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Intrulogical Week Starts 10/2/22
Logan: (peering over Remus' shoulder as he types frenetically. adjusts glasses.) Perhaps we should add an eighth bonus day for the sin of Procrastination?
Remus: Procrastination isn't a sin. It's my process. Now shush, Lo Lo, I just sent you the next chapter to beta read.
Intrulogical Week 10/2/22 - 10/8/22
The Seven Deadly Sins: Wrath, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Envy, Pride, Greed
Link and info on AO3 collection below:
Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works Note: The AO3 coll
Link to original survey:
Logan: Meus, we must decide! Intrulogical Week is less than five months away! Remus: I know, Lo Lo… One one hand, we can have all the prompt
Last Friday Night (Think We Kissed, but I Forgot!)
Chapter 1: Wrath
Ao3 | next chapter
Words: 4020
Warning/s: chemical fire, slight ableism towards autistic people, NSFW moments from remus being remus
Fic Summary: written for @intrulogicalweek “The experiment is starting now and I need you to get the cool powders, because if I do it then Mr. Sanders is going to remember he has to send me to the deans’,” Remus says, attempting to whisper, but still being incredibly loud, “and I wanna play with the burners and light shit on fire.”
Logan blinks.
“Hopefully, light shit on fire,” Remus clarifies.
It doesn’t really help.
Or, alternatively, Remus King gets transferred to Logan Mun's chemistry class and it is either the best, or worse, mistake his school has ever made... Most likely the worse.
LFN masterlist | FANFICTION MASTERLIST
Period 3: Chemistry
SANDERS, THOMAS
RM: 803
Logan’s eyes trail up at the propped open door. He reads the door number and lets his eyes fall back down to his phone. Rereading his Junior year schedule for the 5th time– despite it never happening, Logan’s still thoroughly distraught at the concept of walking into the wrong class– he confirms that this is, in fact, his 2nd class of the day. (3 months into the school year and Logan still is confused by his schedule; even more so by even and odd days.) He pockets his phone and takes a few steps into the class, almost running straight into his science teacher, Mr. Sanders.
“Woah, there!” Mr. Sanders laughs a little, holding his hands out against Logan’s shoulders, “you almost bumped into me.”
Logan points his head down, eyeing the red shirt in front of him. “I apologise, Mr. Sanders.” A couple of students walk past the two of them into the classroom, waving at the teacher– most of them have their eyes on Logan, however.
“You’re all good, dude!” Mr. Sanders steps back from Logan. “Watch out next time.”
Logan nods, quick and jerky, and moves past him into the classroom.
He tries his best to weave through the tables and groups of students to get to his assigned desk (center room, 2nd table, left chair). Bright lights shine above him. Students are laughing and talking, even throwing pencils and ( lightly ) hitting one another. He finally gets to his seat and plugs his ears with his fingers, letting his cheeks rest on his palms. He notices all the eyes on him and keeps his head down– being autistic in high school is, unsurprisingly, very Hard.
More students make their way into the classroom. Their lab tables are arranged all facing the board and they fit two chairs for partners. They all walk past Logan and sit down at their desks, with their friends pushing the seats next to them out and sitting beside them.
Logan's seat stays empty, however, still pushed in against the table.
Their desks also face the large pride flag hanging at the front of the room (a few students were confused at the stripes, specifically the lavender and pink ones at the top; Mr. Sanders explained their meaning during the first week of school). (He seemed a little saddened at the fact people didn't know what those two stripes meant or were.) It's covered in multi-coloured signatures, with few open spaces for more. Mr. Sanders explained that his students can sign it at the end of the school year if they wanted. That caught Logan's attention— regardless of the fact that Logan is the only autistic student in class, as opposed to being in a group like his other classes, he gets excited coming to this class.
The bell rings loud in the class and everyone scrambles to their seats.
Objectively, it only takes 2 minutes for the bell to ring and for everyone to quiet down.
Subjectively, it’s a million years before everyone shuts the fuck up.
Mr. Sanders strolls into the room, waving. Behind him walks in Mx. Picani, Logan’s “special ed” assistant teacher. (Logan immediately glances down at their tie. Today, it’s pink with “she/her” embroidered at the bottom in blue floss– Picani changes pronouns depending on how she’s feeling that day. Logan thinks it is very cool.) Picani takes a seat at the front table, beaming at Logan.
“Hey, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals!” Mr. Sanders interrupts Logan’s thoughts, smiling wide at his students. “Letting y’all know right now that we are starting an experiment today, hence the Fireboys on your tables.” Excited cheers are scattered in the room, combined with a single unhappy groan. Mr. Sanders furrows his eyebrows and glances around the room, still smiling. The class starts laughing a bit. “Let me do attendance real quick and I’ll explain the experiment.” He draws out the ‘a’ in ‘and’ and sits down at his desk. The class all turns to the Fireboys, or an alternative to Bunsen burners, and starts messing with them.
Mr. Sanders stands up quick, making Logan jump in his seat. His chair rolls back and hits the wall behind him. “DO. NOT. TOUCH. THE. FIREBOYS.” A chorus of AWWs breaks out. Mr. Sanders pointedly looks at a group of boys in the back of the class and sits back down.
Mr. Sanders assigned seats the second week of school, so thankfully he doesn’t do his attendance out loud. He goes through his seating chart and checks to see if the seat is filled; if anyone is absent, he will then call out their name. (Logan much prefers this over how most of his teachers do attendance.)
Logan reaches down to his backpack to pull out a pencil and an eraser. He sets the pencil down on the desk, pushing it over to the left side, before placing his eraser directly next to it. A student at the table next to him sends a glance to his eraser and smiles– Logan can’t tell if it’s a teasing one or a genuine one, but he does know they’re smiling at the cat pencil topper and his long-eared owl eraser. He scrapes his feet against the tiled floor, tilting his head down. Using his hands and arms, he tries to cover them. (Yes, he could just move it off his desk, but Logan refuses to use a normal eraser or get rid of his pencil toppers, even if it means getting ridiculed.)
Mr. Sanders gets up and opens his mouth to start talking.
Immediately, an interruption happens.
The classroom door swings open and a student stomps in. The denim jacket they’re wearing is covered in pins and chains and spikes; they sound coins or keys clinking together, getting the attention of everyone in the room. The door slams shut behind them.
Mr. Sanders glances up at the student, before letting out a heavy sigh.
“Remus King ,” he says, “you’re 7 minutes late.” He looks them up and down and frowns. “ And you’re not in dress code.”
The student– Remus, apparently– shoves their hands into the pockets of their heavily ripped jeans and shrugs their satchel-like bookbag to fit better on their shoulder. They look down at their outfit and back up at Mr. Sanders. Letting the biggest grin split their face– having more teeth than Logan thinks a human should even have– they throw their head to the side.
“I am! ” Remus sounds almost excited to get dress coded.
The class is whispering to each other and Logan overhears the group in front of him say, “oh my god, its fucking Remus King.” “What a freak.”
Mr. Sanders shakes his head, smiling almost fondly. “And why are you late to my class today, Mr. King?” He pauses. “Again.”
“I woke up late and missed my bus.”
Mr. Sanders peeks at the clock near the door.
“It’s… second period, Remus.”
“I woke up really late!” Remus sways back and forth. “ And I forgot my schedule changed, so now you’re my third period!”
“I am going to have to write you up and send you to the deans, Remus.”
Remus shrugs their shoulders at Mr. Sanders. They haven’t stopped grinning like the Cheshire Cat since they started.
Mr. Sanders gestures to the rest of the class. “Take a seat, so that I can explain our experiment today and then I’ll write you a pass, alright?” Remus scans the room, before landing on Logan.
Logan can’t tell if this student is actively trying to stomp or if their boots are just making that noise.
Remus gets to Logan’s table, drags the chair harder than they should causing it to shriek, and throws themself into the seat– literally . A few students laugh as they right themself in the chair. Logan almost immediately notices the giant pin on Remus’ collar:
the transgender flag with the words ‘he/him’.
