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[center][color=832813]LOGAN [/color]
[color=E5674A]LOGAN[/color][/center][/h1][/sup][/row][row][cell] 
Meanwhile, in the men's room of [i]The Pit[/i]: another daily dose of criminality was taking place; an illegal and illegitimate transaction as was far too common in Oceanside. Logan Prescott carefully counted out his dollar bills then fanned himself with him, accomplishing little but wafting the stale air of a bathroom seldom cleaned in the face of his sometimes-dealer, [url=https://www.reactiongifs.com/r/cf-dafuq.gif]Big Mac[/url] – a larger man-about-town who was definitely the most understanding of any he'd done business with before.

[color=cdcdcd]"What'll it be, Prez? The usual? Or something better?"[/color]

The idea certainly did hold some sway over him. Logan scratched at a phantom itch running up his forearm through the cuff of his jacket, until he shook his head decisively. Once every other month was fine for that particular indulgence, he didn't want to get that feeling his old bandmates described as 'the rats'. [color=E5674A]"Just the usual. But gimme a couple extra – last payday was mighty and I want to give everyone a good time this weekend. Thanks."[/color]

The dealer in the men's room of The Pit didn't even blink at the request, nor did he have to arrange prices with one of his most regular customers. The deal was made (ecstasy taken from an empty tub of chewing gum for a handful of crumpled bills and a handshake) and afterwards, Big Mac pulled out a crushed carton of cigarettes from his inside pocket, holding it out to Logan with a meaty fist. [color=cdcdcd]"You do you. Want a smoke?"[/color]

Though the outside said they were Marlboros, that was a lie. Logan made a face at the sight of them – disgust mixing with disappointment of having standards too high to accept a freebie for once. [color=E5674A]"Cloves? Nah, man you're a fucking monster, get out of here and get yourself something decent,"[/color] Logan said with a hearty clap on the back, rustling the plastic tucked under his thumb. [color=E5674A]"Stay healthy will ya?"[/color]

As he sauntered out of the men's room, he tugged on the belt of his leather pants to bring them up another tight inch, sliding tonight's get into the back pocket. When the time was right he'd break it out: either he'd be having a wonderful night with the best people he'd ever met in his life (and would be willing to share) or he'd turn a miserable one palatable for himself.

Of course, The Pit wasn't the kind of establishment Logan could cause problems in – not without taking a massive dump in his own stomping grounds-slash-sometimes place of employment. Plus, Rig would stop letting him skip queues as a professional courtesy, bouncer-to-bouncer, and that was utterly unthinkable; the sort of thing he used to do with [i]The Sinnermen[/i].

[i]Fuck the Sinnermen[/i], he thought with no amount of spite, as he often did whenever anything reminded him of his old bandmates, and hurried towards the bar to dive into the action.

[color=E5674A]"Did I hear somebody say [i]shots[/i]? 'Cus I'll take one too, Robin Hood,"[/color] Logan said, entering the picture and throwing one arm over the shoulders of Darcy, which was his usual greeting for that particular spitfire, and planting the other on the bar, cigarette dripping ash. It was busy tonight – a bunch of faces he knew well, a few bodies he wanted to know better (Biblically-speaking), and at least one he pretended not to recognise from the other side of the silver screen. 

He winked at the bartender, 'cus that was what one [i]did[/i] with bartenders, wasn't it? Didn't matter if it was Robin or Jed, they were getting flirted with; that was Logan's law. [color=E5674A]"In honour of that brave, brave stiff who followed his dick into the wrong neighborhood, of course. Who brought him?"[/color]



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