The shuffling sound of boots against the wooden floor was not enough to earn his attention. Logan continued to puff patiently at the snub of his cigar and leave his gaze settled only for the oiled wood of the counter. Not the squeak of the stool next to him as it turned, nor the accented voice inquiring for sweeter beverages did he turn for.
It was the movement, the flash of aggression and the vision of the brightly contrasting woman with the strange hair clutching deeply at the collar of the now afraid barkeep that had earned Logan's gaze. Amused, the Wolverine eyed the event silently as it unfolded beside him.
When the bartender shuffled backward, mouthing something not very nice underneath his breath, Logan smirked. His ears picked up every syllable of hushed breath uttered. "That ain't nice ta say, lady was just askin' for you ta do yer job. If you can't do that, maybe you should get out now before there is trouble." Logan had run a bar before, he could mix drinks like the best of them.
The bartender eyed him warily. "No, I think I can handle it," the man snapped rudely. Logan just shrugged and went back to his own almost empty glass.