Participants:
| Scene Title | Business and Schadenfreude |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's been a long night for Satoru, who crawls his way back to the Happy Dagger to debrief. |
| Date | May 25, 2009 |
The Happy Dagger: Logan's Office
This place is office by name only - there certainly isn't a desk in sight, let alone a filing cabinet. It's decorated almost the same as any other room in terms of colours and decadence, with quality thrown in for good measure. The walls are painted a dark red with warmer golden trimmings, and layers of chiffon surround and cover the one window in the room so that only the lights of the outside world make hazy spots on the rich fabric. Hung upon the walls are paintings, likely expensive ones, depicting erotic scenarios and characters.
A couple of couches provide areas of comfort, some conventional, others more of the old Greco-Roman style designed to recline in rather than sit, and a small round coffee table with elaborate patterns etched into the wood boasts a perhaps ornamental hookah, although it's clearly seen use. The wooden floor is mostly covered by a large zebra striped rug, soft on bare feet and kept immaculate. An antique teatray is pushed into the corner, and holds a stunning array of fine liquor and crystal glasses. Next to it, an antique writing desk, although there's no chair near it and doesn't seem to hold anything, although the locked drawers may have purpose.
Despite it being called an office, this room seems more to cater to luxury and relaxation than business, although business occurs here regularly. Just not as much as pleasure.
At the very least, Satoru had the presence of mind to come via a back entrance, though most likely SOMEONE has seen him entering; just not clientele. Either way, he hobbles through the Happy Dagger, not particularly happily, and looking rather like something the cat dragged in. Covered in several long welts, both visible and not, and a few hidden bruises as well, he holds his arm across his stomach as he staggers to Logan's office on a Mission. Which mostly involves him almost falling in. And he's crying. It's a fairly pathetic sight, really. He staggers for a chair, sniffling a bit, and trying to calm himself down enough to actually speak coherently. Oh, hi boss.
Oh, hi Satoru. Logan lowers his cellphone around the tme footsteps fill the sounds of his office, sharper and more distinct than the music thrumming up through the floor. Cat-green eyes are studying the younger man in a somewhat mystified scrutiny at the tears and the bruises, and in turn of Satoru slumping down into one of the overly comfortable chairs filling the space, Logan insinuates his wiry frame up off his divan, headed for the door. "I'll get right back to you," is what he's saying into the cherry red cellphone, which is snapped closed in time for him to seal his door shut.
He's as well dressed as can be expected for— well, Logan, in a too-shiny black suit and a black shirt with an oriental collar, slipping the phone into a pocket as he wanders on back towards his employee. "And here I was thinking it was a relatively simple errand…"
Leaning against the edge of that chair, Toru just … keeps working on composing himself. He rubs at his eyes, angrily, with the heel of his palm, and sniffles a few more times. "I jus.." And there's a hiccupping sob there, and he shakes his head and grumbles, "Stop it!" Angry at himself, angry at Adam Monroe, just a tiny little ball of fury.
"I went and I talked to Tucker and that was ok," he says, words spilling out hurriedly. "And I hung out at the bar for a while and I was gonna come back but some bitch stopped me and hit on me and then she started talking about some guy.." He stops for breath there, panting a moment. "That guy who wanted me to go to Japan with him. He fucking sent her to beat the shit out of me." And at the end, his voice turns into a whine. "This week has fucking sucked and I don't know what the hell's going on, man."
And that was okay. A flicker of relief across Logan's features, gaze breaking from Satoru for a moment as he moves towards his tea tray of alcohol, the clinking of glass and transition of liquid a soft undercurrent to the hitching words being spoken to his back. He's listening, but whatever has happened is far less dire than he'd thought for the first three seconds, and when he returns, it's to hold out a glass of liquor for the young man to take, clear as water, citrus and poison in scent.
Gin, the good kind. "You didn't explain to him that you were otherwise indisposed?" Logan asks, primly, eyes a little hooded and brow lowered in an expression of disapproval. Possibly at the conduct of this mysterious other guy elbowing in on his employees. "What did you say his name was?"
