[incomplete]
Who: Logan and whoever. [[open]]
When: Tonight
Where: First at his and Jean's home, and then uh... next to Random Crappy Building.
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA
Summary: Logan wants his own damn beer. Too chickeny to get into a discussion with Jean and too stubborn to go elsewhere for a draft, he decides to steal some from home. No stabbities in this thread, mmkay? He's actually in a pretty good mood, even if a little confused about where he stands with Jenovastuff. |D;
He hadn’t been in the house for more than a moment, having swung down from the roof and, lacking any real innate grace, finding quick entrance to the bedroom via window. Jean was downstairs; this he knew both from the fact that he’d been spying on the woman from across the street for the past half hour, and from being able to hear quite easily the soft movements below once he’d landed inside, creeping about the room like the most pathetic of modern-day ninjas. Logan was fully aware that the chances of his presence being picked up by the telepath were dangerously real, half-expecting her to come jogging up the stairwell and through the door, that look on her face indicating the two were in for a lengthy discussion.
Thank the gods for obnoxiously thick stone flooring.
No sound came. Nothing.
Padding across around the household’s makeshift firepit, rubber soles blessing the mission with nary a sound, sharp, bestial sights scanned the darkened room for that much-desired prize. Perking a brow, he grinned.
“Beer.”
The stack of 2/4s he and Dr. Grey had set up mere weeks prior sat virtually untouched against one of the room’s far walls, five emptied bottles lying idle on the floor near-to them, remnants of that evening’s conversation. It was just after the confrontation between Schuldig and Lucrecia Crescent; the first of two murders, and the first of three marks against him. The incident with ShinRa’s Director - good ‘ol Mr. Strategy himself - hardly counted as anything to Logan anymore, but Schuldig, Kakashi, and Cissnei... no... those were real. Very real. Only one, though, still hung with regret on his back.
Now came the hard part.
Choosing one case, hoisting the thing up with a delicacy marred only with the tension of being detected, he set out for the window again, bottles clinking softy amongst themselves as if attempting to tattle on their thirst-driven kidnapper... even if, you know, they were his anyway. It only felt like he was doing something sneaky because he wasn’t ready to face Jean yet, while losing to a want for his own beer at the same time.
Tch. Needs.
Easing the frame open, judging the best way to go about a clean, hopefully inaudible retreat, he craned his neck to glance upwards where he’d come from. He could always throw the case up roof-ways, but from the position he held at the moment, a toss could prove... ugly. Dropping his eyes down to the alleyway below revealed the chance of a muted descent, and probably the least-likely chance for shattered glass, as drifts of white, cold fluff promised all the wonders of a down-filled mattress.
Ahh, nature. Always there to help out Her children.
With that, gloved fingers twitching on the case’s side-grips and one leg slung over the pane, he pushed off. Black landed stark against the blue-white below, sending him nearly waist-deep in cold and shocked from the jar of landing from a second-story height with a loaded box of beer in hand. His knees ached for a scant moment, and he realized he’d bit his tongue, annoyed by that brief pang of copper before regrouping, eyes darting to the nearest ground-floor window for signs of alarm from the other side of the wall.
Still nothing.
Okay, so she was either letting him get away with the little thievery escapade on his own home, or he was the best damn pretend-ninja in the history of ... stealing your own beer...
Either way, he was scott-free.
*****
A ten minute walk away found Logan sitting none-too-comfortably on the sidewalk, leaned back against the decrepit ruins of what could have been a nice house, had anyone in town possessed access to decent bricklaying supplies and a small bulldozer. The spot had been chosen not for its location, but for the mere fact that he’d simply grown tired of sauntering around town with his evening snack, soundly impatient with his own indecisive nature and wanting to settle down somewhere for the next couple hours.
He could have taken Sellz up on her offer for shelter... wherever she’d said it was... or even picked a rooftop to stretch out on, but inside-shelter meant walls ((he didn’t like those, having always been one to choose the outdoors over everything else)), and the outside meant snow and the very real possibility of freezing his beans off.... but in the here and now, amongst barren streets and the low hum of a nearby terminal, taking hobo position against a wall was about as good as it was going to get. That, and, yes, he was lazy. Quite lazy, at the immediate moment.
Drawing a knee up, shifting a leathered butt around in effort to smooth the snow packed beneath him, he sighed, puffing clouds of warm breath into contrasting frigidity as he reached around within the crate for his kickoff. Perhaps the most unfortunate thing about a physicality such as the one he harbors is the inability to get drunk, bloodstream flushing out those toxins before they can truly mange effect... but he’d damn well give it a shot whenever he could.
Snapping off the cap with a sharp, claw-tip snap, he held the bottle out, briefly saluting invisible company before bringing the mouth to his own.
“Cold, bored, mildly confused. Cheers t’me, Purg.”
