1963-11-05 - Drinking with Sinners
Summary: The time has come for Domino to face a brand new enemy: Blind dating. Somehow it still works out!
Related: None
Theme Song: None
domino logan 

As with most crazy and impulsive decisions, it begins on a whim. Maybe the paper just happened to be open on the right page and a coffee cup is set down in just the right spot and the mind was in a proper state of 'fuckit, whatever.' One thing leads to another, which then leads to the phone ringing at a certain log cabin which is otherwise properly isolated from the rest of the crazy world.

The voice on the other end is feminine, though there's no warmth nor good cheer to it.

"Third Shot Tavern, twenty-hundred hours. Look for the white lady."

And that's the end of the phone call. The tavern in question isn't too far away from the cabin, as far as distances go. Not exactly close, not exactly far. Same area code, though. A little suspicion might suggest that it was hand-picked with care to these sorts of logistics.


Logan isn't exactly sure what the hell this is about. An old contact touching base? An old enemy looking for revenge? Maybe it was a surprise party - he didn't know when his birthday was, but maybe somebody figured it out and decided to surprise him.

Probably just Weapon X again.

He makes his way in, dressed in his usual flannel and jeans combo, a cigar at the corner of his mouth. Domino's hard to miss, especially with the clue given. He didn't expect it to be quite so literal. He makes his way up to her and grabs a seat, signalling to the bartender, "Gimme a beer an' whatever the lady's drinkin'," he says. "Don't think I ever seen you before, pretty sure I'd remember if I did."


"Beer it is," the White Lady confirms while subtly brushing an empty shotglass aside. Seems like she already had something a bit more stiff to help calm the nerves. Black jeans, black boots, black shirt, black biker jacket. Skin pale as the damn moon. Only after the order is made does she turn to look at the fellow she just summoned out into this dive of a bar. The gal sure knows how to pick 'em!

A studied look is given to the man, full top to bottom in a stereotypical 'sizing up' of another person. "Huh," is the first thought which manages to escape her mind in a verbal form.

Then she cuts to the chase. "Yeah..listen. We haven't met, and I'm new to this whole ordeal. I'm a bit lacking in the social niceties and all, so..you cool with just getting stupid drunk in this joint and going from there?" Not that she's made any mention of what this 'ordeal' is.


Logan peers at the woman for a long moment. "I ain't exactly sure what ordeal you're talkin' about, darlin', but I ain't never said no to gettin' drunk," he says. "Fair warnin', takes a bit more to get me there than yer average joe. I ain't even gotten yer name yet, but you already got my phone number. Which is pretty damn impressive, given that I ain't even listed in the book an' I only got the thing a month ago. Damn redhead pushin' me around," he says, although he seems more amused than anything about it.

He raps his knuckles on the bar, "Maybe get a little whiskey down my gullet an' you can tell me what's ailin' ya an' what you think I can do about it, huh?" he says, figuring this dame must be in some kind of trouble and someone, somewhere, pointed her in his direction.


The lady leans back enough to reach into the inside of her jacket, pulling out a torn and folded section of a recent newspaper. It's absent-mindedly unfolded as she glances sidelong at the man with a thin, humorless smirk. Sure..she could just make up another alias here but a face like hers is rather unique and pretty difficult to hide. So, what the hell.

"Domino," she offers, then hesitates for -just- a second with a tensing of the shoulders when he mentions a 'damn redhead.' But, the torn page gets set on the bar right beside where his knuckles land. Then a ghostly index finger thunks down just beneath a single tiny ad in a page which is packed full of tiny ads.

Tiny -wanted- ads. With Logan's number. There's a small hole through the page as well, as if it had been placed upon a wall then someone randomly threw a dart at the page and it just happened to fall upon THAT ad.

"That is you, isn't it?" she inquires with an expression to match. "Isn't this how people do this sort of thing?"

She must have had a very interesting life before making that call.


Logan picks up the piece of paper and looks at it for a moment. It could be someone setting a trap for him, trying to make him a target. It could be some coded signal to tell a hitter where he can be found. It could be an attempt to call him out, to put him on the hunt. But it's none of those things. He knows immediately who's responsible.

"Jean," he mutters, running his hand back through his hair, his voice a rueful growl. "Yeah, I guess it is. Just a friend o' mine, she put this in there for me, I'm pretty damn sure. She's always on me to get out more, thinks I spend too much time alone," he says.

