The Dogs Bar

September 17, 2018:

Logan and Rogue arrive at a bar in Mutant Town, they go inside to have a little fun. Bishop and Cyclops are there too!


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The place used to be called Carlito's. It had this old world vibe to it despite it being home to some of the nastiest retired Maggia people you could meet. Men old enough and vile enough to survive their contemporaries and actually choose to step away from the crime family with something akin to a retirement settlement. Throughout the last dozen years it'd always been there as a place where outsiders and insiders could come and be reasonably sure that there'd be something close to safety for negotiations there, since Eddie Carlito didn't brook no nonsense.

So when the two mutants had walked down the sidewalk and paused just at the alleyway before the converted brownstone, at least one of them had been expecting something different. Since once they round the corner there's not that neon sign announcing the name. There's no little table outside where big thick men in jump suits would stand around even at night and shoot the breeze. And there's definitely nothing approaching the smell of espresso on the wind.

Instead there's nothing less than fourteen motorcycles lined up out front, glowing with gleam of a blue and red neon light in the window of the place that's now apparently called. /POTTER'S/. And next to that neon sign are dozens of smaller ones all proclaiming the different beers inside, and right in the doorway leading inwards is a wall of cellphones that are all banged into the wall with a nail going through their screens, all placed underneath a sign that almost yells, /NO CELLPHONES!/

It's enough to get Logan to pause there and consider the place, frowning to himself. "Reckon I've been away longer'n I thought."

Rogue is wearing a dark green tanktop so when they were exiting her car she pulled a sheer scarf out of the glovebox and wrapped it around her bare shoulders to help protect anyone from accidentally colliding with some of her dangerously dangerous exposed skin. With black gloves on up to her elbows, dark brown jeans with flower shapes embroidered along the denim of her thighs, and dark leather boots, she just strolls alongside Logan looking here to there, taking in the sights of this part of 'Town that she hasn't been to before.

When the store with the cell phone 'art' comes up, Rogue just grins at it. "They're welcome t'try'n do that t'my phone." She quips. "Ain't gonna end well for'em though." And she glances over to Logan then and stares at him for a second and then back to the place. "This ain't how you recall it?" She asks him then. "Things change, I guess. I hear these kind\a stores aren't easy t'keep open. I've always flirted with the idea'a runnin' a bar, but I hear the odds'a stayin' open are next to zero. Not too inspirational t'hear that."

With an exhale then the southern belle adjusts the sheer green scarf over her shoulders. "We goin' in here, or some where else?"

"Mmm," Logan says at first, but then he nods. "I'll ask around, see if anyone remembers somethin'." He starts to step forwards and takes point, pushing open the door and taking a step through then holding it for her to precede him. Inside there's the smell of smoke, legal and otherwise, not to mention sweat and exertion. There's the steady drone of a jukebox playing subdued country music. Occasionally there's the crack and rumble of a pool table apparently doing some brisk business. It's all steady and blurs together into a sensory melange that screams of nothing more than 'honky tonk.'

Inside and pausing there as he scopes the place out, Logan says sidelong. "If ya ever do decide on gettin' a bar, I'm told it's best if ya consider it just a way ta get people ta drink with ya. Makin' money is a far off second place." That having been said he steps inside.

A waitress with worn features and more tattoos than's common even for a biker gang gives them both a wave and a wink as she passes by taking some empties back to the bar. The people around, overall, seem salt of the earth. But one thing stands out, and it's the two dozen or so men wearing 'The Dogs of Hell' jean jackets that offer insight into their allegiance as well as their rank in that particular group.


Bishop could probably pass for a biker if he wanted, but he has no interest. He does have a leather jacket, but underneath he wears a crisp white shirt and a red tie. He has a badge clipped at his waist and a gun at his hip. He gets plenty of resentful stares, but he gives them right back. He's a hard man to intimidate.

He'd been in the back asking a few questions of a stoolie he used occasionally, under the premise of shaking him down and busting him. Guy would disappear for a couple of days with a little spending cash and then 'bail himself out' after a while and come back, looking for sympathy after he got picked on by the cops, none the wiser that he'd sold his buddies out on the cheap.

Bishop doesn't acknowledge Logan but he does watch, lingering towards the back of the room.

Rogue takes a second to run her hands through her hair at her reflection in the front window, poofin' it up a little more around her shoulders before she glances over to Logan when he gives her the bar ownership wisdom and then opens the door for her. She gives him a big grin as she strides on inside. "Maybe when I'm in my later years. Could be pretty fun then."

