ash_icon.gif logan_icon.gif

Scene Title Apologize
Synopsis A bad day is brought up for discussion when Ash comes to resolve unfinished business in regards to it.
Date April 17, 2010

Orchid Lounge

Ash has been seeking Logan out for a couple of nights now, tryign to find a good oppurtunity to talk to the man. Really he's been meaning to get around to this for a long while. Ever since Jin slipped his grasp and he wasn't able to pick the man's trail back up, but skipping town for awhile, then hiding out and such kind of limited that. But, he's here now, having failed to track Jin down now that he's back in the city. If only Ash knew that Jin was already dead, might have saved him some headache in looking for him. Tonight he's followed Logan to the Orchid Lounge, in the hopes of catching him somewhere public to sit down, talk, and apologize. He enters the place, dressed nicer than he normally is, a white button up shirt, and grey slacks adorn him.

He looks decidedly uncomfortable in the nice clothing, but he's suffering through it. His footsteps carry him into the lounge, eyes tracking over the tables and those seated at them, looking for a familiar blonde head of hair.

Fortunately for Ash, either Logan is very early for a meeting of some kind, or it's long since concluded. Likely the latter, with the finished glass of wine in front of him and crowded ash tray. You're not meant to smoke in these establishments, and he hasn't yet been told not to, with a lit cigarette clamped between his fingers and his chin tucked against the heel of his hand. From a distance, he looks as well as one can expect — a naturally pale creature of England and daysleeping, expensive clothing with a flare of flamboyance in a pokerdot ascot scarf, black and white.

Closer up, it's clear he's under the weather, with a slight sheen of sweat on his brow and high on his cheekbones, but seems to clean up nicely even when plagued. He doesn't see Ash come in, and if he did, there's nothing familiar to him about the younger man for him to rest his palely cool gaze upon.

Ash makes his way through the lounge once his vision locks onto Logan. He ducks past a waitress, offering her a soft apology for almost knocking her tray out of her hands. The seconds tick by as he walks, trying not to hurry and draw attention to himself. He pauses a few tables down from Logan, or booths if he's in a booth, his eyes not staying ofcused on him, but on him enough that he can catch sight of the off color pallor of his skin, the sweat, the general ill appearance of the man. Ash presses his lips together, the blood draining from them and turning them into thin lines before his head nods and he makes his way over to the table, sliding down into a seat across from Logan without even asking permission to sit there. "Need to speak with you." He comments before the man can raise a ruckus over the intrusion. Ash's voice might sound familiar, though it was quite awhile ago, and Logan was drugged as well that night.

Ash lifts his hands up, settling them on the top of the table so that Logan knows he's unarmed, one hand clasped over the back of the other, and that one almost flat on teh table. He waits to see what Logan says, and how he reacts to the random stranger plopping down at his table.

Seated at one of the tables of white marble, all to himself, Logan is fingering the drinks list with his free hand when Ash goes to invite himself to sit. Rather than startle, or even move, Logan only lifts his gaze up from the price list to settle his lazy attention on Ash's face, suspicion overt but without panic. He does, however, tense up, something Ash can probably note in the stillness of the former pimp's shoulders beneath his jacket, the way his hand stills on the table.

Lifting his chin up from his hand, he sits back against leather and silk-clothed cushions, looking first to the man's unarmed hands then up to see if he came alone. Gripping the long neck of the unfinished wine bottle placed on the table, Logan goes to refill. "If I owe you money, you've got the wrong Englishman. There're more of us in the city, you know."

Ash is an astute individual, very intelligent despite his more brutal nature. He sees the tension, and he sees the looks the man is giving, realizing them for what they are. "I came alone, and I am unarmed. I said I wished to talk." He doesn't smile with the statement, but there is the faintest hints of amusement in the man's voice. He watches Logan, eyes studying the man's face for a handful or so of seconds. When he speaks it's slowly, and quietly. "You wouldn't remember my face, as you never saw it. And you were drugged when you heard my voice. I haven't come to you for money, I've come to you to apologize for a great wrong I allowed to be done to you." He leans back in his seat, his own back resting against silk and leather, his hands pressing flat to the table top.

