The Breakfast Club

January 28, 2015: Jean and Logan bond over a big burly breakfast.

Salem Centre

One of the Salem Centre's three restaurants.



Mood Music:

Salem Centre's a nice little town. It's got three whole restaurants, a half decent coffee house, it's the home to the Xavier Institute, and it's probably got other things going for it. It's a sleepy little town on the best of days, but with what the news agencies have been calling Snowmageddon, most everybody's closed up shop. There's no one on the street. A few of the stores are open, but they're quiet. And then there's the roar.

A 1948 Harley Davidson Panhead makes short work of the powdery snow, kicking up a cloud of white as it ploughs through the deserted roads. The man behind the handlebars is underdressed. He's wearing a flannel shirt, which is left unbuttoned, a t-shirt underneath, and some blue jeans. He'll probably catch his death out there, but the man, who rides without a helmet, doesn't seem to care.

Eventually he comes to a stop, pulling into a gas station. He'll put his kickstand out, and fill the tank, which is easier said than done. He'll start by trying to pay cash, but the station is unmanned today on account of the snow. He'll try and use his debit card, but they don't take it. The third time proves to be the charm, as the pump is set up to take his credit card, and thankfully he's got one attached to an American zip code.

With the tank full, and the station unmanned, he decides to leave it there, under the cover, and head on over across the street, popping into a restaurant. "Table for one," he tells the woman at the counter.

There was an option of leaving school in session since most children take residence there. But with the snow, it was made into a fun day with Jean at the helm organizing events that would maximize the fun as well as learning. And with the teachers and everyone else busy, the new visitors being acclimated to the manse, she saw fit to take a little bit of time to herself for a little stroll to the Salem Centre not far away.

Being away in Japan, China… and other Indonesian hot spots, one actually has to appreciate the way the snow feels underneath their feet. The process of bundling up never a chore, her olive green pea coat buttoned up and cinched at the waist. Oversized mittens tugged upon long fingers and knitted hat which match the mittens, olive green as well tugged upon thick red hair that sticks out awkwardly from her coat.

She wasn't in it for fashion; to make anyone jealous in that manner. She wanted them to be jealous of her because of how warm she looked.

There was the scarf as well, tied up to cover the visible parts of her neck and a little over her mouth, and she was set to track the winter wonderland over towards the city. Now while she could have flown and made the walk longer? She didn't want to. Occasionally her hand would drift out to catch snowflakes upon her palm, her eyes shifting left and right to tug the scarf down to stick out her tongue just to catch it upon the tip. There was a little laugh given at herself, being alone in this way was fun. She allowed herself to dream, just a touch.

It doesn't take long for her to reach the restaurant, the ring of the bell by the tug of the door marks her entrance, her gloves immediately pulled off and stuffed within her pockets as the scarf and hat soon follow suit. A woman smiles towards Jean as she gestures towards the all too usual corner booth that she takes up, and heads for that direction without the need to be seated. Her coat was soon un-cinched and withdrawn from her person as she sets it aside to make herself comfortable with a quick sit and a few bounces into place.

Not one to make a fuss, Logan doesn't object when he's given a table with a plain old wooden chair. Booths are usually more comfortable, and they're available, but he got a square table, which is bolted to the floor, and two chairs. He's already looking over the menu when the redheaded woman approaches the restaurant. He turns to look in the direction of the door even before she rings it, picking up her scent. Some nice perfume she has on, whatever it is. Not too strong, but nice. The girl's not bad either.

But he's not one to stare, and turns to his menu. They do an all day breakfast here, and he's hungry. The waitress comes over, "you're a brave one to go out and about without a coat. Do you want me to bring you a hot chocolate to warm you up? I can do it with extra cocoa for you?"

But Logan's not interested, "Thanks fer the offer darlin', but I'll have a tall glass of OJ, extra pulp if ya got it, and the lumberjack breakfast. Sunny side up with sourdough bread. And I'll get a side order of flapjacks, and French toast on the side." She writes it all down, and gives him a look. He's pretty fit looking for a guy who eats like a horse.

There was only one other customer… well two. The man sleeping in his booth at the far corner of the restaurant really shouldn't count. So once the woman was officially done taking Logan's order, she moves over towards Jean with a menu in hand and a pad to stay at the ready. "What'll be today hon?" She asks, all the while Jean flips through the menu, carefully.

