"Leave it to Ol' Logan to miss out on 'iz own party," spoke the tall, trench-coated man, leaning on an elaborately decorated table. The legs of the table begged for mercy, as it was covered almost entirely from corner to corner with expertly prepared dishes, steaming and perspiring. The centerpiece was a glorious cake with four layers, which bore a figurine of the missing X-Man, poised heroically.
"Oh, ease up, Remy," responded a woman sitting nearby. She wore a brilliant red sweater that her flowing hair seemed to blend into, watching as yet another food dish levitated passed the Cajun X-Men, taking it's place on the only empty spot. Gambit lifted the lid of the pot, bracing himself as the wave of steam erupted.
"Remy sees you've decides to make that silly soup of yours," he snickered, "Jean, you know Claws likes my extra spicy gumbo more than dis frail concoction you got goin' on here, no?"
"Oh, I think this year will be a little different," Jean said, smiling. As the two exchanged banter, the lid over the pot Gambit prepared lifted itself and several bowls of diced garlic fell in, as if a drunken invisible chef got fed up with the gumbo. A snicker came from another man who noticed the gesture. He had dark hair and wore a leather jacket and sunglasses that shined a dark purple. The man stepped up behind Jean and the latter turned her head to welcome his tender lips.
"Hello, Scott. Have you contacted the other X-Men?" she sighed happily.
"Piotr, Jubilee, and Kitty are handling a situation in Russia at the moment. Kurt will be bringing Bobby a little late, but the rest are ready whenever. He's going to kill us when he realizes we've prepared another surprise party," answered Cyclops as he sat beside his wife.
"He always sez dat, but do he ever do it?" Gambit smiled, pulling out a deck of cards. "Anyone for a quick hand or so?"
"He took an inch off your hair and murdered two tables last year, Remy. And no, we're fine, thanks," responded the telepath as she waved her hand about in a circle. Behind Gambit, a wooden spoon stirred the tainted gumbo about.
"Ol' Remy's startin to worry a little, dough. Mon chéri never take dis long to distract Logan."
"I'm sure everything's fine. Rogue probably just lost track of time," Scott responded, checking his watch.
-
"This is one hell of a present," came the gruff voice from the bar. The speaker was a muscular man with muttonchops, wearing an old wife-beater and jeans. He downed the foaming glass greedily, "This is my favorite bar in all of Canada. How'd you know?"
"Us girl's gotta way of knowin', is all," answered the woman on the stool beside him. Only her face remained uncovered by her leather outfit. Her bushy brown hair fell over her shoulders, streaked white in the front. She looked away, slightly embarrassed; she knew from having touched him once when she was in need of medical attention, using her mutant absorption to borrow his mutant healing, and his memories too.
"Well, I'd never have made it here in the time it took you to fly us out here," he returned, setting his glass down with the other seven empty glasses in front of him, reaching for his wallet. The woman stopped him.
"Never you mind that, Logan, shug," she smiled, putting the money on the bar. They rose and walked out of the smoke filled room. The bartender called out, "Good seeing you again, Jimmy!"
"Yes, good seeing you again, Jimmy," snarled another voice from the back of the bar. Logan stopped dead in his tracks, a single drop of sweat breaking free. He followed me all the way here?! The voice broke out in laughter.
"Victor… I'd almost forgotten about you," Logan growled in response, turning around slowly to face the speaker. Massive, unkempt Victor Creed rose from his chair, kicking up the table he sat at toward a gathering of patrons between the two of them. They scattered as the table collided with the floor, exploding into splinters. The bar began to clear out as the bartender cried out, "Who the hell are you?"
Victor ignored the bartender, answering Logan in a belittling tone, "Forgotten me? But don't you know what day it is?"
"The day before your name appears in the obituaries?" Wolverine answered, clenching his fists in anger. The eerie sound of metal sliding against metal broke the air, as three claws emerged from between the knuckles on both hands. Sabretooth, in contrast, unfurled his fists. His own grotesque fingernail claws seemed to grow ever so slightly. Before either could react, however, the blast of a shotgun tore through the right side of Sabretooth's face and shoulder. The bartender had stepped out from behind the bar, advancing slowly.
Sabretooth had been caught off guard and fallen over, but was quickly back to his feet, his flesh rebuilding itself and expulsing the bullets from his body. As each one clinked against the bar floor, the bartender lost a little more of his courage, until he began a retreat. Several things happened at once. Sabretooth leapt at the bartender, but Wolverine leapt at his rival. The two mutants collided.
"Rogue, get him out of here, now!"
Slightly in shock, Rogue obeyed, escorting the man to the edge of the woods.
Sabretooth smirked as he rose to his feet again, brushing off his ragged, brown overcoat "I'm going to enjoy gutting you, runt."
Wolverine spit in disgust, "Good luck with that one, bub."