Keeping hidden was something that Vanessa Carlysle excelled at and it was also the reason why she was currently sitting in a run-down bar in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Cities were a good place to hide among the multitude, but there was much more countryside than city and with little work at the moment she doubted anyone would ever be able to track her down to the back roads of Westchester County. Although it had been quite pleasant to cruise the nearly empty roads on her bike, she couldn’t say she was really enjoying this bar. Calling it ‘old fashioned’ would be polite, but inaccurate, a vermin ridden shack was nearer the truth in her opinion.

Nonetheless they had beer; the reason she’d stopped off at this hole in the first place. Its taste was depressingly bad but it was strong, although for the moment she wasn’t letting it affect her. Normally Vanessa wasn’t really a beer kind of woman, but today she was wearing ‘Mitch’, a heavyset man in a black leather jacket whose symbol proclaimed his allegiance to a non-existent bike gang. He was her own creation; a face and body that looked at home on a motorbike and which fitted in perfectly with the clientele of the Brazen Fox. From her seat up at the bar, she raised dull blue eyes to look in the mirror behind the owner, her positioning perfect to see anyone coming in the door without being obvious. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she took a moment to admire her workmanship. Mitch’s whole appearance was generally bland and unremarkable; his only distinguishing feature was a blonde moustache that she’d seen in a photo some time past. He had just enough muscle and some faded scars to encourage any of the dodgier patrons to shrug and decide to leave him alone and looking at them she would have been foolish to show up here a woman.

Currently the bar was quiet, there were only three other patrons, both of whom she watched without appearing to. One was obviously a pickpocket judging by the way his eyes often slipped to the pockets of Mitch’s jeans, wondering which one ‘he’ kept his wallet in. The other two were probably thieves as well judging by the way they had stiffened when she walked in. The scuffs on their shoes and strong looking hands meant that they often lifted things in a hurry, housebreakers then, but nothing for her to worry about. She had drained her glass and was about to pay what she owed, when the doors opened. It was only through practice and strength of will that she managed to keep her face neutral, a slight widening of her eyes the only outward sign of her shock.

Why did kids have to suck so much?

Logan wasn’t sure, and yeah, there were a few of them he didn’t mind, but for the majority of well, existence, especially when they were being trained, Logan hated them. If it wasn’t their teenage hormones amping up their powers (powers that always went off at the wrong moment and generally were angled towards his balls) it was them crying in a corner. The danger room sessions were supposed to be helping this kids learn how to fight, but Logan didn’t understand how they were supposed to be expected to do such when he’d spent the last half an hour being wept on by some fifteen year old boy who grew and shot tranq-tipped spikes, one of which, yes, nailed him in the groin.

That was why. All the whys ever needed.

Because they hurt his testicles.

It was because of this, all of it, the failed Danger Room session, the smell of salt that lingered, and the pain in his sac that hadn’t quite faded that Logan left the basements, headed for the garage and hopped on his bike, his course set for the Brazen Fox. It was a hole in the wall, sure, but it was his hole in the wall, and he was pretty much guaranteed to be free from fifteen year olds of any kind (and more testicular trauma).

Normally he didn’t arrive when it was so dead and lately he hadn’t been coming at all, not since Ororo, not since Carol, but he didn’t really want to have to explain why he was grimacing the way he was to either woman, and cold bad beer surrounded by hard-assed mother effers like himself sounded more than just a little okay to him.

Plus, everyone needed a little alone time, to think about their feelings and reflect about their day, right?

A snort ripped from Logan’s nostrils as he walked into the joint, old ass door swinging shut behind him, the sound grating on his senses, but in a way that was almost welcoming. He hated that damned door, and the noise it made, but it also meant he was inside the bar he loved.

Ah. Peace. Finally.

“Molson.” He mumbled, taking a seat on a barstool, albeit gingerly, before pulling out cigar and lighter, getting ready to settle in for an hour. Maybe two.


