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logan

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Logan wanders in from the usual parts unknown and is greeted at the counter by a note.

Looking over the napkin, he gives a one shouldered shrug.

"Sure, why the hell not? It's been awhile."

Shortly after, a sign goes up and Logan is back behind the counter.

SPECIALS
Cold Beer
Rootbeer Float

That done, Logan pours himself a beer of the alcoholic variety and settles in to wait for customers.

[ooc: Around all day, but threads will drop into super-slowtime over the weekend which starts tomorrow here.]

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"Of me?" she asks, clarifying. "Just one."

Sinthia is aware that this is devastatingly against her in terms of return-on-investment: one little girl is not likely to produce a large enough net gain to be worth what would certainly be a dangerous operation, engaging in killing someone like her father. She has no imagination of it happening.

"There are...somewhere around four hundred soldiers at the base. Approximately the same number of prisoners-of-war. They're mostly American."

Logan will take on and do a lot for just one person. Knowing the numbers was about planning, not weighing the value of such a mission.

"Eight hundred altogether, must be a decent sized base," he notes. "Where an when are you from?"

"It is," she says. "I'm from Austria, in 1942."

Or rather, she's from what used to be Austria. "Where are you from?"

Logan gives a soft grunt, not quite surprised but it changes the situation some.

"I'm from Canada, but right now I'm in upstate New York. S'the early two thousands for me."

Looking at her glass, he turns and heads back to the cooler, pulling another bottle of the lemonade and bringing it over to top off her glass.

"Went through your time though, on the side of the Allies."

"You must be very long-lived," she says lightly, watching him with the other bottle of lemonade. "Many people have heard of it, but not actually gone through it."

"It's one of my powers," Logan replies. "I have a healing factor, does a lot for me."

Both good and bad, but he'll focus on the good for now.

"Means I don't age a whole lot, and it takes a helluva lot t'kill me."

"So presumably you know how the war ends," she says. "Or your version of the war."

"It gets a helluva lot worse before it gets any better, but we take it," Logan says.

"Wish I could say I stopped havin' t'deal with fuckin' Nazis when it was over, but they keep turnin' up." And he keeps gutting them. Just in smaller numbers.

She sighs, a soft thing that's no less relieved for how it comes about. "That's good. You should win."

She's young: she's not stupid. She understands hers is, and should be, the losing side. That brings potential repercussions for her that she isn't happy to think about, but they've already covered her thoughts on that. "Do you think I'm a Nazi?"

Logan studies her a moment, then gives a single shake of his head.

"No. Not through an' through." But she does their work, even if that's not by choice.

His eyes narrow and stoic and grim seriousness enters his tone.

"I know they created you, but I'm gonna tell you right here an' now, y'don't have to be the weapon. You're yer own person, but only if you choose to be."

"I can't make them stop," she says quietly. "If I don't kill when they want me to, they make it worse on the prisoners. They make it take longer, and it hurts more. And I know they're scared--I don't have to read them to know that."

She sighs softly. "I don't want them to be scared if I can't keep them alive."

"I get it, darlin'," Logan replies, understanding very well.

"Just remember, you get out of there, you make your own life. You need help with that, you let me know."

"I don't know how I can leave," she says, with a new quality to her voice now: tiredness. She's thought about leaving for so long by now, despite her age. "Or if I even can."

"Patience, watch for yer moment and be ready to take it when it comes," he says, the firmness in his voice there to let her know that she definitely can.

"Be careful who you trust, but take help if it's honest. Yer a telepath, work on it, it'll let you t'know who's tryin' ta screw you over."

Logan's eyes scan the crowd for a moment, and then return to her.

"Worse comes to worst, put a team together to get you out. You found this place, could be fer a reason. There's a lot of heroes an' good folk here. I sure as hell wouldn't have any problems guttin' Nazis on a rescue mission."

Sinthia considers that; it's not overly showy, but she does at least keep it in mind. It's certainly helpful information, that he would be willing to do harm to help her. Whether or not that harm would come before his death is another question.

"I don't think taking people unprepared to meet my father would be a very good idea," she says slowly, low-voiced. "Johann is not a merciful man."

Logan's eyes narrow on the name, noting it and remembering, but at this point there's not much evidence to say too much with. Johann is a common name given there when and where she's from.

"Then make sure the people you take are the sort than can handle themselves," he replies simply.

Glancing towards the door, he asks, "You come an' go here a lot?"

"No, just...once," she says. "I've been locked in here since."

"S'not a bad place to hole up for awhile," Logan notes, eyes scanning the bar over again.

He doesn't care for the idea of being bound very much, but in her case it beats the alternative of going back.

"They seem t'take care of people pretty well here, but if y'need anything you let me know. I'm around."

Logan comes and goes as he pleases, but he has a way of being there when needed.

"If I need something, I will," she says. And she genuinely might; her action depends on what the need is.

"Good," Logan says simply.

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