[Yeah, you know how Logan's old and doesn't like to get into shit anymore because it aches and he's barely able to stand upright anymore? Well. Sometimes you say a wrong thing and you still manage to piss him off because inside this grumpy old man is still a short tempered lumberjack whose claws just started to extend from his knuckles. Not all the way, just an inch or two, with a grimace. And then they retract. The wounds for the moment stay open.
It's not possible for you to know, is it? He tries to relax.] He's dead, so no.