Logan is spending a typical afternoon at one of his favoring watering holes. What looks to him like another pretty face turns out to have need of his particular talents. Again, he proves that he is the best at what he does: healing. Rated PG-13 for strong language.
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. They belong to Marvel. I'm writing this purely for fun and not profit. All original characters are property of Denigoddess2001.
Snow On the Sahara
By Denigoddess2001
Logan saw the lovely young woman setting across from him at the bar. The first thing that he noticed about her was her sweet natural scent. It was a subtle fragrance of peaches and rain. He sipped his whiskey as he watched her walk confidently over to the jukebox and study the music selections.
She turned to towards him to flag down a barmaid for another drink. Logan caught a better view of the sweet-smelling frail. Her golden ivory skin was a consummate compliment to her thick cascading chocolate curls. The flowing ringlets crowned her face like a halo of untamed sable flames. Her eyes were captivating shades of molten amber and cinnamon.
She looked so assured in her cropped black leather biker jacket and her faded blue jeans. With such fascinating features, she seemed like an angel dressed in temptation's clothing.
Soft strains of some strange song lilted through the air. The sounds of a sitar and synthesizer blended in some exotic harmony.
Only Tell me that you still want me here
When you wander off out there
To those hill of dust and hard winds that blow
In that dry white ocean alone...
Lost out in the desert...
You are lost out in the desert...
He watched the frail lean again the jukebox and close her shining hazel eyes. They were fringed with thick. Smoky eyelashes. He watched her full, sensuous lips wordlessly sing the haunting ballad.
But to stand with you in a ring of fire
I'll forget the days gone by
I'll protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight.....
The frail's head shot up and her eyes snapped open. Hers clashed with the wild feral blue fires that burned in Logan's eyes. He abruptly turned his head away and washed down his guilt with a single shot of whiskey. He felt like a lecherous voyeur caught staring in somone's window.
Her expression of shock intently melted away. Replacing it was an icy mask of ominous scorn. She smirked at the rugged, brawny man with the unruly black mane. She silently stared at him for a few seconds in what seemed like a challenge. Then, she nonchalantly turned away from Logan as the barmaid brought her an odd looking verdant hued libation.
He watched intently as the young woman languidly savored her drink. She has spunk tryin' to stare me down like that. Not too bad for a frail.
If your hopes scatter like the dust across your track
I'll be the moon that shines on your path
The sun may blind our eyes I'll pray to the skies above
For snow to fall on the Sahara........
Logan decided immediately to find out more about the leather-clad girl that had tried to stare him down. He swallowed the last of his drink and sauntered over to where she sat.
"So, who sings this song?"
The young woman never relinquished her attention from her lime-colored drink. "Anggun."
"Who?" Name sounds like some breed of cow.
"Anggun." Come a lightly accented, enunciated response. "She's a recording artist from Indonesia."
"Cool." Logan knew that part of the world all too well. That location was only a stone's throw away from the Asian island of Madripoor.
He knew her response all too well as she focused her attention on her drink. Dames like her didn't think much of him because of his mountain man appearance. She thought he was just some other beer-guzzling biker in some sleazy pool hall ready to make the moves on her. By her accent, she sounded educated. What the hell was some bluestocking broad in Mel's anyway?
"So," Logan was at a loss for words. 'What's your name?"
"Markie." She refused to meet his gaze. "Look, I'm not interested in company. I'd rather be by myself."
"Hey, sorry." Logan held his hands up in a pseudo-defensive gesture. "I was just tryin' to be friendly."
"Be friendly somewhere else."
If that's the only place where you can leave your doubts
I'll hold you up and be your way out
And if we burn away I'll pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the Sahara
What a fucking bitch with a ball-biting attitude. "Bartender, 'nother round."
"Coming up, Logan."
The swarthy, bald bartender handed Logan another shot of Jack Danials. Logan held the glass in his hand and walked back to his table. He knew that Frail best keep her mouth shut while she was in Mel's. An attitude like hers could get her in trouble.
