In a world that was brand new, which things in the world rarely were anymore for him considering he had such a vast lifespan, it was challenging to find a place where he fit in completely. Logan felt like a piece to a puzzle that he wasn't cut from. He had never really fit in anywhere, a man of many talents and trades picked up in attempts to blend in to his society at the time.
But the bar. The bar always had a sense of home. Even on his Canadian excursions Logan knew the bars and local stops in between. They welcomed him and his habits, didn't ask questions or judge. The last person that had been brave enough to challenge Logan had found himself with a few new holes in their body. This place didn't warrant that. It seemed that here folks tended to themselves and minded their own.
Which was what he had been doing. Well, until that smell caught him and wouldn't relinquish its hold.
It was the scent of wild roses, flowers untamed by mankind and fit to wave themselves in the breeze. A smell untamed all it's own by the environment around it, and one that hinted the flower only blossomed around those worthy.
As if he had been hit by a truck, Logan's full attention was taken immediately and he couldn't help but glance up from the assortment of empty bottles that stood before him in the counter to the woman that had walked in and taken a seat.
Logan grunted, a gentle growl of French too soft for anyone to hear as he watched her, "The roses." He remembered flowers like that, once on his travels. They populated a countryside and the view was second only to the scent. The smell was enough to ensnare anyone that happened upon it and Logan had never come across anything so intoxicating. Except for now.