Logan’s leg starts bouncing up and down violently.
He looks up at Remus, only for Remus to be staring directly at him, and he snaps his head to the floor. (Remus’ shoes are covered in spikes and laced like ladders in yellow and purple.) He looks over at the desk.
There’s a finger with chipped green nail polish in front of his nose, pointing at something outside of his vision. Logan instinctively moves his head back.
“I like your owl eraser,” Remus says. The finger retreats.
Logan opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He nods twice, closing his mouth, and Remus snorts.
Logan really wants to talk to Remus, but he has no idea what to say.
…
He needs to say something.
He bites his lip and opens his mouth–
“Alright, y’all!”
Logan cocks his head up at Mr. Sanders, who’s standing at the front of the room with his hands clasped together. Logan tries to look at Remus again, but Remus isn’t paying attention.
“Lets talk about our experiment.”
Maybe he should pass Remus a note? Is that a socially acceptable thing? He doesn’t know, the only time he’s seen people pass notes is in shows and movies. He’s never passed a note before, nor has he ever had someone pass him a note.
Logan wrings his hands together under the table.
He thinks Remus’ jacket is really cool and he’s queer. And Remus chose to sit next to him.
Should he introduce himself during the experiment? Maybe he should wait? So they aren’t distracted during the experiment. But what if Logan forgets by then? What if Logan makes a fool of himself during the experiment and Remus thinks he’s the lamest person on the planet? He could wait until the end of class, but what if that’s too long of a wait? Is it weird to introduce yourself an hour and 40 minutes after, technically, meeting someone for the first time? They’re going to have to talk during the experiment, so–
“Helllooo? Did you rip off your ears or something?”
Logan looks up sharply at the voice, making direct eye contact with Remus’ wide eyes. He looks over at Remus’ spiked shoulder.
“… What?” Logan asks.
“The experiment is starting now and I need you to get the cool powders, because if I do it then Mr. Sanders is going to remember he has to send me to the deans’,” Remus says, attempting to whisper, but still being incredibly loud, “and I wanna play with the burners and light shit on fire.”
Logan blinks.
“Hopefully, light shit on fire,” Remus clarifies.
It doesn’t really help.
“Uh–,” Logan stares at Remus’ pins (there’s an 8 striped rainbow flag, one that says ‘ACAB’ and another that says ‘abolish the police’, and Logan almost misses the drawing of someone wearing a strap-on under a band pin that says ‘Operation Ivy’), “… What?”
Remus rolls his eyes and Logan feels something in his stomach. He points to the Fireboys. “We’re using chemicals to change the colour of the fire. The chemicals are with Mr. Sanders at the front table.”
Logan nods quickly, clambering out of his seat.
There's a somewhat short line of students grabbing their materials at the front of the room. Everyone else is at their desks, starting their Bunsen Burners and going over the instruction sheet.
“Hey, Lo!” Mx. Picani says once Logan's at the table. Mr. Sanders is standing next to her, helping another student. “You need your stuff?” Logan nods, very slowly, and Picani hands him small containers of various white powders.
Logan has no idea what these chemicals are.
“Do you need any help?” Picani asks. “Or are you alright with Remus?” She’s biting her bottom lip, glancing at Remus every two seconds. Logan nods.
“Well…” she says, drawing it out, “if you say so!” She smiles at Logan: corners of her lips pointed upwards, but her eyebrows are furrowed and she can't seem to make eye contact with Logan, like she usually tries to do. Logan attempts to smile back and roams back to his table.
It takes a little too long for Remus and him to get set up. Between Logan not even paying attention and Remus just wanting to play with fire, they end up being the last group to start the experiment. (And then after turning on their Fireboy, Mr. Sanders suddenly remembers that Remus needs to be sent to the deans’.
“Aren’t I supposed to be sending you somewhere? … Like the deans’?” Mr. Sanders asks, pointing directly at Remus.
Remus pouts. “Can’t you just send me after class?”
“Remus.”
“PLEASE?”)
Logan positions his goggles over his glasses and his entire body seizes. He only barely stops himself from slamming the goggles to the ground and flapping his hands (he hates wearing these stupid goggles; who cares about safety when there’s bad textures around?) Remus is sat next to him with his arms crossed. Mr. Sanders told him he was allowed to go to the deans’ after class, but wasn’t allowed to participate in the experiment. And now he was pouting.
Black dyed strands of hair fall in front of Remus’ eyes (Logan knows it’s dyed because he can see Remus’ light brown roots) along with white strands from where his vitiligo meets his hairline on his already pale skin. (Remus’ hair is shaved at the sides, minus for the parts of hair in front of his ears; it looks like it could be turned into a mohawk if he put hair spray into it.) (He wonders if Remus has done that before.)
Logan shakes his head a little, trying to get rid of the concept of leaning forward and brushing those strands back.
Their experiment involves using different chemicals to change the colour of the fire on their Bunsen burners. Logan delicately puts lithium chloride into the fire, changing it to a reddish pink colour, much to both Logan’s and Remus’ delight. Logan stomps his feet a little.
“What’s your name, dork?”
Remus is resting his arms on the table, scratching at it. Logan stutters before answering the question.
“It’s Logan.”
The corners of Remus’ mouth turn up a bit.
“My name’s Remus!”
Logan nods. “Yes, I know.” He grabs another chemical, sodium chloride, and tips it into the fire.
“Ooooh ,” Remus says, voice high and in a tone Logan quite can’t catch, “You know?” Remus wiggles his eyebrows. Badly. “Am I just THAT popular? Or have you imagined me naked before?”
Logan is now confused. “No?” He grabs a different chemical. “Mr. Sanders called you Remus and referred to you as that four times.” Out of the corner of his eyes, Remus’ grin gets wider. He cackles, shrugging and sitting up straight.
“I guess you’re right!”
“I am right. There is no ‘guessing’ about it.”
Remus leans close to the fire. Logan swats him away.
Logan continues to change the colour of the fire, from yellow to purple to orange to white, before Remus speaks up again.
“I called you dork earlier,” He says, putting his chin in his palm. “Did you know that means whale penis?”
Logan decides not to respond to that.
They work in, surprisingly, good rhythm, with Logan using the chemicals and Remus writing on their sheet (after Logan explains what he needs to write). The entire class is somewhat quiet. Slight buzzing of talking partially fills the room and the only other noises are the fire and scratching of pens and pencil on paper. (The light is still bright in Logan's eyes, but he's able to think straight and focus.)
Logan hears Remus shuffle next to him, but he doesn't glance over or try to figure out what he's doing. There’s a tug at his sleeve, a breath on his ear, and the words: “do you wanna see something even cooler?”
Logan flinches away. He feels his entire face scrunch up and his lips purse; his entire body revolts. Remus is grinning, holding Logan’s sleeve in between his pointer finger and thumb.
“What are you talking about?” Logan whispers back. He turns off the Fireboy.
“Follow me,” Remus says. He scans the room and puts his finger up to his lips, making a shushing motion.
Mr. Sanders is talking to a group near the side of the room. Mx. Picani is still sitting at the front table, scrolling through her phone with paperwork in front of her. Everyone else is busy, in between “oohs” and “aahs”, they’re having classroom-noise appropriate conversation. Remus slinks across the room, Logan not far behind, and they both make their way to the far corner.
Logan furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head.
Remus does another look around (Logan thinks it might be for comedic effect). He drops to his knees and grabs the cabinet door in front of him.
The one labeled “chemicals”.
Logan’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Didn’t Mr. Sanders tell us not to mess with the chemicals without his permission?” Logan’s whispers, wringing his hands together. He turns his head to look at the science teacher and then back down at Remus. “It’s in the student rules that Mr. Sanders gave us at the start of the school year. We had a test on it to make sure we knew–”
“Oh, calm down, dork!” Remus stands up, holding two tiny containers: one shaped like a pill container and the other an eye dropper. “I promise you, it’s not that serious.” Logan makes a face.
