LOGAN.

i– ... i know. i'm sorry. it's just been easier to take things out on... one of *you. someone else in general. [ sneering at the "proud" comment but he scratches the back of his neck at the same time, clearing his throat. ] thanks, bub. seriously.

[ @bloodiedkatanas. ]

[ he shrugged but the way he held himself was tense, right down to the clenched fists at his sides. ] 've been working on my temper lately. don't act so surprised, i'm not *always a dick...

[ closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, just to exhale with a sigh. ] watch yourself.

[ freezing . . . slow turn toward him with a blank face. ]

[ currently suited up, mask and all, to help an old lady get her cat out of a tree. ]

[ *sniiikt. ] i won't miss again. [ staring him down, glaring really. his head is just fuzzy enough that he almost doesn't want to want to be alone. but with his mood? he knew better. ] you shouldn't want to be here for this shit anyway...

[ at being caught, he growls, throwing the now empty bottle at the door. pointedly not aiming at wade despite how badly he wants to. his throat burns with the lingering taste and his ears burn with embarrassment. ] i *was... until you showed up. beat it, bub. i'm celebrating.

[ sitting in the shower fully clothed and drinking three quarters of a whiskey bottle in one shot, chugging until he's out of breath. drops of booze leaking from the corners of his mouth. he pulls away from the now empty bottle with a ragged breath. ] happy fuckin' birthday...

[ @bloodiedkatanas. ]

[ grumbling, bringing a cigar away from his lips with a sneer, but not pushing him away. ] you good?

. . . okay, you caught me. i'm just repeating stuff peter yapped to me about.

now you have to pay the fanum tax, bub.

don't like it? take yer gooner ass back to ohio!