Participants:
| Scene Title | A Good Deal |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | …is one wherein not everyone is aware as to the stakes. Logan saves someone's day for the first time in ever. |
| Date | September 10, 2009 |
The blonde detective - That Wendy still does not have the actual name of - left not long ago and Wendy remains where she was when Elisabeth left her. Reclining on the uncomfortable cot, she's staring up at the ceiling of her little cell. The hooker next door with her riot of red hair snores away unflatteringly and little by little, over time, it's getting very annoying. The night is long, pissy detectives wanting to know the name of dealers and the ache and burn of her foot as the numbing agent of whatever they used has worn off.
"I could use a painkiller please! My foot is bothering me!" She calls out. Somewhere in the building, above her, there's evo's. There's a surprising amount of evo's in this building and occasinally enough come into her range that she doesn't go stock still but it overwhelms her now and then.
"Or a cell in like, corner a building and not near the SCOUT offices! That'd be super peachy!"
Her high has obviously worn off thanks to being bit by a dog, bitchy short cops, the emergency room trip and being stuck in a small… small cell.
Eventually, there's that candle flicker awareness of another one of them moving for her cell. Only one, but two sets of foot steps echo down the hallway. Despite the ungodly hour, there is always movement, always eyes carefully watching. It's one of those things that the NYPD HQ has in common with the Rookery. In all other ways, it's terribly polar opposite, but Logan does not apparently seem on edge as he's led towards Wendy's cell. He, after all, is not the one under arrest.
The hooker in the neighbouring cell gets a quick glance, but, no one he knows. His ones always had the common sense not to get arrested, and all. Permission granted, Logan insinuates himself inside, with a creak of leather shoes and a rustle of expensive fabric. He looks very much like the last time they met, save for instead of black on black, it's black on a wide collared shirt of a shimmering golden tone.
As if perhaps he's not awfully afraid of attracting attention in the beating heart of the police department. No, not the beating heart - the colder bowels. There's rooms like these in the Rookery too. Or were. "If you shout louder, perhaps they still won't give you anything," he says, over the sound of bars shutting behind him.
The pull on that sixth sense of hers alerted her that someone was passing. When it stops in the approximate vicinity of her celldoor, the brunette peels open her eyes to look at who's deigned to come visit her. From the surprised look on her face, one could very well ascertain that the sharp cald former pimp was not on the list of those who would grace her cell. She swings her legs over, the leather molded to her coltish form and sets at least her good foot on the floor and sits up.
"Fuck me.. you're an undercover" There's a wrinkle of her forehead, brows furrowed and she drops her face into her palm. "Figures, juuust figures. Hello again Mr. Chemical Manipulator. Logan wasn't it?"
He turns a sharp, pale eyed glance towards the cell entrance, but his escort has long since wandered out of hearing distance. "Shh," is coy, instead of irritated, Logan's mouth turning up in the corners with a reflexive smile. "I'm also off the books, as it were. Not all of us are card carrying. And no," his smile widens a fraction with genuine amusement, shoving his hands into his pockets as he paces the length of the cell, keeping his focus on her, "I'm not a cop. I'm exactly who you met that night at Rapture, and right now, I'm a friend. How's your night been?"
"Peachy. Bust at a frat party " She doesn't look young enough to belong at one. "guy I was starting to talk to, probability Manipulator or something like that grabbed my hand and tried to help me high tail it. We picked up a doberman along the way" Wendy lifts her left heel, while studying the other man. Off the boo… not registered. And not a cop. "Stupid short burned cop with an attitude and his little bitch stopped me in the alleyway while Mr. Manipulator took off. Think they're holding me for suspicion of dealing, under the influence and who knows what else. Lawyer couldn't get me out of here" She narrows her eyes, leans, the curve of her back gracing the cold wall. "Too many evo's here. It's…" Not disconcerting, or frustrating. "Overwhelming. What are you standing in here for then? If your not a cop. What, you bribe them to let you in? And how exactly did you know I was in here!"
"They're holding you for disobeying the police and right now, your tox screens being shuffled through various fingers. It's sort of like a sleight of hand. Magical, what money can buy." There's no visible No Smoking sign within viewing range, but Logan opts not to chance it anyway, moving on over with a look as if he's considering her questions, though no other answers immediately come to light. Eventually, he extracts a hand from a pocket, palm open and fingers curled lax, an offer. "You were wanting a painkiller," he reminds her.
She was wanting a pa… oh! Wendy's own thin hand comes out, over, bridging the span between her and him so that she can settle her palm in his. She's not warm, but not cold and she grips his palm tight with hers. "Please. They wouldn't give me anything and took my pills and it fucking hurts. What guy seriously keeps 6 dogs in the city? Hope they test the dog for rabies and then euthanasize the damn thing" It's a tired, slightly cranky sentiment that heralds a cessation in her talking as contact is fully settled.
