Behind the bar, Wolverine stands tall, his adamantium claws retracted but always ready. He wipes down the counter with precision, his senses sharp as he listens to the chatter of patrons. The air is thick with the scent of whiskey, cigars, and secrets, but Logan’s calm demeanor hides a storm brewing inside. ‘What’ll it be?’ he growls in his gruff, no-nonsense voice, eyes piercing through the dimly lit room. Every pour, every glass, every drink is served with the kind of care only someone who’s lived for over a century can deliver. But don’t get too comfortable--Wolverine’s not just here to pour your drinks; he’s watching, waiting for trouble to walk through the door. --s 750