This is a backdrop that Logan has often integrated into with a certain frequency, both back home and in Baedal. A job, when he'd first arrived. A passtime, later. And these days, it serves as cover and outlet, but tonight he's in the cheap seats with Tom and so that counts as hanging out and doing their particular impressions of social.

The ambiance works for him, too. Flanking Nuala for his more regular paycheck puts Logan into situations where his difference is all too plain. His own roughness and impatience feeling deliberately out of place, senses uncertain what to make of people's perfume and nuances of looks and body languages in a code that is a different script to how he operates. It's not so much that it bothers him so much as it does make places like these make more sense -- adrenaline is a rank undercurrent to booze and smoke, and he has more comprehension for the combatants squaring off down below than he does for politics in a pocket dimension.

"If you're gonna put money on someone, put it on the small one." Said the big one. Once he's polluted the drink of someone else, his own lifted up to knock back a big enough sip to partially drain it of its whiskey.