There's that sensation, unique to Logan and those who posess his round about kind of ability. She stares at his hand, waiting.
It doesn't take long, Logan's pale eyes becoming a brighter hue in the unaccommodating light of the cell. Slowly does it, warmth builds up low in her gut, like a drink of burning whiskey, funneling through veins and arteries until whatever pain is there just doesn't seem important anymore. Without breaking contact, he moves to sit down beside her, watching carefully.
As well as flicking paranoid glances towards the door. You never do know. "I'm here to help you, and there's only one hoop you have to jump until your charges are dropped and the results come back so shining and clean, you'd think they were testing Sandra Dee. Give up a name. I don't care who, but they want a dealer, something on the record, and I'd rather you be smart rather than I shell out however much cash that information is worth. If you're worried about getting hurt or going without, don't."
His thumb smooths down the inside of her wrist as euphoria buzzes beneath her skin, far more instant that the conventional methods of getting high, more direct, a good feeling without the frills.
"God, you are just… Seriously want to keep you in my pocket" Happily, slowly murmured from her as the feeling - and lack of feeling - cycles through her. Suffusing her limbs, wrapping around heart and mind like some warm little drug blanket but without the other telltale signals that scream drugs. Her free hand splays on the vinyl cover of the thin foam mattress as she relaxes beside him.
"What do you get out of this, if I do? Why are you doing this. And I hate to tell you, but what you can do, doesn't quite take off the edge of needing refrain. Close, but it didn't cut it last time. But it does feel so very good" Wendy keeps her voice down, pitched low for just him to hear and no one else. "I mean, if this is so you can get your hands on some of the blue fairy, I had already got some extra from my dealer for you"
But a name, give them a name. Ling, no she couldn't. But there was the new place on staten Island. Maybe… "There's a business card, in my clutch. For a business on Staten Island. I can't remeber her name, but my regular dealer gave it to me, said it's another source to get it from, get the Blue Fairy"
Logan's smile near shines, though dims a little at her assessment, as to how he measures up to Refrain.He doesn't stop the gentle ministrations dealt to her palm and wrist, nor the flow of chemical. "To tell you the truth," he says, his voice low and quiet, bordering on husky, as if to match her tone in turn, "I'm not so interested in the Blue Fairy that I'd go out of my way like this for it. Nor am I trying to replace it, not really. There's a little more to it than that, though I'll be having what you got for me too, naturally. Perhaps I'm just interested in having you in my pocket."
The euphoria doesn't cut out instantly, although that slow build does cease, left to simmer off alone as Logan retracts his hand. "I'll let them know, about the card. Likely someone will come by to prod and poke at you a little more, but you should see the door opening quite soon, and I can meet you on the other side, if you like."
"That's not to say that you aren't addictive and delightful in your own right" She can't sense the change in his mood but she can see it. She can read body language, she's an artists and sketches them, carves people in various mediums. She rolls her head from left to right, reveling and wading in the manipualtion of her body that he's doing as she listens to him talk low and quiet.
She can trade the drug for release, easily. It's the reason that he's here, that he's interested in her. "In my ability" Drawing up the inevitable conclusion. Hey, she wants him for his, well that he's kinda handsome in his own right. "To what purpose" it was after all what Humanis First wanted to do with her. Use her for it, likely to see out other evolveds and to put a bullet in their head.
His head cants a little to the side, a lingering pause for a moment drawn out between them as he appears to come to a conclusion. "Not sure yet. You get a lot of people wanting you for what you can do, is that right?" Logan flows up to his feet, as ever with his own kind of angular, self-conscious grace that he likes to move with. "Don't fret about it - I'm not asking for a contract written in blood, or even a promise with sugar on it."
In deep contrast to the various pretty women with their assorted talents holed up in his brothel, it seems he's trying something different this time. A light hand, as it where. He paces towards the entrance of the cell, curling a hand around a bar almost testingly as he looks back at her, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "More important than our dealings is getting you out of here, don't you agree?"
"Actually, you'd be surprised Logan, no one does except Humanis First" She's relaxed, not chafing at the bars that he's handling, crawling up the wall or asking for painkillers. She shifts on the bed as Logan moves towards the exit. "Getting out of here, I agree" Brown eyes trace across her hand as she holds it up, staring where he's held it, where his thumb had traced it's lazy ability ridden path. "Who do you work for Logan?" From hand, to man responsible for the simmering bubble of euphoria that pumps through her veins. "Who sent you?"