Taking the glass, Satoru sips at it quietly for a moment, wincing a bit at the strength of it - boy's used to beer, after all - but using it as something to focus on while he gets himself collected. "I kept tellin' him I had a better job," he sniffs, though he is finally rather more coherent. "But he kept saying he had lots of money. I mostly said okay to shut him up, and he left me a message saying when we were leaving but I didn't have his number anymore so I couldn't tell him the deal was off, and I didn't know how to find him." Here he wipes at his eyes again, and finishes the rest of the drink in one go. Manly-like. Even if it does make him cough afterwards.
"His name's Adam Monroe, but he wasn't there when that chick was beating on me. Big, tall black chick with a stick. She hit me with it," he notes, pitifully. "And kicked me a few times."
"I can see that," Logan says, once settled back onto the edge of the divan, hands braced there and legs crossing at the ankles. As gin pools warm in Satoru's stomach, it's an adequate mask for the twist of good mood of the chemical kind that goes on in his biochemistry, barely an afterthought from the pimp and not enough to make already pale green eyes all the more icy. His own drink, a similar simple thing of gin, is brought up to his mouth to knock back a sip. "And do you think you'll be hearing from him again or has he made his point?"
Toru shakes his head, runs a hand over his hair. At least he's feeling better, now, though he's no less angry - just slightly less distraught over being beaten up. "I don't.. no, probably not. She said he wanted me to learn a lesson about keeping my word." And he snorts at that. "He sure as hell made his point, anyway, that next time I see that dick I get to kick his fucking face in." It's said.. mostly calmly, though he holds his glass more tightly as he says it, the thought eliciting a sadistic little smile. "Him and that— oh, right. I was gonna ask, uh, do you know a Fed named Ivanov?"
Logan offers Satoru a smile, the usual kind that shows off too much canine and not enough warmth, but the effort is made. It even reaches his eyes. "Well, here's to business," he says, with a subtle lift of his glass. "If he bothers you again, you just let me know and we'll see if we can't come to some kind of arrangement."
Shotgun, ditch, newspaper if they're lucky, is generally the kind of arrangement that works wonderfully, depending. And then his eyes narrow at that distinct name cropping up in conversation. "I know the name," Logan states, cautiously. "Felix Ivanov. Why?"
Toru lifts his glass with a wry sort of smile, though he looks a bit hesitant to accept the offer. "I dunno, boss, I think I can deal with the guy myself as long as he doesn't have his goon with him." Compress the throat and bone it up and that should handle things nicely, depending. "I mean, I'll come to you if I need help, I guess.. I guess I just figured I should let you know some dick's goin' around … being a dick."
But yes, Ivanov. He'd meant to mention that particular wrench a few days ago. "Yeah, Felix, whatever. I was at some diner a week or so ago and he goaded me into a fight but when I went to rough him up he plays this 'ha ha I'm a cop I'll arrest you if you touch me' shit. I kinda figured with the business you're in…" General sort of gesture. "…you might know the local assholes. Do I gotta watch out for this guy or is he just blowing smoke up my ass?"
One shoulder lifts at Satoru's hesitation, a nod. Sure, fine, go get 'em sport. More importantly now is a Fed playing ex-cop who seems to be in the habit of touching his things. Logan listens, gin glass tipping this way and that in a languid, fidgeting sort of gesture. "He's come here before, and one of the girls recognise him as the law, and he claimed he was retired. Footage showed him getting a room for his friend, no investigating that I could see, and that's about all I know about Felix Ivanov. Try not to give him a reason to cause you trouble. Where abouts was this, anyway?"
An eyebrow is lifted at this little explanation, and there is a bit of a smirk there. "Really," is his sole reply for a moment. He shifts a bit in his seat - promptly wincing when he remembers that just because he feels mentally better, there's still the whole massive hurtin' thing. Oh, right. Anyway. "Nn. Some diner, uh.. up in Chelsea? I stopped in for some coffee and he tried to gay me up. I told him I'd beat the crap out of him if he tried, he thought I was offering to give him a blowjob or something." He brushes at the side of his nose with a thumb, looking off to the side for a moment. Quite thuggish, really. Really. "Some diner, uh. Owl something. I didn't really look. He gets me mad then he pulls this whole 'blah blah you shouldn't try to beat up people who were shitheads to you in the first place what if they have a gun, stay in school, don't do drugs'." He waves his hands as he says this, all in a mocking tone. Probably he's taking some artistic license. "I met that Monroe guy on the mainland too, I'm starting to think I should just say fuck it and stop leaving the island."
