Logan walked into the Rec room for no particular reason. He'd just scarfed down a couple of burgers and a some leftover pizza from the fridge and decided to see if any news came on that might hint at a trail for Sabretooth. Creed was apparently as good a tracker as he was, and so he really knew how to hide his own trail. But once in a while something would turn up, like hard to explain alleged animal attacks, or some violent massacre type deal. Of course, the news would always downplay such occurrences, but sometimes you could pick up on things like that if you knew what you were looking for. Like reading between the lines.
In any case, a six pack hung from his finger by the one empty ring, which had held the beer can he was currently downing. He saw Piotr's head and about half his back tower over the back of the couch. It was nearly impossible to confuse the small mountain of a man for anyone else, with his ever close-cropped hair and massive shoulders. Normally, Logan was pretty much allergic to anyone moping, and he might have turned right back around and made his escape. But this was Piotr, whom he had met amidst a fairly huge bar brawl. They had knocked more than few heads together that day and that, in Logan's book, bought a guy a lot of brownie points. Booze in his belly and blood on his knuckles. Male bonding at its best.
He still didn't care for the moping, though. Logan never moped, God forbid. He could brood with the best of them, however. There was a difference. Right. He realized the kid had just lost someone he loved too, just like himself, so he could cut him a little slack. Still, he sat grimly in an easy chair to the right of the couch and gave Piotr his version of hello, which meant a noncommittal grunt and a reverse nod.