The knock on the door sounded before the second ring. The physicality, the 'realness' of this contact connected with Logan in a way technology never could. He was sure whoever was on the end of the call was someone he'd rather be speaking to, as far as he was aware the list of people who even had that number were all people he could at least stand to talk to, a category those who came knocking on his door over the years couldn't all claim to be a part of.

But he was a man who found the souless communication of the present disconcerting, and so the door earned his priority. Before the next set of knocking could even land, Logan had opened the door, the Mountie only just about having time to react before tapping his fist on Logan's chest instead of the wooden doorway.

"Salmons' almost ready." He grumbled, before turning back into his home, leaving the doorway open for his 'guests' judging they'd have the good sense to close it before they entirely let all of the artifical heat out into the cooling Canadian wilderness. Before he addressed any of them further, Logan began plating up the food, the pink flesh of the salmon deposited onto wooden plates alongside granary toast and scrambled eggs. The toast was a bit of a work in progress, he'd been trying to make his own bread lately to reduce his occasional trips into 'town' and hadn't quite got it right. He was sure many of the young mutants he'd helped to raise might die laughing at the thought of him trying to bake, probably suggest some guide on one of their sparkling websites. The thought brought a smile to his lips that he was certain to hide from present company. The memory putting him in a momentary better mood, he even plated some up for his guests, slinging them to the otherside of his kitchen island as they trooped in.

Then he finally picked up the phone.

"You wanna tell me why there's two kinds of feds strolling into my living room, bub?"

[i]'I go about things the wrong way?
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does'[/i]

The song played through the phone with crystal clear reception. Despite himself, and despite the situation, Logan found himself listening along for several moments. All he saw for that time was the Sunset, and the curls of red hair it bled into. With a moment of suspenseful silence, his eyes drifted away from those he had just let into his home, away into nothing, before he set the phone down.

"I don't imagine this is a social call." He suddenly speaks to the 'visitors' before taking a seat on one of his kitchen stools, tucking into his meal.