With his companions slumbering in each their warm, wooden chambers - in fresh sheets beyond locked doors, Logan stared down at his silver goblet of wine. In front of him, he had laid out his equipment - polished his guns and attempted to repair the blades as best he could… which was not very impressive.
Next to him, Serah sat with a cup of her own - drinking while happily swinging her legs under her chair; an impressive feat, given how long her legs had grown since last he saw her. She’d always liked watching him there by the long table, tirelessly and obsessively checking the weaponry over and over.
Logan knew they were not the first orphans Jorn had taken in. Sometime after the man stepped out of his duties in the upper echelons of the Order, he had withdrawn to his childhood home to begin anew - gathering up the ones he claimed ‘called to him’. He’d never gotten a clear answer as to how many he had picked up, nor how many had survived his rigorous training, but there they were - brother and sister. Sort of.
Like his symbiote had done, she had released such a terrible psychic scream that Jorn had traversed the entire lands to save her from what he could only assume to have been a terrible fate.
She had been cute last he had seen her. She had acted more childlike - despite her age of around fifteen-sixteen summers. Now, she was beautiful - a gentle, playful creature of long legs, long hair and that same, bright-white grin he so adored.
“You’re awfully cheery.” He muttered with a grin of his triangular teeth, provoking another giggle.
“I’m a bit drunk. But most of all, I’m just happy to have you back, Toofy.” He shrugged - it was a losing battle of a decade and, to the Longmirians, he was ‘Toofy’.
He put the cup down and turned his attention back on his right pistol - a black, well-worn and re-painted lifesaver of a thing. It was about the length of his lower arm and could fire even high-caliber rounds - useful when it came to exploding men; priceless when it came to piercing Monstrum armor.
He spun it around to offer her the grip, only for her to rasp her tongue at him. They shared in the resulting chuckle. As if to prove a point, she reached across the table to touch her finger to his tin goblet. Before his eyes, a white sheen spread from the finger to soon have transformed the entire contents to… solid ice. He sighed as she withdrew her hand and attempted to bring it to his mouth, only to have the contents remain in place.
He glanced around to verify that they were alone before questioning: “What do you think about the boy? Abraham.”
She brought her wine-stained finger to her mouth before looking ponderously at the comfortable yellow lights in the ceiling.
“He’s… I mean, he’s cuter than the boys around here, but… that don’t say much.” He strained his red eye to stare curiously at her - hearing his beloved sister Serah talk about men with interest made him uneasy - as if it was more unnatural than even the Monstrum. Yet she continued:
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“But I like him. He’s pretty strong - I can tell. Maybe even stronger than me, but he needs a latta trainin’. He one of them priest-boys?” Logan bobbed his head and set the now-useless cup down at his side.
“Used to be. I think he discarded his faith. He recently saw his first Monstrum and his first Enslaved. I don’t think he handled it well, but it was a Behemoth so I suppose I can understand.” She made her father’s o-shaped mouth before whistling, signaling her understanding of his plight.
“Serah… d’you think you can train him? Me and Pa don’t know how that stuff works.” She sucked on her finger and leaned back on her chair - even if it had been years, she still had her habits and mannerisms not even Jorn could change.
“I can do it. But then you gotta promise me you’ll fight Pa.” Logan immediately chuckled before realizing she was serious. Seeing the hopeful, bright blue to her eyes, he leaned back and scowled at her. She took advantage of his silence and continued: “He’s been itchin’ to fight since you left. Pleeeasee - I’ll train him for ya!” It had been years since last he had sparred against the old man, but for good reason. Last time, it had taken the symbiote to the limits of his capabilities, but it had been an enjoyable spectacle for the town, for Jorn, for Serah - everyone except him.
“If you can get him in fighting shape and teach him how to use his gifts, I’ll do it. But you-”
A loud, ear-piercing shriek of celebration sounded throughout the Dining Hall, but to his surprise her mouth moved not an inch.
It had been Jorn - standing at the foot of the stairs with his arms raised to either side.
“When I come back, Pa!” Logan shouted, only for the widely grinning old man to drop his smile.
“Aww, c’mon, bro…” Serah clapped her hands together and pleaded. But Logan remained stalwart and pointed out: “I’m going out for work - if I’m fighting you, I’m gonna be at full strength, old man. Besides; I need leverage so you don’t kill my guys.” For an old man, his movements were smooth - almost unnaturally smooth. Even most Ghasts would kill for his mobility, though that didn’t say much.
In a cheery strut, he danced over towards his throne and scoffed before laying down across the old, wooden chair.
“I wouldn’t kill mah boy’s lil’ filly. Or his… beautiful… lil’ boy.” He winced as he spoke of Abraham’s characteristics, as if it pained the old geezer to lie - something Logan knew to be far from the truth.
“We got a deal, then? All three of us?” Their unified nods betrayed that despite their differences, they were as they always had been - bound by the same calling that had led them together.
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Following a final stand-off, Logan and Smile had departed from the mire home to leave his apprentices in the capable, but frightening hands of his Pa’ and Sis’. Of all the things he’d done so far, he imagined this would top the list when it came to the moral duplicity of his work. But, as he had said, this was what he needed of them - it needed to be different. It needed to be better. They needed to be better.
Several things had fiercely irked Luna, some of which he had accepted he could not and likely would not ever understand. For one, she had been surprised to hear that Zeke was to remain with them for backup, while Serah and Logan both rode the white foxhound. The clutz of a setter struggled with the mire and, snugly fit between all his siblings and his parents, Logan hadn’t had the heart to wake him up and drag him to yet another bloody mission.
And so it was that their two embracing forms leapt over the mires like a streak of white lightning - making record time for the town of Cadia.