"She's probably right," he admits. "My name's Logan. I'm the best there is at what I do and what I do isn't very nice. Pleasure t'meetcha."


GRK. There's that tensing of shoulders again when the name is given. Not 'Logan,' but 'Jean.' Dom can put the pieces together easily enough. The picture which she's left with is not a pleasant one. Out of -all- of the numbers on that page that she could have picked from…

Maybe she can actually find a way to use this to her advantage. The night is still young.

"'Friend,' huh," she says with another smirk. "Well, now you're out. And you don't have to drink alone. Night's lookin' up already," she declares while reaching for her beer. "Alright, Logan. You can't say something like that and leave me hanging. What's this 'not very nice thing' which you claim to do so well?"

And what are the odds of them finding common ground within the first five minutes of meeting?


Logan grins, "Been a lot o' things over the years. Soldier, killer, roughneck. Did a few things down Madripoor way I ain't that proud about," he says. "Nowadays, I try to fight on the side o' the angels, much as I can. I just gotta remember I ain't one o' 'em…and sometimes I gotta do what needs doin' when they can't. That way, they can stay angels," he says.

"An' yeah, Jean's just a friend. Not much more'n a kid, really, just…she an' I went through some stuff together. She saved me, I saved her kinda thing. Oh, I'm a mutant, by the way, in case that's the sorta thing to hang ya up, although from yer complexion, I'm guessin' it ain't."


Wow. Domino didn't expect this guy to be quite so forthcoming with the personal information. It's very unexpected, but kind of refreshing. She leans sidelong against the bar, propping an elbow upon the badly worn wooden surface. This..just got interesting. It also sounds like he isn't a soldier any longer, which is good to know.

"A demon playing amongst the angels, huh. Curious analogy. You one of those religious sorts?"

When he mentions the whole mutant thing she glances down and off to the side, two fingertips reaching from that propped up hand to slowly trace the outer edge of her eye. That black spot on her face might be related to the action. "I get called a whole lot of different things. Most of them not very nice," she says as if poking fun at his earlier comment. "I really don't care what you are, or even that you've walked a dark path, I get it. Though now I'm a little curious about what your 'specialty' is. You sure look normal enough, in that 'man of the woods' sort of way."


Logan grins, "Nah, I never put much faith in God. Just my own two fists," he says. "I just know I ain't ever gonna be no boy scout," he says. He considers holding back about his capabilities, but shrugs. Truth be told, talkin' to a stranger was kinda nice. No consequences, no harm, no foul.

"I don't die easy," he says. "An' I got a few tricks up my sleeve, the kind that leave folks bloody," he says. He's not going to pop claws in the bar and freak out the normals, not unless he had to. "I do spend a lot o' time in the woods, though. More people should."


As far as Domino is concerned this whole 'dating' thing is turning out to be surprisingly easy. Leave it to her to randomly pick out one of the better-hearted murderous types!

"You aren't alone there," she states with a smirk, a proper good-humored one, while pointing back his way from around her beer. "If that's the case you might actually survive hanging around me. I tend to be ..pretty hard on ..everything. Vehicles, equipment, buildings, other people…" Shrug. "Myself."

But nevermind about that. "Alright. You're a trained fighter, you don't die easily, you have a habit of leaving people a few pints short in the arteries, and you live in relative seclusion, but you -aren't- a soldier now. You've got 'mercenary' written all over you, Logan. Either that or you're retired, not getting out much and all. Can't shake the feeling that you'd get kinda bored sitting still, though?"


Logan considers. Was he bored? He hadn't really thought about it. "I guess I've been…takin' a break. I don't consider myself a merc, though I have been in my day. I been workin' with some young mutants, tryin' to help 'em…figure out how to stay alive in this damn world," he says. "Idealistic bunch, think they can change the world. I ain't sure they're right, but I figure I can at least keep 'em alive long enough to find out."

"Sittin' still ain't so bad. I read a lot, go fishin', listen to records. There's this guy out o' Chicago called Howlin' Wolf…" he trails off. "I dunno. I had some shit go on lately, guess I been holed up mullin' it over."


The albino actually laughs, once more dipping her head and glancing off to the side. Now -she's- the one who's feeling suspicious! Though at the same time there's something else going on in her mind, too. Again the question in her mind is pressed, 'what are the odds?'