He taps a finger against one of the bars, contemplative, before stating simply; "I work for Daniel Linderman." The smile that comes next is quick, bright, almost young, before Logan raps his fist against the bars. "But I sent myself." He's swiftly turning away from her in the next moment, calling down the hallway for the guard, who comes a-stomping back over with a jangle of keys and militant, practiced pace. Wendy might be able to see a little bit of tension drain from the Englishman's shoulders at the promise of freedom, regardless as to whether or not he's merely the visitor.
Everyone knows who Daniel Linderman is. You'd have to live under a rock to not know and as the rapping of the knuckles echoes across the floor and disturbing the happy hooker next door, there's a "Be nice if someone I know, seen before is on the other side when they let me out. Certain blonde, with real nice green eyes. Who offers deals too good to pass up"
That's a yes, if the subtlety hadn't hit with a hammer yet.
Her own eyes go a little unfocused and she sucks in her breath, closing them tight. "The sooner the better"
"I'll see what I can do," Logan says, the smile playing through his voice, as the grind of metallic locks is shifted, and hinges squeak to Wendy's ears, hidden from her hooded eyes. With that, it's only foot steps and the fading of her psychic awareness of him that is left as indication for his departure, the cell door shutting with a definite, tinny clank of closure, leaving her at peace for the time being, with her ebbing euphoria.
Promsies, promises. Only time is going to tell if what he offered will come through. If what she offered up will be the ticket. Ling will have her hide, and she'll be SOL on the refrain front if the woman ever finds out that their staten operation got compromised via her. With Logans receeding, and the every swiftly changing status of those within and without her sphere of influence, she can focus on the now closed door and the sounds of the woman next door, of the guards who make their way here and there with keys. She can run a hand through her hair and lay there, enjoy the lack of pain in her ankle and hanker just a fraction for that mans touch once again.
In what seems like a long time, as time seems to crawl for those in police stations for anyone not working, but in reality, the sunlight is still angled from the east, the air still cooling from the evening by the time Wendy is shown the door. No one to greet her on in the inside of the outside, as it were, it might first seem like the woman will have to take her chances from here on out on her own. The hard part's over, at least.
Truthfully, Logan is just opting not to push his luck, as well as indulge in a different kind of poison. A cigarette clenched between fingers is leaking smoke pulled upwards to disperse into the air, and he leans his lanky body against brick wall, watching those go in and out of the precinct with a lazy brand of wariness. Dressed, still, as she'd seen him not so long ago, he stands out in his evening lines of black and gold amongst the shifting New York morning crowd, though seems utterly comfortable to be so.
Little flimsy flip flops on her feet, the kind given at a salon for your feet after your toes have been painted, contrast with the rest of her outfit. The gauze and medical tape partially hidden beneath the hem of her leather pants. Purse slung over her shoulder and rumpled hair. When Logan's not inside, the brunette just sighs, accepting her things and doesn't try to look the gift horse in the mouth. He got her out, and without her needing to call in her parents.
One hand runs through her hair, fingers working through the knots and such as she looks left then right in the vain hopes for a taxi. But instead of the yellow beacon of the cockroach of New York streets, she lays her doe eyes on the cockroach of Staten Island. Gigolo jo- Logan. From somewhere in the evoled woman comes a smile as she stands in the sun and just stares at him with his smoke and his casual demeanor.
Casual, tired— no one should be awake at this hour. Still, he is, and so is she, and she's rewarded with that same lazy smile as he takes his weight off the side of the building. The lawyer— not her's, the one Logan shaped into a wrench to throw into the cogs of the churning NYPD— had long since gone to do whatever it is lawyers do when unneeded. Lay in coffins, if you subscribe to certain views about lawyers. The strip club manager remains, letting the mostly spent cigarette fall to the concrete and get crushed out the rest of the way with a slightly lifted heel.
"You, my dear, look like you could use— well, if you don't mind me saying so, a whole number of things. A ride someplace would be a good start, though." He tilts his head towards a car parked up near the curb. It's not his, exactly, though it is for now. "How're you feeling now?"
"I look like a woman who was chased down the backyard of frat row by a doberman on E and got dragged in by a snarly disfigured cop. I could use a ride, I live at the solstice Condominiums, upper east side" She rattles off an address. "Shower, decent food, definitely a shower. I feel disgusting" Simple brown eyes skip from him to the car. "Guess we need to talk too don't we. About what it is exactly you want. Because I get the feeling it's not me making a nude portrait of you for your bedroom"
"As much as I appreciate fine art." At a leisurely pace, he moves for the driver's door, the car itself a sedate tone of steely silver, with black leather upholstery and rich wooden paneling inside. It smells new, though by now, faintly of cigarettes and the sweeter perfumes of cologne, and still retains its glossy cleanliness.