Mel came over to sit with Logan. The middle-aged man strattled the back of a chair and put his bar towel over the back. "You just got brushed off."
'Yeah."
"She comes in here once or twice a week and plays the juke box for a couple of hours."
"I don't give a shit, Mel." Logan gulped down his whiskey. "Just another pretty frail with a real bad attitude."
"Not that one." Mel corrected him. "Don't get me wrong. She's determined, assertive, and straightforward. She has one hellish temper and a peppery repartee that will neuter any hapless bastard if you cross her."
"Okay, Mel, so what makes this dame so special?"
"Normally, she's a real sweetie. Great singer. Manages the Athenaeum across town. Her fiancé died of cancer last night at the hospital. She nursed him for six months. Normally, she's precocious and cheerful. Poor girl, funeral's tomorrow."
"What was his name?" Logan grated through clenched teeth.
"Christopher Wells."
Just a wish and I will cover your shoulders
With veils of silver and gold....
Logan had known Chris. He'd been a good, honest man. He'd taught school in Salem for a few years. He played a mean game of pool. He was one of those preppie, clean-cut types with the California tan and the surf-blonde hair. The kid had reminded him a lot of Scott. Chris had always had a good story to tell and a good game of pool. He never bullshitted or tried to make himself look important.
Logan just couldn't imagine someone as quiet as Chris being engaged to a hellcat like Markie.
When the darkness comes and darkened your hear
Leaving you with regrets so cold.
He walked back over to the lovely young woman. He watched her wipe a solitary tear from her cheek. In her hand she held a picture of her self and the handsome blonde Adonis that she had care for the past year.
"I knew Chris. He was a good man."
"Yes, he was." She turned to face Logan for the first time. He saw those unshed tears threatening to spill from her lucent umber eyes. Pain, loss, sorrow, anger, and confusion boiled in those dark, molten depths threatening to erupt to the surface. "Now, He's gone."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I. " She replied grimly. She wiped away a black streak from her tear-stained cheek. "Thank-you."
"Hey, " Logan started slowly. "I didn't mean to seem like I was comin' on to ya...I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
There was a long silence as she finished her Mendori Sour. "Snow on the Sahara was our song." She murmured softly. "Chris loved that song. He said it was his promise to me for the rest of our lives."
"It's pretty." Logan nodded for Mel to bring them another round. Mel gave a subtle nod and went about mixing the drinks.
The feral man held out his hand. "Name's Logan."
"It's a pleasure. I'm Markie Spencer." She returned his handshake. She held out the picture of her and Chris for Logan to see. "I inherited the Athenaeum two years ago. I turned it into a piano bar, dance club, and Karaoke place. Chris starting coming there about three years ago. He'd sing a little bit of everything. He was good. We met there, fell in love, and became engaged. We were going to live happily ever after."
"He was a lucky guy."
"No, I was the lucky one." She responded. "Men like Chris don't appear every day. I love...loved" She stammered. "h-him."
"He was lucky, too." Logan softly reminded her. "Just like the song,
But to stand with you in a ring of fire
I'll forget the days gone by
I'll protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight....
When he needed you, Markie, you were there for him. You never left his side when the path got bumpy. You stuck it out and loved him that much more."
"You don't know me very well, do you?" She wryly replied.
"Wrong." Logan felt as if he had known this enchanting lady all of his life. "You're not the type to give up or give in. Your conscience won't let you. You gave Chris love and strength to make it through."
"Go ahead and make me a saint, why don't you?" Her bitterness ate away at Logan's candid observation of her character.
"What'd that song say? And if we burn away I'll pray the skies above for snow to fall on the Sahara?"
"Chris was lucky to have your strength."
"I was so lucky to have his love."
"Then you both had something special."
Markie raised her glass in the air. Logan said nothing but did the same. "A toast to Chris." She said.
"To his beauty and inner strength."
"And to his Snow on the Sahara."
They clinked their glasses. Mel watched them from the other end of the bar. Who would have thought that his friend Logan would bring a little snow to the desert?
