(Untitled)

[sixgoodreasons]

WHO: Logan (sixgoodreasons) and open
WHERE: The Tool Shed, a dive bar on the East Side known for its lenient attitude towards imPorted.
WHEN: 6th & 7th of July, late evening to early morning.
WARNINGS: Violence, language, drinking, country music.
SUMMARY: Just another Tuesday night.
FORMAT: Whatever feels natural.

Comments

inside the bar

[sixgoodreasons]

[doubleoohbaby]

More often than not, bars are a place for James to pick up his latest lay and spend the night getting the attention he's so well known for. He caters to female requests, ordering vodka martinis, quoting his famous lines and dressing dapper to keep the masses happy.

But Bond doesn't feel much like that recently. There's the selfish urge to do what he wants, avoiding the crowds and retreating to somewhere off the beaten track. Country music isn't really his thing but a place like this is saving him a lot of stares from 'fans'. He'd not really been wanting or expecting company tonight, but he can't help but notice the appearance of a familiar figure. James recognises that face.

[sixgoodreasons]

Weird kid dispensed of, Logan heads on inside the Shed, stepping through the open door into a bubble of beer farts, air conditioning and Lynyrd Skynyrd's greatest hits.

Out of habit, he scopes the room as he heads towards the bar. He counts twenty-eight people including the bartender: pretty normal for the time of night. Most of them are either staring at their drinks or watching the baseball game on the TV above the pool table. A couple glance up at Logan and look away again, not too interested in a short sweaty guy with too much arm hair. One, though, goes on looking.

Logan catches his eye and immediately recognises him, from both the network and the only half-decent movie in the whole franchise. He looks tired, and out of place.

Sliding in at the bar a few stools down from Mr. Bond, Logan signals the bartender with a wave of his hand, more than content to ignore the other man for as long as possible.

[holycablechrist]

Nathan was getting stir-crazy. The lack of action in the City was actually unsettling and it did not help the heightening tension between himself and his remaining family. He was still renting out a motel room with mercenary money on the outskirts of the City. Domino was somewhere else that night which left Nathan to do his own thing as it was usually for them. He needed a drink maybe a bar fight and found one of the usual bars he frequented within the City.

And on this night, he would just happen to find Logan and a few other familiar faces seated at the bar. He welcomed himself a spot one seat away from Logan and ordered a beer. As he waited for his drink, he turned to Logan. "Come here often?"

[sixgoodreasons]

The best thing about the Tool Shed was that it served two kinds of imports: the kind that came in a bottle and the kind that came with scars and a metal arm. The bartender barely batted an eye at Cable as he pushed Logan's Molson across the bar and took the big man's order. There was plenty weirder in this City, that was for damn sure.

Logan glanced over at Nathan, grunted, and pulled his drink towards him. "That a line, Summers?"

[holycablechrist]

He took his beer from the bartender, popping off the cap with his mind (it had become like second nature to him since having his powers back to a higher-level). He drank before actually giving Logan a proper answer. The long wait between missions might have made him feel more mischievous than usual to compensate.

"I must have walked into the wrong bar." Nate put his beer down. "Scott let you out tonight?"

Re: inside the bar

[wasalways]

The events had rolled over her like waves, barely allowing her a catch of breath. The last month had been full of coping -- with living, with being ...uncomfortably human again, in ways she hadn't remembered before, and in ways she wasn't sure she could say she missed.

Still, Jean Grey had to face more frightening things in the past. It was time to face some very different threats to her comfort. A drink wouldn't be bad, either.

"If I pretend it's just a coincidence that I'm here, would you believe me?" Her voice bloomed from behind Logan, the object of some very compulsive thoughts she had been having for weeks now. Her tone meant to carry a more flirtatious song to it, but instead it was slightly timid. She knew she'd never be bothering Logan, and that he had probably braced himself for her presence the moment he could sense her coming in.

The toe of her high-heeled shoe clicked against the leg of the stool beside him.

[sixgoodreasons]

He'd been avoiding her. Ever since their first meeting, he'd been avoiding her. He wasn't proud of it, not even a little, but he couldn't help himself. It was a special kind of torture, seeing her walking around, smelling her scent, hearing her laugh. The colour of her hair in the sunlight. And all the time, knowing that if they ever got to go home, if he ever got to go home, she wouldn't be there. When he looked at her he felt like he was looking at a ghost, and she deserved better than to see that in his eyes.

But of course Jean had found him. Or maybe he'd found her. Wasn't that how it worked? Always waiting for each other.

