Re: Quicklog, Marvel: Logan & Steve R
[Steve liked beer, from the tap. Canned beer—that he could do without. Dented, metallic, and dull on the tongue, carried across the ocean with men shipped out to die. No, he liked it cold, frothing, so a stout on tap? He would take that. His smile came warm and easy at the generosity of a fellow soldier.] Thanks.
[He knew men like this one—grunts, hard lines carved into skin, and hands rough on his, and there was comfort in that—shared experience. Something he thought he wouldn't have much of again. And Steve's shoulders softened in relief as he leaned into the bar. He asked the bartender for one of what Logan was having.] How long have you been here? [He asked just before his stout was placed in front of him, dark against class, with a white head thick.]—In this—place?