Montana - The Grass is Always Greener

[SnowDog]

Montana Wilderness

The light trickled faintly through the branches of evergreen trees, the sounds of nature undisturbed by Logan’s presence as he trekked through the forest. A part of him wondered what was so dangerous about this guy. Dr. Banner must be hiding something crazy given how those secret government types had put forward a lot of money just to locate this guy. Seemed too easy, too simple to bring on the Wolverine for such a task, but the money he’d get for this could benefit his task to helping his long standing amnesia.

Logan stepped up against the nearest birch tree and placed his gloved hand over the bark, tracing the natural crevices and divots throughout with his fingers. Something didn’t feel right about this place... Something in the air was sour and the unfamiliarity of it left Logan feeling uneasy. A few more gently placed steps and the scent of smoke broke through the pungent aroma that was staining his nostrils. Logan had the scent, now it was just a matter of seeing if his target was the source of said smoke. Logan’s pace picked up as he followed the smell of smoke in the air.

The tree line began to thin out as Logan started to encroach on the upcoming clearing, a small cabin hidden within the forest lie just ahead in the center of said clearing. Wolverine took a couple of cautionary sniffs before walking forward. That was the source of the smoke alright, but that sour scent from before seemed to pop back up again, stronger and more potent now.

This must be the guy. Logan pondered watching the windows of the cabin for any sign of activity within. This is as remote as remote gets.

[Bruce Banner- Hulk]

Embers crackled, dancing up through the plumes of billowing smoke that stretched from ash sprayed logs. Across the wooden floor streaks of amber grabbed onto every surface, from the small neatly placed table that sat by the far wall, straddled by two simply carved chairs, to the counter by which hopefully the only soul for miles stood. Coffee stained mugs, chipped plates and foggy glass tumblers filled the cupboard Bruce peered into, his hand reaching in and taking one of the cups before giving it a quick inspection for cleanliness. On the stove, the kettle purred away as it boiled, its small tuffs of smoke laughed at by the roaring furnace that lit the room. Above the sink faded curtains were tucked in and over one another in some fashion, allowing only a small slither of natural light creep through. Within a stretch and a yawn, the water had brewed and into the cup it was poured, only disturbed by the bag of camomile added, swirled and then removed.

For almost a month this had been the life of the esteemed Doctor Banner. Repetitive thoughtful actions were the name of the game, adjusting to a life unable to let go of the wheel for fear of the other guy. It hadn’t got any easier, though the isolated location helped, even with the ever-present fear of the returning pulling up the drive ever present. However, Bruce judged it to be the off season for hunters and this cabin very much belonged to a man of the sport, or so he thought as he glanced at the grotesque expression of the mounted elk head. A gas station was four miles away, the nearest town ten times that. Getting to Montana was a trip he couldn’t recall, only spurts of memories that didn’t feel like his that brought him out into the middle of nowhere. A month since his last accident, the X marks on the calendar said as much. The only thing to get angry at out here was himself, which was easier than he’d liked to admit.

Lifting the warm cup, he took a sip while inspecting his new home, for as long as he could call it that. By the fire the basket where he’d been storing wood was nigh empty, its remains snapping and twisting on the flames. Day time usually kept him indoors away from the world, but it was a short walk to where he remembered a fallen tree had landed ready to be split up for fuel. A wool shirt two sizes too large hung from him has he bent down to collect the basket, his glasses falling to the edge of his nose as he did so. He corrected them as he walked to and tentatively opened the door out into the cool morning air. As his sight was returned to him so was a sudden feeling of dread at the figure that stood before him, a short, grizzled figure that didn’t look as alien to this outdoor life as he did. Dropping the basket to his feet slowly he made his best attempt at a reassuring smile and took a step closer, “Hey there friend, sorry if this is your place. I just needed a place to stay for a night, hope that’s okay, I’m happy to clear out.” There was a look to this man that unsettled him more than merely the thought of him standing there, a wildness in his eye that Bruce knew all too well. He didn’t think this was his home either.