Of all the bars in all the world, darlin', you gotta walk into mine.By now he was onto the harder stuff, and it burned down the back of his throat even as he heard her heels click on the floor behind him. The sound of her voice was like a physical blow. His hand tightened on the bottle of whiskey, just a little. She sounded nervous. He couldn't blame her

[wasalways]

The spotlight of her gaze hovered over his shoulders, until finally it was directed at the nape of his neck. There had been something about the skin there that caused her to zone out for a second, almost drift away, before she realized she had been reaching out for thoughts or answers. There was a quick glance over at the chair next to him once more, before she decided to pursue this encounter anyway, no matter how awkward it might turn out. Smiling, Jean seated herself, turning her body to face her old friend. A leg crossed over another, and she nudged his ankle with her foot.

"Logan, you seem restless tonight." She eyed his glass, then stared at his hand as she spoke. "I was restless, too. Am. Am restless, I guess."

Four hours later, like woah, e'rybody in the bar gettin' tipsy

[doubleoohbaby]

The arrival of other imports doesn't seem to have swayed Bond from his determination to spend the evening drinking, going through beers and bourbon like water and showing very little sign of any of that alcohol intake actually getting to him. James is a heavy drinker and he's known to keep a straight head on even at the height of drunken stupors. Sadly, he's never been quite so good at keeping his emotions in check as the alcohol levels rise

[sixgoodreasons]

In the time since Jeannie's departure, Logan has gone through two thirds of a bottle of Crown Royal and is working steadily on completing the job. It isn't even a little fun, drinking like this. His gut is burning and his fingertips are tingling, going numb; he's fighting his healing factor every step of the way. Soon the pain of it will be all he can feel. That's what he wants. What he needs.

But he's not there yet, and so when Bond approaches he notes subconsciously that the man smells drunk but sounds sober. He's taller than Logan thought he would be. His breath smells like vermouth.

Logan pulls his gaze up off his glass like it's a physical weight. Fixes it on Bond, his expression dark and sad and dangerous. He bares his teeth a little, exposing the points.

"This ain't wise, bub." It's as much warning as Bond is likely to get.

[doubleoohbaby]

The warning seems to fall on deaf ears, not even making the effort to seem concerned by it and watching as Logan snarls out a physical reminder, teeth on display like some agitated animal which only seems to cause Bond to retaliate with a lazy smirk, lips curling at the corners and the amusement never quite reaching his brighter than blue eyes.

Seems they've both got their own woes to deal with, but right now, as is so often the case, alcohol just isn't cutting it for James. He needs a reminder of his existence. Something that can make him feel alive yet so utterly pathetic. Something that's going to give him more than just a headache the next morning.

"I'm not doing anything. Just like you haven't with that woman of yours, I'd imagine. You certainly seem to be popular with certain other females, I noticed. Got a thing for redheads?" There's only a vague slur behind his words.

[sixgoodreasons]

The blue-eyed English prick is looking for a fight. Logan can smell it coming off him in waves, the coppery scent of adrenaline starting to build. He can hear the sound of Bond's heart beating under the drawl of his words.

Silently, and without taking his eyes off of Bond, Logan pours himself another shot, drains the glass, and sets it down on the bar. Then, moving with deliberate care, he slides down off his stool, bulling his way into Bond's personal space. The spy has five inches on him in height, but Logan's willing to bet that's not going to make a whole lot of difference in two minutes time.

"Hey buddy," he snarls, his metal knuckles cracking as he clenches his fists, something like a smile appearing on his chops, "say that again."

[doubleoohbaby]

What seems like a good idea at the time might be something James comes to regret by morning. But right now, while he's full of alcohol and letting his pooling aggression slowly get the better of him, Bond seems to think this is the best idea in the world.

No surprises then that he's only arching a blonde eyebrow down at Logan as the shorter one squares up, causing Bond to retaliate with a slow inhale that fills his lungs and puffs his chest out like some territorial creature, muscles taught and fists clenched. "The bit about you not satisfying your partner, or the part where you show a little too much interest in all those other whores around you?"

[russianreverse]

This wasn't the sort of place she would have normally wandered on her own. Seedy bars were different for women than they were for men, and when Natasha went out she usually wasn't looking for attention or a fight. She liked to drink, sometimes, she liked to be alone in the crowd.

Truth be told, she was hoping to run into Logan, and she'd heard he hung around here. There was no reason, really. It had just been a long time since she had someone to talk to who really knew her. Who wasn't her mentally unstable ex-boyfriend. And so here she was, enveloped in clingy dark fabric and the sounds of classic rock.

[sixgoodreasons]

Natasha smelled like expensive perfume, soap, gun oil. As soon as he heard the sound of her heels on the floor, Logan raised two fingers at the bartender, who nodded and deposited a bottle of Crown Royal and a pair of shot glasses in front of him. He filled them both, then slid one over to the empty stool beside him.