“Come on,” Remus says, “it’ll be fun!”
Logan hears Mr. Sanders as he continues to talk to the same group of students; he’s not even paying attention to anything Logan or Remus are doing. Remus bounces in place, watching Logan with large eyes and an even larger smile.
This is breaking the rules.
Remus is breaking the rules.
… Logan is breaking the rules if he continues.
He peers down at the containers.
“… Okay,” Logan says, “show me your ‘cool thing’.”
A squeal escapes from Remus’ mouth, followed by a loud clack as his teeth hit each other when he shuts his mouth. He kicks the cabinet doors close and escorts Logan back to their desk. Logan is watching Mr. Sanders and Picani attentively, like a guard dog protecting their owner. When he looks back at Remus, he’s already poured the little bottle of white powder onto the table. It makes a little pyramid.
Logan can finally read the labels on the bottles: potassium chlorate and sulfuric acid. (Logan eyes the empty packet of sugar at the edge of the table). Remus looks up at Logan, holding the sulfuric acid pipette over the powder. “Are you ready?”
Logan looks at the pile. “Have you done this before?”
Remus grins.
“Nope!”
He squeezes a little drop of sulfuric acid out and leans away.
A sizzling, crackling noise and then there’s a small amount of smoke escaping the droplet. A girl behind them screams as a huge, light pink flame erupts from the pile.
Remus lets out a cackle. “FIRE!–”
“ REMUS! ”
Logan looks up to see Mr. Sanders rush towards them. Behind him, Mx. Picani is also running over.
“WHAT DID YOU DO? ” Mr. Sanders shouts. The fire they started has already dissipated, leaving a black pile of whatever behind. Picani wraps her hands around Logan’s shoulders and pulls him away from the table.
Remus whistled and looked all around. “DEFINITELY wasn’t me! I would never do that!”
Mr. Sanders doesn’t look very amused.
“Are you alright, Logan?” Picani asks. She’s cradling Logan’s cheeks in her hands and Logan tries to squirm out of her fingers.
“Sulfuric acid?” Mr. Sanders picks up a bottle and reads it. “Did you get chemicals without my permission?” Remus doesn’t respond. “AND you dragged Logan into your little–” he stutters, “mess? What would’ve happened if you hurt him? You put Logan in harm’s way.”
Remus pouts. “I didn’t drag Logan into anything, he–”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Mr. Sanders holds up a hand. “Step outside of my classroom. Right Now, Remus.”
The entire class is quiet, minus for a few mutters. Everyone is eyeing each other, eyes wide and jaw slack. There’s only a few students who are trying not to smile and laugh.
Mr. Sanders looks at Logan. “Are you okay?” He’s looking at Logan with an expression Logan knows very well. Like he’s some sort of skittish animal. Or a baby. And everyone around him is trying not to make him start wailing.
Logan bites the inside of his cheek.
“Remus did not ‘drag me’ into anything,” Logan starts, pushing Picani away a little. “I’m the one that told him to do it.”
Picani gasps behind him. "What?”
Logan steps back and forth against the tiled floor. “We both chose to go to your cabinet, Mr. Sanders.”
Mr. Sanders’ eyebrows raise and disappear behind his bags. His mouth opens and closes– he looks like a fish out of water.
Everyone has their eyes on Logan. He's standing with his feet apart and hands curled tightly. He tries his best to keep his head up and look at Mr. Sanders, though every part of him wants him to duck down and crawl underneath the table in front of him.
“That’s–” a sigh escapes Mr. Sanders. “Alright, Logan Mun. Please step outside with… Remus. ”
There’s a few murmurs throughout the class as Logan makes his way over to the door.
Remus is standing with wide eyes. His feet tap against the floor in a wild rhythm and his eyes skitter all over the room. Logan bets Remus would be wagging a tail, if he had one.
------
Logan’s not sure if it’s embarrassing or exciting to be walked to the deans’ office for the first time.
Remus and him are led by Picani and a hall monitor, who’s speaking into their little radio, through the halls. Their shoes squeak against the floor.
They’re in one of the deans’ rooms, sitting in chairs across from the Principal. It takes a long, stern talking from them and an even longer call to their parents before their punishment is revealed: 2 weeks suspension and a week of detention after they come back (Logan gets 2 weeks, for “confessing” that the plan was his). Since they weren’t actively trying to hurt anyone or set fire to the school– and because that didn’t happen– their punishment, thankfully, didn’t involve going to the juvenile detention center.
They’re dragged out of the dean’s office into the waiting room that connects all the dean’s and counselors’ rooms together. Loud clacking is the only sound Logan can hear, coming from the person sitting at the front desk. Mx. Picani makes Logan take a seat at one of the chairs next to the door.
“You should call your mother, Logan. She has to pick you up,” she says. She doesn’t try to make eye contact with Logan, instead her eyes are glued on the wall behind him. There’s a wrinkle in between her eyebrows. Behind her, Remus is sat at a couch-like seat across the room. One of the deans is talking to him, voices so low Logan cannot hear what they’re saying over the sound of the keyboard.
Logan is in the middle of a call with his mother, when he overhears yelling coming from Remus’ phone. Remus sits with his phone tilted away from his ear, looking completely unbothered. The door opens and a preppy-looking kid (Logan has to do a double take, because they look so similar to Remus) rushes in. They’re sitting down next to Remus and are asking him if he’s okay.
“Logan’a’,” his mother says through the phone, “you listening?”
“Yes, eomma,” Logan responds, “I apologise.”
“My boss won’t let me out of work early, so I’ll have to come pick you up later, alright?”
“Yes, eomma.”
(It’s only later, when Remus and Logan are both sitting in detention waiting for their parents to come pick them up, does Remus lean over and whisper: "did you think it was cool?"
Logan looks at Remus, making eye contact for less than a second, feeling the corners of his lips perk up.
“Yes,” Logan admits. “I did think it was cool.”)
Variations on a Sin, Ch. 1: Envy
Envy - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
Written for @intrulogicalweek's, The Seven Deadly Sins 2022 creative event.
“Excellent! That’s excellent, Remus.” The steady click clack of the metronome matched the rhythm of Logan's nods. He almost paused, one hand raised as he listened to his newest student reach a particularly difficult spot in the piece. It had taken Logan over a year to master it and he was ready to stop Remus and have him try it again at a slower tempo. Practice makes permanent and rushing over mistakes in an effort to play the piece continuously at the proper speed would only reinforce the errant notes.
Remus’ hands flew over the keys without missing a single note and Logan stopped keeping time with the metronome. His student finished the piece, then turned on the piano bench and looked up at Logan, big green eyes bouncing over his features as though trying to guess his response.
“That was incredible,” he said simply. Remus’ face exploded in a grin and he practically danced in his seat. Logan continued to stare at him, brow furrowed.
“Let’s try it again without the sheet music,” he said, closing the book propped up on the little music stand.
“Yeah, I told you… I can’t sight read,” Remus mumbled. He gnawed at the edge of his mustache as he looked down at the floor. The knocking of his neon green Docs against each other had the same syncopated beat as the opening bars of the piece he'd just played. “That’s why I wanted lessons.”
Logan frowned and put away the music book. “Yes, I recall that’s what you said.” Remus looked up at him, his expression indecipherable. “However I find it difficult to believe you were able to play that entire section by memory.”
“Oh,” the small voice was out of place coming from the well over 6’ tall man. “Well, I suppose I should just play it again, then.”
Logan crossed his arms in front of his chest and briefly wished he’d asked for cash payment up front for this lesson. Anyone who would try to manipulate him with such theatrics was certain to skip out on the invoice. Or bounce a check. He sighed and gestured for the man to play again, ready for this charade to be over.
