"What, cleaning out stables, killing lions, that sorta thing?"

Elbows on the countertop and framing his beer, cigar caught between two thick fingers, Logan is about as close to relaxed as he generally gets, which is to say slightly never relaxed, not when he has his back for the door and he's still in kidnap city and learning to get used to the idea.

He doesn't bat an eye about gods, either. He's read things, and that seems about as sane as being trapped by fog and monsters in Magicville.