[ The floral reds hide the blood; he looks sane again — at a distance. Though large the shirt constricts at his broad chest all the same. He pulls it off well, anyway. The Miami hitman look. ]
Killer.
[ She is invited in. Eli places the crinkled bag on the table and produces sandwiches, bottled water; stuff to tide him over for the evening. She pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag by the cardboard packaging and steps backwards, her shoulders to a wall the off-white shade of her shirt, her eyes lowered. ]
[ But not all of it. That's par for the course as far as Logan is concerned, though.
At least he didn't flinch at the "killer" comment.
He's grateful that Eli cares about him enough to bring these things over. The sandwiches are a nice touch; he hadn't expected food (beer is often good enough on its own). That's the first thing he's going to pick up, though, right before he sits on the floor by the crappy table in his crappy flat. ]
Had a mission. [ It's not an excuse, just a "for the record". ] Usually means I gotta pop the claws.
[ Some, he says. He suffers and exacts violence with the neutrality of professional soldier; it is all in a day's work for the Wolverine, but the sensation of pain is always new. The girl looks at him askance as if it might help her differentiate his blood from that of his victims. When a familiar feeling wells up in her stomach she immediately looks away. The sandwiches are reserved for his appetites — not hers. Had he amenities a shower would resolve Eli's dilemma ... at the steep price of so much blood emptied nonchalantly down the drain. Forever gone. The very thought is dizzying.
Should she leave? Eli sits beside him and busies herself by scratching at a fleck of paint on the floor. ]
Doesn't it hurt...? I could bandage you up. [ She stops fiddling to half-glance his way. ] Or something.
i hope you don't mind logan knowing?? what eli is???? rip
I heal. [ It means he doesn't need bandaging, even if the hurts stay. He doesn't mind if Eli stays even if she has nothing to do, though. Conversations matter to him a lot more now than they used to; they bring him down, in a way that not many other things do.
Having just come from a kill, Logan would say he needs it.
He finishes the first sandwich and reaches for the next one. ]
You hungry or something?
[ He isn't asking to be stupid. He's had to help someone like her transition before -- to learn how to control that bloodlust, all the impulses -- and had learned that his mutation changes his blood composition significantly. Apparently it helps curb a lot of things at the price of feeling a little drowsy. Logan doesn't think about why. ]
[ An affirmative hum is the extent of her reply. He is broaching a delicate subject in the sense that her hunger is a precursor to homicide; she violates the law to eat — therefore he is inquiring into a crime. Is his job not to punish villainy? Yet he expresses concern. Eli lingers, then speaks the truth: ]
Three days ago.
[ Had it been longer her relative composure before the bloodsoaked Avenger would not be possible; even now the temptation is too great for anything but demure glances from his guest. She can neither look at him, or away from him, for long. Exquisite torment.
Lifting her arm, Eli blindly presses the tip of her index finger to a spot of red on his collarbone, then pops the digit between her lips. She manages to joke: ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Killer.
[ She is invited in. Eli places the crinkled bag on the table and produces sandwiches, bottled water; stuff to tide him over for the evening. She pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag by the cardboard packaging and steps backwards, her shoulders to a wall the off-white shade of her shirt, her eyes lowered. ]
Is the blood ... yours?
no subject
[ But not all of it. That's par for the course as far as Logan is concerned, though.
At least he didn't flinch at the "killer" comment.
He's grateful that Eli cares about him enough to bring these things over. The sandwiches are a nice touch; he hadn't expected food (beer is often good enough on its own). That's the first thing he's going to pick up, though, right before he sits on the floor by the crappy table in his crappy flat. ]
Had a mission. [ It's not an excuse, just a "for the record". ] Usually means I gotta pop the claws.
no subject
Should she leave? Eli sits beside him and busies herself by scratching at a fleck of paint on the floor. ]
Doesn't it hurt...? I could bandage you up. [ She stops fiddling to half-glance his way. ] Or something.
i hope you don't mind logan knowing?? what eli is???? rip
Having just come from a kill, Logan would say he needs it.
He finishes the first sandwich and reaches for the next one. ]
You hungry or something?
[ He isn't asking to be stupid. He's had to help someone like her transition before -- to learn how to control that bloodlust, all the impulses -- and had learned that his mutation changes his blood composition significantly. Apparently it helps curb a lot of things at the price of feeling a little drowsy. Logan doesn't think about why. ]
When's the last time you ate?
Not at all, it might help them open up
Mm.
[ An affirmative hum is the extent of her reply. He is broaching a delicate subject in the sense that her hunger is a precursor to homicide; she violates the law to eat — therefore he is inquiring into a crime. Is his job not to punish villainy? Yet he expresses concern. Eli lingers, then speaks the truth: ]
Three days ago.
[ Had it been longer her relative composure before the bloodsoaked Avenger would not be possible; even now the temptation is too great for anything but demure glances from his guest. She can neither look at him, or away from him, for long. Exquisite torment.
Lifting her arm, Eli blindly presses the tip of her index finger to a spot of red on his collarbone, then pops the digit between her lips. She manages to joke: ]
Like this, you're like honey to me.