Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, I wouldn't write this. I'd do other things :P

A/N: My resolve crumbled faster than an old cookie. I wasn't going to write anything. Then a songfic for a challenge JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo started for her "I Heart Rogan" community. And suddenly I found my head almost exploding with ideas. Not that I really mind. Anyway, here goes.

This does contain language because neither Logan nor I can go a day without it. And I have no clue where this is heading, so get in, put your seatbelt on and enjoy the ride.

I would also like to thank all the writers that have written such great stories that inspired me, you know who you are, you received rambling reviews from a chick with my name :P And JohnPaulGeorgeandRingo-one day we will act on our plans. A funfilled night with booze, kidnapping, safe cracking and quite possibly karaoke.^^

This has got to be the dingiest mudhole I have ever been to. And I have seen some very foul places. Bars where you feel tempted to order a whole bottle of Whisky because the glasses are covered in dust and something...slimy until the bartender gives them a once over with the filthy rag half stuffed into his pocket, the same rag he probably uses to casually mop up vomit and blood from the floor.

That's what Ed, all bartenders are either Ed or Joe and this one looks like Ed, just did. Some guys were fighting over the tab, one guy broke his friends nose, bartender got out a shotgun, they came to an agreement within seconds, they left. Ed just got done mopping, or rather smearing around, the impressive blood puddle around my chair.

I've been to too many bars in my life. The part that I can remember, at least. So every trip to one of those dives feels like a deja-vu. I dig inside the pockets of my jacket for the right amount of bills and leave them on the sticky bar. Ed will have a fun time trying to pry them off the remains of spilled drinks and what not of the past ten years.

Walking out I try to hold my breath, I can smell the bathroom stalls. They reek of the past few hundred people that used them, three taps are leaking and I don't even want to think about the guy that has passed out on the floor about fifteen minutes ago. I would block my senses and use them like a normal human would, but it's just too much fun.

Do you see me laugh?

Didn't think so.

I can't and sometimes that stinks. Literally.

It's not even ten and I look around the parking lot. This is the outskirts of a fairly large city, once this might have been a flourishing industrial area. Now most of the buildings are empty and I hear rast rustling and bustling about. There's a couple of teenagers listening to either music or a violent car crash and nothing more. Well, there is a small club a little down the road.

Glancing around once more I decide to give it a shot. As long as it doesn't smell like a decade of bodily excretions I can put up with loud music. Not sure about the kids though. I'm used to the laws of grungy bars where they leave guys like me alone. Unless someone's stupid enough to provoke me. After his friends scrape him off the wall I have my peace, as far as that is even possible. But kids these days just show no respect. Something about hormones that makes them walk up to guys like me to make fun of our hair. To ask silly questions. To just be awfully young and annoying.

Before I can make up my mind I have already walked up to the building, an old factory. My nose tells me they canned fish here a few years ago. The smell still sticks to the bricks and the floors. It's positively oozing out. But better than the joint down the street.

I notice a familiar scent. Leather, oil, pot and what I call mutant smell. It is hard to describe for anyone who doesn't have a sense of smell like I do. It's like rocks. They smell differently. And try to tell that to a normal person without getting laughed at.

"Hey Logan, here to run with the cool kids or what?"

Beezer is one hell of a huge guy. He is also deadly afraid of spiders and an avid cage fighter. We go back a few years when we met in a bar up in Canada. We fought for three hours straight until the owner of the bar decided to declare us both winners. He was scared we would tear everything down. That and by that time the inbreeders that made up the crowd that night had figured out we were both mutants.

Beezer isn't only riding a hog, he is one.

"Up for a fight?"

He grins, then points down a long line of kids all dressed up that I trace down two blocks before it is swallowed by darkness. This sure is a popular place. And he seems to be the bouncer. What kind of club hires a pot loving biker who knows most important pieces of world literature by heart? Every god damn club on this planet. Without the literature part. You wouldn't believe it, this guy has gone to college.

"Sorry pal, no can do. I have a real job now."

He laughs that crazy laugh of his, then points over his shoulder.