"Um." It's been a while since she's had something greasy. And since she was alone? She was going to indulge.

"I suppose I'll take three peach and Belgium waffles. Blueberry syrup…" Her hand lifts to tap a finger against her lip as she considers, brow lowering in concentration. "… and the ultra meat platter. No eggs, however. And I'll take a cup of coffee if you have it? Black, no sugar. Drop of milk and honey." It seemed like a complicated order, but it really was not. The menu was folded and soon offered up to the woman with a warm smile, her elbows soon placed upon the table as she laces fingers together to create a bone bed for her chin.

"Alright. It'll be a few minutes, I'll bring your coffee right away." Both women were all smiles as the other departs, which soon has Jean restlessly swaying.

With his back to the redheaded woman, Logan had to turn his chair, or wind his neck to speak to her. He decided on the latter. With a swivel of his torso, he rested his hand on the back of the chair, "the food must be good here?" There's no way a girl with a figure like her eats that kind of meal regularly. Logan's nothing but muscle, and besides, he has a healing factor. He can afford to eat how he wants. He won't pile on the weight.

And when he recognises that he hasn't introduced himself, he leans forward, close enough to take her hand if she offers it, "the name's Logan." His grip is firm, strong, powerful, but he doesn't squeeze too hard. His hands are almost gentle, and surprisingly soft. No calluses or anything. Could a man like him get a manicure?

And then his order is ready. The waitress sets down his many plates, covering his table in the starchy goodness. "Thanks darlin'," he says to the waitress, and helps her out by moving the napkin box and the condiments. When it's all been placed, the woman smiles to Jean, "I'll be right back with yours, hon."

Once she's gone, Logan will take a quick look around, noting they're largely alone in the spacious restaurant, and offer, "you want to join me?"

As Logan drops her from her reverie, green eyes alight upon him, obviously full of whimsy from the day she just had. Even the walk that got her here had her beaming with a little slice of happiness she felt was deserved. "Mmh? Oh yes. I usually try to get the cooks name, but it's a different person every shift and they're just fantas-.." She stops her little spiel about the cooking once Logan offers his hand, her own reaching out to lightly grip his fingers, thumb pressed to the back of his knuckle super slight. She doesn't allow that touch to linger for long, her head nodding sharply. "Jean. Nice to meet you."

She pulls her hand away just in time for the waitress to approach, watching the display of food before she decides to clear her own space at her table. An arm just sweeps everything to the side, yet once the offer to join was had, she… shakes her head.

"How about you sit over here? There's a lot of fluff in these booths and I'd hate to leave it. Plus, with all the food we've ordered in between us, I highly doubt that there would be much room on your table."

It made the most logical sense. Really.

"Well, if you insist," is all he says on the matter before he rises to his feet. He'll push the chair back in, and start moving the plates. Some of them are supposed to be hot, but he touches them with his bare hands and doesn't even flinch. He'll set his up on the other side of the booth, and finish with the orange juice, which left a bit of a ring on the table. So he runs his free hand over it, disbursing it over the top so it'll evaporate faster.

Once he sits down, he'll wiggle a little bit in his cushioned seat, "oh yeah, that's the stuff. I can really feel the fluff." He smiles at her, is he teasing her, or being serious, and did he plan this all along? Booths are generally better.

As he begins to butter his flapjacks, lifting them with his knife and fork so he can get some of the butter inside the stack, he'll ask, "Jean," but he's cut off when the waitress arrives with her food, "we decided to break bread together, Madge." He gets her name from the tag she wears, before adding, "one bill will be fine." After everything he ordered, does he really expect Jean to pay for it as well as the massive breakfast she ordered?

Jean smiles wilfully as she watches, though… she decides to slide from the booth to offer a helping hand if he should take it. Either way, she'd take some of the silverware, transporting it from that table to her own, even a place mat so that his food could cool whilst not being devoured. It takes a moment for him to settle in, so she takes that time to dab at the spot that was left upon the table, even though he wiped it clean with his hand. The napkin was soon curled into a ball and tucked within her pocket, since there was no garbage nearby, she'd throw it out once she hits the door.

