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FIC: Summer's End, 10/?, PG13/R, W/R

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS REPOSTED IN PART 0 * * * Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years and years of training can, using only their hands and
    Message 1 of 1 , Aug 9, 2001
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      * * *

      "Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years and
      years of training can, using only their hands and feet, make some of the
      worst movies in the history of the world."
      — Dave Barry

      * * *

      Logan made it to the Academy by late afternoon, following the driving
      directions Marie had e-mailed him. The easiest thing to do would have
      been to print out the message, but without Marie there to guide him
      through the process he wound up just grabbing a blank sheet of printer
      paper and writing the directions down.

      The "security" was laughable — motion detectors opened the gates, and he
      drove his motorcycle right in. The administration building wasn’t overly
      difficult to pick out — large and central, with fewer between-classes
      students going in or out. Logan was given pause by the number of
      students, and wondered just how many or how few might be mutants.

      Brazenly sauntering into the lobby of the building, he checked for signs
      — like, "This way to the Ice Queen’s office" — and was greeted by a
      matronly woman behind a desk, some sort of secretary, receptionist, or
      administrator. "May I help you?" she asked, politely but with a edge to
      her voice to match her obvious assessment of, "Too old to be a student,
      too scruffy to be a teacher."

      "Yes, I’m looking for Emma Frost." [Whoops, almost called her "Frosty."
      Might not be the best way to go to a job interview...]

      "And you would be?" A more careful assessment, as she tried to decide
      whether he qualified as "legitimate business" or "riff-raff."

      "Logan. From Xavier’s School for the Gifted," he reluctantly added,
      hoping that the "academic credentials" would improve matters.

      They didn’t. The secretary’s face set in disbelief, as she made a show of
      checking a schedule planner. "I’m sorry, but I don’t have you down for an

      [Guess I didn’t look academic enough — or maybe it was the "gifted" part
      that threw her.] "I didn’t have one." Sensing the approaching brushoff,
      he added, "I’ll just go find her myself, let her know I’m here," quickly
      heading past the desk into the bowels of the administration complex. He
      remembered Frosty’s scent from when she came to get Marie, and could no
      doubt track her to her lair.

      After a few token protests of, "Sir — sir! I can’t allow you to go in
      there," his preternaturally sharp hearing clearly picked up the
      receptionist’s murmur into her phone. "Ma’am, we have a breach in
      security. A ‘gentleman’ claiming to be a Mr. Logan from Xavier’s School
      is heading to the private levels."

      Emma’s response, non-whispered but via a phone’s handset, was fainter but
      still audible. "How interesting. I’ll set a few of the more advanced
      students to stopping him. This should be a good test..."

      Logan grinned to himself as he rounded the corner and Frost’s voice was
      lost. Whether the test was intended for the students or for himself was
      an open question, but it mattered not. Flooring a cadre of half-trained
      teenagers without the use of any weaponry or funky mutant powers —
      without, in fact, breaking a sweat — would more than amply prove Marie’s
      claims as to his skills and the students’ lack thereof.

      Frost’s scent was all through this building, but strengthening in this
      direction. He kept his ears — and nose — open for warning signals of
      impending attack, but the ambush when it came was so clumsy that it would
      have mattered little had he blundered into it unwarned and unprepared.

      Possibly they were trying not to be heard, attempting to sneak up on him
      through a connecting passageway he was approaching. But he could hear
      footsteps, breathing, a cough and a muffled, "Shh!" He smirked and kept
      walking as though unaware of their presence — but when they suddenly
      popped out of the passageway to block his path, he couldn’t resist a

      There were five of them. Three boys, two girls. Halting and looking them
      over, he asked disingenuously, "What are you, the welcome committee?"

      One of the guys stepped forward. "I’m sorry, this area isn’t for casual
      visitors. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave now." He didn’t sound
      particularly apologetic, despite his words. The very faint accent sounded
      Middle Eastern or North African.

      "What if I don’t want to leave?" Logan crossed his arms, taking up a
      casual-looking stance but nevertheless ready to leap into action.

      "Then you get carried out," announced another of the guys. It was Beef
      (though Logan didn’t know this yet), and he was still smarting at having
      been beaten up by a chick mere days before. He pounded a fist into the
      opposite palm, anticipating violence and clearly looking forward to it.

      [Big and dumb. Probably expects his size to carry him through any fight.]
      "Really? And which of you brats is going to take me down?"

