He spotted them from across the bar from the corner of his eye, despite the smoky haze of cigarettes, dim lighting, and packed bodies. The buzz of neon beer signs and incessant bar chatter muffled their steps, but even so, he noticed their otherness easily. The three of them weren’t the only westerners here, but these two didn’t blend, each for their own unique reason. The man, he thought as he tossed back a shot of bad whiskey, was especially irritating. Off-putting red and black eyes. The scent of crackling energy and the bayou. A smug lookin’ bastard, if ever there was one.
The woman, Logan thought as he motioned for another refill, stood out for another reason entirely, not least of which for her odd hair dye choice. If they two of them were lookin’ to remain unnoticed, they’d failed. Miserably.
The next shot of whiskey went down just as rough as the others and he immediately signaled for yet another from the irritated looking bartender.
“Hoka no kokyaku ga imasu,” the man said as he slapped down the mostly full bottle down on the sticky bartop.
Logan only grunted in reply, not up to wasting his energy on anything else at the moment. His attention was focused on the couple that’d just taken a seat in the back corner of the katakake, away from the crowded bar. They’d just moved outside his field of vision as they’d found their spot, so he slowly adjusted himself so his back was to the bar, arms splayed out casually, chipped shot glass in one hand.
He sniffed the stagnant smoky air, trying to isolate their scents again, to get a better read on their intentions. Just some lost tourists? Or somethin’ else? The collection of crimson glass lamps swinging overhead only intensified the redness of the man’s eyes, and Logan bit back a low growl that’d begun in his chest. The man was alert, eerie eyes filtering through the crowd, lookin’ for somethin’ or someone. Logan narrowed his eyes as the other man momentarily took in his relaxed stance against the bar and seemed to dismiss him with a quick quirk of his eyebrow. Either Logan wasn’t who he was lookin’ for, or he’d decided he wasn’t a threat.
He changed his focus back to the woman. She seemed edgy. On alert. Wary. He took another hit of the air. And not altogether happy. He couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t wanna be sittin’ next to that red-eyed bastard either. She wasn’t scared, there wasn’t any hint of adrenaline in her scent, just anticipation coupled with cautiousness.
Logan dismissed them both for the moment, turning back toward the bottle and refilling his own glass this time. He focused on trying to pick up their conversation, convinced that somethin’ about them wasn’t right. Not in this place.
The appropriately named Red Bar was the latest on a long list of places he’d visited since finding himself in Japan six months ago. The flashes of memory that had started to come back had only intensified since he’d set foot here. Memories of the ocean rising and setting on both sides of the island, of guns and metal, of loss and death, discipline and learning. He’d begun to understand some of his past here, begun to understand some of himself. The Red Bar hadn’t always been what it was now; DJ playing some sort of synthetic music that made him grit his teeth, combination of locals and tourists, all of whom were lookin’ for some kinda memorable experience; either from a bottle or a person. You could count him in with those that were lookin’ at the bottle. He’d known as soon as he came striding in, growling as he handed over a few yen for the cover charge to the bouncer, that whoever he’d known here before was long gone. The only thing that remained from what he’d seen in his memories was the deep red painted walls and hanging lamps.
And the cheap whiskey.
“Anything, chère?” he heard the man say. Either she hadn’t said anything back, or her response was nonverbal. Those two words told Logan a lot. It confirmed the smug lookin’ bastard was from down south, likely Louisiana. Cajun, he dubbed him. It also confirmed they were lookin’ for someone. Logan frowned as he tossed back the shot. The endearment didn’t fit though. They didn’t seem like they were together. They had distinct scents, no overlap, no signs of intimacy.
He kept his ears trained on them as he continued to drink, sure they were up to somethin’.
“Remy get you a drink, chère?” He heard the Cajun ask a few moments later.
Logan snorted at the name and the absurdity of his speech. Remy. He liked Cajun better.
“I’ll get it,” the woman said. Her voice was smooth, with just a hint of an accent. Southern too, but he needed to hear more of it to figure out exactly where. “What do you want?”
Georgia? He thought pouring over the words. No. Not Georgia. Not smooth enough.
“You think de make Remy a Manhattan in dis place?” the Cajun asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.
“I seriously doubt it,” the woman said and Logan heard her shifting in her chair to stand, the aging wood creaking slightly as she moved.
“Then Remy let the lady choose.”
Logan heard her sigh as she replied, “Beer it is,” and heard the subtle sounds of her moving closer toward the bar, fabric shifting, people shuffling out of the way. His back still facing the Cajun, glass and bottle in hand, he poured himself another and waited for her to approach. She slid in beside some locals three seats to his right and he heard her mutter in halting Japanese to the barman, “Uh. Ni sapporo tanoshima seru.”
He couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped his lips at the incorrect usage of “please”. As he tossed back the shot, he saw her freeze, the scent of warm citrus he’d picked up from her turning bitter with a spike of adrenaline.
