milliways_bar | (no subject)

She smiles, lips pulling back to reveal white teeth, and swivels to lean against the bar, one leg idly crossing over the other.

"So what's with the hat?"

Logan's eyes flick down a moment when her leg moves. Not to check her out, but to make sure she's not about to kick him in the head or crotch.

(And maybe to check her out just a bit. She always did pick good forms to shift into.)

"Didn't know this place had such a problem with cowboy hats," he gripes, since that seems to be the focus of everyone's attention tonight.

"Just not something you see every day," she replies, shrugging nonchalantly, her foot idly bouncing.

Her own attire is a pretty big indicator of where she's coming from, time-wise: a sweater that accentuates, matching skirt in a subtle black-and-blue plaid, knee-high boots.

"But any guy who can drink with his back to the door either knows what you see in here every day and can handle it, or doesn't know better and is liable to leave himself open to small talk from strangers."

She grins again.

He can't tell if that's a veiled threat or not. There doesn't seem to be any malice or aggression coming off of her. But then, Raven always was a smooth one.

Of course, he could just be paranoid and that aggravates him more than being unable to cipher her motivations and intentions. Logan doesn't do paranoid.

Deciding to take this at face for now, he grabs his shot glass again and pours another drink.

"Compared ta what I usually deal with, this place is a walk in the park most days."

She hums in thought, her foot stilling after another beat or two.

"What do you usually deal with?"

"Cows," he answers, before tipping back that shot.

She tilts her head, studying him for an extra beat.

"They give you lip?"

"They can."

Setting the empty glass down, he turns sideways on his stool, resting his forearm on the counter while regarding her.

"What about you? What d'you, do?"

She shrugs again, propping her elbow on the bartop and resting her chin in her hand.

"Whatever I feel like. Last job I had was waitressing."

"Had? Didn't like livin' for tips or got tired of takin' orders?"

"Both?"

She grins slowly.

"Money wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either."

"Honest work." Logan wonders when the Raven from his world last held a job that could be called honest.

"So what's it you're doin' now?"

Raven shrugs both shoulders.

"Not much. Kind of working with my brother. He's trying to recruit kids who are special."

Special being the key word - and one she distinctly doesn't elaborate on.

"Special." There's the barest twitch in Logan's hand around his glass.

"What're you recruitin' 'em for?"

"Just a place to belong, I guess," Raven answers, resting her chin in her palm.

"Especially since this world has such a problem with those of us who are different."

Her 'brother', that's a new one, and it confuses Logan some. If she's talking about Eric that's wrong on several levels, if she's not then he can't figure who she might be working with.

"You say 'recruit' makes it sound like more than a social club you're puttin' together."

"I guess it's kind of like a club. Super top-secret," Raven replies, flashing another quick grin.

"Who knows how much I've already given away?"

Logan gives a shrug.

"'Long as you ain't running into people from your world shouldn't be a big deal."

"Even if that happens, I have a pretty good hiding strategy."

She taps her fingertips against her cheek, eyes subtly shifting yellow and then back again in a single blink.

He feigns surprise, which for him means the slight lift of an eyebrow and tilt of the head.

It's then he decides she is as young as she appears; inexperienced and, it seems, not a threat. Wherever this Raven is from, she's not the jaded sociopath. Yet.

"That's a handy trick."

"You got any hidden ones?"

Call it a hunch. She's not as good as Charles is about singling out other mutants, but something tells her she wouldn't be surprised if he was.

He gives a smirk to that.

"Y'think if I could do somethin' like that I'd pick this mug?"

He gestures to his features before emptying his most recent shot.

Logan knows better than to give things away. The less people know about what he can do, the better advantage he has over them. Still, she's picked up on him not being all he appears, and so he has to give something.

"Egg heads and guys who name this stuff call it a healing factor. I think of it as a license t'indulge my bad habits." And to illustrate he downs another shot.

She tilts her head again, studying.

"It's not a terrible one, when you think about other mugs."

Beat.

"Bet the healing makes it hard to get drunk, though."

"I reckon there are worse," he allows, and dammit if she didn't just earn a smile from him.

He raises the bottle, measuring what's left inside.

"Yeah, it takes some doin'."

"Because it stands to reason that if your cells are healing - let's say now, even as we speak - that alcohol isn't going to last as long in your system the way it would for someone else."

Who says she has to be like Charles with all his big fancy degrees?