<div class="floatleft">(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4ooaOCJZ7Qk/UFTw9YuZzpI/AAAAAAAAC_A/NYW6pTtVEsE/s1600/1895357-wolvie5_024.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Logan<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Westchester, New York, The Xavier Institute<br/><strong>Whereabouts:</strong><br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Jeans, Black undershirt, one sock<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Open<br/><hr/>The Proffessor had issues with him smoking cigars at the school. The Professor had issues with him drinking at the school. Wheels had a lot of issues. Especially for a guy that sent a bunch of half-ass half-pints to save the world. Logan had lost count of the times that he had been off, minding his own business in some violent corner of the world... or galaxy, depending on the instance, and Wheels had called him in to save the X-Men that had gotten captured. Again. Seriously, teach these kids not to get captured. Make it a mandatory course or something. He took another swing from his bottle and only got half of the mouthful that he had been expecting to get. How annoying. He tossed the bottle onto the floor.<br/><br/>He raised an eyebrow when it clinked against another bottle. He turned his head lazily to see. Five bottles now. Really? Had five bottles gone by so quickly. The first two had been a blur, being that it took him quite a bit to get into a solidly drunk state. Even now he was only feeling a little bit woozy. He took a deep breath and rolled his powerful shoulders and neck, grumbling softly under his breath. Storm didn't approve of him drinking his problems away. That was the way that she had described it, right? She didn't know anything about drinking problems away. It didn't matter how many bottle of cheap whiskey a guy took, it didn't help. Some life coaches nowadays said that time was the only cure for a broken heart.<br/><br/>Yeah, but what are you gonna do until time decides to get it's act together and heal shit already? Well, drink, fight, drink and fight some more. Ain't nothing better to do these days. It had been days since he had gone through a cigar... No wait, there was one on the table over there. Still smoking too. Hours then. Eternity.<br/><br/>He took a deep breath. Might as well see what everyone else is doing up so early before the crack of noon.He pushed himself to his feet, staggering a bit before he gathered his weight and balance and started walking over to the curtains. Damn they were mighty bright for this early in the morning. We must be in June. What month is it? Year? Where's Jean? She usually keeps track of shit like that.<br/><br/>He pulled the curtains back and winced a bit as his eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness. He blinked a couple times. Okay, two or three hours before noon is about as respectable a time to get up as any. He growled softly, trudging over the bathroom. The effects of the alcohol would wear off in a couple minutes now that he got his blood moving faster than a sloth's breathing rate, but the smell would still be on him. Jean didn't like it when he showed up to teach a class smelling of Jack Daniel's.<br/><br/>Jean ain't around no more, bub.<br/><br/>He took a deep breath before splashing some water on his face and running his hands through his thick hair, putting it into something resembling order. Ballpark vicinity, anyways, he thought, scratching the stubble on his chin. He brushed his teeth quickly to get rid of the smell in his breath, and squirted some aftershave on his jaw and neck. That aught to keep Je... Ororo off his ass about that. He blinked a bit and looked straight into his hard brown eyes in the mirror. Eyes that had seen to much shit to believe that the world could be saved from itself by a handful of kids that didn't even know what was going on. Lost causes, Logan, he thought. You always are drawn to lost causes. Better than damsels in distress. Had us a couple too many of those. The thought was enough to put enough of a smile on his face to show himself his canines. He walked out of the bathroom and found his missing sock, one that had been missing, putting it and his boots on. He picked the smoking cigar up from the table and slipped it past his lips, grabbing his coat and hanging it over his shoulder as he stepped out of his room. It was a mess. He would clean it before he went on his next drinking binge. Depending on how he felt, it could be once classes were dismissed, or next month. Hell, if Xavier had someone for him to take care of, might be longer than that.<br/><br/>The trudge slipped subtly from his step as he walked, developing into his easy swagger as he made his way to the Danger room. Classes were always there in the mornings. It wasn't very dangerous for a room called the danger room. No offence. Just saying.<br/><br/>He opened the door just as Wagner was finished with his introduction speech, and Logan donned his coat, inspecting the lot," What's up, Spike Ears?" He growled at Wagner past his Cigar, and turned his formidable gaze on the kids," Morning Class. Where's my fucking apple? Must have forgotten breakfast this morning..."