"No shit," she mutters. "Okay, I may not be the life coach that you seem to be but I try to look out for mutants who are down on their luck, too. Not even lying," she states while holding a hand up as if swearing in front of a jury. "Really don't like seeing people getting beaten down and abused over things which are beyond their control. I've dealt with enough of it, I get what it means to stand out from the crowd. It sucks, and people are assholes."

This would all seem like one hell of a setup if -she- hadn't been the one to make the first call!

"Fishing. Really," she harasses the guy. "I mean, sure, if you just want to turn your brain off for an afternoon then there's worse alternatives, but c'mon now. You said it yourself, 'you don't die easily.' Now you're parking your butt on a tiny boat in a lake with no current? Man, if I was so hard to kill I would be livin' that shit -up.-"

"You do know that the city's been turned upside down lately? Demons, vampires, gateways straight into Hell, earthquakes, power outages, now there's freaking anti-mutant riots in the streets. There's no end to the excitement out there, not to mention a lot of mutants that could sure use a hand. Maybe you should 'mull things over' a little faster."


Logan doesn't like to think about all that. He's the one who opened the Hellmouth, after all, although he's not about to admit -that- one to anybody. Wasn't like he had much choice, but still - given the amount of trouble it caused, he wasn't exactly eager to go back out in the world and see the fruit of his labor. Not to mention he came surprisingly close to dying from it. Not to mention that he almost lost his friends because of it.

"Maybe," he says. "I spent most o' my life tryin' to stay outta people's business. Figurin' I was more dangerous to them than anything else, that they'd be better off with me stayin' outta their way. I thought maybe helpin' out and takin' a backseat role…maybe I was doin' the right thing," he says, then takes a long draw on his cigar. "Maybe I ain't."


The less people know… Domino's no stranger to that concept, which is also why she's said very little about herself throughout this exchange. She's a lot more cautious about playing her own cards. Fortunately Logan's more open about such details, otherwise this would have been a very quiet and very awkward night.

"'Other people just slow me down,'" she says in a low voice. It's a familiar comment, too. "Which now leaves me wondering something else. What if you met someone who could keep up with your trouble? What if they turned out to be more dangerous to you than you were to them? Don't think that you're the only volatile person with a questionable past around these parts, because you aren't. There is no monopoly on having a shit past life. You had to have seen that in helping out some of those kids. They've got some of the worst hands in the deck."


Logan listens to what she has to say and takes a moment to take his shot, knocking for another one to follow as he lets the booze hit his senses. His healing factor takes the edge off, but not entirely. He likes to think it's his metabolism knowing its place, but it might just be that he keeps himself so perpetually alcohol-soaked that he's always working off a light buzz to begin with.

"I guess that'd be a good thing," he says. "I spend a lotta time tryin' to play good guy. People say they don't want ya to, but they don't usually mean it. They don't really understand what it means to let the bad out. Their bad an' my bad…usually ain't much competition," he says.


"Sometimes only the pointy end of the stick will do," Domino quietly says in understanding. "I don't know what it is that you're so reluctant to talk about in detail, and I really don't need to know what it is, but don't use that as a crutch. You—jeezus, can't believe -I'm- the one saying this… You are your own person. Either people can accept that or they can't. Don't waste your time trying to fit everyone else's mold. If you're not a nice guy then fuckit, embrace that shit."

She'll have to figure out where that idea came from later. Right now it's even giving her some new ideas to consider.

She takes a long drink then sets the empty bottle aside then gives Logan a level eye to eye look. "I'm not a nice girl, and I've made my peace with that. When I'd go hunting for demons around Central Park it wasn't out of concern for the safety of all of the other idiots that don't know enough to stay away from the conflict zone. I'd go hunting because it was -fun.- And, fortunately, the laws are awfully grey when it comes to discharging firearms in an urban environment for the purpose of hellspawn control."


Logan snorts, "Yeah, I imagine the cops are mostly just glad to have someone else tryin' to handle that shit," he says. "I ain't much fer guns, though. I tend to get in close," he says and then he does show off, using his body to shield most of the bar from seeing as a metallic SNIKT repeats itself as he pops and retracts his claws.

The bartender looks a little wide eyed at him, but Logan's grey eyes just level at him until he pours a fresh shot - and one for himself. "Guess there are prob'ly problems I can solve my way. A man gets a habit o' feelin' like a hell of a sinner when he spends time with saints."


Alright..yes. Domino jumps. Just a little, but a little is just enough. It's a sudden motion and a -very- nasty looking piece of metal suddenly jutting out from Logan's hand. But, she doesn't freak out over seeing any of this. In fact…

"You're the second person I've met who does that."

