Logan east exactly adorned in the latest style of threads, but of course he wasn't one to keep up with the trends and current styles anyway. His lifespan amassed too great a span of time to hold on to one sense of style. The Avenger wore what was comfortable for the task at hand, and what he needed to blend in. Temperature never mattered, but he never liked to show all of his cards up front either.
His hairstyle, however, was a carbon copy of a trend that time was beginning to welcome back. He was aware how it looked and he didn't care what anyone else had to say about it. To a point.
Logan dismounted the motorcycle and had been in the process of turning around to get a better look at the area when he found himself face-to-face with a man dressed as if he belonged in an age long ago. Logan felt more out of place than ever though it didn't show on the short mutant's face. He kept a straight look, a poker face if you will, never one to give away what he was thinking.
All Logan could do was blink, brain processing everything this random, fast-talking stranger was saying. He had seen a few men like this one in his time, which wasn't phasing the mutant in the slightest.
"Slow down." It was all the Wolverine could manage, lifting his arms and folding them over his chest for a moment. "What're you sayin'? That this place is alive?" It made sense. That underlying smell....it seemed human enough. Or at least living.
"And there ain't nothin' keepin' me anywhere I don't wanna be. I can get through anything. How do you know that this place ain't lettin' anyone out?" He wanted proof, not the word of some fast-talking, British crazy. For all Logan knew this guy could be completely off his rocker.
But Logan wasn't picking up the usual pheromones a human would emit when they were lying. So he couldn't say for sure that this guy was. But Logan didn't care too much for what this man was saying.