Fini
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men. They belong to Marvel. I'm writing this purely for fun and not profit. All original characters are property of Denigoddess2001.
Snow On the Sahara
By Denigoddess2001
Logan saw the lovely young woman setting across from him at the bar. The first thing that he noticed about her was her sweet natural scent. It was a subtle fragrance of peaches and rain. He sipped his whiskey as he watched her walk confidently over to the jukebox and study the music selections.
She turned to towards him to flag down a barmaid for another drink. Logan caught a better view of the sweet-smelling frail. Her golden ivory skin was a consummate compliment to her thick cascading chocolate curls. The flowing ringlets crowned her face like a halo of untamed sable flames. Her eyes were captivating shades of molten amber and cinnamon.
She looked so assured in her cropped black leather biker jacket and her faded blue jeans. With such fascinating features, she seemed like an angel dressed in temptation's clothing.
Soft strains of some strange song lilted through the air. The sounds of a sitar and synthesizer blended in some exotic harmony.
Only Tell me that you still want me here
When you wander off out there
To those hill of dust and hard winds that blow
In that dry white ocean alone...
Lost out in the desert...
You are lost out in the desert...
He watched the frail lean again the jukebox and close her shining hazel eyes. They were fringed with thick. Smoky eyelashes. He watched her full, sensuous lips wordlessly sing the haunting ballad.
But to stand with you in a ring of fire
I'll forget the days gone by
I'll protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight.....
The frail's head shot up and her eyes snapped open. Hers clashed with the wild feral blue fires that burned in Logan's eyes. He abruptly turned his head away and washed down his guilt with a single shot of whiskey. He felt like a lecherous voyeur caught staring in somone's window.
Her expression of shock intently melted away. Replacing it was an icy mask of ominous scorn. She smirked at the rugged, brawny man with the unruly black mane. She silently stared at him for a few seconds in what seemed like a challenge. Then, she nonchalantly turned away from Logan as the barmaid brought her an odd looking verdant hued libation.
He watched intently as the young woman languidly savored her drink. She has spunk tryin' to stare me down like that. Not too bad for a frail.
If your hopes scatter like the dust across your track
I'll be the moon that shines on your path
The sun may blind our eyes I'll pray to the skies above
For snow to fall on the Sahara........
Logan decided immediately to find out more about the leather-clad girl that had tried to stare him down. He swallowed the last of his drink and sauntered over to where she sat.
"So, who sings this song?"
The young woman never relinquished her attention from her lime-colored drink. "Anggun."
"Who?" Name sounds like some breed of cow.
"Anggun." Come a lightly accented, enunciated response. "She's a recording artist from Indonesia."
"Cool." Logan knew that part of the world all too well. That location was only a stone's throw away from the Asian island of Madripoor.
He knew her response all too well as she focused her attention on her drink. Dames like her didn't think much of him because of his mountain man appearance. She thought he was just some other beer-guzzling biker in some sleazy pool hall ready to make the moves on her. By her accent, she sounded educated. What the hell was some bluestocking broad in Mel's anyway?
"So," Logan was at a loss for words. 'What's your name?"
"Markie." She refused to meet his gaze. "Look, I'm not interested in company. I'd rather be by myself."
"Hey, sorry." Logan held his hands up in a pseudo-defensive gesture. "I was just tryin' to be friendly."
"Be friendly somewhere else."
If that's the only place where you can leave your doubts
I'll hold you up and be your way out
And if we burn away I'll pray the skies above
For snow to fall on the Sahara
What a fucking bitch with a ball-biting attitude. "Bartender, 'nother round."
"Coming up, Logan."
The swarthy, bald bartender handed Logan another shot of Jack Danials. Logan held the glass in his hand and walked back to his table. He knew that Frail best keep her mouth shut while she was in Mel's. An attitude like hers could get her in trouble.
Mel came over to sit with Logan. The middle-aged man strattled the back of a chair and put his bar towel over the back. "You just got brushed off."