When Logan had answered the door at precisely 2:55 for a new student lesson, he’d been surprised by the hulking man standing on his doorstep. He’d looked around him and over his shoulder down the path, expecting a sullen child in tow. Instead the man’s face split into a huge, lopsided grin and he offered his hand. “Hey, I’m Remus. Are you Logan Sanders?”
Logan looked up at the man, one eyebrow raised. “You are Remus Hyde?” He shook his hand. Remus’ hand was warm and his long, slender fingers gripped with unexpected strength. “I was expecting a child for a beginner’s lesson,” he murmured, but still, stepped aside and welcomed him in with a small wave of his arm.
“Yeah, that’s not a problem, is it?” Logan blinked at the uncertainty in his voice but nodded quickly.
“No, of course not.”
After Remus had explained that he was, in fact, a professional jazz musician who could play by ear but had never learned to sight read or any proper music theory, Logan began to play bits of various pieces for him to attempt. He sought to identify the outer edges of Remus’ innate ability to set a baseline for their lessons.
Piece after piece, Remus was able to listen to the music and recreate it on the piano. Logan continued to find more complex pieces until finally, he played Beethoven’s Sonata 29. He nearly winced at the opening bars, palms sweaty and heart racing, his own struggles with the piece generating a near Pavlovian stress response. He stopped the recording after the first ten minutes and Remus asked to hear it again, then he began to play.
Remus played beautifully and perfectly. No, not entirely perfectly . He added small flourishes where they didn’t belong, and he played the same three bars twice in succession. But it was lovely. And so Logan had waited until Remus reached the part he’d fought with the most and his student simply breezed past the difficult section.
Cold, slimy envy churned in his stomach when he thought about the hours and hours he’d spent on that single 16-bar section alone. He shook his head. It simply wasn’t possible. But when he removed the sheet music, Remus played the piece again, just as beautifully as before.
“Slide over,” Logan instructed, sharper than he’d intended but he was too annoyed at whatever game this man was playing to apologize. He began to play one of his own compositions. It had never been published and he’d never had the courage to play it before an audience. This man couldn’t possibly have heard it before today.
Logan hadn’t finished the first movement before Remus started picking out a harmony in the very lowest octave. He stopped playing and stared at his confounding student. Remus smiled back. “That’s beautiful. That’s not more Beethoven, though, is it?”
“Can you play it?” was the only response Logan could pull from his brain as he stood, relinquishing the keys. Remus began slowly, incorporating the new harmony, but he’d recreated the melody perfectly.
When he finished, he smiled up at Logan. “So what piece was that?”
Logan blinked down at him, a slow smile blooming on his face.
“Mine.”
Between Two Lives Chapter Two: Gluttony
Masterpost | Previous | Next | Ao3
Summary: Written for Intrulogical Week 2022 @intrulogicalweek
Logan is stuck in Limbo until the Afterlife Registration Bureau processes his case so he can properly move onto a afterlife, whether that is heaven, hell, reincarnation or something else. While wandering around aimlessly, he’s approached by a demon that introduces himself as Remus and offers him a quicker way to the next life.
Content Warnings: Food, Discussion of Past Lives
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Salutations Remus.”
“There you are! I almost thought you changed your mind!” Remus grinned at Logan. Today the demon was dressed in what Logan would consider a more reasonable outfit than the day before with black, ripped pants that covered his entire legs, though paired with the same boots and a shirt that had more colors than Logan had seen since he got to Limbo.
“I apologize, I did not remember the path as well as I thought I did,” he explained, straightening his tie. As a pair the two must look very odd since Logan’s shirt was neatly tucked into his pants and without a wrinkle on it. Add to that his dress shoes and slacks, the two couldn’t have more different styles.
Remus took a look around. “Yeah, this place doesn’t really have anything that makes it stand out, huh? You know what, I’ll take you back to your apartment later, then I can pick you up there next time.”
“That is satisfactory.”
“Great! Let’s get to todays challenge! I need you to take my hand.” Logan raised a brow but didn’t argue. “Better press those teeth together, you don’t wanna bite your tongue!” Remus warned as the other takes his hand and before Logan can ask what he means by that, he’s pulled through a portal of some kind. Thankfully he heeded Remus’ warning because as the land on the other side, the impact would have for sure clacked his teeth together rather forcefully.
“Welcome to Sector P!” Remus announced and Logan takes a moment to look around. They stood on a street, similar to the ones in his own sector, but instead of apartment buildings – though he could see lots of them, too, just a bit further away – it was lined with restaurants. Any food imaginable was advertised with blinking signage, not as brilliant as on earth, they were still in Limbo after all, but it was much livelier than in the sector Logan was used to.
“I was under the impression that all sectors were the same,” he said after clearing his throat.
“Yeah, most would. They don’t really tell you that they group you based on like one defining characteristic.” Remus starts wandering down the road, eyeing the different signs. Logan follows, brows pinched.
“What characteristics?”
“Well, this is the sector for the foodies. There’s one for gamblers, nature lovers, children, animal people and so on. The ARB picks one out that seems to fit the best and sends you there.”
“I understand, I think. But what is my sector about then? It’s a lot emptier.”
“I think Sector G is mostly for loners and intellectuals. You had a library at one point but that apparently led to some fights about books and heated debates.” Remus used air quotes as he said ‘heated’. “It caused more trouble than it was worth, so they just put some random, fancy books in your rooms and hoped that would keep you entertained for long enough.”
Indeed, there had been some books in Logan’s apartment, and despite them not catering to his specific tastes, he had read them since there was nothing else to do, but he finished them a while ago and had no desire to revisit them. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that his neighbors could have different ones he could borrow.
“Here we are!” Remus called, pulling Logan out of his thoughts. They stood in front of a restaurant that advertised their all-you-can-eat buffet. With a grin, Remus led Logan inside. Immediately they were assaulted with an almost overwhelming mix of different smells. They all came from the buffet that had a bigger selection than Logan had ever seen.
“This seems… excessive,” he commented, making Remus giggle.
“You are the kind of person that would say that. You’re challenge for today is to try everything here.”
“Everything?” Logan asked, eyes wide. “There is no way I can eat that much.”
“Sure you can, if you put your mind to it!”
“What about allergies?” Logan didn’t have any, but he was willing to fake one. Remus bellowed out a laugh.
“You’re dead! You can’t have allergies!”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t have a flesh prison anymore that could react badly to anything here. You don’t need to breathe anymore either. You’re a soul, you don’t need sustenance. I could stab you and nothing would happen.”
Logan furrowed his brows in thought. “But I still feel pain. I even cut myself before.”
“That’s because you’re used to having a flesh prison. You expect to feel pain, so you feel pain.”
“You mean it’s like a pavlovian response?”
“Yeah, essentially. It’s a habit your soul isn’t aware of.”
“I see. But then what is the point of the restaurant if no one here needs to eat?”
“Questions like that are exactly why you don’t have any in your sector. Some people enjoy the taste of food, even if it doesn’t get them anything else. Now, no more questions, you don’t have forever.” Remus pulled Logan over to a table where he plops down in a seat. “Go on, get a selection. I’ll wait here.”
“If you insist,” Logan sighs and gets to work. Deciding to start at the salad bar, he filled a bowl with all different types of leaves, toppings, and sauces, before returning to Remus.
“Starting light, are we?” he asked with his typical grin. Logan simply nodded.
“I did not experiment much with food during my lifetime, so I thought I would start with what is familiar.”
“Smart but boring.”
“I am not in the intellectual sector for nothing,” Logan commented dryly, earning another laugh from Remus.
“Tell me why else you’re there,” he asked, propping up his chin on his hands and studying Logan intently as he takes the first bite of his salad.
“I was a professor in life. I have a doctorate in astronomy.”
“Uhh, I love space!” Remus exclaims, wiggling in his seat. “It’s a shame I rarely get to see it. Tell me more.”
So, during the time it took Logan to eat his salad, they discussed space and Logan’s research. In the time it took Logan to fill his plate a second time, this time with an array of appetizers, Remus decided he wanted to change topics.
