The smell inside the bar was foggy, and gruggy. Covered in smoke and particles of cough, spit and snot. The music faintly rocked in the background. Logan swiftly made his way to the counter, where he slipped on a chair. The couple of wars after he woke up he spent wandering. Debating. Thinking. He doesn't know what to do. With a flick of his lighter, the tip of his cigarette gets burned up, and he puffs out some smoke
"Whatcha' havin' pal?" The bartender asks
"Booze."
"Gon' be more specific?"
"...Beer."
The bartender shrugged, and just gave the man his drink. He's seen plenty of ruggy, angry dudes coming here. The only thing he hoped for this one particular guy wasn't was another typical knuckle-head looking for a fight. That's what the sawed-off shotgun behind the counter was for, anyway. Logan makes eye-contact with the 'tender, and then scowl at each other. Logan huffs, and chugs on his beer
Logan didn't say anything. He just enjoyed his drink, and his cigarette. Did so for what seemed like hours. It was night outside. And snowing. Heavily. His gaze was typically distant and not all there. Just barely he could hear the FoxNews report buzzing on the TV laid nearby in the bar
**Minutes ago, Captain America and Tony Stark have arrived in Chicago to aid The Avengers. It is not confirmed, however we believe an ex-government operative has threatened the city and claimed to have bombs in each of the city's schools. More as it develops. Back to you, Trevor**
"Ah, hell. 'Nother one of 'em mutant freaks, I bet." Some guy muttered off in the back of the tavern
"Shiiiit... this is what, the second time dis' month? When tha' heck is the government gonn' wise up and put these fucks in jail or som'thin?"
Logan glances over his shoulder, in their general direction. In his own mind, he could see it. Leaping at them. Punching them in the face. And he could -almost- feel a bottle being smashed in his head, leaving the shards buried in his flesh. He almost missed the feeling of his skin healing itself.
"...I'm tellin' ya, bub. If an' of them come to my house?... Poor bastards, s'all I'mma say."
"...I think I seen one of 'em way back. Freaky one too. Had purple skin o' somethin."
"...Jeez, not this again."
"Purple skin, pal! I'm tellin' you two, this chick..."
The men continue their conversation. Three of them. Seemed like your typical redneck types. Logan simply listens in, gesturing at the bartender to bring him another beer
"...What'd it do, anyway?"
"Freak tried to beat up my cousin. Kept going on about some weird shit."
"Ain't your cousin in jail?"
"He's now. But back then, he was clean. So, this chick comes in and starts beatin' on 'im. No reason."
"Not smart..."
"Yeah, no kiddin'. You know how my cousin 's like. Last time he let someone beat him up was in middle school, man."
"Huh... do I..."
"But would you believe it?... my cousin actually gave this broad a chance!... told her to fuck off. But no. She kept pushing, man. Kept goin' off 'bout him doin' terrible stuff. You know, crazy. Worse thing?..."
"What?"
"His wife left him that day."
They flinch "...Yikes, man."
"So, he had just about enough of this crazy bitch. He shoots her. Pop. Right in the head. Revolver. Boom. Splat. Problem solved." They pause, then laugh
"Aw, shit, man!... should do that to all of these fucks, really."
Logan frowns, and wrinkles his nose up some. He was already feeling it. Boiling with rage. But he kept it in.
"That why he's in jail?"
"Nah.. he... accidentaly shot a kid when he was huntin'."
"That's rough."
He shrugs "...Was an accident."
Logan clenches his jaw. His fist held on tight on his beer. And once again, he'd glance over his shoulder at them. Longer this time. One of them makes eye-contact with Logan, and they stare each other. Only a couple of seconds. But the tension could be cut with a knife.
"Lookin' for something, pal?"
"...Talkin' to me?" Logan asks, raising a brow and pointing to himself
"Look, another peepsqueak, city-boy comin' here?" One of them chuckles
"Hey, wait up. I've seen this guy before." One of them remarks
"Yeah."
Logan moves his sight from one to another. He stands up. Slowly. And sips his beer. He casually pulls a chair at their table, and takes a seat
"...Did I say you can sit down, pal?"
"No. You didn't. Bartender - Couple of drinks for my new friends here."
After some minutes, the men chuckle. Logan doesn't. Having some shots, one of them chuckles quietly "Heh, maybe you ain't so bad after all..."
Logan lets a smile creep up on his cheeks "Heard you tell stories. Got one of myself, actually."
"Yeah?"
"Shoot."
Logan pauses, and takes a chug of his beer "...Okay... so there's this guy, I know, right?... He's way up, over the hills. Cold there. Colder than here. Anyhow, this guy... he's real wise fella', you know? Sharp. A mutant. A freak. Wanna know what's he doing there?"
"What?"
"He got shot in the head there." Logan utters, downing one of the shots. It burned. The sensation of cleansing his throat left a stinging burning sensation down his esophagus "...argh... Anyway..." The reaction of the other men was one of approval at Logan's story so far, nodding and grinning "...This guy... One day, he hears of a family being stranded there. Poor people. Car broke down. Wanna' know how he got hold o' 'em?... their lil' girl was a mutant. Wanna know what he does?... he goes up there, way up in the mountains, and helps them. Can barely walk, and the proud bastard's too stupid to wait for his friends. So he asks for help. Goes to town. Gets some guys with him" He pauses, then men stare "...Guys like you."
"Some real lowlives. I'm talkin' scum of the earth. So, my friend ain't got a choice but to fight once these shits hear he's a mutie. He gets the family out of there. And then..." He downs another shot, and groans "... he got a bullet to the face as a thank you."
One of the men leans in, having caught trace of Logan's obvious hostile attitude "...Serves him right." He'd grunt out. Logan glares back. Coldly. The bartender watches, his hand ready to grab his shotgun
There's a pause. Pam. Knock. Puff. Snikt. Pow. Logan is thrown out of the bar through the doors, the three men mobbing him and kicking wildly at him. He tried to slash. He tried to punch. But it just isn't the same. He doesn't heal. A single punch to the face made his brain rattle around.
"Fuckin' freak!" They bark at him, smashing his face in. They're surprised at the durability he had, but grin as Logan spits out some blood and looks up at them, his bleeding forehead pouring blood in his eye "...That all ye'...*sigh*... got?"
"Walk away, little man. We dun' wanna kill yer' ass."
Logan lounges forward, claws ready. He felt another punch to his face "...Unrgh!" And then, he fell down again. Some seconds pass, and he loses counsciousness
Logan doesn't know how long he was out. He felt a slight tap on his forehead, and his eyes slowly slid open. His vision was blurry, and unfocused. There was a tall, large man standing in front of him. Logan raised a brow, his face a puply, bruised, bloody mess. And after a second, his eyes went wide
"...Victor..."
"Hey, Jimmy. How ye' been?"