When: Tonight
Where: First at his and Jean's home, and then uh... next to Random Crappy Building.
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA
Summary: Logan wants his own damn beer. Too chickeny to get into a discussion with Jean and too stubborn to go elsewhere for a draft, he decides to steal some from home. No stabbities in this thread, mmkay? He's actually in a pretty good mood, even if a little confused about where he stands with Jenovastuff. |D;
He hadn’t been in the house for more than a moment, having swung down from the roof and, lacking any real innate grace, finding quick entrance to the bedroom via window. Jean was downstairs; this he knew both from the fact that he’d been spying on the woman from across the street for the past half hour, and from being able to hear quite easily the soft movements below once he’d landed inside, creeping about the room like the most pathetic of modern-day ninjas. Logan was fully aware that the chances of his presence being picked up by the telepath were dangerously real, half-expecting her to come jogging up the stairwell and through the door, that look on her face indicating the two were in for a lengthy discussion.
Thank the gods for obnoxiously thick stone flooring.
No sound came. Nothing.
Padding across around the household’s makeshift firepit, rubber soles blessing the mission with nary a sound, sharp, bestial sights scanned the darkened room for that much-desired prize. Perking a brow, he grinned.
“Beer.”
The stack of 2/4s he and Dr. Grey had set up mere weeks prior sat virtually untouched against one of the room’s far walls, five emptied bottles lying idle on the floor near-to them, remnants of that evening’s conversation. It was just after the confrontation between Schuldig and Lucrecia Crescent; the first of two murders, and the first of three marks against him. The incident with ShinRa’s Director - good ‘ol Mr. Strategy himself - hardly counted as anything to Logan anymore, but Schuldig, Kakashi, and Cissnei... no... those were real. Very real. Only one, though, still hung with regret on his back.
Now came the hard part.
Choosing one case, hoisting the thing up with a delicacy marred only with the tension of being detected, he set out for the window again, bottles clinking softy amongst themselves as if attempting to tattle on their thirst-driven kidnapper... even if, you know, they were his anyway. It only felt like he was doing something sneaky because he wasn’t ready to face Jean yet, while losing to a want for his own beer at the same time.
Tch. Needs.
Easing the frame open, judging the best way to go about a clean, hopefully inaudible retreat, he craned his neck to glance upwards where he’d come from. He could always throw the case up roof-ways, but from the position he held at the moment, a toss could prove... ugly. Dropping his eyes down to the alleyway below revealed the chance of a muted descent, and probably the least-likely chance for shattered glass, as drifts of white, cold fluff promised all the wonders of a down-filled mattress.
Ahh, nature. Always there to help out Her children.
With that, gloved fingers twitching on the case’s side-grips and one leg slung over the pane, he pushed off. Black landed stark against the blue-white below, sending him nearly waist-deep in cold and shocked from the jar of landing from a second-story height with a loaded box of beer in hand. His knees ached for a scant moment, and he realized he’d bit his tongue, annoyed by that brief pang of copper before regrouping, eyes darting to the nearest ground-floor window for signs of alarm from the other side of the wall.
Still nothing.
Okay, so she was either letting him get away with the little thievery escapade on his own home, or he was the best damn pretend-ninja in the history of ... stealing your own beer...
Either way, he was scott-free.
*****
A ten minute walk away found Logan sitting none-too-comfortably on the sidewalk, leaned back against the decrepit ruins of what could have been a nice house, had anyone in town possessed access to decent bricklaying supplies and a small bulldozer. The spot had been chosen not for its location, but for the mere fact that he’d simply grown tired of sauntering around town with his evening snack, soundly impatient with his own indecisive nature and wanting to settle down somewhere for the next couple hours.
He could have taken Sellz up on her offer for shelter... wherever she’d said it was... or even picked a rooftop to stretch out on, but inside-shelter meant walls ((he didn’t like those, having always been one to choose the outdoors over everything else)), and the outside meant snow and the very real possibility of freezing his beans off.... but in the here and now, amongst barren streets and the low hum of a nearby terminal, taking hobo position against a wall was about as good as it was going to get. That, and, yes, he was lazy. Quite lazy, at the immediate moment.
Drawing a knee up, shifting a leathered butt around in effort to smooth the snow packed beneath him, he sighed, puffing clouds of warm breath into contrasting frigidity as he reached around within the crate for his kickoff. Perhaps the most unfortunate thing about a physicality such as the one he harbors is the inability to get drunk, bloodstream flushing out those toxins before they can truly mange effect... but he’d damn well give it a shot whenever he could.
Snapping off the cap with a sharp, claw-tip snap, he held the bottle out, briefly saluting invisible company before bringing the mouth to his own.
“Cold, bored, mildly confused. Cheers t’me, Purg.”