((i am tired and have had an odd day. forgive the strange writing style. i hope at least it made you laugh))

How long had it been since she’d last seen that face, ten years perhaps and now here he was right in front of her in the middle of a random bar in rural Westchester. For a brief moment fear welled up in her chest as she wondered if he was here because of her, had somehow discovered her role in his re-capture and managed to track her down with an intent to kill. But she firmly squelched her brief panic; there was no possible way he could have tracked her here, her scent was male to match the rest of her form, her disguise physically flawless and anyway it didn’t seem like he was paying ‘Mitch’ any particular attention. If Wolverine was here for her Copycat was sure she would know it by now.

As he moved over to the bar, Vanessa watched him closely, although outwardly Mitch remained focussed on his drink, seemingly oblivious to the new arrival. How would he react, she wondered, if he knew that just feet away from him was the Weapon X operative who was responsible for capturing him once again. It was the better part of a decade ago that she had killed and replaced Jane Simmonds, using that identity to get close to Wolverine on the orders of the program, would he even remember Jane's betrayal, had he ever discovered the existence of Copycat in the Weapon X files?

Wolverine's re-capture had been one of her best achievements at Weapon X; a mission she had succeeded in where so many others had failed. He had never suspected that she was not the real Jane, even as she had told him that Carol Danvers was in danger and needed his help. As she'd thought would happen he predictably charged into action like any other hot blooded male ready to protect his girl and fell neatly into the trap which Weapon X had set for him. It was the only time she had ever seen the Director smile; he had even said she was their best investment. A small part of Copycat had whispered that it was wrong to cage him, help her tormentors destroy his mind as they had hers, but that was a thought that she buried down deep, lest they decide to cut it out of her like all the other parts of her mind they didn't like.


Running through past memories, Copycat remained outwardly impassive as Logan settled down on a stool further along the bar, her senses nonetheless remaining absolutely fixed on him, carefully evaluating every detail. His clothes were different; casual shirt and jeans compared to the combat fatigues he'd worn at their last encounter, but other than that he hadn’t changed at all, his healing factor still keeping him seemingly frozen in time. For several long minutes she sat still, running through various scenarios in her head; above all the question of what on earth he was doing in this bar kept on floating to the front of her mind. From the look of recognition in the bartender’s eyes he was a regular here, but what could this quiet area of Westchester offer someone with a skillset like Wolverine? That was the question she would approach first.

Beer finally drained Mitch ended his staring contest with his glass and looked around the bar with the air of someone slightly inebriated, eyes passing over Logan before doing a double take, 'his' mouth opening in surprise, before he leaned a little closer to Logan with an enquiring look on his chiselled face “Hey man those are some serious muscles; you work in construction or something? Any jobs going round here at all?” she asked in a slightly hopeful tone, Mitch’s innocent question carefully selected to lead the conversation the way Copycat wanted.

Molson wasn’t ‘good’ or ‘refined’ and Logan knew that there were plenty of people out there who down right despised the taste of it. He never claimed for it to be anything more than it was, a little rough around the edges, far from sophisticated. If he’d thought about it long enough he’d see that his beer was almost a reflection of himself. It wasn’t pretentious, it didn’t pretend to be what it wasn’t. He didn’t, though, think about things like that, and all his mind was filled with as he sipped at the pint glass was the crisp coldness of the beverage as it slid over his tongue and down his throat. To him it was a source of comfort, a piece of normalcy in his far from normal world.

Logan would have been more than contented to sit there and drink a pitcher or two by himself, glass by glass, talking to know one but the bartender. Even when he’d speak to the man across the counter it would be in just one word snippets. Grunts and orders. He wasn’t there to chat, to spill his guts as he got drunk like most men did. He just wanted to watch the game and have a drink. Apparently that afternoon that was too much to ask.

