The Bar at the End of the Universe

She was fidgety. She had damn good reason to be. Stupid incubus and pulling shit like that. She had always tried to keep her dreams and thoughts to herself, but Marie never envisioned having to hide them from a sexual demon! And now Logan knew... she wanted to scream, cry something, but it made her feel as if she had everything stripped away.

Now she waited for Logan to get there so they could talk about it? Dammit. What was she going to say?!

He'd been hiding and he knew it. No door meant no escape back to the little motel he'd been headed towards. And here there were people he didn't necessarily want to deal with right now. Most days in his mood he rarely wanted to deal with the people he knew, let alone strangers. But even he knew he couldn't hide forever. Which is what had prompted his search through the message board for Marie and lead to him walking through the bar and out the door that lead to the beach. He's wearing the same black swimming trunks he had on when he'd first come out, though it's a different button down shirt and towel. He hadn't bothered with shoes or sandals. He settles in the sand just about where the water laps so his feet are almost in it but not quite.

Marie needed to work off some of the pent up energy she was feeling. She had noticed a lake outside of the bar and decided a swim would do her some good. She had quickly changed into a green bikini and a sarong before slipping into a pair of sandals. Grabbing a towel, she twisted her hair up off of her neck before making her way to the water. She tossed the towel aside and slipped out of her sandals and the sarong before heading into the water and swim a bit.

The front door of the bar opens and a red head walks through, shouting over her should, "Just make sure it's done by the time I get back!" Her head turns to look where she's going and her steps faulter a second as she realizes that it's not the downtown St. Louis she was expecting to be walking into. A glance back behind her shows no door to walk back through, which will earn a soft frustrated growl from her as she spins and makes her way to the bar.

She'll look like a certain telepath for a couple people in the bar, especially since she's only dressed in a simple jeans and t-shirt today. She settles at the bar, grumbling softly about disappearing doors.

There's a tall, untamed looking man walking through the door with a cigar between his teeth and an arm up holding a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. It takes a moment, two or three steps in through the door, for a brow to raise and him to scan his surroundings because this really wasn't where he'd been intending to end up. Not that he'd been planning for much, what with the boots, old jeans, and white t-shirt. Just, it'd been a motel office he'd been walking into a moment ago.

He'd been traveling the last couple weeks, or was that months...? He'd lost track of the time on the road after everything that had happened. Some would say that he was still dealing with it, though the gods honest truth of the matter was that he'd been trying to out run some of it. Just don't actually tell him that. He'll work it out eventually, considering the door to his world will be disappearing on him the moment he goes to look for it.

For the moment, the confused mutant gives a shrug and heads to the bar. Might as well get a drink before he continues on with his original plans, right?

Not so long ago, in a place that has no right to exist, there was a bar.

And really, if one were going to be in a place that shouldn't exist, at least its disrespect of that standard could be made somewhat better by alcohol.

Said bar was exactly what one might expect its sort of establishment to be on a weeknight (assuming for the moment, of course, that this improbable location observes weeks); quiet. Unfortunately for the few patrons that were in the bar proper at the moment, it didn't like to be quiet. So it decided to change that.

The specials board above the sink suddenly illuminated, words scrawling across the frosted glass in loopy neon-green writing:

'Cure for the Mondays; First Round's Free'

This, of course, made the bartender standing under the sign jump, followed by a frown; for one, by her standard, it wasn't a Monday (not that it mattered, but the reminder was a little rude, in her book). And secondly, she didn't appreciate the work- or lack of tips- the free drinks implied. Still, all she could do was sigh, and await the incoming orders. That was, of course, after she turned around and crossed out the first three letters of the day.

Alcohol was a cure on any day- no need to specify.