The Beast and the Southern Belle

[Szymanski]

Closed.​

His name was James. Some people knew him as Logan. Others as Wolverine. During his years of travelling, Logan had developed a number of nicknames in a multitude of different languages. Having witnessed the horrifying brutality of World War 1, he had spent a few years in Russia during the 1930s, before enlisting in the Canadian Army for the Second World War. The OSS then came calling, and using his unique 'abilities', took on a pivotal role in the victory of the war. Without soldiers like him, it could have dragged on for many years longer than it really did. But Logan hated the OSS, and vowed to himself that he would never work for an organisation like that ever again. By the end of 1946, Logan vanished in to the Scottish wilderness. During this rather uneventful period, he was once shot in the head by a Scotsman that believed he had found a wolf-man stalking the Highlands, only to be confused as the mutant rose back to his feet and scared the man off with his claws.

In the 1970s, during the quiet years of the Cold War, Wolverine re-appeared thanks to the efforts of Department H, a secretive branch of the Canadian Government specialising in mutant operations. Somehow, Logan went back on his word and ran a bunch of errands for the men-in-suits, usually involving violence and destruction. His methods became notorious, and his success rate was second-to-none. In 1979, he caught the attention of the Weapon X program, who saw him as the ideal candidate for their super-soldier program. During a painful process, the artificially created adamantium alloy was fused to his bones, creating a near-indestructible skeleton. He escaped the facility, and was responsible for a mass-murdering rampage that dragged on for three months in Canada, before the efforts of the French-Canadian Royal 22e Regiment believed they had burned him in a mass-scale forest fire in Quebec.

They were wrong, and Wolverine survived to once more go on living away from society. For many years, he drifted from town-to-town, taking part in bare-knuckle boxing matches for some loose change to keep himself going. The vast majority of the money was thrown back in to the bars, where he spent hours drinking by himself, never talking to anyone else, never making himself known. Tonight was no different. He sat with sixteen bottles of beer in front of him, the only time he would budge would be to jump to the toilet or motion for another to come his way. The alcohol didn't effect him the way it did with most men; his quick healing ability made sure to remove the effects of drunkenness to nothing but a small tickle in his head. Most of the time, anyway. There had been a few occasions where he had overestimated his body, and had fell in to a severe alcohol-induced state.

That hadn't happened in a while, and he hoped it didn't happen tonight. Tonight. Yeah. Tonight was when everything changed. The moment he met her. Tonight he had an extra passenger in his beaten-down truck. One that he didn't know about. The truck skidded through the snow-covered track roads of Alberta when suddenly a tree fell from it's roots at the side of the track. The Canadian mutant kicked his boot against the brake pedal... unaware that his secret passenger wasn't wearing a seatbelt.

 

[Mystica]

I was alone – in a world so numb. I was alone – looked at like a monster. I was alone – refused to be acknowledged. In a world so numb.

It was only but a month ago that I had truly found the extent of my disorder. It had never surfaced before in my entire life. It came so suddenly – like I was struck by a train of misery all in a span of thirty minutes. I had never had a problem touching others before through skin contact – but when I tried to kiss him... everything changed. For the worst. He went into cardiac arrest; fell limp to the ground like the life had been literally sucked out of him. From there, I don't remember much. I remember the feel of tears streaming down my face. Screams of a horrified mother and then calls for 911. But after that, it's all an unwanted blur. Once the ambulance came, I couldn't stay. “What did you do? What did you do to him? What did you do!?” I ran. It was the only thing I could do to protect myself from the scold of the misunderstanding. So I ran far away. With no warning. With no second thoughts. And with no return.

The weather had changed from sunny and bright to cold and gloomy. Skies were grey and the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. The temperature had shifted for the worst. I had to find a sturdy shelter before I'd be forced to freeze over like an Ice Age Mammoth. Sleeping outdoors just wouldn't suffice. I hadn't eaten in nearly forty hours. Starving, scared, and almost shivering to death – the only thing I had to survive was a long brown cloak that fortunately had a hood to support some little head warmth. That was all I had. A cloak, a shirt, a sweater, some dingy ripped jeans, combat booths, and a small side-shoulder handbag that held some few prized possessions. None of those were any help to my current situation. There was one more thing: gloves. Gloves that swallowed my arms practically up to my shoulders. They weren't so much for my safety, but for the safety of others.

Luckily, after hours of hitchhiking, the final destination was a dingy wrestling ring attached to an even more sketchy bar. But it all didn't seem very bothersome anymore, since the past few weeks I had been skipping cities through very unreliable and daring ways. This bar, though... This bar sensed different. Perhaps it was the literal stench of sweaty men and cheap beer – or it could be the crying roar of angry, betting men coming from down the roughed up hallways. I couldn't help but wander into the audience. Up top, stood a muscular man – clearly in loss of the battle as he is beaten away. But right as he is struck in the unwanted part for every man, things changed; for the unbelievable. One, two, three strikes he's down. Within half a minute the fight was over. The husky man had been announced 12 time winner. People were booing, throwing things, and sneering. He was clearly unwanted. But why?

But a couple of hours pass before the husky returns. This time, in the bar – retired from his fist battles. I was never a talker. I was always quiet, and observant. But when an angry money-hungry drunkard clipped out a knife to stab him, I had to scream. “Behind you!!!” I hurled towards the champion. What unfolded in that instant, I could barely comprehend. Long knives protruded from his knuckles, pinning the attacker against a wooden post before he could strike. The man was being held hostage by his neck – currently shivering with fear. My eyes screamed the same emotion. My mind and body was in literal shock. As if things couldn't get worse, a third lumberjack with a hunting rifle stood behind the mutant. With a second hand of indefinitely steel claws, the gun was split in two – falling to the ground into pieces. The man with claws was quick to storm out of the bar. I wasn't sure where he would go, but I had to go with him.

Having just about enough time to sneak into the back of his pick-up truck after he pumped gas and disappeared, I hid under a sheet of protective plastic and wedged myself in between a few large items. As the car started to take off, I thought it would only be a matter of time before there would need a pit stop – and hopefully somewhere useful to my condition. Though, when the truck stopped, it wasn't on any condition I was expecting. All I could feel was my body being throwing up in the air, and my back slamming against the back mirror of the pick-up. I groaned and grunted and I tried to motion my body – hoping for no injuries if any whatsoever. But now I was trapped underneath an amount of heavy gear that I could not identify through the white of the sheet. It was clearly visible that someone was in the back. “What the... Ow...” I grumbled, but soon realized my legs were being crushed. “Hel... help...” I whimpered lightly, my panic starting to set in. “I... I'm stuck!” I closed my eyes tightly, only to hear the slam of a door. The footsteps got louder and louder. And then him. “Please, I didn't mean to... Ah...” Cringing in pain from the pressure of the equipment. I tried to pull it off but the weight was too great. “What in the name of Jesus... is all this?” Young, beautiful, and a true southern belle.