The man nearest to him spoke, and blue eyed vision cut sideways to take him in, Logan not even bothering to turn his head. Drunks tended to like to talk, but that didn’t mean Logan had to answer, sooner or later they’d figure it out. “You queer or somethin’?” Logan responded to his beer. What straight guy would so blatantly point out another man’s muscles? The whole thing seemed odd to Logan from the get go.

It wasn’t that he had anything against people who were, well, like that, Logan just didn’t understand it. Men were disgusting and hairy things, women were pieces of art and refinement and beauty. Being with them was Logan’s only way of balancing his life. Of course, he didn’t always want to take home a piece of art, so maybe he could understand that part.

Shit. He didn’t want to be thinking about that sort of stuff today. He just wanted to drink his beer and relax a little. Maybe the guy’d get the hint that Logan wasn’t an overly friendly person, and that he just wanted to be left alone.

Copycat mentally rolled her eyes; trust Wolverine to ignore the question and instead question Mitch’s sexuality. This was not the way she had wanted the conversation to go, but she could always adapt to reach her goal; a change was definitely needed, but for the moment however she had to defend her masculinity before making a tactical withdrawal. Blinking in surprise Mitch’s face contorted into a heavy scowl directed at the man across the bar. “Queer? What the fuck man? They want big guys to help in construction and I need a damn job! I don’t have to sit here and listen to some asshole spit on me, I’m outta here!” Shooting Wolverine one last venomous glare she slammed some bills down on the bar and angrily stalked out, slamming the door behind her. If Copycat had kept completely to Mitch’s character things would have turned ugly very fast, but getting Wolverine angry was not at all what Vanessa wanted; firstly because she couldn’t get anything useful out of him and secondly because she really didn’t want to end up with those claws buried in her stomach.

The form of Mitch was now redundant, but what would be the best choice to make her next approach. Certainly not another man, a woman would probably work much better; from past experience she knew that they were a weakness of his; it was how she’d managed to lure him back to Weapon X the last time she’d seen him. Perhaps Danvers would be a suitably familiar face for him…but no that was too risky; she might be dead or the two could have argued, it was safer to use a form he had never seen before. Someone young and vulnerable enough to trigger his protective instincts and not seem like a possible threat, she had just the right shape in mind. Mitch’s muscles and bulk started to shrink, solid muscles changing into soft feminine curves as long black hair sprouted from his thinning head and the big blonde moustache pulled back into the skin of his, now her face.

The shape she had chosen was borrowed from a woman Vanessa had seen on the street some years before. It was about nineteen and pretty enough to catch a man like Wolverine’s attention, but that was not Copycat’s main goal: The form she had taken on was visibly unwashed, long dark hair unkempt and greasy, patched and threadbare clothing covering a thin frame and a face used to hunger. But the scent was the most important detail of all considering who it was she had to fool. Focussing on her biochemistry Vanessa made the change from Mitch’s male odour to a feminine musk that Wolverine would hopefully find pleasant, although that effect would probably be diluted by the smells of dirt and alleyways her body now smelt like it had slept in. But underneath all that was another scent, a little something to catch the attention of Wolverine’s nostrils; the faint smell of lizard.

Flexing limbs briefly to get used to the feel of the new body, Copycat waited for a few more minutes, allowing any remaining ‘Mitch’ scent to dissipate and the scent of… Jo to properly take its place. Walking back to the door of the bar, Vanessa’s stealthy confident strides changed into a shuffling gait as she timidly pushed open the door and moved inside. Nothing much had really changed since she had left a few minutes before, apart from the attitudes of the patrons; now several sets of predatory eyes followed her every move as ‘Jo’ hesitated at the entrance before scooting over quickly to the bar. “Please, do you have some water I could take? I haven’t had a drink for hours and I’m thirsty” vocal chords altered to make her voice sound dry, Vanessa put on a seemingly well practised begging expression while staring hopefully at the owner, a look which crumbled when he turned his back, her shoulders slumping in despair, only to jump in pretend surprise as an arm suddenly wrapped around her shoulder and she looked up into the leering face of one of the men who had been sitting in the corner.