“What about family, Nerdy Wolverine? Ever got married?” he asked before Logan had even sat back down.
“No. I had a few relationships during my twenties and at the beginning of my thirties, but they didn’t last that long. I never missed it, however.”
“Yeah, that checks out, I guess.”
“What about you?” Logan shot back, a bit offended by Remus dismissive comment.
“I never got married when I was alive, but I’ve got-“
“Wait a minute,” Logan interrupts. “You were alive once? A human, I mean?”
“Yeah. Was ages ago, but yeah.”
“How did you become” – Logan gestures to his horns and wings – “a demon then? I thought you were created like that.”
“There are some demons and angels like that, mostly the oldest ones, but I think most of us are converted from human souls after being alive.”
“Did you choose to become a demon then?”
“Yeah! I was in heaven for a while, but it was like super boring and then I met Janny and he showed me how fun things can be, so I decided to become a demon and stick with him. We’ve been together ever since.”
“Fascinating. What about your family then? If you had one, I mean.”
“I wasn’t really close to anyone but my brother. We were soldiers, born and bred, pretty much, so we didn’t get a lot of parental love if you know what I mean. But me and Ro got along for the most part. Ended up becoming war heroes and died on a battlefield. Got us both into heaven and while I went down to hell, Ro stayed up there and became an angel. We still hang out from time to time.”
“That’s allowed? Aren’t heaven and hell enemies?”
“They used to be but not anymore really since there are way too many souls nowadays. It’s why this whole Limbo system exists; they would be overrun otherwise.”
They continued like that for hours. Remus would ask Logan about his life on earth and Logan would inquire about the afterlife while slowly making his way through the assortment of dishes. Neither of them really paid attention to that though, too enthralled by their discussion.
Eventually Logan arrived at the table with one last plate.
“This should be all that I’m missing. I don’t feel like I ate all that much.”
“Like I said when we came here, you don’t have a flesh prison anymore, you don’t have a stomach you can fill.”
“And I suppose since I was so focused on our discussion, I didn’t even register how much I ate which is why it didn’t trigger the pavlovian response.”
“Sounds legit to me,” Remus shrugged and watched as Logan finished the last of the dishes. “Congrats, Wristwatch, you passed challenge one!”
“Thank you, Remus. I must say this was more delightful than I thought. You are a good conversationalist.”
“Aw, thanks, Lo Lo! I had fun, too. But it’s time to go back. Gimme your hand.”
Logan blinked. “Don’t we have to pay?”
Remus burst out laughing. “Pay with what? We don’t have money here. And have you seen even one employee around here?”
“I haven’t but… Where does the food come from then?”
“Don’t question everything, dork. Now let’s go.”
Logan wanted to protest more but he stopped himself. He had taken up a lot of Remus’ time already and they would meet again soon, so he could postpone his curiosity for now.
“Very well then.” He takes Remus hand and is pulled through another portal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, how was your day with the stuck-up?” Janus asked later that day when Remus once again deposited himself on his lap.
“Fun! Got a lot of info about him. He was a professor for astronomy! He told me lots of space facts!”
“Sounds wonderful, dear.”
“Yeah, and tomorrow I’m gonna take him to Sector W.”
“Isn’t that the sector full of… Are you sure that is a good idea, Muse?”
“It’s gonna be fun, don’t worry!”
“I doubt he will find it funny.”
“I’m gonna make it up to him after. But first I really want to rile him up. He’s hot when he’s passionate.”
Janus sighed. He had a feeling that he would need to step in before the seven challenges were done.
Rest isn't bad
This is for @intrulogicalweek
Remus got Logan to rest after a long day.
Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: DLAMPR (platonic), Intrulogical (up for interp) Characters: Logan and Remus (Ch. 2). Roman (Ch. 1).
Additional Tags: Horror, Body Horror, Attempted Murder, Angst, Undead, AU - Creatures & Monsters, AU - Magic, AU - Urban Fantasy, Dubious Morality
Chapter Specific: Gore, Amputation, Ableism, Mobility Aids Being Taken Away, Vivisection, Depersonalization/Dissociation, Temporary Major Character Death, Protective Remus Summary:
Affronts to nature can hide for only so long. Here lies a collection of stories about the consequences of existence as such. (Promethean AU.)
[Also, I wrote Ch. 2 as a late entry for @intrulogicalweek, I'm designating this for Lust. But in the "lust for knowledge" sense of the word...]
---
California, 1977. Enter Logan (and Remus).
Logan always picked being a science professor of some form or another as a cover identity. He appeared to be somewhere in his forties, locked in by the body that was used to make him. It was a convenient happenstance, that and how otherwise unassuming he looked, making it much easier for him to blend into the field.
He believed the human who lived in this body last was an educator, it was a natural conclusion.
One of the realities of his lineage of Created was that something had to be sacrificed before the corpse could accept the Divine Fire. In his case, it was his right lower leg. He admired how exacting his creator was to leave that as the lightest section taken from the starting materials. There would have been far simpler ways to calculate the weight of his remaining twelve pieces, if it was simply a hand or a foot.
This meant he required a prosthesis, he was glad he was past the days of the wood and leather kinds. He also used forearm crutches, for mobility aids. Even though his slacks covered things up, no one would be able to tell him apart from any ordinary amputee. That is, when the illusion of his humanity remained intact.
At this point, he was teaching chemistry at UC Berkeley. He measured how long it would take for the Disquiet to untenably take hold, typically one year and a half. Two, if he was extra careful to keep his interactions with students and staff to a minimum. Perhaps more, if he was “lucky” and the motley company he kept would behave themselves.
He actually did enjoy teaching. But, it was getting tiresome putting up with getting a few too many questions about himself instead of the curriculum. It was an unfortunate aspect of what he was, one he had limited control in. What he usually sought from his tenure was the access to academic resources to build onto his un-lifelong research on Prometheans like himself and other alchemies.
Logan just wanted to sip his coffee peacefully in the corner of the lunch room. Despite all his best efforts to look busy reviewing some papers, he was singled out by a face he didn’t recognize. She was a woman of comparable age to his physical form, rolling a case of materials behind her, and taking a hand out for him to shake. “Well, hello there! Name’s Dorothy, Dorothy Wilson. I’m new.”
He sighed, shook her hand, and stayed cordial, “Logan. Logan Gray. What department are you in?”
“Anatomy & Physiology, I’m still just a probationary assistant. Started just before the semester kicked off, you know?”, she nervously rubbed the back of her neck, “How about you?”
“Ah, you must be helping in the joint program we have with UCSF?”
She nodded, he continued, “I’m in Organic Chemistry, as professor.”
No point in giving her more than absolutely necessary, he’d already been working there for a year or so.
She briefly looked at his nearby crutches before talking some more, “… I was – oh, never mind. Look at the time… I have to book it before Mr. Anderson chews me out. Later days!”
-
One thing that attenuated the effects Logan’s presence had on his surroundings was a throng of other Created that he had gotten to know. Their different humors would usually balance things out. They typically had their own paths to follow, but one of them would always orbit him closely. He was the Wretched one with an unusual amount of sanguinity. Remus.
“Hey, DORK! What’s cracking!?”
Logan was adding fuel to his furnace in the campus’s outdoor seating area, in other words, eating some lunch. Remus was dressed like one of those metalheads – black studded jacket and an absurd number of pins. All the big names at the time, like Queen and KISS. Remus would absolutely not shut up when he went to San Francisco to watch Black Sabbath, wearing one of their band Ts.
The illusion around Remus had a few tells: heterochromia, other mostly subtle asymmetries and ambiguities.
“Is something broken?”, Logan glanced around himself.
Remus chuckled, “How’s “life ” treating you, my man?”
“I swear, the sheer number of note cards I’ve required since…”
Remus rolled his eyes and brusquely sat next to him. “Pink Floyd’s showing in Oakland, next month. Wanna come with me?”