Ash watches, and he waits for a reply, being a touch cryptic yes, but given what he's aplogizing for, could he be blamed? His lips pull up into a fascimile of a smile, nto a real one, but enough so that the waitresses in the lounge won't be concerned enough to pay too much attention to the two of them, or so he hopes.

The bottle of white wine comes down with a heavy thunk, Logan using both hands to pick up the loaded glass and peer at Ash over it. Even in the dim light of the little bar, the white scarring on the backs of his right hand's fingers is likely reminiscent of the incident that Ash is talking about, where bone had split jagged through the skin of his littlest finger and the ring finger next to it. Elegant digits are, however, perfectly straight and healed — he might recall dropping him off at hospital not so long after.

Meanwhile, he's staring, though recognition is not detectable in his expression — nor confusion, however, just an avid kind of study as if he were slowly and successfully putting together a puzzle.

Finally glances away towards the waitress shooting them concerned looks, kept where she is by Ash's attempted smile. Logan reinforces the notion that nothing is wrong by fanning out his fingers in a gesture, and taking a heavy sip of wine. It's silence the young man gets for now, a prompting kind, desiring more words.

Ash glances down to the scars on the back of Logan's hand, his gaze restign there for a long little while, not moving from it, his body almost completely still but for breathing and blinking. After a bit though, his eyes lift from the man's hand and up to his face. "I cannot claim to be a good man. I have killed, alot. But I have never once tortured someone. It is … unnecessary. To inflict pain upon someone simply for the sick enjoyment of it is …" He pulls his lips together between his teeth as he tries to think of a word to fit in there. "Unnallowable. I tried to hunt him down after that night. I did not know what was going to be done to you when I grabbed you. I was under orders, and I had gotten used to taking orders from my boss. Had I known what was going ot be done to you, I would not have grabbed you."

THe man is silent then, his eyes focusing on the other man's hand again. "I am sorry." And there is deep earnestness and honesty there. THis is not a man accustomed to apologizing to… anyone, that much shows from the discomfort on his face, but he's sitting here, apologizing none the less. "It was deplorable of me to allow it to happen once I realized what was going on, and to allow it to continue. THere is no purpose to pain like that, other than that sick man's pleasure. I tried to hunt him, got a good piece of him during the Triad's shootout with the police and Frontline's deployment. But I lost him after that and have been unable to find him since then. I fully intended to bring proof of his death to you to go with my apology."

"Jin Yeoh." Logan's smile is quick and darting and insincere, and broken up when coughing takes a hold of him. His glass is hastily set down, twisting away a little as he barks chest-deep coughs into cupped hands, clasping his palms together once the fit ends, back straightening and settling once he's done. He looks all the more tired for it, picking up a napkin and wiping it across his mouth. "'s his name," he continues, balling up the fabric and tossing it back onto the table. "Yeah, I remember you.

"Drugged is barely an adequate word for what I was, I think you put enough tranq in me to take down an elephant." Sitting back in his chair, wine glass clasped again in rigid fingers, he lets the pale, gold liquid slosh up the sides in an absent fidget, releasing it's mild fragrance. "Jin's dead. Got shot up in a raid on some Flying Dragons hideout. Inevitable end for a chap like that, really."

His teeth click against glass as he takes another sip of wine, before jerking his chin up at Ash. "Apology accepted if you tell me who you worked for. I take it this wasn't a direct commission of the Dragons'."

Ash tips his head to the other man's reciting of said sick individual's name. "That's the bastard." he comments simply, and softly. He watches the man break down into coughing fits, but makes no move to help him, nor does concern show on his features. Being sick is not something that can be helped after all. His lips quirk a touch as he's told that he's remembered. Ash keeps his hands ont he table as he leans forwards, back puling partially away from the silk and leather behind it. "Given the gun I was using? It probably was enough to put down an elephant. I used what I was given, it was part of the mission." Surprise flickers ever so briefly across Ash's face when he's told taht Jin is dead. "I see… inevitable yes, but unfortunate. I would have loved to be able to kill him myself, or rather you have killed him, either or." His jaw sets, eyes staring down at the floor before he inhales slowly, holding the breath while he thinks over this information.

