<div class="floatleft">(http://www.philippalmer.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/440px-Wolverine_James.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>James 'Logan' Howlett/Wolverine<br/><strong>Location:</strong>NYC, Stark Tower<br/><strong>Whereabouts:</strong>Up, up, up the Elevator, to the Lounge<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Traditional coat over plain white tank top, worn denim jeans and worn combat boots.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><hr/>He was that close. Inches from impaling the witch on his claws and ending the excitement for the night. She seemed to have been distracted, what with Stark's armor hammering into her, and he thought that it would buy him enough time, but no. He knew that as soon as he heard the sound of something heavy screeching it's unnatural way over to him. The breath was knocked out of him as the piano hammered into his side and dragged him across the room into a wall. If he had been human... hell, if his skeleton hadn't been laced with adamantium that blow would have put him out of a fight.<br/><br/>But, thank the gods, he<em>wasn't</em>human, and his skeleton<em>was </em>laced with adamantium.<br/><br/>Without more than a smirk at the thought of what Tony's face would look like when he saw his expensive piano cut to matchsticks, Logan released himself with a roar and a flurry of claw-slashes. The sound of wires snapping and wood being chopped up filled the room and if anyone looked over to Logan, they would know from the sheer power that he seemed to be radiating that he was beyond pissed. He pulled his torn leather jacket off, his body tense and pulsing.<br/><br/>"Bad move," He snarled and, with everyone preoccupied with defending themselves, Susan being a blushing example of that, The Enchantress was having free rein to attack and pound at everyone's defenses. Logan had a mind to end that.<br/><br/>He picked up a broken bottle, leaking scotch, and with a flick of his arm sent it sailing at an impossible speed towards the witch. A distraction, as it probably wouldn't do anything but piss her off more. He arced his body, changing his direction so as to end up charging the bitch at a 45 degree angle from the flying bottle of whiskey. As he closed the distance, he threw another bottle and changed directions again, flowing past her, claws flashing for her neck.