Sliding back into her booth then, snagging up another napkin to unfold and rest into her lap, silverware close by, she smiles as the woman returns with a tray and other plates balance expertly upon her arm. It was really, really a sight. A sight that had Jean grinning and carefully reaching out for a plate here and there to assemble along the breakfast selection that they've created.

"Oh no no no. Split the bill, that's not even fair." What she ordered possibly cost more than what he did, she couldn't let him pay for that all at once. But Madge, she was sure she'll figure out a way, and only stepped away with a chuckle and a shake of her head.

Her peach waffles? Immediately cut into sections so that she could eat, one heaping helping placed into her mouth and chewed, a nice bit of whipped cream left upon the side of her lips without care. "What do you do, Logan?" She asks, after swallowing.

The help is appreciated, though he does try to turn her down, "it's all right, I got this." He's used to looking after himself. When she helps to clean up the condensation, he smiles, "thanks red." He just met her, he knows her name, but already he's picked out a nickname for her.

Her protests about the bill will bring a smirk to his scruffy visage, and he concedes, "all right Made, you can split it, but I'm still paying for her half." Of course, he did leave out an option. He could pay for her meal, and she pay for his, but he seems to have missed that possibility.

Logan will make liberal use of his eggs, dipping his sausage, bacon, ham, flapjacks, and even French toast in them. He'll also devour his hash browns, but as he eats them, he'll lick his lips a bit, finding them too salty. Good, but just a pinch too much salt. He'll also enjoy his sourdough bread, buttering it and spreading jam, strawberry jam, over them.

"Do," he replies between bites, careful not to speak with his mouth full, "oh, I've had lots of different jobs. But I'm between jobs at the moment. I guess you could say I'm retired." That probably was unexpected. He's unemployed, but he's comfortable enough to talk about paying both their bills, and says he's retired. Maybe he's got quite a nest egg.

"Red?" That nickname had taken her aback. It actually caused her cheeks to hint a little bit of the colour that he called her, but she doesn't dare correct him or rebuff him of the nickname. She actually liked it.

But the way they ate together was like best friends. Usually, upon joining someone you never met, there would be times where the person would hold back on eating as they would like they were home (in public), being nice, neat, polite, leaving a little bit extra here and there in the face of the conversation. But she really wanted her bacon. She wanted her peach waffles with blueberry syrup. She sipped at her coffee and dipped and dabbed and ate a scoop of hash browns to boot.

Call it a cheat day.

"This young?" She finally speaks out, complete wonder on her face. Now, Jean is no gold digger, but she was already counting the money he had in his wallet and she was sure that if she wasn't working at that school? She'd probably be in the same position. But still working. "Gosh, that must be fantastic. You've already achieved what most of us work and gear our lives towards."

Her dining companion was not one to stand on ceremony. This wasn't a black tie event, or anything like that, so he wasn't trying to impress anyone. And even when he was trying, he usually ate the same way. Logan is a salt of the Earth type, who lives his life the way he wants to. And this food was damn good eating.

He liked her reaction to the nickname, and took another look at the girl after that. She was nice. She was kind, and she didn't seem to care about his manners, and she was anything but stuffy. Nice girl. Nice town. He might have to visit this place more often.

"Yeah, well, you can't put it off forever," he joked as he took another bite of his ham, dipping it in the eggs. "There's an old saying, something whether you work to live, or live to work. I'm the first one, I think. But what about you, Jean? What's keeping you in a town like this?" There's something about her. He just can't place it. But she's no ordinary country girl.

She stops eating long enough to savour the coffee while it was hot. The honey was a nice touch, it usually is, and Madge likes to lay it on thick just for Jean. "I suppose you have a point." Jean offers up, her eyes wandering to look towards the winter wonderland. While her thoughts could wander, she keeps them in check just to keep the others out, her eyes soon flit towards Logan again as she draws out a smile. "I think now a days? Everyone works to live. It's almost a necessity, unless you're a trust fund child." For some reason, the thought of that causes her to giggle, a soft little laugh that has shoulders bouncing and cheeks burning bright again. The coffee was replaced for a napkin, a quick dab at her lips was given, a plate soon slid in front of her to start working upon the meat melody she ordered.