Her eyes were wide, deep brown as they landed on him, and he slowly set down the glass, locking eyes with her. Her heartbeat had stalled a moment before beginning a triphammer rhythm, a sound that made him narrow his eyes in suspicion. It seemed like they’d found who they were lookin’ for.
Logan looked the woman up and down as she stood there frozen, waiting for her beers, tryin’ to figure out if he knew her. She was attractive enough, long toned legs encased in dark jeans and black boots, nice curvy figure, strange-ass platinum streak in her hair. But those dark eyes and the sight of her lips had him racking his brain for any memory of her. She wasn’t someone he’d be likely to forget if they’d ever crossed paths. Her scent didn’t ring any bells though, and neither did the sight of her. He didn’t know her, so why the hell was she so damned nervous seein’ him?
She broke away first, turning to hand the barman a handful of yen as he haphazardly slapped her beers down on the counter, foam running over the side of the questionably clean glasses. He studied her as she went back to her table in the corner, setting the beers down roughly. The lines of her body were tense, and her pulse was still rapid.
He made out the next words, despite the noise of the crowd, the screeching grating music, and the fact that she’d whispered to the Cajun. “He’s here. Tall one at the bar, dark hair, black shirt and jeans...with the bottle of cheap whiskey.”
He took slight offense at the mention of his choice of drink. When you needed as much booze as he did to get drunk, he couldn’t always afford the good stuff. But then he refocused on the other words she’d said. No question now, they were lookin’ for him.
He heard a disgruntled sound from the Cajun and picked up a whiff of...somethin’. Anger? Sulphur?
“Merde. Him? You kiddin’, chère?”
“Quiet, Gambit,” the woman hissed sharply.
Definitely some anger there, he thought raising one eyebrow. Logan gave up on drinking one shot at a time, grabbed the bottle in his left hand, and took several deep gulps of the shitty whiskey. He wiped away a stray droplet from his lips with the back of his hand and licked it off, threw enough yen on the bartop to cover the drinks, and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the stool and shrugged into it. No way he was gonna stick around to see what they wanted with him. He’d dealt with enough shit on this island, and wasn’t up for anymore.
His eyes darted toward an exit just right of the shitty DJ. After seeing their line of sight was briefly blocked by a swarm of girls making a beeline for the bar, he made his move and headed toward the door.
“Homme is runnin’, Rogue.”
The fuck kind of a name is Rogue? he thought as he darted past the bar. No time for that shit. Gotta move faster. He heard the sound of wood scraping as the Cajun darted up from the table. He heard the woman follow closely behind, faster than he would’ve thought.
Shit. Bastards can move.
He wrenched open the door handle and slammed it shut behind him. He twisted the handle hard, feeling the metal warp. It might be enough to buy him another minute.
The metal door wasn’t heavy enough to muffle the sound of their approaching footsteps and the thick patios of swear words as they attempted the handle. “Go around front and cut him off. Remy take care of dis door.”
Logan wasn’t gonna wait around to give ‘em the chance. He turned on his boots and started toward the doorway opposite the alley, intent on breaking in and losing them on the other side. But before he’d taken two steps, he heard the sound of metal sizzling and a bang as the door from the Red Bar exploded open.
“The fuck!” Logan growled as he whirled to face the Cajun. He was backlit from the red lights of the bar for a moment before he stepped into the alley and slammed the door behind him. “Who the fuck are you?”
The Cajun only grinned as he stepped closer, his hands reaching inside the pocket of a trench coat for...Logan narrowed his eyes...were those playing cards?
“I ain’t much for poker,” he said in a low voice. There was no sign of the woman, she must’ve gone around the front like the Cajun asked.
“Who said I was askin’ you to play, homme?”
Logan rolled his neck, enjoying the feeling of muscles loosening as his joints popped. If this asshole was lookin’ for a fight, he had no problem delivering.
“You wanna play somethin’ else, Cajun?” he asked in a low threatening growl.
“Just lookin’ to have a little chat, monsieur.”
“I ain’t interested in talkin’ to you, swamp rat.” he responded darkly.
Logan saw the Cajun’s hands deftly finger one playing card, saw it begin to glow and narrowed his eyes. Mutants. Figured. Well two could play at that game. He released his claws, the metal singing in the abandoned alleyway, saw the Cajun’s eyes widen slightly as he took in the twelve inches of adamantium as they caught the light of the crescent moon.
“Merde. Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle ait choisi cet animal,” the Cajun muttered under his breath disgust written on his features.
Logan frowned taking in the words, but he’d been called worse. As he tensed his body to move, his ears pricked as they heard the light steps of the woman moving swiftly down the alleyway.
“That’s enough, Gambit,” she said, a steely tone in her voice as she took in the scene. “We’re not here for this.” He sniffed to confirm she was alone and relaxed his stance slightly, though his claws remained extended. She’d come in behind him, and he didn’t like the feeling of her eyes on his back. He slowly moved so that both were in his field of vision, his back to the opposite end of the alley.
“Look, lady,” he said, irritation lacing his words, “I ain’t interested in whatever the hell this is, so call off your chien here and we can all go on our merry fuckin’ ways.”