The way Remus wiggled his eyebrows made Logan groan. “I… appreciate having that kind of notice. I will think about it.”
“It’s gonna be off the hook! Catch ya on the flip-side!”
Logan knew Remus laid into the slang just to annoy him and he seemed absolutely committed in doing so. Still, Remus sparked the most of his innate sense of curiosity among them.
They waved at each other and Remus sauntered off doing who knows what.
-
Logan had taken to rotating where he ate his meals and other work while he wasn’t instructing. It helped to disperse some of his own influence a little more. That plus he didn’t want to ruin the reagents the labs needed. It could get annoying when the various aqueous preparations dipped in pH when he didn’t intend for it. Or when components desiccated without deliberation – both scenarios could be extremely dangerous. Thankfully, he had been learning how to reverse those effects more consciously.
Despite these efforts, Dorothy seemed to hone in on him more and more often.
He was grading some papers in his office when he heard a knock and her voice, “Mr. Gray?”
Logan restrained some irritation, “I’m afraid I am quite busy, ma’am. Did you need something?”
She shyly walked into the room with her hands wrapped around a binder, “Um, my department needs more formalin and water conditioners.”
“You should know this isn’t the proper way to put in an order.”
“Y-yes, but-”
“Why are you really here?”
“I-I guess I just wanted to get to know you… you’re really hard to get a hold of.”
Logan wanted to say, “Don’t you think I intended it that way, miss?”
He simply said, “I’m a busy man.”
Dorothy eyed his crutches again, Logan couldn’t pretend to ignore that anymore, “You seem overly interested in my mobility aids. Will answering some questions satisfy you?”
Her shoulders dropped, “Erm, yes. Well, we have had some donations with polio and other things…”
“No, I did not have polio.”
“Oh.”
Logan debated heavily on how much to say, arriving at, “It was a traumatic affair and I do not wish to retell it.”
A half truth. His creation was both grisly and distinctly surgical. But, he would describe his experiences more akin to the lives of humans who were born with a similar “disfigurement”. It was all he knew, and as long as he had his devices, he didn’t care that much. Other people made it a problem, really.
She flushed, “… jeepers, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t’ve asked.”
His thoughts concurred on that note. “Is that quite all?”
After she nervously looked around the room, “I-I guess I’ll find a better time to pick your brain, Professor. I-I’ll be going now.”
“I’m sure to see you later.”
At that, she turned away and out of his office.
He sorely wished the breadcrumbs would be enough for people to get off his case.
-
“Looks like somebody has an admirer, I’m almost jealous!”
“Remus, don’t-”
Logan met Remus at one of the nearby diners, for the evening. He was used to the stares – the two of them dressed quite differently. Remus laid back, baring his incredibly crooked teeth in an exaggerated grin, “You gotta give me the lowdown!”
Logan sighed, “I have this handled.”
Remus was in the middle of squirting mustard into his chocolate shake and rolled his eyes, “Sure, you do. But in case you don’t, I could always lend you a-”
“Remus, please don’t demonstrate that idiom here. I’d very much like to not whip up another angry mob.”
He pouted and crossed his arms, “Fiiine, be a total drag why don’tcha?”
Logan changed the subject, “How’s being a roadie treating you?”
Remus clapped his hands and got to blathering, “Oh, MAN.”
-
Dorothy bumped into Logan again in the hallways of campus.
Logan was about to make his way to his classroom, before someone had come barreling against him with a rolling file box. He groaned on the floor, disoriented and the torque on his residual leg flared with pain. He eventually made eye contact with her, for the decades he’d existed he’s seen this expression in humans before. But he never could be completely sure how to read it.
There was an all-too-long pause before she finally moved to assist, “I-I’m sorry, I was in such a hurry and-”
Logan was about to reflexively downplay the incident, to not make this anymore of a scene.
She noticed his leg looked a little wrong and blurted out, “I-Is that broken? Do I need to go call for help? Can I-?”
Logan winced and got to sitting up, “No. No. Fine, if you absolutely MUST know…”
All Logan did was draw up his pant leg enough to show that it was indeed an artificial limb.
She gasped, “Did- did you serve in ‘Nam? How did it-?”
“No, and I suggest you drop it. Now will you help me up? I need to go... readjust myself after this.”
“R-right-”, she awkwardly did just that.
He didn’t bother saying anything else as he left her to her devices.
He knew deep down that this woman was starting to unravel.
He just wanted to get through the semester.
-
The dull throbbing in Logan’s residual leg lingered and his prosthesis would aggravate things. So, he decided it best to leave it at home, for a few days. He would neatly fold up and pin his slacks’ pant leg around the stump, as he went about the campus.
It unfortunately garnered further stares in his direction as he went about his business. He did his best to ignore it.
Remus had seen him in this state before, catching him roving in a quieter hallway, “Somebody’s looking more of a downer than usual, huh?”
“How does the phrase go? Mind your potatoes.”
Remus cackled, “C’mon, you know me better than that, Lo-Lo.”
“That woman essentially tackled me. I’m simply recovering.”
Logan was not nearly as strong as others in his throng and a lighter weight than he appeared. In a pinch, he could rely on some abilities that uniquely arose from his Nepri lineage. He could even use them to aid his fellow Created. But, they were very costly to invoke. He knew he was walking a fine line.
“Bummer. Should I tail ya ‘round some more? Just in case you need to bug outta here? Get rid of the witnesses, too?”
Remus, on the other hand, was no trifle. He had almost an entire foot over Logan, and a body built for perilous situations. He had used that to his advantage more times than Logan could ever count. Oftentimes gratuitously.
“You’re just going to do it, even if I say no. Just. For the love of Archimedes, try not to antagonize my colleagues unnecessarily. Please?”
“I’m not making promises I can’t keep! Anyways, ‘gave the band the skinny – well, the important stuff.”
Logan shook his head, but held a small smile while doing so.
-
After normal operation hours, Logan was in the chemistry storeroom.
He was making preparations for the last experiments of the semester. Soon, he’d just need to spend time proctoring and grading finals. As much as he enjoyed his work, he was looking forward to joining Remus in watching the “In The Flesh Tour”.
He was checking the components and equipment needed to synthesize raspberry ketone. This would be just to demonstrate the reactions, not at an industrial scale. Also, Logan had a fondness for the Rubus genus.
He thought along, “There’s enough of the 4-hydroxybenzaldehyde precursor for all the stations, good. We don’t have time to reorder that, now.”
He would be served well by an assistant doing this job, but he knew better. After the first couple times he tried that, they had ended miserably. At least one somehow spilled an almost full stock bottle of phenolphthalein indicator on themselves, too distracted by questioning his peculiarities. Despite ample time under the emergency shower station – said assistant wound up deeply regretting the… gastrointestinal effects.
Seated on a lab stool, scanning the shelves, he thought aloud, “Acetone, caustic soda, muriatic acid…”
While he was turned away from the exit, he heard a voice. Dorothy.
“H-hey, sunshine! I was just-”
Logan stiffened a moment, “Is there something you need?”
She had a strange smile as she approached him, with another seat she dragged in from the lab outside. “Can we just talk , you look like you need a break!”
“This is highly unprofessional.”
Dorothy sat down on her stool and produced a tape recorder. She hit play, it was his and Remus’s last conversation. Rather, some barely coherent fragments of it. Logan cursed internally, remembering the building he was in when it happened.
She appended the cassette, “Why would a chemistry professor need to hang out with a thug? I’m not some kind of a monster who’d dare lay a hand on the lame! The insinuation that I would, is bordering on slanderous!”
Logan gave her a withering glare, not moving, “That was a private conversation, and I don’t remember consenting to this.”
“I’m not trying to threaten you, I’m just asking some questions!”
“You’ve boxed me in and are attempting some frankly spurious blackmail.”
She ignored that, “I’ve heard of your legendary expulsion rate. Why is that?”
“The lab is dangerous, they didn’t take the rules seriously enough.”
