He chuckled at Ari's mention of Barbie, a name traditionally reserved for the exceedingly pretty yet mentally challenged, and Vivienne definitely fit the bill. "Alright then, lead the way." He gestured for her to continue down the sidewalk, adding a half-bow as he did so. "I shall defer to your well-informed sense of direction." So they continued on until reaching the bar, which when they arrived had the closed sign hanging proudly in the window and the blinds drawn shut. It was to be expected, he supposed, given that it was not even four in the afternoon yet. This was definitely the address Xavier's letter had given him though, and he stepped up and tried the door. Locked. "Well... I guess we get creative then." He'd come thousands of miles already, and wasn't about to let a locked door stop him. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out a long knife and slipped the blade between the door and the jamb, then forced it down at an angle until it pushed the latch back and the door popped open. "There we are. Now, let's see what this Xavier guy has in store, shall we?" He gave Ari another smile, hoping it was the comforting sort since most people found breaking and entering distasteful at best, then pushed on into the bar.

The scene that greeted them was typical of most drinking establishments, a pool table off to one side and some tables and chairs scattered about, with the bar on the other side with its line of stools standing proudly in front. The room was dark, owing to the half-closed blinds on the windows, and thin tendrils of light drew lines across the tables and chairs. "Nice place." Which it actually was. Clean and well kept, without the beer stains on the floor and counter you found in some other establishments or the rank smell of those who'd drunk too much and couldn't make it to the bathroom in time. Or maybe those things were unique to the redneck bars Scott had grown up around. Either way, this place was worlds apart from what he was used to. 

"Hello! Charles Xavier? Logan? Anyone here?" His voice was raised to carry through the building, and he removed his tan trench coat and laid it across the bar while he waited. He honestly wasn't sure why he'd worn the coat in the first place though. New York was a lot warmer than the mountains in Alaska, and he'd been on the verge of breaking into a sweat ever since he'd gotten off his plane. Underneath the coat, he wore a white dress shirt and black slacks, complimented by a somewhat out-of-place pair of polished black army boots. It hadn't been his first choice of wardrobe, but when one was traveling to the big city, it was usually best to try and blend in as much as possible.