[ It's one thing to be attacked and chopped with an axe by a scrawny renn faire reject. It's a whole other thing to be attacked, chopped with an axe and then poked at like a goddamn side of meat.

The remainder of Logan's patience snaps like a twig.

Decades of martial combat training make it easy, despite his injury and the queasy vertigo of whatever hellhole they've ended up in: he steps in, knocks the handle of the axe away with the back of his wrist and kicks the kid's crutch out from under him in a single fluid movement. He follows him down just as fast, two claws flicking out to line up either side of Ivar's jaw, knuckles pushed up against his chin.

The kid doesn't look stupid; Logan figures he can work out the unspoken threat. Still, he leans in close anyway, and snarls. ]

Gimme one good reason not to send you to Valhalla, bub.



(ooc: lmk if this isn't ok and I can edit!)