"Probably," Logan says, more absent than a true answer, before his mouth pulls into a sneer. "Not that he doesn't seem to make a habit of visiting our island on occasion and I suppose time will tell us if he's only slumming it with the rest of us or not." Another casual shrug, and he knocks back the rest of his own drink, setting the glass aside. "So."
So. Logan's pale eyes are bright as he feels inclined to ask, "On a scale of one to tomorrow, how soon do you think Tuck is going to come crawling back for you to fix it?"
Ah, there's the million dollar question. Toru snickers at it, holding a hand up to his mouth to cover up a too-wide grin. Ah, schadenfreude. "You shoulda seen the guy, he was pretty pissed." He holds his own hand in the position he'd frozen Tuck's - a friendly handshake - and shakes it stiffly. "'What the hell did you do to me!' Dude didn't know what the fuck, it was pretty.." And there he stops, holds his hand to his mouth and clears his throat.
"Ahem, er, anyway. I dunno about tomorrow but definitely within a couple days. I think he wanted to strangle me, but, well." And there he holds that stiffened hand up to his own neck, showing off the clear inability to wrap it around anything wider than another hand. "He was pretty pissed." But all goofing aside, he rubs the back of his neck with some uncertainty. "You, uh, do remember I don't think I can fix it in other people, right?"
Logan's Cheshire cat smile returns, indulging Satoru's humour and storytelling as much as he's tolerating it, although— ah, schadenfreude indeed. "Mm? Oh yes," Logan says with a fluid wave of a hand, leaning back against the arc of the divan. "You can try, if you like. Worst comes to worst, we can remove— it and have our healer replace what's left over. If he's timely we can even make it painless. Relatively. Speaking of our healer, do you require her attention?"
Hesitantly, Satoru ennnhs. "I did tell the guy I'd fix it for him, I at least gotta try, right?" He did, after all, just get the crap kicked out of him for 'breaking his word'. "But yeah, I gu— wait, what?" Healer? He lifts his head, looking somewhat — surprised. Perturbed. Confused. All in one expression, somehow. "Healer, what?" He's going to just assume Logan doesn't mean 'doctor'. "You got someone who can just heal people and you let me hang out here without sayin' so? Dude, that is so not— " Oh, right, there was an offer in there. "…I guess I probably should. I mean, on one hand it probably makes me look like I'm pussying out but on the other hand it's kinda hard to work like this, right?"
Innocence, thy name is Logan, or at least, it's attempted through expression and body language. "You didn't look like you were dying. Yes, we have a healer. A rather unconventional one whose time is generally better spent elsewhere." The words are dropped callously, as if perhaps he were tempted to retract the offer after all, before he gives a relenting sigh and gestures towards the door before he's fishing his cellphone back out of his pocket. "Go ask for Mu-Qian," he says, flipping the device open and thumbing down a couple of numbers. "I need to talk to a man about a window."
Toru knows that tone. Or at least he's met it at a few parties; they don't have each others' phone numbers or anything, but he'll say hi if they bump into each other on the street. "Sorry, boss," is offered, at the note that he wasn't really dying, and once he's told the healer's name — well, he changes his mind entirely then. If it's a Chinese healer, well. "I won't waste their time, I'll just go sleep it off, yo," and once the phone is opened, he takes that as a signal to push himself up out of his chair, leaning forward to set his empty glass down on a spare surface. "I'll let myself out." And thus, unless he is called back, he does just that.
"As you like," Logan says, relaxing back against the divan as his office is about be vacated something. "Oh, and Satoru— " is the only thing he gets called back for, with a flick of a glance. It's called morale, kids. "Good work." The two words are accompanied by a wolfish smile before Logan's gaze tracks away again, dismissing and refocusing on his phonecall. "Yes, hello, I was asking after Mr. Zarek…"