Logan was at said bar, and he wasn't a happy camper. "Y'mean to tell me you got all this fancy schmancy crap but you don't have beer?" he asked in a soft yet exasperated voice. He let out a long-suffering groan under his breath as he glared tiredly at the insanely polite bartender. "Tell me you at least have whiskey," he all but growled next.
Having a healing factor meant that, no matter how much Logan drank, it was nearly impossible to get anything more than a gentle buzz going. He'd really need to go on a serious, liver obliterating bender in order to feel anything near drunkenness. Hence his brilliant idea to stop by his favorite biker bar in town, resulting in an all out brawl that left him looking a little rumpled, even though he barely broke a sweat. Couldn't be helped. There was no way Logan could face Stark and his ilk dry. Nope.
A keg of beer later, he'd ridden his bike down to Stage 37, had a glaring match with the bouncers until someone identified him as an X-Man and let him in, only to set off the metal detectors in a major way. Beer deprivation was the last straw, really. He was going to hunt down Porter and see about calling it a night right soon if this kept up.
I should have brought a six-pack, Logan thought to himself as the bartender gave him a sickly grin and poured him a glass of something that didn't smell like proper whiskey. Goddamn rich people whiskey.