"I live not too far from here. And being this close to a place like this.." She glances outside towards the many chain of mom and pop stores that litter Salem Centre. " actually quite lovely." Never mind the Hydra attacks and the school full of mutants who nearly blow each other upon the daily.

Funnily enough, Logan was a trust fund child, or at least he could have been one. He was born in a manor estate. But then life threw a curve at him, and the rest is history. He gives her a look when she says everyone works to live, but then, he's never been the philosophical sort. He lets it go. Or maybe he's just playing the part. He's hard to read. "You got a nice laugh there, red." He could get used to hearing that laugh.

But he lets her continue, then adds his own two cents. "Oh, I love places like Salem Centre. I was just surprised, most girls your age can't appreciate the quiet life." That sounds a bit odd. He doesn't look much older than her, maybe a few years, but he's got to be close to her age, right?

By now, he seems to have finished off his plate, every last morsel, and cheekily, he reaches for one of her sausages, curious to see how she reacts. He tries to grab it with his bare hands, not his fork as he had done before with his own food. And the sausage he reaches for was coated in syrup.

Coated in blueberry syrup, that is.

"Thank you." She couldn't really help that blush really, as much as she tries to remain stoic, she couldn't take a compliment without nearly setting herself on fire by the cheeks, which contend with the colour of her hair and often times with the lipstick that she wears.

But she was full now, and as he cheekily reaches for a sausage, she does nothing but lets him take it. However, if he raises it towards his mouth? She'll create a tiny little telekinetic tug that'll slip the meaty morsel from his fingers.

"Most girls my age." She comments then, a little grin added to it. "You speak like you're almost 60 years old."

While Jean was blushing from the compliment, Logan tried to take a bite out of the blueberry syrup coated sausage that he had fiendishly snatched from one of her plates. But the darn thing slips, tugged downward by some unknown force. Showing surprisingly reflexes, Logan caught the sausage with his other hand from mid-air, and this time he dug his nails into it and guided it towards his mouth, getting some of the syrup on his lips. "Best sausage I've had in a good long while," he says afterwards with a wink.

When she says he sounds like he's almost 60 years old, he laughs, "no, no, I'm not even close to sixty," and that's true. He's actually almost twice that old, but he doesn't look it. While waiting for Madge to come back with the cheques, he glances at the winter wonderland outside. "Beautiful day out there. It'd be a shame to waste it. Wanna go for a walk?" He doesn't want this to end. He's enjoying it too much.

She laughed again, it wasn't loud, but as if she were trying to keep their conversation and him dropping the sausage by her hand quiet. She even draws a hand over her mouth, keeping it pressed there for a moment as she glances towards the massacre of their plates. He took the last sausage, which was fine. There was a piece of bacon left, which was taken and quickly eaten, napkin grabbed and fingers wiped along with a dab of her lips.

"Well, it's pretty obvious you aren't." She says, offering up compliment. The mention of a walk has her glancing outside, her brows furrowing just a little as her arm lifts to pull back a sleeve to check her watch. "I would love to, Logan. But I need to get back to work. I really didn't intend to be out for this long." She looked a little regretful, because he was right. It was a beautiful day outside. Truly.

Though she will be in need of dinner, and the diner has some of the best rib eye and potato meals this side of New York. "How about later? The snow looks better at night." She was already drawing up a napkin, writing her name and cell phone number down to push it towards the man. She doesn't mind company, not at all. And if she could steal some of the college students to volunteer at shovelling the walk ways of the city? All the more better.

While staring across the table at her, Logan licked his fingers clean. The sausage was sticky because of the blueberry syrup, and he had gotten it on both hands thanks to her telekinetic playfulness. After licking them clean, he would reach for a napkin to dry them.

Then he began to tidy up, stacking some plates to help out Madge when she came to pick them up, and give them the cheque, or cheques. He was still a little unclear on how she planned to handle that. His smile, which had been present throughout their meal, grew into a grin when she accepted his offer, even with the catch. "Later is fine by me." He's spent many a night in the snow, but when she says it looks better at night, his grin turns into a bit of a knowing smirk, "that's interesting. You'll have ta show me."

The number on the napkin is glanced at and instantly memorised, but he will fold it and tuck it into the pocket of his flannel shirt for safe keeping. He'll even pat his chest, making sure it's in there. "You got a long walk back? Mind if I join you, or I could give you a ride. Yer not afraid of motorcycles, are ya red?"