'Yeah."
"She comes in here once or twice a week and plays the juke box for a couple of hours."
"I don't give a shit, Mel." Logan gulped down his whiskey. "Just another pretty frail with a real bad attitude."
"Not that one." Mel corrected him. "Don't get me wrong. She's determined, assertive, and straightforward. She has one hellish temper and a peppery repartee that will neuter any hapless bastard if you cross her."
"Okay, Mel, so what makes this dame so special?"
"Normally, she's a real sweetie. Great singer. Manages the Athenaeum across town. Her fiancé died of cancer last night at the hospital. She nursed him for six months. Normally, she's precocious and cheerful. Poor girl, funeral's tomorrow."
"What was his name?" Logan grated through clenched teeth.
"Christopher Wells."
Just a wish and I will cover your shoulders
With veils of silver and gold....
Logan had known Chris. He'd been a good, honest man. He'd taught school in Salem for a few years. He played a mean game of pool. He was one of those preppie, clean-cut types with the California tan and the surf-blonde hair. The kid had reminded him a lot of Scott. Chris had always had a good story to tell and a good game of pool. He never bullshitted or tried to make himself look important.
Logan just couldn't imagine someone as quiet as Chris being engaged to a hellcat like Markie.
When the darkness comes and darkened your hear
Leaving you with regrets so cold.
He walked back over to the lovely young woman. He watched her wipe a solitary tear from her cheek. In her hand she held a picture of her self and the handsome blonde Adonis that she had care for the past year.
"I knew Chris. He was a good man."
"Yes, he was." She turned to face Logan for the first time. He saw those unshed tears threatening to spill from her lucent umber eyes. Pain, loss, sorrow, anger, and confusion boiled in those dark, molten depths threatening to erupt to the surface. "Now, He's gone."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I. " She replied grimly. She wiped away a black streak from her tear-stained cheek. "Thank-you."
"Hey, " Logan started slowly. "I didn't mean to seem like I was comin' on to ya...I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
There was a long silence as she finished her Mendori Sour. "Snow on the Sahara was our song." She murmured softly. "Chris loved that song. He said it was his promise to me for the rest of our lives."
"It's pretty." Logan nodded for Mel to bring them another round. Mel gave a subtle nod and went about mixing the drinks.
The feral man held out his hand. "Name's Logan."
"It's a pleasure. I'm Markie Spencer." She returned his handshake. She held out the picture of her and Chris for Logan to see. "I inherited the Athenaeum two years ago. I turned it into a piano bar, dance club, and Karaoke place. Chris starting coming there about three years ago. He'd sing a little bit of everything. He was good. We met there, fell in love, and became engaged. We were going to live happily ever after."
"He was a lucky guy."
"No, I was the lucky one." She responded. "Men like Chris don't appear every day. I love...loved" She stammered. "h-him."
"He was lucky, too." Logan softly reminded her. "Just like the song,
But to stand with you in a ring of fire
I'll forget the days gone by
I'll protect your body and guard your soul
From mirages in your sight....
When he needed you, Markie, you were there for him. You never left his side when the path got bumpy. You stuck it out and loved him that much more."
"You don't know me very well, do you?" She wryly replied.
"Wrong." Logan felt as if he had known this enchanting lady all of his life. "You're not the type to give up or give in. Your conscience won't let you. You gave Chris love and strength to make it through."
"Go ahead and make me a saint, why don't you?" Her bitterness ate away at Logan's candid observation of her character.
"What'd that song say? And if we burn away I'll pray the skies above for snow to fall on the Sahara?"
"Chris was lucky to have your strength."
"I was so lucky to have his love."
"Then you both had something special."
Markie raised her glass in the air. Logan said nothing but did the same. "A toast to Chris." She said.
"To his beauty and inner strength."
"And to his Snow on the Sahara."
They clinked their glasses. Mel watched them from the other end of the bar. Who would have thought that his friend Logan would bring a little snow to the desert?
Fini