Once inside she pauses a few steps in, gives a big smile in return to the winking waitress and then lets her gaze sweep across the interior of the bar. The pool table, the 'Dogs' gang and everything else is looked over before she glances back to Logan over her shoulder. "Lovely place. I might come here more often." And its true, seems like her kind of pub.

Rogue starts on a walk then, a walk with a sway in her hips as she makes point to stroll through the whole joint, past tables where people are seated, past the pool players, past the gangers in the cute matching jackets and past Bishop too, she gives just about everyone a smile as she makes eye contact with those who look at her.

Rogue's only answer is a small snort as he tosses a nod in the direction of the bar. "A'right, go do your thing." Which, to be fair, she's already doing it as she starts the circle around the room. Drawing eyeballs, inspiring quiet comments to those nearby, bringing smiles and scowls to life sometimes one on the heels of the other. She fits the role, and it gives Logan the freedom to make his way mostly unobserved.

The haggard man with the stern features slips around a group of men all hanging around a corner booth, talking in rumbling muted tones as they're brought another round. Then Logan continues on making his way towards the back and the pool table, right on past the juke. Into that corner spot and that's where he'll catch Bishop's line of sight.

His lip twists as he steps forwards, a few paces and then he pauses by the table. A glance at the badge, then back up. "Sheriff."

Bishop almost lets a smile slip the corner of his mouth, but not quite. He's got a hell of a pokerface, down to the suit tattooed over his eye.

"Desperado," he says in his rumbling voice. "What brings you two out and about today?" he says. He may not know Rogue in particular, but he knows of her and he has enough sense to see when two people are working together to suss out a place. He won't blow their cover, but there's no reason for him not to be curious.

Rogue doesn't hold any fear or apprehension toward this sort of thing, slim fit jeans and a tanktop that doesn't hide any of her curves, she's in her mid twenties and is as fit and trim as a gal can get. She likes to turn heads and get men to fuss over her, its arguably that she likes it too much in fact. But she also knows her deadly limitations on it, even if the men around her often don't.

The southerner greets a few of the more confident fellas, showcasing her true Mississippi flavored voice which generally helps work most males into her favor, but her goal is those gangsters in the 'Dogs' attire and she ends up walking right up to them to ask one of them to buy her a drink. This is where she is now, standing amongst them, introducing herself and smiling sweetly at all of them, trying to be friendly to them, the women with them included. No reason to start off on the wrong foot with anyone after all.

The elder mutant with the stern look takes up a place nearby to Bishop, leaning back against the wall underneath a rack of antlers and a glowing Budweiser sign that's missing a few letters so it only proclaims, 'Buwser.' Yet he has such an ease of movement, such a casual nonchalance in this setting that he fits right in, eyeballs just slide right off him when they glance in his direction.

Rogue… not so much.

"Reckon it's the same reason yer out n'about." From his jacket pocket he fishes out a cigar and clicks open a small plasma lighter that flares with a faint pink glow as he lights the smoke. The lighter is pocketed in the next moment as he adds, "The Brotherhood." Though the people nearby likely can't hear the rumbled murmur of words between the two men.

As for Rogue she's definitely drawn the eyes of some of those Dogs of Hell. Particularly one guy who has a nametag that proclaims him to be, 'Runner' and he's a Trusted Brother, of some kind of rank with a trio of stars under his name. He even goes so far as to push away from that corner booth and asks her, "Well ain't you a peach? C'mere and sit on ole, Runner's lap."

Only for one of the others to snort in derision for some reason.

Scott, ever prompt and good about time is lingering behind the small collective. A tap on his wristwatch that stopped working yesterday and he is pausing to strip it off, tucking it in to a pocket before /POTTERS/ sign is crossed under and the man enters.

He stands out here, at least with the current crowd, the light and long sleeved shirt, cleanly crisp of a light blue that hangs off of his shoulders and falls over a belt, khakis and a pair of white sneakers. His shades seated on his nose, reflective red like always. The mutant is aware he is out of place usually always is but the confidence and straight back posture he supports says he sure as hell is not catering to it.

The brunette takes on a quick once over of those present, ticking off the less than a handful he knows and who he is here with but the delay in them entering easily says Summers came in on his own, wandering from the streets. Not like hes the first to show up like this here. It is a public place and all.

Bishop nods, "I'm always out and about in these parts. This is my beat," he says simply enough. "But yeah, the Brotherhood's messy and they've always got fingers in pies around this part of town. Plenty of anger to go around. Lots of pots just waiting to be stirred," he says.

He watches Rogue and the stranger with a careful eye. "I'd remind you smoking's illegal indoors, but I know you don't give a damn."

