[ Twilight hours are strolling hours for Logan. The neighbourhood's not the nicest place for a walk this lateā€”nowhere in the city really isā€”but the few searching for trouble make the smart decision not to bother him, and he's not exactly concerned if they did. He stops into one of those 24-hour corner stores filled with crooked shelves and dusty bottles. The fridge hums. The kid behind the counter stares at him with dark eyes. It's not 'til Logan's paid for a lighter and left that he realizes what was off: the clerk stood ramrod straight the entire time, not leaning, not slouching.
Huh. He doubles back. It's not one of those things people are talking about, is it? But when he looks through the grimy window, the kid's bent over, rummaging through a cupboard same as anybody.
Right. Okay. Place is driving him crazy.
So yeah, by the time he passes the old diner, he's already uneasy. Alarm bells ping through his head before he can pinpoint why. He stops. What, is someone in there? Sounds like somebody's in there. Looks it, too. His thumb brushes the splintered lock. The door sways. He pushes it open. Inside, the smell of ancient fry grease and coffee grinds fill the air. The scraping grows louder. His eyes land on the shape in the corner, knife and fork angled unnaturally, like how a five year old might do it.
What the hell.
Logan circles around until he's right in the figure's line of sight, waiting to see if he gets noticed or not. ]
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Huh. He doubles back. It's not one of those things people are talking about, is it? But when he looks through the grimy window, the kid's bent over, rummaging through a cupboard same as anybody.
Right. Okay. Place is driving him crazy.
So yeah, by the time he passes the old diner, he's already uneasy. Alarm bells ping through his head before he can pinpoint why. He stops. What, is someone in there? Sounds like somebody's in there. Looks it, too. His thumb brushes the splintered lock. The door sways. He pushes it open. Inside, the smell of ancient fry grease and coffee grinds fill the air. The scraping grows louder. His eyes land on the shape in the corner, knife and fork angled unnaturally, like how a five year old might do it.
What the hell.
Logan circles around until he's right in the figure's line of sight, waiting to see if he gets noticed or not. ]