Criss had asked him not to go out tonight... he'd wanted him to stay home, and not look for people to hunt down.

There were only so many commands that Logan would obey... and this couldn't be one of them. There was a line Criss crossed when he asked him to stay home... and Logan just couldn't promise him anything. He hadn't said yes, and he hadn't said no... so if he went out, it wouldn't be like he were lying or anything.

In his hand was a gun... a revolver, to be a tad more specific, and his fingers were curled tightly around the handle, and his index finger rested on the trigger. The gun was loaded... and just that one damn finger threatened to squeeze the trigger and shoot at something.

Something, rather, or nothing at all...

He wasn't actually planning on killing anyone tonight, really, just for Criss' sake... but he just felt so terrible, still, what with his only father figure having cancer, and getting angry, and having to deal with him... And he was angry at himself for letting Criss get angry... he shouldn't have to be angry.

His icy blue eyes were closed, his head tipped downward, his chin touching his chest, as if he were tired... which was very uncharacteristic for Logan. The hand with his broken finger rested at his side, as he was in an alley, on his knees, and the one with the gun did the same. The gun was pointed toward the ground.

He was sitting on his heels, and the bottom of his shoes were showing. He had a long sleeved (the sleeves swalllowed his hands, and still went on) black and white shirt, made for someone perhaps much bigger than Logan, and a pair of black, completely cotton pants that were made for sleeping in...

He'd come from the apartment, and did some wandering... he still couldn't speak, and his finger was still very much broken... but he wouldn't kill anyone.. not tonight.

For a moment, there were footsteps lacking feet. The, suddenly, there was feet, along with the rest of a body.

The body was dressed in that casualformal style with a crisp dress shirt and slacks. There were glasses that seemed to defy the laws of physics perched on the nose and a maroon stripe stretching from beneath one eye to the other.

Apoth stopped not too far from the boy, looking down at him. For a moment, the god said nothing. Then he spoke.

"You know, it works better if you point it at something alive." Normally, Apoth would be against everything Death, but it was a conversation starter.

It was a good thing Logan wasn't looking for someone to kill tonight, because Apoth would be a very bad person (god, excuse me) to try and shoot at.

Logan's finger tensed on the trigger a moment, but he didn't open his eyes.

"Would you like to be my guinea pig?" Smart ass.

"Oh, you can try, but I wouldn't be a very good one."

He didn't move, but he did crouch down, his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them.

"You look a little young for something like a gun."

And all the sudden the gun's pointed at Apoth, and those beautiful blue eyes crack open.

There's a slight smirk on that delicate-looking face of his. "You look a little young to die."

A pause. He wasn't going to directly avoid the god's statement.

"Yeah, so what if I am."

"I look young? Well, thank you for the compliment, but you're a bad liar." The gun didn't seem to bother him.

Wonder why?

"So what if you are? Don't you know the dangers of guns?"

"Of course." Yes, of course he was a bad liar, he didn't need to be told that.

His hand dropped back to his side, and his head cocked to the side. Logan was slightly intrigued.

An eyebrow raise.

"Yeah."