|||One on one starter||| @glovedanddangerous
Three weeks in Europe and the only lead he had left was going to take him six hours south and out of the country. Something about that felt wrong no matter how sure the lady at the corner store seemed to be-what he could make out at least. He could read her well enough though and he trusted that instinct. Logan glanced at his watch, 4am, definitely wrong judging by the dim light that burst into the room every time a new patron trickled in. He’d adjust that later or maybe just leave it until he switched to digital. He was getting tired of changing it and wagered it was closer to eight, maybe nine judging by the crowd. The warm, smoky interior of this bar was a welcome respite after his long haul across Europe to this sad excuse for a city. Logan had heard tidbits about what had happened in Sokovia, mostly in passing from tv’s left on in rooms adjacent to him. But the scars of what had happened here still showed. Cracks in the pavement, lived-in buildings with conditions that should still be condemned, but mostly it showed in the people. First look around, this was every slum bar in Eastern Europe he’d ever gotten kicked out of. On the second, the man laughing a little louder than everyone else in the corner was about to laugh himself right out of whatever this place was calling twenty bucks to the young man nodding across the pool table from him. On the third, the woman sitting by herself in the booth near the back kept rotating the ring on her finger as she drank. A nervous tick? Spouse died in the accident? A few of what he assumed were usuals had spoken to her when they came in, but it seemed they knew she didn’t want the company. Pair that with about half a dozen other twitches and taps across the bar, people smiling a little too much, and the overwhelming stench of burnt out adrenaline, cortisol, and stale hops was enough to tint it all a shade of not quite right. He expected a few curious glances while in his usual jeans and faded flannel but here tonight, most eyes were set on the bottom of their bottles.
Logan made his way to a shaded corner table with a view of the door, placed his large cowboy hat on the table, and leaned himself into the worn booth. The menu may have been in runes for all he could tell, some subset of Russian. But a mock-drinking motion to his lips was enough to get the point across to the waitress, or at least he had hoped. Something just enough to wet his lips before he moved on. Fixing this town wasn’t his problem, he needed to pick up Rogue’s trail again before it went even colder. That corner store attendant mentioned that a woman fitting Rogue’s description was traveling with a, “Caged-In.” He didn’t need an understanding of Sokovian to know that whatever that was, it sounded like bad business. He took half of a deep sniff before he halted in a grimace and pinched his nose. Pointless He reclined back as much as he could into his booth seat to rest his eyes until that waitress came back with whatever Sokovian Roulette drink he had just ordered.
