The thought of his wallet melting from hellspawn blood makes Logan snort, one eye opening to peer Hellboy's way. "I keep my wallet in my back pocket."
Good thing, too, because when the feeling in his chest returns and he realises he isn't melting any more, the front of Logan's trousers have pretty much gone to shit. Quite a few inches off the hem have melted off, and the ends where they stopped are charred as if they'd been burned with fire.
He sits up, then reaches behind him to where the back portion of his jeans are sagging downward in an open flap with nothing up front to support them. True to form, his wallet's safe and sound, though he imagines being wet'll probably work wonders for the old leather.
"Heads up," he says, tossing it Hellboy's way. He pulls his ruined jeans off and stands there in boxer shorts, though takes note of how the upper part of the garter up front have the same terrible, burnt edges on them. "There should be, uh... eighty dollars in there? Whatever." And clearly he isn't too concerned with Hellboy just taking the cash and bolting. There're some pictures in there too and a points cards for groceries and all, but nothing for credit.
Logan's jeans are just as wrecked as the shop, so he dumps them in a trash bin, may they rest in peace. Then he walks over. In his boxers and his boots.
"Is there a bar without the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' mantra?"
He catches the wallet without much issue in his non-stone hand but doesn't even bother opening it to take a peek inside, just tucks it away in his own not-underwear shorts for safe keeping. If he's at all bothered by Logan's current look (he isn't) he doesn't give any sign, just thinks over the question.
"Not one I can think of around here, no, but I doubt your fashion choice is gonna be what holds 'em up."
Just saying.
"We can always grab a couple six packs and some burgers and find a roof somewhere though."
Ha. Giving himself another look, Logan concedes. "Okay."
And with that, he walks over, passing Hellboy and making his way from the shore back to the pier, and then back to civilisation entirely. His microphone and tracker's pretty much been burnt to shit, but he gives Hellboy's a cursory look as they walk, hand lifting to gesture his own index finger towards his ear in reference to it.
"You still gotta keep that on you?" He doesn't know the protocols for this, really. Charles had handled most of the logistics and Logan hadn't paid enough attention after being briefed by someone even worse at holding his attention than Cyclops. But, off-handedly, it'd be nice to talk without the knowledge some old white fucks in a garbage truck would be listening to their every word.
"Where the hell's the nearest convenience store..."
A thumb moves towards the tracker, tangentially prompted by the question, but he wouldn't have needed the reminder anyway. It jams against the button, killing the flashing light and everything connected to it in the process, only responding after it's already off.
"Technically yes, but it wouldn't be the first time I shut it off to get a little privacy. They're used to it by now."
They don't like it, but they're used to it and more or less know to leave him be unless he takes forever about getting back.
"Saw one a half mile or so back, if you can make it that far."
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no subject
Good thing, too, because when the feeling in his chest returns and he realises he isn't melting any more, the front of Logan's trousers have pretty much gone to shit. Quite a few inches off the hem have melted off, and the ends where they stopped are charred as if they'd been burned with fire.
He sits up, then reaches behind him to where the back portion of his jeans are sagging downward in an open flap with nothing up front to support them. True to form, his wallet's safe and sound, though he imagines being wet'll probably work wonders for the old leather.
"Heads up," he says, tossing it Hellboy's way. He pulls his ruined jeans off and stands there in boxer shorts, though takes note of how the upper part of the garter up front have the same terrible, burnt edges on them. "There should be, uh... eighty dollars in there? Whatever." And clearly he isn't too concerned with Hellboy just taking the cash and bolting. There're some pictures in there too and a points cards for groceries and all, but nothing for credit.
Logan's jeans are just as wrecked as the shop, so he dumps them in a trash bin, may they rest in peace. Then he walks over. In his boxers and his boots.
"Is there a bar without the 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' mantra?"
no subject
"Not one I can think of around here, no, but I doubt your fashion choice is gonna be what holds 'em up."
Just saying.
"We can always grab a couple six packs and some burgers and find a roof somewhere though."
no subject
And with that, he walks over, passing Hellboy and making his way from the shore back to the pier, and then back to civilisation entirely. His microphone and tracker's pretty much been burnt to shit, but he gives Hellboy's a cursory look as they walk, hand lifting to gesture his own index finger towards his ear in reference to it.
"You still gotta keep that on you?" He doesn't know the protocols for this, really. Charles had handled most of the logistics and Logan hadn't paid enough attention after being briefed by someone even worse at holding his attention than Cyclops. But, off-handedly, it'd be nice to talk without the knowledge some old white fucks in a garbage truck would be listening to their every word.
"Where the hell's the nearest convenience store..."
no subject
"Technically yes, but it wouldn't be the first time I shut it off to get a little privacy. They're used to it by now."
They don't like it, but they're used to it and more or less know to leave him be unless he takes forever about getting back.
"Saw one a half mile or so back, if you can make it that far."
no subject
He's been in worse situations than underwear and shoes and gone on foot for miles like that, after all.
Not that he'd happily brag about it.