Participants:
| Scene Title | Chasing Back The Blue Fairy |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A long overdue visit brings Logan and Wendy to a task at hand - unhooking her from refrain - and a parting to last a little bit till she returns. |
| Date | November 7, 2009 |
Solstice Condominiums - Wendy's Condo
High class, but comforting, welcoming, usual suspect of rooms, and then this HUGE open area that has windows and light and filled with art supplies, pottery wheel, half made sculpture, canvas, painting etc etc. Master bedroom is teal colors, with black peacock feather motif/theme.
By now, Wendy's generously wide windows are filling with the better half of Midtown brushed with sunset colours, hitting gleaming silver buildings that are beginning to twinkle with switched on lights. Her room is one of them, lit at a respectable moody level. It's been a short while now since Logan has arrived, his presence generally just making itself at home, from the coat draped over there through to the missing glass of her shelf and the shortening of her gin supply.
He's on his second one, smalltalk of the sound of him dropping ice into the low serving of clear poison. The doctor had said that drinking should be held off for another week or so, but what do doctors know? Two servings of gun barely count, anyway. The crystal cubes cluster at the surface and he takes a languid sip, wincing at the abrasive feel of it going down a healing throat.
"I only got back a few days ago," he's saying. From Las Vegas, is the lie he's already shared with her. The truth is complicated. "I had hoped to see you sooner, but I've had such a week."
Candles are in abundance, here and there, on sconces on the wall, gathered on her dresser, hell, even the beds headboard is a wrought iron affair that holds tealights. Corny, likely, but that's the way it is. Wendy's curled up in a loveseat in her room, black hair contrasting and complementing the teal walls and peacock feathers painted there in oversized stylized reproduction.
"Vegas is delightful, sin city at it's brightest is something everyone should see at least once in their life. You don't need to proffer up your own brand of apologies. I've been busy with appointments and family. Peyton's been over every other night with this and that. Can barely get in time to have some refrain or anything else save for what's prescribed."
Gauze is gone, no hint of anything covering the damaged ear save for a sheet of her black hair to effectively hide healing skin. She keeps that side away regardless since she's having issues hearing from that side still. "I'm glad you've come by anyways. I like you. You're different from others" She's not drinking, thanks to actual subscribed medication and so she's nursing a cup of tea in her good hand. "How long till the fingers are free'd from their sequined prison?"
Logan is still standing tall, now that he's gone and retrieved his drink, but he's sauntering on closer. Long legs are clad in jeans, which are undoubtedly expensive regardless of their classification. His shirt gleams as white as anything Mu-Qian would enjoy, with the cuffs loose around his wrists that have more strength in them when he's not playing this role, and his feet are bare against the carpet. Coming to sit with her, he brings with him the scent of cigarettes that cologne struggles to cover, and now the citrus of gin.
He glances down at where his splinted hand rests against the fabric of the seat, glittering. "I'm to find out in a couple of days. I suspect I'll be free of it then. I'll admit, I prefer the look of it than bandages and the like. If they need surgery and such." That hand lifts, and reaches out to nudge her hair back a fraction. "And how are your hurts?"
"I'm sure you won't need surgery. They might throw you into physio therapy for a while, for the muscles" Wendy eases her head and hair away from his hand. Denying Logan the chance to peek behind the mass of straight black. "I'm sure too that if you do, we can find some fabrics and fashion some covers for your poor fingers, make them more in tune with your fashion than plain medical white"
Like the more skin toned gauze that coats her own fingers that gingerly stir her tea. "I think i'm going to go away for a bit Logan. Get out of the city. My parents are pushing me to go rest and get better faster. Some clinic somewhere in the swiss alps or something like that"
His hand retract without offense, as if her gentle recoil were expected. And it is. Logan instead sips his drink, and then let's out a soft sound at this new of her departure, affectedly disappointed and briefly sulky as much as lambent pale eyes always cease to communicate the same. "Oh, must you? I so prefer you here. Not to mention, I quite like your apartment." As if that wasn't clear enough, though he awards that comment with a crinkle of mirth.
