milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Mike doesn't bound down the stairs today. No, instead he sedately wanders down with a rather large covered basket under his arm. It looks something like a sewing basket. He takes a seat at an out of the way table, and begins to unpack various and sundry sewing supplies.

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"Very balletic," Mel says drily.

"Worse ninja ever" comes a voice from the doors to the garage.
Logan is dressed in the usual jeans & boots, carrying a flight jacket in one hand and a pair of saddlebags in the other.
He plop the bags on the floor next to a stool, sits, and turns to Mike.
"You smell like your brother, yeh know that?"

"Which one?"

"Raphael. Tho he's more...peppery?"
Logan is straight-faced... was that a joke?

"Huh, who knew sarcasm had an oder...."

"What can I say, I'm a delicate flower."

"Well, onea you horn-dogs on the half-shell owes me some beer, and it might as well be you."
Logan fishes in the watch pocket of his jeans and produces a barreted brass Zippo. He sets it on the bar to better rummage thru the inside pockets of the flight jacket. In the glow of the bar, one could almost make out "FUCK COMMUNISM" etched into the tarnished face of the lighter.

"There are worse fates. Dos Equis three times?"

Logan finally is rewarded in his search with a smallish, very pale cigar.
"And an ashtray."

Mike flags down a wait rat. The beer and ashtray are delivered post haste. Or maybe it's ante haste. One of the two.

"How's tricks?"

Logan extends just the barest hint of a claw and punctures the end of the cigar. He flips open the zippo, and fires uip the cigar.
"S'o.k." he replaies.
"Still gettin' used t' this joint."

Oh how Mike is controlling his inner fanboy. So much control. Look at the control. CONTROL.

"It does grow on you after a while."

"A big green flower," Mel agrees, before turning to the newcomer. "Hi."

Logan regards her with the raise of a busy eyebrow.
"Well howdy..." *sniff* "...slayer."

Times like this Mel wishes she were a proper Slayer.

"One of many round here," she replies.

"Better you lot than their's, eh?"
Logan obviously sizes her up, but not obscenely.
"Yer different, tho. Nice."

A one shoulder shrug. "Still out numbered, though, if that's ever new. Still, no violence, no business.

"So who're you, then?"

Logan takes a quick puff off of the cigar, then pulls it from his mouth and stares at the tip.
"Logan."
Then he offers her the cigar with a half-wink to Mike.

She sneers at it. "I'm just gettin' my lungs back from the city, I'll pass."

"You forgot delicate."

"A big delicate green flower. With a shell."

"We prefer the term Protective Coating"

"Y'might prefer a lot of things. Don't mean you're gettin' them."

Logan raises his eyes to Mike at that comment and withdraws the cigar.
"Thanks for the brew, anyway."