[ Logan's sitting on his bed at the Institute. his
gift from Tank is lying beside him. ]
Lotta new faces on this thing. Just so we're clear: this place don't get any less crazy. Welcome to the goddamn funhouse.
[ he pauses, scratches the back of his hand, clearly having trouble reaching the point of this communication. he doesn't look precisely
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[ooc: She sent him a leather motorcycle jacket, 1940's style.]
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[ ooc: Aw. c: He'd have gotten her a book of poetry and left it in her room at the Institute. ]
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[ooc: Awww. She'll snuggle underneath the covers and read it.]
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