When she spoke her name in that strangled time Logan straightened. He could sense what she was feeling, the feelings radiating from her pores in a flood. He could pick up even the most subtle gestures and feeling all which stemmed from the way the body reacted to certain situations. Logan managed to tear his gaze from hers for a moment, looking down at the piles bar.
"Honour. Suits you, don't know why but it does..." With that the mutant glanced up at her again. Perhaps he should've been as gracious as she had, offering her real name as opposed to what she usually went by, though Logan's actual human name brought back memories that the mutant didn't want to recall just then. That, and he had no idea that she went by any other name. Would a rose by any other name smell any differently? He doubted it.
It was then that Logan was able to catch a whiff of something else, something beneath the roses and the warm sunlight that radiated from her. He could smell worn books, endless pages of volumes and tomes of various detail and subject. He didn't bring it up, but it was all over her. It was a smell he enjoyed as well as it claimed she at least was knowledgable considering the time she spent with pages.
As if to answer her question about the drink, Logan turned to the bartender. He motioned to a bottle of whiskey not too far behind the man, and turned his blue eyes up to meet those of the one dealing drinks, "That one. Put it in a glass with ice and go easy on 'er. She don't come here often," Logan said to the man before turning back to Honour.
If anything, Logan was a man of observation. The hesitation she displayed at coming up with a response for what she wanted to drink, the relief in her features at being handed a menu. No, she didn't come here often and it showed. But Logan would be gentle with her, make the experience good. He didn't want her getting to a point where she hated being here, woke up with a hangover or worse...blamed him for getting her too sauced. He would be careful. He had had a lot of time to learn.
The barkeep set a chilled, small glass of the whiskey in front of the woman, and Logan looked up at her with a shrug, "Called Bird Dog. It's a peach whiskey. Ice'll enhance the flavor and also serve to water it down some. Sip it slow, and it'll do ya good. Whiskey can have a bite if ya let it, but trust me...much smoother than that." With a hand Logan gently pushed away the pink, fruity drink. In his experience they always put far too much alcohol in those things, especially for the ladies. The taste tended to mask just how much was actually swimming below the surface. Whiskey was much more straightforward. No surprises.
"I usually like mine without ice," Logan explained as if she had asked, "I like the burn and the bite, myself."