"There's illegal, and then there's illegal." Logan says, offering his own insight into the world as he looks around the room. "You know this place used ta be an Italian cafe thing?" He ashes the cigar and scowls absently for a moment. Then he lifts his eyes back towards Bishop and rumbles. "Had some contacts here, now…" He looks around the place again, taking stock. But instead of finishing the sentence he just shakes his head.

Instead, Logan tilts his head back towards Bishop and asks, "You got word on the street about them after this whole Stark thing? Marvel Girl's not exactly been paintin' a rosy picture of the whole thing." From where the two men converse they might not be able to easily catch Cyclops' entrance, but they're in view a few steps inside.

Scott's quick assessment of the place satisfying him enough to he apparently moves in, closer to the bar and Logan. Mindful Rogue is weaving her way through the place, doing her usual. Making men (at times even women) ogle, stare and show a baser less impressive side of themselves. A reach up and press back of his glasses as he exhales heralds way to him leaning against the surface with one elbow and a forearm exposed with rolled up shirt sleeve.

"Logan." He says audibly enough, flat acknowledgement and Bishop, the other presently near enough gets a quiet glance, no words. Just a look.

"Lovely place." He adds leaving enough out to remain undisturbing in the conversation but inserting himself enough to join in.

Bishop looks sideways at Logan, "Where I come from, it's a hole in the ground. But most things are," he says. Other refugees from the future would often talk about their worlds, expanding in detail. Bishop didn't talk about his, except to say it was bad and he didn't mind not going back.

He meets Cyclops' attention with his own steady gaze. It was a strange things to walk with legends and heroes of days past and find yourself just standing in a bar with them watching a biker try to get laid. Time was a funny thing.

"Word on the street is mostly ugly and scared. It always is. It's also usually sketchy on details."

"Slim," Logan's own reply is given easily enough though when he looks to the side there's something slightly sour there in his blue eyes. He looks back and it's gone even as he ashes the cigar and takes another drag. For the time being he leaves it in the corner of his mouth and stuffs his hands deep into the pockets of his loose camouflage pants, even as he considers the two men around him.

"Used to be a nicer place. Populated by old coots who had their fingers on the pulsea things." His eyes slip aside towards Rogue as she maintains the attention of the men around her, playing them like a fiddle as she catches comments and makes wry ones back most likely. "If Carlito was still runnin' things he'da been out here by now."

For a time he looks towards Bishop and listens to the man, nodding for a bit in agreement. Then he shifts his attention back towards Cyclops, shifting his posture just enough to make that subtle change in body language to signal the other man is now part of the conversation. "What do you think, Cyke? The recent crazy."

"About this place or the butt end of your Brotherhood conversation?" Summers know which one he is asking about, taking his time to answer while he flags down a drink for himself, a simple lite beer from the tap. Not picky or intending to finish the whole thing he didn't seem to care what is being offered his way flinging a couple bills down.

"I'll cover theirs too."

"The recent crazy is nothing we're not familiar with just different faces playing the game and new angles to consider, this is what we are here for. My concerns right now, our preparation and organization… and if you're here to fish up more intel, don't let me get in your way. We can use all of it." He missed the comment about Rachel, no special case hearing on his end and the atmospheric noises drowned much out.

"Speaking of… that part of it or she just instigating?" He tips a chin up Rogue's way. Bishop getting another casual once over as if Scott's trying to place the man.

Bishop has at least been around the fringes of the team, now and again, but Cyke might not have met him directly. The tattoo probably gives him away most of all - the guy who runs the Mutant Task Force has a face that stands out.

"She's playing the honeytrap. I think Logan here's supposed to be the sharp sting at the bottom once she reels him in," he says.

At first Logan's answer towards Cyclops is just a grunt as he accepts that statement, since they've all too often dealt with the relatively same old same old, just never gets any easier despite the cards having been played over and over. He chews on the end of the cigar thoughtfully then Scott's latter words shift his attention sidelong towards Rogue and he gives a short nod. "Easier ta get the lay of the land when folks think they're doin' the lookin'." With the other man's grasp of tactics he's probably used just such a ploy himself in the past though perhaps not quite in the same… manner.

Towards Bishop Logan gives a nod and adds. "Was gonna make the rounds, try and keep to the outskirts of Mutant Town. Not sure if this place has anythin' with its…" He looks back towards the bar and then adds, "Change in ownership."