Popping the locks and letting the lady see herself in, Logan is patient to allow her to get settled, decidedly relying on the GPS to get him to the address she rattled off for him. "As for what I want," he starts, as he pulls out onto the street, distracted glances sent her way, "it's nothing more than your company, really, and what you know, what you do. What we have is a new designer drug on the streets, especially tailored towards people like us. This is interesting. Even more interesting is where it comes from. What I'm interested in…"
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they move through the reasonably untouched Financial District, bound northwards. Until now, Logan's words have only ever been cut loose once immaculately tailored and silver tongued, but now he hesitates, brow furrowing when he finds it harder to shape syllables around his meaning this time. "Well," he cuts off, eyes on the road. "It doesn't much matter. We'll say for argument's sake that I'm interested in how I measure up to it, shall we?"
"Right now? it's two different purposes. Refrain brings up the memories, hallucinations, and the emotions that come with it" Wendy points out to the blonde man at the wheel when she's eased her lanky frame into the seat. Her purse deposited at her feet with no desire to keep it on her lap as the seatbelt soon finds it's way with a gentle click. Law abiding she shall be at least till she gets home. "You though. You're untraceable, you don't leave me with china doll eyes, your sure as hell at lot easier on the body when it comes to the method of delivery. It's like.. comparing apples and orange from what I can see. Your fucking downright gorgeous on the eyes and delicious on the body as you are."
Wendy tilts her head as she looks out on the road too, her pinkie finger nail to her fingers, nibbling on the blue finger nails with the little laquered fairy on her thumb nails. "Why the need to compete with it? To compare? I'd frankly rather bottle you up and carry you around than a little blue filled syringe"
The velvety chuckle that gets is certainly flattered, Logan raising his shoulders in a shrug. "It's not so much about competition. There's always going to be a market for what I do, and I'm not entirely hellbent on whoring myself out, unless it's well deserved." A flickering wink is sent her way, as they turn a corner. "Compare is a better term. I'm interested in what it does, and what I do. Perhaps we can learn from each other." Whether he means himself and Wendy, or himself and Refrain, is reasonably unclear. Perhaps the line is blurred.
"In other words, you wanna be present when I shoot up, and then, when I come off the trip, you work your voodoo and I give you the blow by blow as to what's happening on my end and you can study it on your end" Black brows rise on her face, waiting to see if she's got it.
"Mmm. That doesn't sound like a bad time, now does it?" Logan says, a glance sent her way, pale eyes flicking up and down to study her expression and body language, as rumpled as she is. "You don't have to use any less or more than you already do, and I've never heard of anything bad coming from what I do."
'I think that sounds like something that could very well be arranged" Wendy Concedes with a hooded grin, one hand cupping her knees as she takes her eyes from the road to land on him. "much cheaper, not that I mind the price tag that comes with the blue fairy. Then like you said, you haven't heard of anything bad coming from your ability, as opposed to refrain and a bad trip. Least it won't kill you, but it's not pleasant"
A finger depresses the button for the window for her side so she can let air wash over her through the open portal. "You have a timeframe in mind?"
"Never," Logan proclaims, rather cheerfully, pushing the accellerator down a little harder to skim by a yellow light before it can go red. "Not very good at schedules. We have each others' numbers, though - why don't you give me a call the next time you'd desire some company when you hit up? Otherwise I can badger you in turn, in the unlikely event you went and threw away my card. Couldn't imagine why you would do such a thing."
"I'll be hitting up soon as I get out of the shower when I get home. But I have a feeling that you have things to do and other damsels to save that are in distress" Whether it's a joke or not, she doesn't really give a hint. "I have your card. I kept it, was thinking of you when I got my last batch of refrain. Don't you worry about that" Wendy promises, a grin on her face. "I couldn't imagine throwing it out either. It'd be a crying shame to do so"
That gets a minor laugh, taking it as the joke it could be, and Logan adds, "That's right, I'm a knight in shining Prada." One handedly, he's taking out his silver cigarette case once more - everyone has a vice, and he nudges his one of the bone white cylinders, securing it between his teeth and managing to talk around it, next groping for the cigarette lighter installed into the car. "No, I'll let you get on once I drop you off and we can arrange another time when neither of us are the walking dead. By candle light, and what have you."
Touching the glowing orange to the end of the cigarette, he inhales a quick lungful of smoke, lets it whisper out the edge of his own window, sucked out with the vacuum of the whipping wind outside. Some addictions have lesser prices than others.
"Sounds like a deal" Wendy murmurs, resting her head against the doorframe and watching the people pass on the street. Seems a small price to pay really, for getting out with just a hand slap. She can imagine the look on the blond cop's face when she's not there and there's no charges. Or Bolivar and the clean drug panel where he'd been sure there'd be a myriad of something and a trace of coke.
"Sounds like a really good deal Logan"