Just kidding~. His voice is gentle as he settles comfortably. "You don't need to go to a clinic. I can help you. I said I'd try."
"As if me being gone would stop me from offering my place for you to stop in at and use. Besides, it's not for that that they want me to go. If they knew about that, I wouldn't be here right now. They're done it before, they'd do it again in a heartbeat if they knew I'd fallen off the narcotics wagon."
She digs her toes under his thigh, levering them to rest underneath the curve of muscle and skin, anchor them under his weight. "I'd still like to let you try though. I doubt I'll be able to get my hands on refrain out there and I'm not about to cart a bag full of it with me on a private plane. I still have to go through customs. But if I go, this place is still available for you if you want. Lest someone put an unknown incendiary device in your building again"
Switching glass from hand to injured hand, he lets his palm rest against her ankle, thumb skimming against the rounded edge of bone as he watches her. It's second nature, that serotonin makes her mood all the warmer as she speaks, a feline smile on Logan's face at the reassurances that of course he can still freeload from her beautiful— if very him— apartment. Gratitude is expressed in a simple slow blink, lazy, and he tips back another sip.
"You never do know," Logan states, before he holds his drink out for her to hold for him. Leaning back, he takes his hand off her leg slide something from his pocket - it's the smallest dose of Refrain, 5 mL, good enough for a hit, and it glows scifi blue between his fingers as he flips it and its capped self end over end. "Let's see if we can't have this be the last hit you ever take."
Which, for a junkie, is never a guarantee. He shrugs one shoulder, holding it up so that blue makes a hazy line of itself against his skin, beneath his eye. "I need to be able to see it, is the thing. I…" Almost shy, or at least affecting shyness, he leans back and toys with the needle between fingertips. "I had a go of it, actually. I think'll help me, when I help you. I can see the appeal."
"How'd you like your trip?" Brown eyes follow instinctively, the flipping of the blue vial and it's invisible pull. She'd taken a hit earlier this morning, rewarded with a scene of when she'd had some time with her dad. younger, so much younger and on the beaches in the summer. Logan's chemical push colors her cheeks as the Gin filled lowball is placed over on a side table to be plucked up later if he wants it. It also takes the bite off another addiction that she's starting to realize that he has. One though, that she's sure when she goes away, she can deal with. Her own glass of tea is placed beside it.
"It was interesting," Logan admits, a wry tug at the corner of his mouth that has nothing to do with affectation. "Dredged up a few things I'd forgotten. Took me back to London. I was about— not sure. I was about eighteen, nineteen. About a friend of mine - a boy. Brought to light some connections I hadn't put together. Oh, it was nice, but…" He swings his gaze back to her, analytical as he raises an eyebrow. "Not worth the crash I knew would come if I kept taking it."
"I have yet to meet someone else who likes the aftermath. Dredges up happy memories yes, but it makes them sad afterwards. Says it reminds them of what they've lost" Wendy reaches over, letting good fingers trace over the vial where he holds it, fingers skimming over vial and English skin in turn. "I'm going to miss it. If this works. JUst, you be careful, one hit is really all it needs to sink it's fingers into you. I wouldn't want to come back from my peaceful rest in Switzerland and you strung out on my couch."
That gets a snort, a silent rush of disdainful air at the idea of getting hooked on the glowing blue. "As tempting as she may be, I know this bitch too well to let her have me for good," Logan says, eyes lidding a little as he regards her with crescents of pale green. Inching closer, he turns Wendy's hand so as to press the skin-warmed vial against her palm, curling her fingers over and placing a kiss on her knuckles, before releasing her hand and needle both. "I prefer the future, in any case. Find me a drug that gives me happy visions of what's to come and perhaps we'll have to worry." A pause, then he reaches for his drink. "Can't promise you'll have a fully stocked bar when you get back though."
