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.
(
it doesn't take a big man to knock somebody down / just a little courage to lift him off the ground )
He still manages to attract the attention of the odd female arrival and is more than happy to humour them for an hour or two at a time, buying them drinks and providing idle conversation, still managing with the usual smooth charm, even when blending in with the crowd, decked out in jeans, t-shirt and dark jacket rather than the famous tailored suits. He's a spy, after all, he's built to adapt.
Even with the distractions, James still spends plenty of his time sparing looks to other imports, keeping himself up to date on actions and clipped words that he occasionally hears through the murmurs of bar talk and trying to judge personalities. But it's the short bloke that's got the majority of his interest. Selina's guy. Not even Bond seems to be able to stop himself from the hidden glances, his mind trying to pick out faults and errors in everything he catches Logan doing.
As the night goes on, there's eventually a decision made somewhere in the depths of Bond's mind, causing him to raise to his feet- surprisingly steady- and move the short distance down the bar to Logan, facing him as he uses an elbow on the bar's surface to support his weight. "Well, look who it is. I knew I recognised you from somewhere. Should have worked it out sooner, after all, it's hard to forget a face like that..."
Reply
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.
Reply
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.
Reply
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."
Reply
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?"
Reply
Leave a comment