Eyes pull back up from the table to focus in on Logan as he suggests that Ash tell him who he was working for. "No, not direct. It was a comission to my boss, and he put me on the job. I personally wouldn't have had dealings with the Triad if I could have helped it." He goes quiet then, letting the silence stretch, though the way his eyes move around it becomes obvious he's thinking about whether or not to give out the name. "Adam Monroe." he speaks finally.

The name gets a raised eyebrow, but that's about it — no particular recognition that might indicate that Adam took such a job for any personal reasons. Ash is not naming an enemy that Logan knows of, nothing deeper than vague familiarity. Filed away to be studied later, he nods his thanks and lets his gaze wander the surface of the table, tongue running over his teeth to clear away the slight taste of iron that came with the deep coughs. "I can only assume you're out of the job now," he concludes, before sliding back the rest of the wine in a deep draw.

By the time he puts his glass aside, Logan's face has taken on a healthier, blushier sheen — more to do with alcohol than vitality. "If it's any comfort, I'll take getting tortured over murdered any day, so— thanks for an apology that didn't involve putting me out've my misery. Or flowers, I hate flowers. You didn't want something from me, did you?" His finger taps the table absently as he studies Ash with a narrowed gaze. "Or was this really to clear your conscience?"

Ash sees the lack of reactiona nd nods hsi head. "It was business. He had Triad connections, they asked him to take care of soemthing, he paid me to take care of it for him. So I did. Though he was in the room as well." He's sharing a fair bit of information about the job, but he came here to apologize, so he's doing it in a proper fashion. "I no longer work for Adam, that is correct." His statement is simple, and softly spoken. He glances down to his wrist, then back up to hear the man mention torture over murder. "I am sure you would. But, that doesnt' change that what I allowed was wrong. And no, I want nothing from you. I don't need your forgiveness, or even your acceptance of the apology. I simply wanted you to know that I was remorseful for it. and it is rather rare that I am remorseful of things I've done."

Ash leans back in his chair a little bit more, his hands settling on his stomach, off of the table, but if he was going to use a weapon he'd have used it before now. "It was simply to clear my mind, and something I've been meaning to do for quite awhile now."

"Then that's a favour on my end," Logan states, simply, with a negotiator's careful phrasing. There is nothing particularly predatory about his tone of voice, however, not aiming to get anything out of the other man that he feels like he has to fight for, just something he has a right to. "We share something, you and I. What happened in that room is nothing I want anyone else to know." The facetious smirk that always seems to be present at least below the surface is gone, his gaze hard and serious as he meets Ash's eyes, mouth drawn into a tamed line. "It's not something I even want reminding of, but I'll forgive you that too if you promise me that after this little— "

His scarred fingers wriggle, indicating the table, the conversation. "This little unburdening of yours, you don't speak of it again." Lets out a breath once he reaches that conclusion, an abruptly shaky sigh that betrays a certain tension building since he thought he might recognise the man's voice. Logan drops his gaze and goes to brusquely refill his glass. "Blimey."

Ash sits there, silent as the other man speaks and drinks and talks about never speaking of the situation again. Ash's hands lift back up to rest upon the table, sitting there, and doing nothing, fingers curled over the top of his other hand. His eyes flicker around the lounge, but eventually come back to settle on Logan. "Then I will never speak another word of it." He smiles, a tight smiela, nd rises from his seat with a smooth motion that belies his larger size. He glances to his watch, then back up to him. "With that done and taken care of… I have a fight to get to. Thank you for listening to me, and thank you for not shouting for help the moment I sat down." He winks at the man, then turns, beginning to walk away, slowly, but walking away.

There's a curl to his lip at that very last comment, but it was as Logan said— not another word, so he doesn't rise to the defense of his own bravado and only nods in acknowledgment as the younger man turns away. Sits frozen to watch him leave as if waiting for a punchline. When it never comes, some source of tension drains out of Logan that— somehow— he's still alive. That— somehow— the apology was real. As real is it can probably get. If he chooses to finish the last of the wine in celebration to mark such an event, well, who could blame him?

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