milliways_bar | (no subject)

"I don't think I could wear it.

"In my world."

"So it's yer world that don't like hats. Damn shame."

Logan remove the hat and holds it up.

"C'n try it on fer size, if ya like."

This requires moving. At least, more than she already has.

Still, even if she's slow and awfully careful about, Elle slides to the side of the table, and scoots off it.

"They like them in yours?"

She can take her time, but he's not going to hold the hat all night, so he sets it on the counter where she can pick it up.

"There's mixed opinions, but generally there are bigger things folks worry 'bout than hats."

She does take her time, but soon enough after he's set it on the bar, she's carefully lifting it up, with the slow, precise movements one might use while standing on a tightrope.

The hat falls pretty low, nearly covering her eyes. Unperturbed, she just answers, "It's not - normal for me. In my world."

Edited 2013-02-26 03:42 (UTC)

Logan looks over at her, canting his head sideways a bit to see her beneath the brim.

"Hm. Don't look bad on ya. Get one yer size an' you'd pull it off well."

Elle presses down on the brim of the hat that's behind her head, so that the hat tilts back, clearing her field of vision in front.

"Someone gave me one."

Beat. "I wear it in her world."

"She one a' the cowgirls wanderin' around here?"

"She looks like me.

"And she rides horses."

Elle's not sure what the technical definition of 'cowgirl' is.

"But she's from the past, for me."

"Sounds like a cowgirl."

Riding horses kind of clinches it.

"Spend a lot of time out in her world?"

Elle puts her hand on the bring of the hat again, and lifts it off her head.

With a small shrug, "I've gone to a lot of people's worlds."

She does, however, press the brim of her hat between her fingers for a moment, before holding it back out to him.

"Is your world like hers?"

He accepts the hat, setting it down on the stool beside him rather than back on his head again.

"No. Not if she's from one of those old west worlds. My world's all cars an' planes, and flying assholes."

Is he still angry at Stark? Just a bit.

Her head tilts slightly.

"So does mine."

Though hers don't need a suit to do it.

Logan nods.

She doesn't smell "mutant", but there's more to her than "human".

"This place seems to pull in from the more interestin' places."

Elle, however, isn't aided by superior senses.

"How do they fly?"

Logan shrugs.

"Wings, wind, robot suits. Some folks just do."

He's not a huge fan of flying, and doesn't always care so much about how the people who can do it do.

Beat.

"Ours don't have wings or robot suits."

"Just take off, huh?" It's not that he disapproves, it's more that he's unimpressed.

Looking her over, she doesn't seem the type, but he asks anyways, "You fly?"

"No."

Staying rather still, "I do something else."

Eyes going to the counter and his hands as he pours another shot, he asks, "What's that?"

Elle looks away as well, but moves again, lifting her right hand and sliding it forward in the air in front of her, as though she were pushing a door that isn't there.

Of course, something is there. It's just at a nearby table - a set of yet-to-be-collected knives and forks topple off the table and onto the floor.

(In the same moment, a bright blue arc snaps along Elle's right arm, from her shoulder to her elbow, and then to her wrist, before fading once more.)

Her movements turn his head, and he watches what she does.

He feels the hairs on his forearm nearest her prickle, and the metal in his bones feels the pull of that arc, and the phantom pangs of others like it that have coursed along them in the past.

Electrocution is not fun.

His hand tightens and opens a couple of times to shake the sensation, and he gives a nod while taking his shot.

"I'd call that better than flyin'."

"Thanks."

She says it without thinking, and quickly seems to become more focused on closing her hand and lowering it back to her side.

Then - "What do you do?"