(no subject)

[adamantiumloner]

Logan.

Stool at the end of the bar.

Bottle of Jack and a shot glass.

Cigar.

Cowboy hat.

Comments

[adamantiumloner]

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.

[ellectrical]

Beat.

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

[adamantiumloner]

"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?"

[ellectrical]

"No."

Staying rather still, "I do something else."

[adamantiumloner]

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

[ellectrical]

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.)

[adamantiumloner]

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'."

[ellectrical]

"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?"