After Hours [Lance]

[Logan]

Aaden is staying with a friend for the weekend which means the apartment is empty. Quiet. Dead. Logan supposes it says something about him; that he can’t be a normal adult and enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts. He wonders if he is dependent on a kid that just had his eighth birthday not but a few months ago. It makes him feel like maybe he’s a little pathetic but the biting emotion does not last; he tries not to dwell on things. Dwelling is never good. He has tried to distract himself on a rare day off by attending to household chores. The sink is fixed. The creak in the front door has vanished. But with only the constant buzz from the television to keep him company, Logan starts to get that feeling – the one like he is losing touch with the rest of the world and is somehow trapped alone in his apartment.

It is as good an indication as any that he should leave and find a way to occupy himself. He grabs his jacket, his wallet, and nearly double checks that Aaden is at the neighbor’s when he remembers the kid is at a sleepover. His cell phone sits heavy in his pocket as Logan descends the flights of stairs and heads out into the Boston evening. He has to resist the urge to call and check in; the kid needs his space and has hit a new level of independence since his birthday. Aaden thinks he’s grown up now, Logan knows he isn’t, but figures the kid needs room to grow. He has only his own childhood to fall back on and those parenting magazines he may or may not read when he finds them. All he can hope is that he does not irrevocably screw his nephew up – raising a child has turned out to be the most frightening undertaking of Logan’s storied life.

The pavement beneath his feet wears on and leads directly to Smalley’s. The local dive bar has turned into one of Logan’s favorite haunts. It has a weathered, lived-in atmosphere that reminds him of the fishermen dens in Dutch Harbor. Boston is home now and Alaska is something of a bittersweet memory- but Logan finds the tight-knit community here charming and agreeable. As he steps inside, he is immediately greeted by a number of familiar faces. The smile that breaks his naturally stern features is boyish and holds honest warmth.

”Hey D,” the bartender greets with a grin as Logan sidles into one of the stools. ”The usual?”

Logan gives a nod and a sheepish, if lopsided smile. ”If you’d be so kind.”

The man laughs and places a glass half-full of ice in front of the werewolf. ”Rum and coke without the rum, you got it.” There is the snap-hiss of an opening soda can and he pours Logan his drink.

”Much obliged,” Logan murmurs as he sips from the glass. He eyes the pool table and wonders if a game is in order. It is seven o’ clock on a Saturday evening, and Logan does not want to go home.

[Lance O'Brien]

The bar, Smalley’s, was like any other pub: full of people laughing, flirting, drinking, and occasionally fighting. People who normally frequented places like this never really paid much attention to the common sight of a depressed drunkard or a boasting flirt. They didn’t smell the old mold building in the walls, see the blood and liquor staining the floor, and catch the tale signs of a drug deal happening in the back booth. But Lance did, he might not see it or smell it but he could feel everything; each movement caused his skin to prickle with warning.

Lance had come to this place to ease his body, numb it with drink and fog it with smoke. However it wasn’t working; really he hadn’t thought it would. It never did. But old habits die hard so he came anyway. He just needed something to make his skin stop crawling like it always seems to be do before and after an episode. That’s why Lance was here, recovering from a night he’ll never remember, becoming something he never wants to think about, but still helpless to stop feeling it pace the back of his mind and claw at raw nerves.

Sitting at the bar with a pint of Guinness warming over in his hands, his burning hands, Lance laughed wondering if this is what Dr. Jeckle felt like having that monster Mr. Hide buried in his brain; the madness just waiting for its chance to take over. However Dr. Jeckle was also a slightly mad doctor his curse and before a year ago Lance was only a joyful traveler that turned into an unlucky bystander.

Frowning around his glass at the memory Lance took a large swig, sighing contently afterwards. He didn’t see the man come in nor did he really pay much attention to what he and the bartender said but he did turn in sudden interest when the small hairs on the back of his neck tingled. There was a knot forming in his gut, no not his gut anymore it was the beasts now, there was a knot forming in its gut signaling to its host. It was telling Lance that the man down at the other end of the bar was like him only older and experienced.

Lance had the sudden urge to leave right as the burly male started on his coke but then there was also the crawling of his skin that told him to stay. Listening to later option always made him feel less like himself so with much difficulty Lance removed his shuttering body from the bar stool, layed out a few bills for his drink and started on his way out. He had given the stranger a wide birth, or tried to.

Half way to the door there was a sudden uproar of men cheering, over a game of pool or something Lance failed to notice; but the pushing crowed tossed him close enough so that his shoulder trust close enough to knock, or lightly nudge, the very person Lance was trying to avoid.

At first Lance couldn’t move, his side that had touched the man burned and it had him slightly stunned but then after a while he found himself just unwilling to budge at all. Without look in the mans direction Lance gritted his teeth together, he wanted to sound normal.

“Sorry…?”

[Logan]

Boston is a city of wolves –among other things – and Logan has been around long enough to have acclimated. He is content as he drinks and relaxes to the backdrop of conversation murmured throughout the bar. And though he has yet to engage the other patrons, just being around them staves off any notions of loneliness. He thinks maybe he should make an attempt to forge relationships that extend past work and home – but there is effort and energy required that he cannot afford. Aaden by no means is a demanding child, but stepping in as his surrogate parent solicits a certain dedication to work. It is an excuse, a way of convincing himself that his reclusive state is due to familial obligations – it has nothing to do with his inability to connect with people.

The crack of billiard balls rings sharp within his enhanced hearing, but any considerations of joining the game are derailed when the air shifts. Logan lowers his glass onto the bar top and runs his thumb over the condensation dripping down its walls. Grey eyes stare ahead and there is nothing strange about his disposition; he simply seems thoughtful. His gut tells him he is being watched and Logan, over the years, has learned to trust his gut. Suspicion immediately feeds into his brain. He is in a bar, attention is typically a good thing, but Logan is too jaded and too removed from the social game to consider that possibility.

He chances a glance at the person, finds only a nervous looking young man, and thinks that he really needs to get out more. There is caution and then there is paranoia; Logan is not sure when the lines began to blur. He pushes himself to resettle and turns his attention to the television set to check the score of the ballgame. Work has gotten the better of him, he needs to unwind. Logan is considering the details of taking Aaden on a fishing trip when someone bumps into him. A quick hand sees minimal spillage from his drink and Logan turns a pair of storm-grey eyes upwards--

To find the young nervous-looking man looking more nervous.

There is a pause and then Logan’s unreadable expression breaks into an easy, lopsided smile. ”Don’t worry about it, friend – things can get pretty rowdy in here.” He is left to wonder why the guy is so nervous but then Lance’s scent hits him and it clicks. Werewolf. Logan looks down and sighs through his nose, thinks that maybe his appearance has gotten the better of him again. ”The tattoos? They’re just for show – I swear I don’t bite.” The ability to intimidate with nothing more than the way he looks has proven useful, but he can’t help but feel a sting of guilt at Lance’s behavior.

The seat next to him is unoccupied. Logan makes a snap decision because he is here to be social and needs an excuse to stay away from the apartment for a while longer. ”Take a seat and I’ll prove it to you.” His offer to Lance is not entirely innocent; Logan has been groomed for Nikolai’s service – werewolves new to Boston are of particular interest--

And there’s been talk of an out of control werewolf causing trouble.