Logan scented the anger spiking in the cajun at the insult, and grinned nastily at the irritation he saw cross his face. There was somethin’ off about all this. The emotions of both mutants were all over the place. And he had a feelin’ that they knew somethin’ he didn’t. And he didn’t like that.
The woman shook her head in response to his request. “Sorry, Logan. I can’t do that.”
He jerked his head toward her and growled, noting the fine hair raising on her arms as she took in his reaction. “How the fuck do you know my name?”
She took small steps, getting closer and closer to him, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his. He tensed his body again, preparing to strike. “It’s a long story.”
“Yeah?” he asked turning to face her alone. The Cajun had already shown him what he was capable of, some sort of kinetic charging ability. Probably able to aim those playing cards pretty well, too. But he could heal from that shit no problem. He wondered what she could do. Somethin’ to do with that weird hair? Or somethin’ else?
She’d indicated she didn’t want to fight when she’d told the rat to cut it out. He retracted the claws, cocking his head appraisingly. It’d be a shame to have to bloody his claws on someone as pretty as her, but he’d still do it if he had to. “Well too bad I don’t wanna hear it, darlin’.”
“Stubborn as ever,” she muttered under her breath, slight disgust lacing her words. Her words bothered him. She said it like she knew him, and he was positive he’d never laid eyes on her before. She was memorable. Unique lookin’. And he had a feeling that if they’d met any other way, he woulda been makin’ a move on her.
“Look,” she said, shifting subtly closer to him. He couldn’t help the growl that escaped his chest, warning her. She stopped immediately, held up her arms, and slowly leaned her head to one side, slightly exposing her neck as she moved her eyes downward. The animal inside took notice, stirring, appreciating the slight signs of submission. “We aren’t gonna force you to do anything.” Her words were calmer now. But he still had half his attention on the Cajun at his back. He didn’t trust that rat. The woman in front of him was interesting, though. Intriguing.
Maybe hearin’ her out wouldn’t be so bad.
Logan grit his teeth as the thought ran through his brain and he swiftly rejected the idea. It wouldn’t lead to anything but trouble. He was sure of it.
“We just wanna talk,” she said.
“Like I told the swamp rat,” he growled. “I ain’t interested in talkin’.”
“Merde, Rogue,” the Cajun spat in disgust, “Dis one a stubborn salaud.”
Both Logan and the woman ignored him. He saw her hands slowly fall to her sides, palms open, but noted the shifting of her boots to balance on the balls of her feet.
“Can’t pull somethin’ like that without me noticin’, darlin’.” he grinned wolfishly at her, his own stance changing in response. He noticed the swift exhale of frustration, and nearly missed the flaring of gold in her eyes.
“I know,” she growled back at him. Along with the growled response and flare of color in her eyes, her scent had spiked. He thought he got a hint of...What in the fuck? The animal inside was instantly awake and alert. Watching. Suspicious. There was definitely more to her than she was lettin’ on.
“Chère, this ain’t goin’ de way we wanted,” Remy said quietly, and Logan heard the sound of the wax coated paper flittering through the man’s fingers.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarled at the woman, tired of this game. “Whaddya want?” They’d begun circling each other now, stepping over the various debris that littered the alley, the Cajun still in front of the door he’d blasted through. The music from the Red Bar was thumping now, driving bass line pulsing in time with Logan’s heartbeat.
“I told you,” she said through gritted teeth, appearing to struggle in getting the words out, “we just want to talk.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “And I told you, I don’t wanna listen.” His voice was steel. No room for arguing.
“J'en ai assez de cette merde.”
Logan didn’t hear the charge, but the sound of a card flying through the air at his back had him roaring and turning to face the Cajun, claws ripping through the skin from between his knuckles drops of blood falling to the filthy ground.
He heard the woman growling in frustration as she yelled, “No, Remy!” He still didn’t know what her deal was, but right now she wasn’t the threat. He dodged the card just in time, missing his face by inches as he thundered toward the swamp rat. He saw the Cajun suck in a breath, eyes widening as he saw the card make contact with something just behind him. A moment of hushed expectation before the slight lessening of oxygen, consumed by the explosion. He heard a sharp cry of pain, the scent of singed blood on the air.
He raised his arm to attack, surprised the Cajun hadn’t moved despite his swift advance. Then the feeling of a cool hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down, down, down. Down to the dirty alley floor. His eyes widened as he felt everything being pulled from him, pain exploded where she touched him, he felt a spiral building inside as everything was leached out through her touch. He was forced to his knees, incapacitated, unable to react. He heard a sob and then she sucked in a breath as she wrenched her hand from his skin. And then in an instant, everything went black.
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Chapter End Notes:
Yup. I ended it there! I had so much fun writing this chapter, that I couldn't wait to get it out to you guys. :) Thanks to everyone for continuing this story with me. I hope you enjoyed this one, and I hope to have the next one up soon. Until then, let me know what you thought of Dimension 1 Logan in the comments ;)