Do-it-yourself alarm system. [He smirks a little. If something really wanted to get in there’s plenty of ways to go about it. But if nothing else he’s determined to make sure he hears it coming.

Like any place the older man’s ever occupied there’s not much here that screams personality. A few tins preserves of food pinched from store. A jug of clean water. A few bottles of liquor. A small variety of jars filled with something syrupy and almost black like raspberry jam. Nothing indulgent. The pantry of a survivalist. But Logan himself seems to breathe easier here.

He polishes a couple of glasses haphazardly and unscrews the cap on a particularly cheap looking bottle of borrbon, pouring them each enough to savour.]

What’s it doin’ to you, Elf? [Those who don’t know him have trouble clocking genuine concern in the express of a man so gruff. That kind of intensity in his eyes could easily be mistaken for frustration. And in some ways it is. But not for Kurt. For whatever the world has foisted on them this time. He hauls a chair close enough that their knees almost touch.] Do you need a doctor? I’ve heard theres some around. Banner, even. I could find him. Maybe he can help.