It all belongs to Stan Lee and Marvel comics.
Logan paid for the dinner with a puzzled air and followed her out. Seeing her head directly towards the somewhat rough bar across the street, he caught her arm. "Hey kid, what's this about?"
Rogue slid out of his grip and insinuated her arm through his in one smooth motion, so that suddenly he found himself escorting her instead of detaining her. "We're going in there," she said. "Some jerk is going to hit on me, he'll be too drunk to take 'no' for an answer, and you'll have a chance to kick someone's ass. Think that'll be a good enough excuse?"
Logan lifted one quizzical eyebrow as he looked at her. Closely-fitted trousers, a low-cut blouse, eye-catching hair, and her trademark scarf and gloves. "Yeah, that'll do," he said, smirking. "I wouldn't give you five minutes alone in there, lookin' like you do."
It took four minutes. Logan left Rogue at a table while he went to get them drinks, and while he was gone a group of four guys at a nearby table decided the unusual-looking young woman was going to be theirs.
"Go on, Brett, buddy," the biggest one's pals urged him. Brett was big, blond, bland, and beefy. All four men were wearing wrestling team fraternity jackets from NYU, and from their slurred speech and the number of empty bottles at their table, they had been there a while. "Go on," said a dark haired one. "Her old man's up at the bar; now's your chance."
"Naw, he ain't her old man," said the sharp-featured frat boy across the table from Brett. "She don't look anything like him."
"Maybe he'sh her pimp, Hatch," joked the dark-haired one with a drunken chuckle.
"In that case maybe Brett can't afford her, Skip," laughed Hatch.
"Naw, Brett'sh got more money than God. But shtill, what about the guy she came in with?" Skip gestured toward the bar.
Brett scanned the crowds at the bar for the short hairy dude the girl had come in with. He found him and smirked. "I'll take my chances with the little girly. The old dude don't look that tough." Bolstered by his beer and buddies, Brett got up and approached Rogue's table. He pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Hey, what's up? Haven't seen you in here before, baby. And I think I'd remember you." Brett turned on the charm.
"First time," Rogue said shortly.
"Hey, wanna ditch the old man and come hang out with me and my brothers over there? We'd be more fun than him."
"No, thanks."
"Aw, come on, baby. He don't take care of you that well, leavin' you all alone in here. Better you come with me… uh, what's your name, anyway?"
"Never mind."
Brett leaned over closer, partially so he could see down her shirt and partially because he was convinced the girl was just playing hard to get. "Come on, baby. You'll be happier with us, I promise." He put his arm around her, leaning close to whisper "Don't make me use force, baby. I'm a wrestler; I know all kinds of holds."
Rogue twisted away from him angrily, and then Logan appeared behind her would-be suitor.
Brett's chair was kicked out from under him. He landed hard on the floor in a wet puddle of his own beer, and was on his feet in a second. It was the old hairy guy, Brett saw with a sneer. The guy got right in Brett's face and said with a quiet menace, "You wanna keep your hands off the lady, bub?"
"You wanna make me?" Brett was high on alcohol and adrenaline.
"Yeah!" The reply was brief, but utterly sincere. Wolverine grabbed Brett by the collar and dragged him out the back door.
The back door faced an alley, and Brett's three friends exchanged smirks at the thought of the old guy's getting his nuts handed to him on a platter. Brett was the best wrestler on the team. The dark-haired guy, Skip, had started drinking earlier than his mates, and drunkenly waved them out. "Go on, go on. I'll shave the table, but I'll want a blow-bly-blow later on."
The two other blond guys grinned at each other and followed Brett and the hairy guy out into the alley.
Skip finished up his own beer, then cast coveteous eyes at the other two beers. "They'll never notish," he told himself as he finished first one, than the other. Then he looked up and cast covetous eyes at the girl who had started the fight.
Rogue looked cool and collected as she sipped the coke that Logan had brought her. She reached over with a casual foot and righted the chair that Logan had kicked over, and glanced at her watch. Midnight. Great. Not only was she going to have to make excuses to Bobby, but she was going to have to think of something to tell Scott as well. She only hoped Logan was enjoying himself out there. She suspected that the appearance of the wrestler's two buddies probably made his night.
A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see the dark-haired frat boy who had stayed behind. "Hey, girl," he said. "You don't look too worried about your man out there. Guess he ain't that important to ya, huh?"
Rogue rolled her eyes. Great. Another one. "Sure he is," she said cheerfully. "I just got no call to be worried, that's all."
"You sure about that, Whitey?" Skip taunted. "'Cause when my boys get through with him, he'sh gonna be changin' coloursh and mending bonesh for a month." He grinned evilly and placed a hopeful hand on her shoulder. "You shoulda come over with Brett in the firsht place."
Rogue stiffened. That hand on her shoulder was dangerously close to the skin on her neck. In one swift movement, she shrugged it off and stood up to face him.
"Listen, Skippy, keep your hands off me, or my friend's gonna have to thrash you too!"
Skip didn't know how she knew his name, but he was tall enough to be enjoying the view down the girl's shirt. "Like he could," he scoffed. "He's probably begging my boysh for mercy right now." He reached for her again.
Rogue's eyes narrowed. She slapped his hand away.
"Look, bitch," Skip began, but Rogue interrupted him.
"Any sentence that starts out like that isn't gonna end well for ya, Skippy. Just leave, okay?"
Skip gave her a shove. Rogue caught her balance quickly. Rearing back, she slammed her forehead into his nose. Skip clutched at it. Blood trickled through his fingers. Rogue surprised him with a knee to the groin, and he doubled over.
Roaring in pain, Skip drew back his fist and let it fly.