The urge to pull his arm from his socket and break every bone in his body was strong, but Copycat resisted it. The men had looked exactly the type to take advantage of a penniless girl in a bar and now one was fitting the role she’d planned for him, this guise couldn’t have worked better. As it was she kept her disgust expertly hidden as rancid beer breath wafted into her face as he spoke. “Ain’t you a sweet little thing, I’ll buy you a drink beautiful, c’mere.” Squeaking nervously Vanessa arranged her expression into one of alarm as she stared up at the man, a smell of her fear starting to emanate from her pores and hopefully waft towards Wolverine’s nose. Although Vanessa knew about fifty ways to get that arm off her shoulder she instead struggled feebly in the man’s tight grip. “I only want some water, please let me go!”

The man's outburst was odd, but it didn't offset Logan. There was something out there about protesting too much, but he didn't care enough to try and recall it. "Pussy." He muttered with a shrug before returning his attention to his own beer, finishing it and ordering another. The man was gone, and all the other men left within the bar were able to fade into the background.

That day was not one to be free of interruptions, though. Just as he was really getting into the good part of his second beer, past the head, into the middle, close enough to see the bottom of the glass and know that another one was coming around soon, more trouble walked into the bar.

She shouldn't have been trouble though, not at the size she was. Barely a slip of a thing she was dirty, and matted and Logan's eyebrows rose at the site of her. Westchester was a nice place, made up of mostly well to do people. The Brazen Fox was the most run down place around, and really, in comparison to some of the places that he'd been before, it wasn't that run down at all. But why would she choose an obvious trucker-biker bar over the gas station down the road? Or hell, the grocery store. There was a big old church just around the curve. They took people in. And while he didn't frequent the public library he would have bet there was some sort of water fountain within it.

So why the bar? Why this dank, hole of a place that was surely not going to be good? And if she was so damned thirsty, why did she draw attention to herself? Why didn't she just skirt around the group and head for the bathrooms in the back? Hell. Tap water was better than no water. Right?

But the bartender came to the rescue. Turning his back it might have looked like he was blowing her of, but really all he was doing was filling a pint glass with ice and water, as well as getting a bowl of peanuts. It was a good bar, and that was why Logan chose to frequent it. "Stop fucking around Sam." Logan growled into his beer. He didn't like to socialize, not all the time, but he'd been going there for years and he knew the regular's names. Both offerings were set before her, waiting, near to Logan, but to him things still seemed more than a little off.

Off or not though, if Sam didn't let go of her soon, he was going to have to do something about it.

Squirming in the grip of the man, Vanessa looked up at him in fear, a kind of fierce desperation evident on her face. “L…look maybe if you pay me we could...” her voice filling with hope as she said the word ‘pay’. Vanessa knew that the excuse of wanting water wasn’t credible, but it was the flimsy cover that a young mutant girl who had just been thrown out of her home might use, a girl so desperate that she had no other option than to try selling her body. But now that she’d dangled the offer she couldn’t afford to let Sam take it up.

Keeping her hand hidden from Wolverine’s view, a cut formed on her wrist, green blood leaking out of the ‘wound’ as she gasped in pain. Sam had wisely eased up a little when Wolverine warned him, but obviously still wanted what she had offered until that was he saw the blood on her arm and released her like she had the plague. “What the hell, what is that, green blood? You’re a dirty mutie aintcha!” he glared at her and she flinched as if he was about to hit her, which he certainly looked angry enough to. If he did then Vanessa would hunt him down and repay him with interest once this was over, but for the moment she cowered, shrinking backwards, a young girl who was inexperienced and scared at how out of control this situation was.

“Pl…please don’t hurt me” her voice shook with fear as she stood, seemingly rooted to the spot in terror. Copycat knew that it wasn’t enough to just look and sound afraid; when dealing with feral senses smelling afraid was just as important and she was giving off enough chemical indicators for Wolverine to detect a mile away.