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[idkmybffpigeon.livejournal.com]

WHO: Claude and Logan
WHERE: Logan's unassuming little apartment thing.
WHEN: Now?
WARNINGS: Will end if needed.
SUMMARY: Claude is bound and determined to do this 'break into people's houses and mooch off their food' thing. Pity he busts into the house of a guy with freaking enhanced senses.
FORMAT: Paragraph.

Claude was getting really tired of all of this. This damn City was trying hard to make an honest man out of him. Sure, most of the houses that he broke into were just normal people. Normal, boring, every-day, dull people. However, every now and then there would be someone who would see him, who would realize that he was there or who would just catch him in the act.

Like James Bond. Bond must have had a damn tracker or something like that. It didn't do any good for Claude's already slightly paranoid self.

Frowning, Claude walked up to his unassuming break-in place of choice. He looked over the door. Simple enough. He tried the lock. Locked. Frowning, Claude threw his weight against the door a few times. Eventually, it gave. He knew that it probably was better for him to actually try and pick the lock-his skills were insanely rusty, bordering on nonexistent. However, he was thirsty adn wanted to sit down somewhere. Lock-picking could wait.

Entering the room, Claude looked around. A couch, a refrigerator...hello there, refrigerator. He walked to it. Opening the door, the Brit's eyes lit up. This thing was full of beer. Wonderful. Grabbing a beer, Claude sat down on the couch, smile on his face.

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[sixgoodreasons.livejournal.com]

Logan had chosen the apartment based on its proximity to his favorite bar and the fact that the little old Chinese lady who owned the building liked his jokes. Wasn't like he needed somewhere fancy, seeing as he was only there a couple days out of the week. Just so long as it had a bed and a place to keep his beer and his smokes, he was happy as a pig in crap.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped out of the stairwell and into the hall. An almost tangible feeling of intrusion hung in the air; of territorial lines broken. He paused, paper bag of groceries hooked under one arm, his nostrils flaring. Then he saw the door to his apartment hanging open, the lock busted, splinters of pale wood sticking out of the paintwork.

"Damnit," he snarled, reflexively popping a handful of claws as he stalked towards his place. He really didn't need this right now.

The dumbass was still inside: Logan could smell him all over. He stopped beside the open door, senses alert for any sign. There: the crack-hiss of a bottlecap being pried off.

Sonofabitch is drinkin' my beer!

That tore it.

Logan took a step back, judged the angle, and aimed a single heavy kick at the door. It swung open with a crash, closely followed by a snarling Wolverine.

"You messed with the wrong guy, bub -- "

To all appearances, there was no-one there. But the intruder clearly hadn't bargained on the fact that this apartment was owned by a guy with fifty-plus years of high-end military training, not to mention a superhuman sense of smell. Logan zeroed in on the beer bottle floating in the air above the couch almost immediately.

"Drop it, meatball."