibly, a hint of answering amusement in his eyes; and when he speaks, his voice is rather dry, but not cold. "Yes, you Teufelshunde have the run of the whole world." Both eyebrows go up when Seven asks where his fight is now, however. He looks straight from the wolfman to Logan again like he expects the Dawn to have something to say to Seven on this particular topic.
"Well, gee, Seven, I don't know. Where do you /want/ to fight?" Logan drifts a little closer to the wolfman, blue eyes bright. But he laughs at the Teufelshunde joke. "Aren't you glad for it, Dross? I think you rather are, in the end."
Slamming the fridge door close, Seven gets a blank look on his face. Is there a choice? Does he even want to fight? He's starting to look antsy, growling at nothing in particular. He doesn't want to think about this, so he doesn't - he just watches the two other men balefully. As if they've robbed him of something. "I will go now." He puts the juice down on the counter and starts for the door to the kitchen. For all intents and purposes, it seems he intends to leave.
"Why?" asks Dross. He looks at Seven at last: a thoughtful, considering look, like the other man is a transmission from a numbers station that he's comparing to the plaintext. To Logan, he says, with the same dry, amused note, gaze lingering on the brightness of the Fairest's eyes, "You know the run of the world doesn't interest me. You Amis are welcome to have it."
Suddenly, though, Logan springs into action. "Oh no you don't," he says, still managing to grin as he heads to put himself in Seven's way. "I told you, I'm taking you to the Wayhouse where, in my official capacity as a Waykeeper, I will indocrinate you into the local laws. /Then/ you can stay there, as long as you want, and eat /them/ out of house and home instead of me." He says this with a sort of iron-clad good humor before grinning at Dross. "Thanks, Dross. Don't mind if we do." Take the run of the world, that is.
"I will find a war," Seven explains to Dross, as if it wasn't obvious. There's no war /here/. He almost walks right into Logan but stops and growls a little, flexing his hands and claws; there's a noticeable twitch to his left eye. The titles that Logan throws at him, it seems to give a sort of impact though. He tilts his head, ears pulling back as he thinks it over, with that malicious cunning. Maybe he thinks there's something to gain, because he nods finally. "I stay. But I want to go /outside/."
"War is always there," says Dross, quietly. Perhaps too quietly to hear, though he seems not to care whether anyone picks up on those words or not. He watches Logan go after Seven without another word. That Seven accepts the Waykeeper's offer doesn't appear to surprise him; nor Logan's grin. He looks back at the table, as if to take in the damage...
"We'll go to the Wayhouse now." Logan is already heading towards the garage, apparently expecting the others to follow. "Come on, Dross, you too. Let's see how this all turns out. Maybe you two will get real lucky and find a war over there to fight." Is he teasing? He might be teasing.