ArchivedLogs:Logan and Rogue in Vogue

Logan and Rogue in Vogue
Logan and Rogue in Vogue
Dramatis Personae Rogue & Logan
In Absentia	01 February 2013 Rogue has a date! And... apparently it's with some guy with a strange name: Rem-ee? Remy. So she goes to her dearest, wisest, bestest friend - Logan! - for advice... on DRESSES. And shoes. And gloves. "Ya kiddin' me right, kid?"
Location Xavier's School, Logan's Room
It's a bit odd to see Rogue up on this floor to begin with, let alone in a floor length scarlet dress. She has a big bag full of things, a pair of black satiny gloves hanging over the edge. Auburn and white hair have been curled and styled in a more vintage manner to suit the dress, but there are other things she isn't so sure of. There's a knock of one pale, bare hand on Logan's door. Logan is bored. Logan is moody. Logan is sitting on his modest sofa, watching a game on the television while smoking a cigar. He is hardly dressed for guests - trackpants and singlet (the usual for relaxing) - and he has a six-pack of beer on the floor at his feet. *Sniff* Rogue. "'S open, kid!" is all he says - not bothering to get up. Up goes a bottle and he drains it dry. It's his second one. He does cock an eyebrow and turn his ear toward the door just a fraction. Rogue pushes the knob after giving it a twist, kicking the door shut with a bare heel. She moves forward, dropping her bundle of things on the end of his sofa. "Logan, Ah need your help. Ya know, your opinion as a guy. Please?" Those pleading eyes have eyeliner and eyeshadow framing them right now, her lips a red to match the dress. "Ah don't know which shoes or gloves to go with, with this dress." Logan snorts without looking in her direction just yet. His lips are smirking. "Why, what've ya gotten yourself into--wow." He stops mid-sentence to stare at the dress when Rogue finally comes into view. He blinks, stares, blinks again, swallows and blinks - and frowns. "Uhm... What were ya sayin', kid?" He asks with some hesitancy. Clearly he has never seen this girl dressed up like this before! Kid just doesn't quite cut it. "Oh yeah - shoes 'n gloves. You're asking me... about shoes and... gloves?" Both bushy eyebrows shoot up, and the game is completely forgotten while the grizzled man tries to think of an answer. "Yeah," is all he says. "Looks... great. Go with that." There's a faint blush on Rogue's cheeks at Logan's reaction. She might even be fighting a smile as she digs in the bag. "Logan, Ah'm not wearing any gloves!" Bare hands shoved out towards him. She lays out black, white, silvery gray, and red. All of them satin and above the elbow length. "Ah have shoes to match all of those. Which would look best? Ah've got a dinner date." Confusion contorts the features of Logan's face as he puts down his cigar for a moment and gives Rogue an appraising look - especially those hands, and... well, everything. "Gloves, yeah. Kid. Ya better get some--oh, you do. Ya looks great, kid - I mean, they do. The gloves. Good idea." Then he reaches for a stubby of beer to his lips and tips it up, drinking most of it in one pull. The game on the TV might as well not exist now. Logan puts the nigh-empty bottle down and cocks an eyebrow at Rogue. "So who's the guy?" "Thanks, Logan. Ah.. which gloves? Do Ah try to match the dress, or go with black an' not... match shoes and gloves? " She sounds a little frantic. "Remy. He's been around here a few times. Mutant." "Never met 'im," Logan says with just a hint of a growl. Is that... protectiveness, there?" He goes silent for a while, blinking randomly and smoking his cigar. Between the changes in expression and the occasional murmur he makes from time to time, he might as well be having a conversation with himself. Eventually he shrugs. "I dunno, kid," he admits. "Fashion ain't my thing. Mebbe... white. Match your..." he gestures to his forehead and the points at Rogue's rogue-lock of hair. "That." He shrugs. Again. Rogue eyes him a little bit, one brow arching in a look Logan should know well. "White? You think?" She sounds uncertain, even as she's easing on those gloves carefully, smoothing the silky material up her arms. "Ah'm just nervous. The dress..." She turns, showing off the open back. "Ah just... he bought the dress for me. Ah don't know what to do. Ah'm just all scattered." Logan turns his head, swivelling his torso, to get a better look at the girl seeking his advice. "You know who you're askin' for dress advice, right?" he asks in a gentle voice. The sight of Rogue's back in this dress has him swallowing dubiously, but he does his best to conceal it. "I dunno - I don't think about this stuff. Wear whatever makes you happiest. If he doesn't like it - fuck 'im." The man coughs. Blinks. Clears his throat. "Ah, forget I said that. Ya know what I mean. Ya look beautiful. Have... fun." He smiles at that last word, looking at Rogue's face to emphasise his sincerity-- --and then puts his cigar back in his mouth to hide his discomfort. "What kinda name is Remy anyway?" "Ah'm askin' you for guy advice, on how it all looks, sugar." Rogue points out, getting out a pair of very high heels. They're very strappy, the straps glittering rhinestones as she slips her feet into them. Gloved fingers brush her hair back a bit, chuckling. "Can't fuck 'im, don't worry. Won't tell anyone you gave me naughty advice." She winks at him, dropping the hem of her dress to the floor again, hands smoothing the bodice. She snorts. "It's Southern. After a Civil War general." "Watch your language," Logan abruptly retorts - despite the roguish smirk on his face. He gives Rogue a wry, sidelong glance and lets a snort out through his nostrils. Pulling the cigar from between his teeth he says, "It looks great, kid. You knock 'im d--ah, sorry. You know what I mean." Grimacing at the verbal slip, he pushes up from the sofa and walks over to where Rogue is standing. "You'll be fine," he says in a soft voice - unusual for someone so gruff all the time. "You're... all grown up now, huh, kid?" He adds deliberate emphasis on the word, kid - and grins lopsidedly. "If this--" and he motions to the entire outfit, "--doesn't floor 'im, then he doesn't deserve you. Go on, have fun! You're entitled." Rogue laughs, looking up at him. "Where do ya think Ah learned such language, sugar?" She smirks, one eye winking at him. "Ya can say Ah'll knock him dead, it's fine. Just don't use things like kiss of death or nothin'." She tips her head just a bit to the right, looking at his face. "Been grown up a while. But thanks, Logan. For your opinion, an' the encouragement." She leans up, one gloved hand caressing his cheek as she leans up. Lips brush his muttonchop, where it's safe, then she's picking up her things and shoving them back in the bag to head off. "Fuck me..." Logan murmurs in disbelief as Rogue turns to leave - hopefully soft enough she cannot hear him swear. Then he looses a whistle of both admiration and icredulity in equal measure. "Have fun," he says a little louder as she heads out, and he remains standing there for a few minutes more, before finally flopping back down into his couch and hooking an ankle up over his knee. The couch creaks. Hmph. END TRANSMISSION