Logan adjusts his glasses. He has no need to do this, mind you— the frames are sculpted to his features, and his gait is flawlessly smooth, unable to jostle him— the action is purely superfluous and smug. "I am a being created by the Above to be Its perfect secretary," he supplies in crisp Oxford English. His posture, immaculate, keeps his chest displayed, as if he's proud of the flawless folds of his cravat and crinkleless dress shirt. "I always complete my tasks without flaw."