"Won't you be thrilled then that the housekeeper will still come around regardless of whether I'm here or not. Like I said before. Leave a list of stuff for the place, she'll pick it up." The vial is revealed when she pulls her hand back, taking a few moments to just look it over. "It is very pretty though. She's very beautiful and there's nothing like her in the world that I've ever seen or heard about till now. I really will miss her. Miss what she's given me"
"Such a charmer you are though. Maybe i'll run across someone who's gift is to tell the future hmm? A precognitive in my travels." Wendy turns, pulling her feet from under his leg so that she can pull up her sweater, pull down the waist of her leggings and expose hip. He wouldn't have produced it if he wasn't ready for her to take it. "Here's to hoping it's a sweet last one and not bad" Even as the needle bites her skin and she presses the plunger down to let the blue liquid disappear out of visible sight.
Familiar, his hand creeps over, fingers card through her hair to touch the back of her neck. He's mindful of her ear, seated on the other side of it anyway, but skin to skin contact is required as she sets about getting the needle ready. Logan's eyes are already a poison green, having begun their glow when he'd put the needle in her hand, and now they're twin points of brightness as she sets the bite of the needle into her hip. She feels nothing, for now - he doesn't combat the flow of the drug through her system, or not even the initial rush. It's more studying than anything else for this moment in time, his expression going distant as if he's seeing, hearing, something that no one else can.
Wendy can, though, in a sense. It sings in her body, the greedy rush of chemical gladness even before the euphoria begins. That is addiction, and Logan listens. Slowly, he begins to work.
The joy of anticipation, of the memory laden roulette wheel that the blue drug, the blue fairy spins in her mind seated somewhere in the Hippochampus as to which memory that it's going to bring to the surface this time. Not a vein, never a vein for Wendy, so she has time to cap the needle and let it drop to the black carpet that everything in the room rests on and let Logan get in the position that he needs to be in to do his own part of this attempt.
And then she's off, taking flight and Logan can feel it on the chemical level and not just visually. Sure she's relaxing far more with it, than any of the painkillers she's on manage to let her. Melting into the hand, eyelids fluttering closed and the lines that have seemed to etch themselves into her face smoothing away. On the wings of a sof tblue drug.
It takes effort, where Logan's power is normally effortless. Concentration, like when he's turned Mortimer over on his head, like the last time he'd touched Wendy when she's gone flying. But slowly, what he feels as hooks are picked out, one by one, and frustratingly they hook back in all the more as she continues to enjoy her rush - but he's gotten better at it, working faster than the sluggish crawl of the Blue Fairy's capture. Little by little, Logan severs those ties as they come.
And of course there's Wendy herself, leaning slack into his hand and her face smoothed of expression, blank with bliss. Though her mind is gone somewhere else, she might still very distantly feel the weight of Logan bearing down on her, pushing her to the expansive surface of the furniture, male and heavy as warm breath curls by her uninjured ear.
The weight is something ignored, body compliant, heavy itself as she's caught up with whatever is flickering across her mind and is causing that smile on her face, that so lazily comes up to the surface. Fingers twitch, even stunted one as she keeps letting it carry her onwards in whatever drift the river of hallucinations might be taking her. Logan could be robbing her blind and she'd not care nor be in a state to stop him. SO she welcomes the weight, the maneuvering of her body back onto the couch.
In truth, Logan feels more like he's robbing the Fairy of satisfaction than anything Wendy has to guard. A hand snakes up beneath her sweater, to rest warm on her stomach, and he concentrates, still, on taking it away, on realigning neurotransmitters to ignore the flood of warmth and happiness that Refrain brings the woman. His closely shaven cheek brushes her's until he can seek out her mouth in a compliant kiss, feeling nothing amiss when it's not as though she's very interested in responding, her mind as far away as her memory. A more invasive feeling, granted—
As is the nagging pull of fingers on her clothing, feverish when he knows a stab of pure want and no particular reason that he can't simply take it.
