The only reason Rogue even knew about this place was because she'd overheard two of her customers talking about it. They weren't loud or anything, but when people started talking in quieter tones and with heads closer together than usual, she paid attention. Especially when it was more than obvious it was not a romantic connection the people were sharing. These boys talked about the fighting circuit as though it was a chance to make something of themselves. As they compared it to "Fight Club", Rogue stayed fairly close and went about her business. After all, who thought anything about what the bartender could hear?
After leaving the mansion and getting her own small apartment, the first thing she did was find a job for herself. She had enough saved from her last place of employment to last her awhile, but Rogue was not the type who could ever sit still. And now with all the extra voices in her head and drives to her will, she knew she had to do something. So she fell back on what she knew and what she was comfortable with, and that was bar tending. She wasn't allowed to wear gloves so Rogue was sure to let grabby customers know that she had a strict no touch policy. Her no-nonsense attitude told people she more than meant it.
Her shift was an early one tonight, something for which she was grateful. As soon as her relief came in, Rogue changed into fitted jeans and a dark green turtle-neck sweater that brought out her eyes and contrasted well against her red hair. Leaving it loose about her shoulders, she ran a hand through the stubborn white streak she tried and failed to cover again with dye, reapplied her make-up, and headed out the door to follow the quiet directions one of the men had passed along to the other.
The place was not easy to find, and had she been any normal girl, not a place she would have continued to seek out simply upon entering the neighborhood. To say it was skeezy would have been an understatement. Yet there was a draw to this secret club that she couldn't ignore or explain. She had to find it because it was her new immediate goal. If she didn't, she'd drive herself crazy.
Opening the door, Rogue was immediately assaulted with a wave of smoke, the distinct smell of blood and sweat, and beer. Still she went in. Only a moment passed before some guy came up to her with disgusting words and suggestions. She looked up at him coyly before flipping him off and strolling away.
The crowd gathered around the fight sent up a unified cry of surprise, grabbing Rogue's attention. She looked first to the man still standing. She was, after all, a bit too short to see over all the men circled around to see who had been laid out on the floor. The guy standing looked well beat and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the look of triumph on his face . Clearly, he thought he was now going to win.
But then the other man rose, cracking his neck in an all too familiar way. She knew him, didn't she?
"Where am I supposed to go?" she demanded with faint defiance. "I don't know," he said. "Get out." She moved past him, the cold air biting at her face. "You don't know, or you don't care?" "Pick one," he said. "Get out."
A light of recognition made her smile. "Logan." She hadn't seen him in almost seven years. And now here they were, thrown back into a setting so similar to their first meeting. It was so poetically ironic that all she could do was smile up at him from across the crowds.