Careful but ever matter-of-fact, Logan hauls the corpse off of his shoulder and onto the tarp, a grip to collar to keep the dead weight of his head from hitting the ground. But he is obviously still... animated, as his eyelids twitch, an unwilling exhale that grates along his vocal chords.

"Dunno. He fell about a street from here, and he wasn't real sharp when I got to him."

The injuries do seem to be of the claw-and-bite variety, along with that chemical burn. Promise of food doesn't have Logan inventing some words to leave her to it, though, moving towards it to poke his head in the fridge and investigate. He keeps his jacket on, but he's in no hurry either way.