Too Pink for me - Logan Howlett +18

O2: The Wolf and the Rabbit

Paintings were never really loved for what they were.

People admired the beauty, the reflection of the artist's imagination captured on the canvas.

But could anyone truly love a painting by seeing beyond its surface, embracing only its meaning?

When has anyone ever appreciated a painting while being fully aware of the story it really tells?

A sea of praise, received by those who simply admired the artist's skillful creation.

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Leaving the ancient lands of Europe behind and drawing closer to the vast American landscape, we find ourselves in Westchester County, New York. Unlike the beautiful Venice, cradled by the sea, Westchester was a colder place, embraced by forests.

Away from the bustling city, nestled within the woods, stood the X-Mansion, a classical structure amidst the modern cities of the United States. Majestic in its presence, this grand building, now a school, was reminiscent of the old European buildings, known for their classical architecture, fit for kings.

The view was breathtaking for the young Italian, who anxiously moved her legs beneath the soft fabric of her floral dress. She could feel the cold seeing through the structure of the Jet-X, an electrifying sensation that reminded her she was no longer in warm, sunlit Venice. Everything about this journey thrilled her, and through the material of the vehicle, she could already see the mansion in the distance, making her even more nervous. Her lips stretched into an eager smile, while her hands gently traced her thighs in a nervous gesture.

Calm down, calm down, Rosellina. You must make a good impression.

The artist reminded herself. Although she knew she rarely needed words to charm others.

"One step at a time, one hope, then another," she whispered to herself, as if it were a mantra.

Ororo, from the pilot's seat, heard Rosellina's voice although she couldn't make out the words from afar, and simply smiled with amusement. She knew the girl was nervous.

"You haven't slept at all," Ororo remarked, referencing the advice she had given Rosellina a few hours earlier. Rosellina lifted her head and laughed nervously, nodding. She remembered how Ororo had suggested she sleep, as it would be a long journey, but her nerves and the anticipation of this new chapter in her life had kept her wide awake.

"Don't worry, no one there bites," Jean assured with a smile.

Ororo glanced sideways at Jean, though a particular individual was on her mind-someone who should keep his thoughts private and often blurred them out impulsively.

"Well, not all of them," Ororo murmured under her breath, reminding herself that she would need to have a word with that person upon Rosellina's arrival.

More than a person, Ororo had in mind a man whose behavior often bordered on the animalistic.

And there he was, pacing around the mansion, trying to stave off his boredom.

Logan.

Logan Howlett, the infamous Wolverine. A man who was blunt, stoic, with more than a few anger issues, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. He was highly allergic to what others thought of him, indifferent to whether his actions were right or wrong in their eyes. A man with nearly two centuries of life behind him, far from being a model human being, and certainly no friend of polite conversation.

Logan hated many things, and his list was longer than any spoiled child's Christmas wishlist. Not to mention, humanity itself disgusted him. His happiness was rooted in smoking and drinking. He smoked like a poor devil with a serious nicotine problem-more smoke billowed from his mouth than from a chimney in winter. He drank so much that it was common for his natural scent to be a mix of alcohol, sweat, and a hint of something that could only be described as the essence of the woods.