Logan
02-20-15, 02:44 PM
{OOC: This thread is open to those who have interacted with Logan in the past. Anyone and everyone with any mark on his past may join, even if that mark was merely being a pawn in his ultimate game of chess.}
"Everything happens for a reason," the young, wispy feminine voice whispered quietly. There was a rather delicate lightness to her next words, "even if you can't see it."
An unnatural and awkward pause hung heavy in the air between the two, broken when he cleared his throat in an attempt to settle the unease.
"You aren't wrong, but neither am I. There has to be some form of agreement between the two sides, some deal brokered nobody is expecting."
Antique springs groaned from beneath the chair as the distinguished veteran leaned back. Fingertips tented against his lips, his mind explored the myriad of options laid upon the desk before him. How could he possibly coordinate a truce between both factions while still maintaining the Bandit Brotherhood's firm grip over the situation?
The question lingered in his mind for a minute before her soft, lacey voice broke his concentration. "Listen to me again, Logan, and try to remember I know what I am talking about," she practically chastised him for disregarding her opinion so quickly, but in her own light, airy way which made him desire her all the more. "Everything. Every step you take, every thought you have, every action you make has a purpose. Yet it may be eons before you ever fully grasp that purpose."
Glacial-blue eyes rose to meet her gaze unexpectedly, sending a gentle shudder across her soft, delicate features. The response wasn't swift. He craved the control and power of toying with her thoughts. In normal situations with normal individuals, she would not have had an issue maintaining her composure, but there was something well beyond ordinary about him.
Her own yearnings boiled over faster than she anticipated, and before she could stop herself she leaped over the desk and wrapped her wispy form around his. There was no objection from him, only acceptance at her insatiable hunger. Thoughts meandered about the room as vivid pictures bounced against the walls amid clouds of emotion. The young, delicate form disappeared and her true form took its place. Removed were the soft feminine features replaced with fuller, voluptuous ones.
And yet he sat stoic and yet fully engaged in her carnality, but still psychologically disconnected from the seduction. The control over her was simple and easy, but it weighed upon him every time she shifted form. Part of him truly never wanted her to grow up, but another part wanted every ounce of her to become all woman. She teetered the line between experience and innocence, but never broke to one or the other. Make no mistake, though, she was not young nor immature, but each was a manifestation of an adolescence marked by trauma and tragedy.
Try as he might there was only one real option with her. He simply had to be there and be available. No depth of intimacy would ever fulfill the need she thirsted after, and no amount of satisfaction could ever fill the void within. Put plainly, she was a shell, empty and devoid of psychological depth. She either was or she wasn't, either black or white. There simply existed within her no capacity for gray.
So it was necessary in his mind he allow her hunger to be sated when needed, but it wasn't completely without benefit for him as well. Certain needs became more prevalent the longer she remained unfulfilled, and she would give him no quarter if he did not relent. While he held her within his control, she too held him within hers. Could he ever truly pull her from the pit and give her the freedom she truly deserved?
As she finished her feast upon his ravaged flesh, drinking in far more than her fair share of him, her eyes rose to his as she quivered against his bare chest. Their eyes met as tears began to form at the corners of hers. Light, tender sobs gave way to heaving breaths as everything in her begged for more, but she knew better. For them, there was a line across which they could never return, and very early on they made a pact in blood to ensure it would never go that far.
Her form melted from the fullness of her true age to the innocence of her emotions. The scars of her past could never be fully healed, but if anyone could understand that it was a psion. And understand it, Logan did.
The baggage the psion carried with him was at times far too much to bear for any single man, and yet somehow after all of those years he remained steadfast in his determination to do so. It would be unfair to saddle another with so much torture and torment, and in the same breath she'd given him exactly that.
The two forms sat entwined for what seemed an eternity, but really was closer to a few minutes. The silence was broken once more as he lifted her face to his for a gentle kiss.
"I will always be here for you, Christine," his voice was softer than usual, and it forced her to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
"You aren't planning to do something stupid again, are you Logan," she asked with all the youthful naivety of a five-year-old. Of course, she knew the answer to the question. It wouldn't be the first time he had an idea insane enough to actually change the world, but she knew it was her duty to always ask.