She scooted closer, “I’ve asked the rest of the faculty around here. And no one really KNOWS you!”
“Can’t someone simply enjoy their privacy?”
Closer still, “I checked. You didn’t really go to Princeton, did you? Who are you, really?”
“Perhaps-”
“What?”
He reached for her device and said, “Apologies, care to rewind? I missed the part where any of that was mentioned.”
“NO! I need a complete record of this!”
The motors running the tape through became the only sound in the room, for a few moments.
She managed to pull it away from him, but all he needed to do was brush his hand on it. It wasn’t the best option, but transmuting it was the only one he had at the time.
The relative silence was rapidly interrupted by a horrific whine and a few loud pops. Dorothy yelped and dropped the thing. It didn’t snap, it shattered. As if it was left to rot in the sun for decades, a brittle shadow of something useful.
She was stunned, “I-I just bought that! What did-!?”
She then saw something dripping near it on the floor. Something unmistakable.
Dorothy shot up, knocking over her seat, eyes widening at him, “Are you bleeding?”
The blood was seeping from his residual leg, gradually increasing in flow.
He used the only excuse he had, “No thanks to you running into me!”
She studied him more closely, seeming to notice more things wrong about him, “What’s that smell? W-what are you-!?”
He couldn’t do anything and he had to reserve the energy for what was bound to happen next.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the sight of her picking up the fallen stool and swinging at him. And she appeared far, far too happy about it.
-
Logan heard Dorothy’s voice.
“Thanks for the solid. Uh-uh, don’t look at what’s under there, I didn’t PAY you to ask any questions.”
Logan’s head was throbbing and was beginning to stir. It was dark, he was lying on something cold, and covered in some kind of bag.
“Whatever, dude. I gotta split, anyways...”
He heard the stranger shuffle out of the room, he speculated they were one of the student body.
There was a beat of silent dread, before he heard the bag unzip.
The first thing he saw was Dorothy looming over him with a terrifying grin. “I KNEW it. Well, I won’t know everything yet until…”
He saw a glint in her hand, a pair of scissors. Logan still felt too heavy and dazed to react.
She cut open his shirt and beheld his thin frame. He was covered in wrappings that would otherwise not be visible when his facade was up. His creation gave him the appearance of a corpse in process of being mummified – shrunken in, emaciated. And that fueled her fascination more.
Despite seeming so desiccated, the sacrificed leg was bleeding endlessly and thickly into the dissection table’s drain. He still couldn’t summon the ability to move.
“I wonder what you look like inside…”
She snipped some of the wrappings around his torso, he bitterly grunted, “I’m sure this will be… a learning opportunity of a lifetime for you.”
He imagined Dorothy’s enthusiasm would shake any human in his position, “I’m glad we see eye to eye on that!”
Logan could feel himself dropping into a state he was all too familiar with, as what remained of any other humor than phlegm drained away and his emotions deadened. He too was curious about how this would play out with Dorothy, in a completely detached way.
He knew this mental state was dangerous to be in, yet, the Torment’s pull called. It was a comforting numbness, really. It helped him deal with what she was about to do to him. He wondered if he should feel lucky that this had only been his second time in this position. Perhaps he grew too overconfident.
When she plunged the scalpel along the ancient flax stitching holding his body together, he stared down at the tacky viscera glistening in her hands.
Her smile was rictus with mania at this point, Logan idly thought there was frankly only one person it suited. It probably wasn’t her.
“W-wow the condition of these tissues look nothing like the other specimens around here!”
Logan slurred, “Oh, I can imagine.”
She was startled into a brief moment of lucidity, “H-how are you still-!?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I am simply not human. At times I wonder why I-”
The crazed look in her eyes returned as she completed the improvised Y-incision, she had a rather convenient guide to follow in that. She eagerly reflected the skin back and stared at how things pulsed unnaturally. At how the colors were all so wrong, it was disgusting and captivating.
Logan started to feel his consciousness drift again. He wondered about that too, until he realized she had carelessly nicked a few arteries in the process.
Just as the curtain of black approached, he forced himself to remember that he couldn’t let the journey end here. He still had so much to learn...
-
There was screaming.
There was laughing.
And more screaming.
Logan groaned and blinked open his eyes. He was still lying on the dissection table and quickly saw who was making all the noise. He muttered, “… Remus?”
Logan’s facade was still dropped and the wounds Dorothy inflicted partially healed, Logan felt a moment of relief that he had the reserves to pull himself back. It was going to take a lot to access the ability again.
Remus stole a glance at him, “Oh hey, I KNEW this skirt was getting a little TOO wally wally, blood and dolly. Catch my drift?”
Remus was looking at a spot on the floor, Logan followed. Dorothy was moaning and bloody, in no state to say anything.
Logan looked at Remus, “Should I ask what you did? Or what do you plan to do with her?”
“Probably not!”
“Noted. Can you-?”, Logan glanced down at the incision site.
Remus knew what he meant when sparks started to generate from the now-visible bolt in his neck. He rubbed his hands together, held them over Logan, and sent arcs through him. That finished Logan’s return to his previous state. No matter how many times he’d witness the healing power of electricity on the Created, it fascinated him.
Feeling a lot better, Logan spoke, “Much thanks.”
Remus’s image flickered back to his human facade and handed Logan his crutches, “Now, I guess we gotta blow this Popsicle stand!”
“Quite.”
Before they left campus, Remus stuffed her in the anatomy lab closet in a rather compromising position. He reasoned, “No one’s gonna believe her. Trust me.”
“Hmmm… the bleach and acetone was an… inspired choice.”
“I know right!?”
-
May 9th, 1977. Pink Floyd at the Oakland Coliseum.
It was near the end of the set for the night. The band just finished performing “Money”.
Waters announced the last song to wind it all down, “This one’s- this one’s got a very quiet beginning...”
The crowd was cheering and whistling as the Hammond organ opened the track. Then, the tenor sax and guitars accompanied in a slow, jazzy composition. Eventually, Waters started singing:
Us... and them... And after all we're only ordinary men...
Logan didn’t look like it for much of the event, but he was just as thrilled as Remus being there.
He knew it was time to start over somewhere else, after this was through. He heard the University of Tampa had a good biochemistry branch… and more favorable meteorological conditions.
Are we allowed to have other relationships involving logan or remus (ex. Loceit, intruality, etc), as long as intrulogical is the main focus? - @transfemlogan
Yes!!
Just be sure to tag the relationships, but yes, please!
Variations on a Sin, Ch. 4: Gluttony
Prev - Gluttony - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] Written for @intrulogicalweek's Seven Deadly Sins Creative Week
CW: references to suicidal ideation, alcohol
“Good afternoon, Teach!” Remus grinned at Logan from the front door, head bopping to some mental melody. “Oh, nice tie! Wheat field With Crows? You know everyone picks Starry Starry Night as their favorite but that one’s mine.”
He gave Logan a little bow and then revealed the coffees hiding behind his back. “Black coffee, it’s a small, I noticed you didn’t finish yours the last time and I thought maybe you were trying to keep your caffeine intake low at this time of the day. But you did say you take your first coffee of the day differently, which sounded like you do have more than just the one coffee in the morning,” Remus laughed as he hung his coat.
“Unless you just slam them back like a drinking game! Oh, how fun would that be to have a coffee drinking game instead of alcohol?”
Smoothing down his tie with a small smile, Logan turned and closed the door. “Good afternoon, Remus, and thank you, for both the coffee and the compliment. I have quite a few Van Gogh ties, actually, but, yes, this one is my favorite, as well.”
“Hm, a man with good taste,” Remus winked and started toward the piano, then suddenly swirled around to face Logan again. “Oh, right, about taste, you said your first coffee of the day was different from the rest. How do you take your morning coffee? Are you an espresso snob or do you hunker down with a big ol’ latte and the news?”