"Wanna go in? Better hurry before I make up my mind."

For a moment I consider the facts. Booze, annoying kids. Booze, annoying music...Booze. It always wins. A few kids waiting in line protest but stop when I give them a raised eyebrow. Still works. Good.

Inside I instantly regret walking in. And paying ten bucks for it. And not killing the wardrobe kid for trying to take my jacket. What saved him was the fact that he shrank to about half his size and fled once I bothered to stare at him. Ignoring him sure hadn't helped, he had left his booth to follow me inside.

I head straight for the bar and get myself some whiskey. That little girl had the nerve to asked me if I wanted a whiskey and coke. Almost forgot to pay her over that. This club is an insult to all of my senses, I smell sweat, there are hormones bouncing off the walls, the music is screeching and the bass is vibrating off my bones. A very unpleasant feeling if your bones happen to be infused with fucking adamantium. But I doubt that the DJ will cater to the wishes of an old guy like me who asks him to shove his equipment... Actually, I could do that for him.

The dancefloor is packed and the songs switch to this horrible... Anyway. I hear and smell a group of pissed off drunk women, they don't just sing along, they scream. Not that anyone can hear it. Is this volume even legal?

"How does it feel?
How should I feel?
Tell me how does it feel?
To treat me like you do "

Holy heavens, why don't all the man evacuate the building right now? Even I don't get that pissed. Well, I do. But those are women damn it. They are way more dangerous than an unleashed Wolverine. And they are drunk.

Smirking I am about to find something else to occupy my thoughts with but I see a few sparks fly up above the heads of the anger management class. I turn back, filtering their scents. I should have smelled it earlier, Jubilation Lee. Of course I noticed the faint aroma of mutants among them but I didn't bother. And didn't I come here to find someone from my past?

Well, among other things. I have managed to stay away from the mansion for over four years and had been dense enough to assume Marie would still be there. Storm had filled me in on what I needed to know-her powers were back but had changed, she left the mansion after gaining control over her powers And hasn't been seen ever since. She calls from time to time.

She could have had a job there and she would have been safe. So why in the world would she leave all that behind to just vanish off the face of the earth?

And don't you dare thinking that. What I do is completely different.

I snort and take another whiff. They got even more worked up. And then it hits me, another smell, familiar but with a new tinge to it, just before I see her, she has gotten a haircut. Suits her. I will not think of it as feathered, but you can't live in a mansion filled to the roof with teenage girls and have ears like mine without hearing a thing or two about hair. And clothes. Shoes. Teacher's asses. Believe me, hearing them swoon over your body parts is something you would want to shut out too. The clothes are something I will have to get used to, I remember her being covered head to toe, not wearing short skirts and tank tops.

I sense a lot of anger radiating off her like heat waves. But her heart beat is just slightly accelerated. She turns and I see her face. All the softness of her youth has gone, no more traits of baby on her. She looks hardened, like she has been through a lot. Her left eye catches my attention and I snarl. Under a thick layer of make up I can see a fading bruise. Whoever did this to her is dead. At least he will wish...

A guy approaches her and says something so disgusting I wish I didn't have to hear that. Especially since my vision starts blurring and I can barely keep myself from tracing the guy that beat her.

"Fuck off. I've had enough of guys like you."

He replies something equally disgusting-and grabs her arm.

I get up and ready to strike.

"Don't say I haven't warned you asshole."

Slight ripples are washing over her skin and the guy jumps back with a shriek, as if he had been electrocuted.

"You bitch!"

"Yeah, you go tell your friend the bitch was a mutant. They look like they'd be happy to do to you just what you proposed to me."

He hurries away and she grins, her friends staring after the guy, mocking him. Then she glances in my direction and I see anger flicker over her face, no longer than a second. She cocks her head and shakes it, apparently she doesn't like the new song. Well, neither do I. She walks off the dancefloor and I almost fall back when I hear her mumble.

"And when will you stop staring and come over to say hi? I noticed you ten minutes ago."

Well I'll be damned.

Not very long, I know. I'm working on it :P