"I know this chick…"

"I'm sure you do. Several chicks, in fact."

"Yeah. But I'm talking about a certain chick."

"Are you sure?"

"Nope. I'm the Wolverine. But stop talking. It's… It's dis… Distracting."

"Wolverine? Oh my God! I'm drinking with the Wolverine! Hold the press!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, kid. You wanted to hear a story. Now do I have to gag you so that I can tell you one?"

"Fine. But that gagging part sounded rather appealing…"

"Shit. You need to get laid."

"We both do. Are you going to tell me a story or not?"

"I'd love to share some sordid details of my life and wisdom with the youth, but will they listen? No. They do not. Instead they keep ins… Distr… Fuck. Just keep your trap shut, okay?"

"As soon as you get on with that story of yours."

"Shush. I will get on. As soon as I get something to drink. Nurse! We have an emergency here!"

As soon as the waitress had brought him a new bottle of whiskey Logan took a mouthful of the amber liquid and leaned back, patting his pockets for a cigar. Found it and lit it.

"So… Where was I… Oh, yeah. That chick I know…"

"We already established the fact that you knew her."

"Know her. She's still around. Small wonder at that, because as it happens, she knows me as well…"

"If she's anything like Bambi or Cas, I'm not wondering. You're a paying customer."

"Thanks a bunch, kid… Anyway. She's not Bambi or Cas. She's no Kate either. Just this chick I know. Hot as hell."

"Well, why that doesn't surprise me the slightest bit?"

"Are you going to let me finish this story?"

"Yup. In a bit. I need to pee. Be right back…"

As soon as Marie disappeared from his view Logan hailed the waitress back and told her to get rid of all the booze on the table in front of him. Marie was driving so she wasn't drinking, and judging from the slurring speech and rather blurred vision he was at the moment teetering dangerously close that fine line separating shit-faced drunk and coma patient.

It looked like she was going to take her time in the bathroom. He smoked his cigar and ordered some coffee. Drank it. Then sobering a bit realized that it had taken all too long from Marie to simply pee.

"I better go and check out…" He decided, dread swirling in the pit of his stomach and rising a metallic tang over his tongue.

Journey through the buzzing crowd to the stained door of the ladies room felt like it took forever. This close he could smell the scent of blood and feel anxiety and pain in the air. Horrific images of Marie lying face down in a pool of her own blood assaulted him and he kicked the door open.

"If you're in a hurry I could of course wipe outside…" Marie hissed. She was sitting on a toilet seat, cradling her left hand on her lap.

"You're hurt."

"It's nothing. Just broke a nail. It's hardly even bleeding, but hurts like a bitch."

"Oh."

"Yeah. So… Do you mind?"

"Huh?"

"Come in or stay out but shut the fucking door!"

"Yeah. Sure."

He squeezed himself in to the tiny bathroom and closed the door. Noise from the bar lowered to a level that allowed discussion with a normal voice.

"Let me see." Marie extended her hand and he could see the cause of her distress. Nail of her index finger had broken. Bleeding was indeed minimal.

"You wouldn't happen to have nail clippers with you?" She asked.

"Do I look like a guy who walks around with a complete manicure-set?" He asked. Then remembered the Swiss army knife Marie had gotten for him for the last Christmas. If his memory served right, miniature scissors were part of the arsenal the little gadget hid inside plastic encasing.

"Wait… Let me see… Yeah. You're in luck," he said, unfolding the scissors from their sheath.

"This is going to hurt. Don't scream."

He prodded the torn side of the nail carefully until he managed to cut it off. Marie yanked her hand free from his hold and grimaced, waving it in the air to alleviate the pain.

"Why do you let them grow anyway?" Logan asked, pocketing the knife.

"Duh. I'm a girl, Logan. We're expected to have beautifully manicured, long fingernails."

"That's bullshit. And in the long run you're only going to end up hurt with those fucking talons. Get rid of them."

"I happen to like my nails, thank-you-very-much…"

"Whatever. Cut them off. What if you break all of them when you punch somebody? The last thing I… The team needs is you to get hurt because of vanity."