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get a little older and i'll vouch for ya myself
so by character you mean this shirt's got something ridiculous printed on it right
so by character you mean this shirt's got something ridiculous printed on it right
it's open
[ And man, Logan's entire life is... minimalist kitsch, he feels. Something Eli probably sees when she opens the door to his temporary living space and sees its a) near-emptiness; b) how what is there is kind of just. Piled up in a corner.
She does have a point, though. The blood and holes in his shirt look even worse in reality than they did in the picture he sent.
When he sees her, Logan holds his hand out. ] Hand it over, kiddo.
[ And man, Logan's entire life is... minimalist kitsch, he feels. Something Eli probably sees when she opens the door to his temporary living space and sees its a) near-emptiness; b) how what is there is kind of just. Piled up in a corner.
She does have a point, though. The blood and holes in his shirt look even worse in reality than they did in the picture he sent.
When he sees her, Logan holds his hand out. ] Hand it over, kiddo.
Because it's definitely happiness that gets people hammered
[ Just ask dear old dad. ]
[ Just ask dear old dad. ]
i don't know about people but it damn well does something to immortal mutants
Wow.
[ Her immediate impulse is to pull him inside. He is a blood soaked spectacle. But she can't intrude. The view into the room is recognizable: an economy of things in a state of disorder. A sense of impermanence and flight. She too lives in relative emptiness.
Eli removes the folded shirt from a plastic bag, and handing it over, is confident in her selection: a loud Hawaiian shirt weaving birds and red flowers upon a black canvas. ]
May I come inside? I've brought other things.
[ Her immediate impulse is to pull him inside. He is a blood soaked spectacle. But she can't intrude. The view into the room is recognizable: an economy of things in a state of disorder. A sense of impermanence and flight. She too lives in relative emptiness.
Eli removes the folded shirt from a plastic bag, and handing it over, is confident in her selection: a loud Hawaiian shirt weaving birds and red flowers upon a black canvas. ]
May I come inside? I've brought other things.
i could be texting my dead mother too but that dont mean im gonna go get her mcdonaldsOh -- shit, yeah. Come in. Make yourself at home, or... y'know.
[ Sometimes he forgets.
He does take the shirt, however, and thinks it'd be perfect for sneaking around if not for the strong reds. Smells a lot better than blood and sweat, though, to be fair, so he grunts a thanks and pulls the first shirt off so he can button the new one up.
Logan doesn't bother with a 'how do I look', but he does frown at how tight it is in his upper body and how his height means the shirt billows a bit once its hem is below his chest. ]
What else you got? [ He ends up popping the top button, but feels like a douchebag for doing it. ]
[ Sometimes he forgets.
He does take the shirt, however, and thinks it'd be perfect for sneaking around if not for the strong reds. Smells a lot better than blood and sweat, though, to be fair, so he grunts a thanks and pulls the first shirt off so he can button the new one up.
Logan doesn't bother with a 'how do I look', but he does frown at how tight it is in his upper body and how his height means the shirt billows a bit once its hem is below his chest. ]
What else you got? [ He ends up popping the top button, but feels like a douchebag for doing it. ]
that i'm alive?
i'm texting you
i'm texting you on someone's yard
you'd think that'd be good enough
i'm texting you
i'm texting you on someone's yard
you'd think that'd be good enough
[ The floral reds hide the blood; he looks sane again — at a distance. Though large the shirt constricts at his broad chest all the same. He pulls it off well, anyway. The Miami hitman look. ]
Killer.
[ She is invited in. Eli places the crinkled bag on the table and produces sandwiches, bottled water; stuff to tide him over for the evening. She pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag by the cardboard packaging and steps backwards, her shoulders to a wall the off-white shade of her shirt, her eyes lowered. ]
Is the blood ... yours?
Killer.
[ She is invited in. Eli places the crinkled bag on the table and produces sandwiches, bottled water; stuff to tide him over for the evening. She pulls a six-pack of beer from the bag by the cardboard packaging and steps backwards, her shoulders to a wall the off-white shade of her shirt, her eyes lowered. ]
Is the blood ... yours?
alright but have you met you? it aint as unlikely as you thinkYa could'a held yourself back, asshole.
[ Or so Logan says as he tries to scrub the furious stains of red from his white button-down. He gets it, he does -- it's his fault for wearing a fucking tuxedo to work -- but the assassination was supposed to happen nice and clean, and not at all with Victor sinking his stupid fucking claws into the target and ripping him in literal half.
Logan grumbles, holding the shirt up to the light. It's unsalvageable. The pink is going to stay in the fabric forever. ]
...you owe me a new suit.
[ Or so Logan says as he tries to scrub the furious stains of red from his white button-down. He gets it, he does -- it's his fault for wearing a fucking tuxedo to work -- but the assassination was supposed to happen nice and clean, and not at all with Victor sinking his stupid fucking claws into the target and ripping him in literal half.
Logan grumbles, holding the shirt up to the light. It's unsalvageable. The pink is going to stay in the fabric forever. ]
...you owe me a new suit.
What's the fun in that?
[ He's leaning against a wall, picking flesh out of his claws. That's going to stain. Never mind the splash of red down his own front. He sighs and pulls a damned hair out from under one of his nails. Where the hell had that come from? Oh well. ]
You can have a damned new suit. Give the kid a chance to take you shopping.
[ Married for over a hundred years, Victor Creed is still an asshole. ]
[ He's leaning against a wall, picking flesh out of his claws. That's going to stain. Never mind the splash of red down his own front. He sighs and pulls a damned hair out from under one of his nails. Where the hell had that come from? Oh well. ]
You can have a damned new suit. Give the kid a chance to take you shopping.
[ Married for over a hundred years, Victor Creed is still an asshole. ]
[ Logan sends Victor a look. He's about to say something along the lines of I wore this thing to Jubilee's graduation, you prick, but shakes his head instead as he drops the shirt into the sink and leans his hands against the counter. ]
You'd like that, wouldn't you. [ Fingers flexing over it, he snorts. ] Last time we went shopping those jeans were too fucking tight.
You'd like that, wouldn't you. [ Fingers flexing over it, he snorts. ] Last time we went shopping those jeans were too fucking tight.
[ Look, Vic knows. He does. But he believes that the pictures are worth a thousand words and he'd never admit it, but one of Logan with Jubilee is his lock screen. NEVER ADMITTING IT.
But Vic noticed how tight those jeans were too. So, he's just going to smirk. ]
I remember.
But Vic noticed how tight those jeans were too. So, he's just going to smirk. ]
I remember.
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