The faintest return of the kiss, exerting her own power back instead of just laying there like a sack of potatoes - perhaps in response to whatever she's seeing as her eyes flicker back and forth beneath pale bluish lids. Refrains lost it's hold and the spiraling incline back from the shorter trip and smaller dose has the woman registering somewhere in a more conscious level that Logan's got his hands on her and is removing not just her refrain addiction from the equation but a few pieces of cotton and polyester in the mix. A slow blink, brush of black eyelashes against his cheek and Wendy's turning her face away, leaving traces of fleeting moisture in her lips wake and hands drift up to his hip.
Fingers both healing and healthy alike start to burrow under men's clothing mirroring what he's doing. "This, is a sight to come back to from the trip" Less languidness, less high, less everything as she's surfacing. Her voice is low though, quiet in the stillness of the room beyond them. "You sure.. you want to do this?" Others might be appalled at what he's doing, while she was out of it, but wendy expects it, par for the course really between them.
"Welcome back." His voice is husky, and there's no real sense of being caught when Wendy opens her eyes to the present. A snatch of breath hisses between Logan's teeth in a sharp inhale when her fingers find bandages beneath his shirt, a swatch of rough fabric taped to his side, and skin twitches in reaction. "I'm still working." His mouth brushes down against her jaw, her throat, body shifting against her hands before he lifts his head against to look at her. "Why wouldn't I be?"
His hand curls around to the small of her back, shifts her hips against his. His eyes are still a bright green, but there's tension around them, thought and focus. "I don't know if I can make you not remember it and want it," he says, voice still low. "But your body won't anymore. I can't feel it in you."
"You never forget it, never stop wanting it. Mentally" Someone's been down that road before. "It'll be a fight, in here" She brings a hand up, tapping Logan's forehead, the very center of it lightly. She takes a moment to close her eyes, for her other hand to skim past the bandages taped to his side in search of healthy places to touch that won't bring about the change in breath. places to dig her fingers in and anchor him against her as her own hips press an answer in return.
"I can't feel it either, it's like… I never took it" And yet, she can feel the spot on her hip where needle had sunk in to deliver it. "Time will tell" She'll know in a day, a few days. "Take it all with you, when you go. I'm sure you can sell it to someone. When you leave after tonight. If this didn't work, I can always go out and buy more"
The hand that tapped his forehead curls around the back of his neck, pushing past the pervading sensation that she always gets off him and his ability so that she can run her other hand up his back, palm flat in the middle and just watch his eyes with their own telltale glow. "You're hurt. There's bandages. Are you up for this?"
He nods in compliance, as to taking the drug - whatever her stash could equal the wages of one mercenary, so Logan has found out. "I'm usually hurt," Logan says, with a wry twist of a smile. Balancing on his injured hand, palm forward and fingers slack, he brings his other around to gently capture her chin. "If that was a reason to stop, I'd never get anything done." Another kiss is stolen, if not as stolen as the first, before he— thinks about it for a moment and shifts to roll off her with a soft, relieved sigh.
"Though now that you mention it, if I can get something done from down here, I wouldn't mind it terribly," is roughly chuckled out once he's on his back. That initial rush of power, the thrill with it, curbed once reality is restored along with her lucidity.
"I'm sure, that something can be arranged" Least she can do really, considering that quite possibly, he might have just saved her a few months of rehab and a whole lotta pain. As he moves, she moves, casually stripping off her sweater and fixing a glance over her shoulder towards the door. "Let me go lock the door, and maybe I can take your mind off your hurts, and you can take mine off mine?"
He's on his feet by the time she's off towards the door, undoing the buttons of his shirt and tugging it off slim shoulders, letting impossibly expensive fabric fall to the ground as he moves for the proper bed several feet away, levering himself onto it. By the time she's locked up, Logan's extending a hand out to her, eyes back to their vivid, waiting green. "That sounds like a deal."