Who dat, who dat? Troy muttered some Iggy lyrics after he heard a knock on the front door as he wandered through between lessons. Weird, right? Knocking? He shrugged, shifted his guitar to his back, then opened the door wide and waited to see more cops. He shifted his eyes from side to side after they landed on a familiar face. "Hey." His thick lips were doing everything in their power not to grin with amusement and mischief. He cleared his throat and raised his chin, "How can I help you?" He leaned against the door frame and cocked an eyebrow at the tall blond man who had single-handedly made him resent patriotic whites less. "Troy Redshaw, by the way. You do good work. This about Logan?" He figured, was all. Really random strangers had a way of turning up in Westchester after the shit hit the fan. He blamed Forge. "I teach music," his thumb ran slowly under his shouldered guitar strap. "And other thingsss..." Wink.