[ logan is the best at what he does and what he does best is fighting. it's the one thing he's known his whole life, a constant in a world where little else seems to be. maybe fighting's in his nature or maybe life forced him into it; whatever. point is, he's damn good at it.

there's shit all else to do, too, so he heads for the underground and throws himself into the fight, claws extended and features creased into a snarl. get too close and you might even hear him growl, something low and primal. he slashes and he hacks and monster guts get everywhere.

if they get on you, don't expect an apology. ]

[ there's a bar in this shithole. it's one thing almost all shitholes have in common: there are bars. logan hasn't bothered with a table; sitting at the bar means more immediate access to the bartender and hence, booze. he's got a glass of it in front of him, half-empty already. ]

Hey. [ is he addressing the bartender or the person nearest to him? both, probably. ] Do I get kicked out for smoking in here?