When Logan's attention falls to the bartender hers does as well, her expression completely removed from any hint of emotion. "I'd like another beer, please."

Back to the scruffy mutant, palms turned upward, she pointedly asks "And what's so bad about being a sinner? We get to have -way- more fun. Hold on, I think I see what the dilemma here is."

Pale fingertips start tapping and sliding across the bar as she verbally maps out what she's seeing. "Bad life, but you don't want to see yourself as a bad person. You've done some good, you still do some good. BUT, you're hanging around people who still aspire to be good without also having had the bad bits. You're not going to hang around bad people because you don't want to be associated with them, you're trying to turn over a new leaf, whatever. So there you sit smack in the middle, one awfully grey speck in a world of white. Problem is that in doing so you're guaranteeing that you will always be separated from everyone else, which feeds into your loner mentality."

"So here's the score. You're probably going to be miserable if you keep going down this path and trying to forget about the fact that you aren't one of nature's perfect creations. While you're still trying to figure that whole mess out, now you have yourself another very grey speck to get hammered with."

This may well be the first time she's ever shown anyone a proper smile and meant it.

"Just a couple of sinners shootin' the shit together."


Logan laughs, "Salud," he says, lifting up his beer and clinking it against hers. "The other one with claws, boy or a girl? If it's a Japanese guy, probably my son. If it's a girl…well, I don't rightly understand entirely what she is, but she's some sort o' relation, too. I'm sort o' the original version," he says.

"To sinners," he says, taking a long drink. "So, what kinda trouble you been gettin' yourself into, out in the world, then? If I'm gonna dip my toe in, guess I oughtta have a few examples."


Another smirk and a clinking of bottles later, Dom dips her head forward while taking another drink. "Yep. Son. He even mentioned having some of his father's tricks. If that's the case then you really are a tough bastard to kill, never seen anything like it before." She'll leave out the part about the two of them having gotten into some trouble together, and that she killed another guy by shooting -through- Aki. Good times!

Just as soon as the focus of conversation shifts her way her expression goes rather blank, at a loss of just what to share with the guy. 'Well, I helped a group of mutant terrorists rob a bank the other week…' Admitting that she had been 'helping' Jean out the other night probably isn't in her best interest, either.

"Uh, well… I worked a lot on containment with that whle portal mess. Central Park, Hell's Kitchen, little out in Greenwich. Knocked around some drug dealers a few weeks back. Probably be busy butting heads with rioters for the sake of other mutants soon enough."

Okay, this part is kind of difficult.

"Y'know what," she suddenly decides while dropping an open palm onto the bar, "I'm interested in the merc life. There's not a lot of jobs out there which cater to my skills. Kicking ass for money, -that- I can do. Just ..gotta keep moving, you know? I don't like sittin' idle."


Logan grins, "I can get that. Sounds a little bit more like me when I was younger. I used to go and raise hell anywhere I could. if the world was quiet, I'd make it loud awful fast,' he says. "Just seen a lotta god damn death an' sufferin' in my life and I think…I got tired o' it. I just…needed a break," he says.

"But I gotta admit, I have been goin' a bit stir crazy, at loose ends. I don't think I'm quite at the robbin' banks stage," he smirks, "But goin' around and gettin' into a bit o' ruckus will probably do me good."


Welp, there's Domino's good deed for the day! Get an old guy out of his cabin and back out into the awful mess of a world.

"Hey. Don't dwell on it," she quickly intervenes with a note of warning in her tone. "It happens. It's a part of life. The reason why people like us deal with it is because we're the ones that -can- deal with it. Consider that the next time you're pullin' your White Knight routine. Besides, there's some things out there that just have it coming. Doesn't mean it's a lousy job. Just an ugly one."

Of course, now that she's gotten him to think about looking for trouble she's not sure what to suggest, or what direction to point him in!

"Tell ya what. We can start out nice and slow, give your grizzled ass a chance to acclimate," she teases. "You still good with non-lethal takedowns? We can hit up Mutant Town, leave the toys in the bin and bring a little chaos back to where it belongs. I won't feel bad about kickin' any of their asses, and you shouldn't either."


Logan grins, "I can get down with that. Throwing bones with a few scumbags who can't keep the peace sounds like a hell of a way to break my fast," he says.

"We'll see about the non-lethal, though - sometimes a man gets pushed as far as he can get pushed," he says.

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