Jean didn't really know how to handle that either. But, Madge was going to get a twenty dollar tip regardless of how the check was split, so she put enough to cover her meal as well as the tip, debit card offered up with a wink and a brief stand as the table was cleaned.

Her pea coat was taken up along with her scarf, which was wrapped around her neck tight enough, coat slid on, buttoned, cinched, hat snagged and plopped upon her head.

"It actually is a long walk back." She confesses, glancing outside again. She knew that it would have been alright to return late, however… she was nearing the part where people usually eat after they sleep. She was getting there.

"I'm not afraid of motorcycles, no." She gave him an incredulous look, but it was all in jest.

Madge is probably going to hope that Logan and Jean become repeat customers, as Jean tips handsomely, and so does Logan. Not a bad day's work, considering how slow it's been today. He pays in cash, and when he opens his wallet, it looks like he's got a lot in there.

While she dresses up like it's the middle of winter, Logan doesn't even bother to button up his flannel shirt. No jacket either. Most people would think he'd get cold out there, especially on a motorcycle, but he doesn't seem to care. "We can't have that," he says about the long walk back, and will lead her to the nearby gas station where he left his motorcycle, a 1948 Harley Davidson Panhead in pristine condition.

Reaching into one of the compartments, he grabs a helmet for her. It's black with some interesting yellow stripes, kind of like a tiger, but not quite. "Better put this on," and when she probably gives him a look, wondering why he's riding without one, he'll give a gentle knock on his hair, which is unique to say the least. "I got so much metal in here, I couldn't hurt my head if I tried." Maybe he's a veteran. Could that be why he's retired? Is it safe to ride with someone like that?

She noticed that, she noticed a lot. He was weather worn, old fashioned, salt of the earth. and a meat and potatoes man. She enjoyed those types; they were chalk full of life long wisdom that she could use to impart upon students when the time arose.

The walk was quick enough, reaching the motorcycle, helmet taken and examined as she gives him a nearly cross look. Now she had to be on guard; not that she was afraid of him, but for the fact that he wouldn't wear a helmet where she would. All in the manner of safety of course. "I think we'll be fine." She assures him, fitting the helmet upon her head, latching it just beneath her chin, then hops upon the bike with a scoot back and a boot to the ground. And when he mounts? She'd carefully wrap her hands around his middle to hold on tight for the right. "Take me to Xaviers." That's where she works.

"Xaviers?" He says, surprised by that. He didn't flinch at the hands wrapped around his midsection. He wasn't kidding when he said he had metal inside him. His torso felt like it was made of iron, all rippling with muscles and little if any body fat. "An old friend o' mine works there, Kitty Pryde." He assumes she'll know her. But before she can really talk, the engine is revving and he's heading towards there, kicking up a cloud of dust when the bike leaves the covered are and meets the open road. He doesn't try any tricks, not with a passenger, no fancy moves. Okay, maybe one fancy move, just something that'll get her to snuggle up against him a little tighter, but he plays it straight, mostly.

"Mmhmm." She says beneath the helmet, "Katherine? Oh yes! I know her! She's a good friend of mine as well." But, the conversation was ended once he starts to pick up upon the bike, that one trick has her scooting in closer and hugging him tight, keeping him against her chest, the grip like death upon his middle. He did feel like iron, but she figured it was either a hard mans working body or someone who favoured fitness over all.

This method of travel was quick enough, for once they reach the gates and the motor stalls, she hops off of the bike, removing the helmet to offer it up to him so that he could wear it and be safe in her absence.

"I'll meet you outside tonight? And… you probably should bring a jacket. That's not healthy…"

He allows her to get off the bike, though he doesn't stop the motor from running. Even while idling, it makes a lot of noise, but not so much that they can't talk. For a moment, he considered letting her keep the helmet, but she offered it back to him, and he figures, why not. Maybe it'll make her happy to see him wear it, so he'll take a hold of it, not putting it over his head yet. "Saturday, eight o'clock good?" The jacket goes unmentioned, but he plans to wear one. Then he'll begin to put the helmet on, saying, "see ya red," and once it's on, wow, it smells like her, he'll rev the engine and speed off who knows where.

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