"Distasteful but whatever works I suppose." Scott manages with a quirk of his lips, letting his attention pull away from the 'honeytrap' scenario back to the closer two and the conversation. Not like the Southern Belle couldn't handle her own in a place like this or just about anywhere on this Earth or beyond.

"A shame. I'm limited on contacts here, being public as I am a lot don't care to talk to me anymore, most the Morlocks never liked dealing with me anyways so, keep in in the loop on what you do find."

A glance towards the television running silently with captions he lets out a quiet mutter, "Metros and Wildcats game soon and I don't have tickets."

Bishop smiles, "My contacts are the kind you can only push through fear. I'm not exactly undercover," he says. "But luckily I'm good at putting the fear of God into a scumbag. One of my favorite hobbies," he says.

He sees things getting a little more edgy, "I think it might be almost time to intervene," he says, although he isn't on the edge of leaping in himself. He's on duty after all. Getting involved means getting official and he's not sure the X-men want a report on record about whatever goes down.

It's at that point that Runner stands up quickly and roars, "The hell did you mean by that!" As he extends a finger towards Rogue even as she seems to just be smiling and looking oh so entirely cheerful. But the biker quickly obscures her from view as his large frame blocks her from their line of sight.
"Ease up, Runnerman. She didn't know what she was sayin'!"

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone about that!" Runner rounds on his biker brother, only for Rogue to apparently say something else and all of a sudden he brings his fist back and starts to bring it forwards…

And that's the moment when he gets knocked back hard, crashing over a nearby table and shattering four or five mugs even as Runner skids to a halt at the feet of quickly rising bar patrons who round not just on Runner and his boys, but on Rogue as well.

Back near the pool table, Logan ashes his cigar and then sets it on the edge of the pool table where it'll quietly smolder, the ember burning with a dim red glow. He looks back towards the other two X-Men and cocks an eyebrow as he says, "Gentlemen." A glance is given towards the ruckus that's not so much ignited the whole bar but perhaps just that corner of it. Towards Cyclops he asks, "Shall we?"

Scott lets out a sigh and tips his beer up towards them, "Help yourselves just uh… " No further added there other than the obvious intent, one that doesn't need spoken out loud. No 'Berserker' stuff… a grown man and all shouldn't have to be told these things but Logan has always been a rather particular case for and beyond the X-Men.

The pool table is stepped to and Summers begins to shuffle balls, stepping around a fleeing patron who is moving way from the crashing and what looks to just about be a bar fight. Not that Slim isn't down for any sort of fight when they come his way but about now, this could be overkill on their side and he's still a very well known mutant face. Friendships with DEO, SHIELD and the Mutant/Metahuman Board is already strained enough. Him engaging, name showing up as having been in a bar fight…

Racking the balls up he sets to minding his business at the table now abandoned. Woe to any of the offensive who want to get close enough though.

Bishop raises an eyebrow, "Didn't figure you'd need much help in a barfight. This is, what, number ten thousand?" he says. Still, there is a certain temptation to go off-book, especially since these bikers have been a persistent thorn in his side for a while now. They weren't the Brotherhood, but that's more because they were stupid than out of any good bones in their bodies. Still, he's going to hang back for a moment and see how it plays out.

"Hey, didn't want to hog all the fun." That last towards Bishop but then he shifts his eyes back towards Cyclops. Logan answers in his own inimitable way, which is primarily to just sort of /look/ at Cyclops and then to say succinctly, "Pfft." As if that was enough of a response. But then again at this point between the two men, it probably is. With that being said, however, he shucks off his jacket as he starts to walk forwards even as the first few punches are being thrown. A jaw is cracked to the side, another man tries to reach and grab hold of Rogue only to instantly regret it as he's thrown into the wall with a /smack/ of impact.

But then the first chair is brought up and around, and smashes close to where Runner was just getting up from. Only for Runner's punch to be checked as Logan grabs him by the shoulder and says simply, "That's enough."

To which the biker replies with a sharp right cross that would probably put most people down. Only for it to impact with a resounding, /clang/ that shifts Wolverine's jaw to the side marginally and only serves to darken his mood. "Bad move, bub."

"They don't." Scott confirms Bishop's own commentary. A pool stick picked up and weighted, sized against another before deciding on the first. A man staggering by, getting ready to hurl himself back in towards the others gets a longer distance to go as his heel connects with the back of Scott's, letting him carry on past to hit the ground.

"Sorry about that." He offers politely while leaning over the table, running a finger out and taking aim on the cue ball. A KLAK and colored balls fly in all directions, some hitting pockets and going in.

"Bets on how long it takes them?"

Maybe they will come up with some info, at the very least steam is about to get blown off.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License