"Always."
"Everything happens for a reason," the young, wispy feminine voice whispered quietly. There was a rather delicate lightness to her next words, "even if you can't see it."
An unnatural and awkward pause hung heavy in the air between the two, broken when he cleared his throat in an attempt to settle the unease.
"You aren't wrong, but neither am I. There has to be some form of agreement between the two sides, some deal brokered nobody is expecting."
Antique springs groaned from beneath the chair as the distinguished veteran leaned back. Fingertips tented against his lips, his mind explored the myriad of options laid upon the desk before him. How could he possibly coordinate a truce between both factions while still maintaining the Bandit Brotherhood's firm grip over the situation?
The question lingered in his mind for a minute before her soft, lacey voice broke his concentration. "Listen to me again, Logan, and try to remember I know what I am talking about," she practically chastised him for disregarding her opinion so quickly, but in her own light, airy way which made him desire her all the more. "Everything. Every step you take, every thought you have, every action you make has a purpose. Yet it may be eons before you ever fully grasp that purpose."
Glacial-blue eyes rose to meet her gaze unexpectedly, sending a gentle shudder across her soft, delicate features. The response wasn't swift. He craved the control and power of toying with her thoughts. In normal situations with normal individuals, she would not have had an issue maintaining her composure, but there was something well beyond ordinary about him.
Her own yearnings boiled over faster than she anticipated, and before she could stop herself she leaped over the desk and wrapped her wispy form around his. There was no objection from him, only acceptance at her insatiable hunger. Thoughts meandered about the room as vivid pictures bounced against the walls amid clouds of emotion. The young, delicate form disappeared and her true form took its place. Removed were the soft feminine features replaced with fuller, voluptuous ones.
And yet he sat stoic and yet fully engaged in her carnality, but still psychologically disconnected from the seduction. The control over her was simple and easy, but it weighed upon him every time she shifted form. Part of him truly never wanted her to grow up, but another part wanted every ounce of her to become all woman. She teetered the line between experience and innocence, but never broke to one or the other. Make no mistake, though, she was not young nor immature, but each was a manifestation of an adolescence marked by trauma and tragedy.
Try as he might there was only one real option with her. He simply had to be there and be available. No depth of intimacy would ever fulfill the need she thirsted after, and no amount of satisfaction could ever fill the void within. Put plainly, she was a shell, empty and devoid of psychological depth. She either was or she wasn't, either black or white. There simply existed within her no capacity for gray.
So it was necessary in his mind he allow her hunger to be sated when needed, but it wasn't completely without benefit for him as well. Certain needs became more prevalent the longer she remained unfulfilled, and she would give him no quarter if he did not relent. While he held her within his control, she too held him within hers. Could he ever truly pull her from the pit and give her the freedom she truly deserved?
As she finished her feast upon his ravaged flesh, drinking in far more than her fair share of him, her eyes rose to his as she quivered against his bare chest. Their eyes met as tears began to form at the corners of hers. Light, tender sobs gave way to heaving breaths as everything in her begged for more, but she knew better. For them, there was a line across which they could never return, and very early on they made a pact in blood to ensure it would never go that far.
Her form melted from the fullness of her true age to the innocence of her emotions. The scars of her past could never be fully healed, but if anyone could understand that it was a psion. And understand it, Logan did.
The baggage the psion carried with him was at times far too much to bear for any single man, and yet somehow after all of those years he remained steadfast in his determination to do so. It would be unfair to saddle another with so much torture and torment, and in the same breath she'd given him exactly that.
The two forms sat entwined for what seemed an eternity, but really was closer to a few minutes. The silence was broken once more as he lifted her face to his for a gentle kiss.
"I will always be here for you, Christine," his voice was softer than usual, and it forced her to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.
"You aren't planning to do something stupid again, are you Logan," she asked with all the youthful naivety of a five-year-old. Of course, she knew the answer to the question. It wouldn't be the first time he had an idea insane enough to actually change the world, but she knew it was her duty to always ask.
"Always."