He laughed as he sat backwards on the bench, drained the last of his coffee, then flipped his legs around, flexing his fingers. “Ha, that reminds me of the coffee gremlin TikTok, that’s what I’m like in the morning,” he laughed again. “Need that caffeine! So, Teach, what should I start with today?”
Logan blinked, mouth opening, then closing again. Finally, he nodded and brought out the stack of staff paper they’d been adding to over the past three week’s worth of lessons. “I was planning to resume our work to transcribe your composition. The extra time together has certainly helped your progress.” He sat down on the bench next to Remus and smiled. “Does that work for you?”
A bright grin split Remus’ face and he nodded, heels tapping on the floor. “That sounds great,” he nodded and ran a little trill over the keys. “Where should I start?”
The next hour flew by, with Remus playing and replaying sections, sometimes slowing down and repeating more complex measures a few times as Logan’s pencil flew over the page. When they filled a page with notation, Logan would play the piece off the sheet music to confirm he’d captured it correctly.
When they’d first started, Remus would just listen and remember where he needed to fix something. By now, Remus listened with the pencil in his hand, following along and marking the music as Logan played.
Ordinarily, at least.
Today, when Logan finished, he looked up and Remus sat staring at him, mouth stretched in a smile. “You play beautifully, Teach.”
Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, hoping the movement hid the flush he felt grow over his face. “Merely adequate, I am sure.”
“No.” Remus reached for his arm. “No, your whole face glows when you play. And your eyes are so sharp, laser-focused on the sheet music.”
“I am merely seeking to ensure I play what’s on the page and not what I remember.”
“It’s captivating,” Remus whispered.
Staring down at Remus’ hand on his arm, Logan opened his mouth but before any words could come out. Remus’ phone began to buzz in his pocket. They were sitting close enough that Logan could feel it, so he slid over a few inches and cleared his throat again. “Is that your alarm for the lesson?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Remus watched him as he pulled out his phone to silence it, then put it back in his pocket. His knee bounced before he suddenly jumped up and started to gather his things. "Yeah, I should go." He rushed toward the door and Logan hurried to see him out. “Um, same time tomorrow?” It sounded more like a genuine question than his now-standard farewell typically sounded.
“Yes, I am looking forward to it,” Logan said, smiling as he held open the door.
Remus’ smile was so sudden, so bright, that Logan realized he hadn’t smiled since he’d picked up his phone. “Well… see you, Teach,” he said, giving Logan a little wave from the bottom of his porch steps before he took off down the street toward the bus.
The next afternoon, Remus arrived early again, proudly presenting two more coffees. He was more talkative than usual, even asking questions as he played. Uncharacteristically, he would then miss notes or skip entire sections of the piece. The constant questions made it difficult for Logan to track both the corrections and his queries, often failing to keep up with one while he barely managed the other. As the lesson wore on, Remus’ hands shook against the keys, even while he was playing, and finally Logan stopped him.
“Remus,” his voice was soft, barely audible over the sound of the piano, and Remus jumped when he touched his arm. “Remus, are you alright? You seem a little…”
“Jumpy?” Remus finished, tapping his toes arhythmically against the foot pedals with a nervous little laugh. “Yeah, I… um… I didn’t sleep well last night. You know how it is. Too many thoughts, too many ideas, but too tired to finish any of them. It… yeah.” He turned back to the piano, picking out a new melody, his smile strained.
Logan noticed he kept replaying the same pattern with different notes, as though he was catching mistakes that only he would know. “Would it be helpful to end early today so you can rest?”
“No, I… I can do it.” His fingers trembled against the keys. “I just need…” He tucked his hands under his legs on the bench. He looked up at Logan and suddenly his smile dissolved. “Yeah. I’ll go. Y—you’re right… some… some rest would be good.”
Nodding, Logan gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “You’ll come back fresh in two days.”
“Two? Oh, right… It’s Wednesday.” His next lesson was Friday afternoon. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m… I’ll head out. You know, I gotta make a run to Bartell’s anyway, you know, before they close.” He nodded, hands shaking as he pulled on his jacket.
“Are you quite certain you do not need a ride? I’d be happy to…”
“Nah, nah, that’s okay, I mean, thanks but… You have another student coming in just a bit anyway. It’s only four blocks. I grew up in Capitol Hill, I know how to walk.”
“Very well,” Logan nodded, watching Remus’ movements carefully. He was tense but still had that little bounce to his steps and his head bopped to the rhythm of whatever song was running through his mind. “See you Friday?”
Remus grinned, a little shaky, but still a smile, “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
~~~
After the door closed behind him, Remus turned around and stared at the autumn wreath on the door. Logan had changed it since his first visit. That one had been jet black, with bright orange and purple Halloween colored bows and little cartoon witches and pumpkins and shit all over it.
Remus wondered what Logan’s winter wreath would look like. He bet it was one of those really classy snowscape ones with silver and deep blue velvet, obviously something that could work for Christmas but not so in your face that it made you want to puke peppermint mocha all over it. Maybe Logan added little bells that rang when he opened the door, a little jingle jingle for every student who came and went. He bet it'd be beautiful. Yeah. Yeah, he’d like to see that.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, the cold wet air not unusual for this late in November, but it left Remus’ hands stiff and achy and it made it a bitch to play. It would get better if he kept moving.
Head down, hiding from the cold wind, he started down the street and before he even realized it, he was inside the store.
“Good evening, sir, welcome to Battell’s!” the cashier said automatically, barely looking up. He didn’t really give a fuck and neither did she, just doing her job so when you took the shitty little survey at the end you could say you were greeted.
Remus headed straight to the customer service counter. He needed replacement blades for his electric razor and nowadays they kept all that shit under lock and key. He rocked back and forth, Logan’s composition playing on a loop in his mind. He was able to repeat parts or tun it backwards or speed it up. There was this one part section the highest notes just repeated and he liked to play that part again and again in his mind, backward and forward like a dance, Fred and Ginger running through his mind. Yeah.
Fred Estaire could dance but Ginger Rogers did it all backwards and in fucking thee inch heels, just like Logan’s music. Who gave a fuck if he could play? Remus was born with a piano in his hands, slapping at the keys at Bubbe’s house before he was tall enough to see them. And Logan?
Logan had to fucking work at it. And he still made it look easy when he played.
Remus stood right in front of the little round Norelco blades as he waited. Nice and round, silver mesh covering the blades to make 'em safe. They were a bitch to take apart and you usually ended up tearing up your fingers when you tried just enough to remind you why it was a a bad idea.
Straight blades were easier.
Those were at the other end of the display. Little green and white boxes, single sided or double. Double was nice. No matter how fucked up you were, you really couldn’t do it wrong. He stepped a little closer, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The bright green labels reminded him of the old Crayola crayon boxes. Bubbe had one of those, too. She’d refill it with the cheap ones, but Remus always knew.
He stepped a little closer, staring at the boxes.
Just buying them wouldn’t hurt, right? They were useful. A tool to keep around the house. Opening boxes, envelopes, wrists.
“Can I help you?” the bored voice of an angel asked.
“Uh, yeah. I need blades,” Remus stared at her bright pink eyeglass frames. He wondered if Logan had always worn thick black ones or if he’d ever had an Elton John phase with big sparkly ass things.
“What kind, sir?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the eighteen different styles behind her. Her voice was tired but she wasn’t rushing him and he appreciated that shit more than she would ever fucking know.
“Still deciding,” he said, playing Logan’s composition in his head. He stood there just long enough for the clerk to start to walk away.
He wanted to see that wreath.
“Uh, yeah, lemme get the Norelcos. Twelve pack,” he finally said, pointing to the round little safety blades in their cartridges. His eyes darted up to the top shelf near the register as he took out his wallet and his debit card.
“Anything else?” she asked, leaning on the counter and shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her feet must be killing her. They didn’t even bother to keep a fucking mat back there. Call OSHA, hon, or at least tell your boss you’re gonna.
Again, he looked at the shelf above her head.
“And a bottle of Jack, please." He watched her take it down. "Um, make that two.”