      That was enough to set match to powder. Beef lunged for Wolverine, who
      happily ducked aside at the last possible fraction of a second, adding a
      shove as the young man went past to send him crashing to the floor.
      Deliberately he turned his head to watch the punk hit the tiles,
      pretending to be ignoring the other four students. [That’s it, kiddies,
      I’ve got my back turned and everything. Which of you is gonna try to hit
      me when I’m "not expecting it"?]

      He heard the footsteps and rapidly-nearing breathing and heartbeat as one
      of them took the offered bait, and when he whirled it was one of the
      girls — the one with the interestingly lavender-grey hair. Ducking her
      rapid swipe at his face, he backhanded her into a wall. She twisted in
      midflight, hitting the wall hands-first rather than against her
      unprotected back or side, and bounced back into another attack. Logan was
      impressed by her reflexes — though not by her sloppy and thoroughly
      telegraphed assault. Ducking her first couple of strikes, he went for a
      chin shot, which connected. This time when she hit the wall, she slid
      down it, dazed.

      The entire confrontation with her had taken less than a minute, during
      which time her supposed teammates seemed to have been standing around
      gawking or something. Logan was taking mental notes for dressing his
      potential students down in future lessons. [Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. A
      real fight is *not* like a kung-fu movie — the group does *not* politely
      take turns attacking the single fighter so he can take them out one by

      Wolverine was still waiting for one of the kids to start using freaky
      mutant shit on him — but whatever interesting new powers he might have
      run across were apparently being withheld to prevent taking out a
      teammate through "friendly fire," as Beef charged in again. [Dumbass.
      Clearly needs to learn about teamwork, also known as "How *not* to get in
      each other’s way."] Wolvie blocked the hit with his forearm, grinning at
      the look on the ox’s face as the shock of fist hitting metal reverberated
      up his arm. It had been a pretty hard blow, actually — it figured that
      *this* guy’s mutation would be for enhanced strength or something like
      that — but Logan was just the wrong kind of target for the brute force
      approach. Using the ever-so-brief pause created by Beef staring at him in
      mingled pain and startlement, Wolvie returned punch for punch — but *his*
      landed on the kid’s jaw. It took another two or three strikes on
      Wolverine’s part, but he managed to knock the big guy on his ass again.
      [Strike two.]

      As the ox hit the floor, Wolvie dived to one side. Some form of
      electrical bolt crackled through the space he’d just occupied. With as
      much time as he’d spent around Storm while she was on the attack (whether
      on a mission or in the Danger Room), the ozone scent and staticky crackle
      of the air had been enough to signal him to get the hell out of the way.

      It was a matter of some debate whether Logan’s metal-laced frame made him
      more susceptible to electrical shock, or actually served to protect him
      as a sort of internal lightning rod system. Not wanting to test Hank’s
      theory in a combat situation, Wolvie dived for the kid who still reeked
      of ozone, knocking him flying and then knocking him silly with a few
      well-placed punches.

      Turnabout being fair play, Wolverine himself was then slammed into by
      that first guy, the one who had told him to leave. Apparently he had
      borrowed a trick from Sam "Cannonball" Guthrie, the human — or rather,
      mutant — rocket. Well, guided missiles could be taken out via their
      control mechanisms. A good right-cross to the face downed Rocket Boy (and
      Logan along with him), allowing Wolvie to make sure that the kid wouldn’t
      be getting back up anytime soon. Then he jumped aside again, easily
      ducking something the remaining girl had just thrown at him. Whatever the
      hell it was she was flinging, he’d just evaded barbecuing — it was the
      sudden rush of heat that had warned him he’d become a target again.

      Before he could take out the girl tossing the fireballs, the
      lavender-haired chick was after him again. Dazed and angry, her technique
      was even worse than before — but he had to hand it to her for wading back
      into the fight. Not that it stopped him from decking her again — but he
      approved of her tenacity. [I like this one. She’s got potential.]

      Then he sidestepped another charge from that goddamned ox, putting
      himself next to Fireball Girl almost as if by accident and dropping her
      before she realized her danger. That just left Beef to deal with, but he
      was proving bloody hard to take out for good. Now that the rest of the
      team was down, Wolverine had the leisure to choke him into
      unconsciousness with an arm around the throat from behind. With blood
      rather than merely oxygen being cut off, a few seconds was all it took.

      Surveying the remains of the assault team, Logan shook his head
      disapprovingly. [Pitiful, just pitiful. *Scooter* could have trained
      these kids better.]

      * * *

      She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
      Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
      Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
      Aussie Vowels

      "Okay, this is going to hurt quite a bit, but, I suppose, that's t
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