Participants:
| Scene Title | It Could Be Worse |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Toru panics over a gunshot wound while Logan offers various drugs as comfort. |
| Date | September 23, 2009 |
On a Motherfscking Boat
The boat is driving its course through the Narrows, hugging the coast of Staten Island at a reasonable distance if only to avoid the continual patrols of authority that go back and forth. It cuts a knife through black water beneath a sky that's less pitch, coloured as it is by light pollution, a moon veiled behind cloud. It's getting colder.
Logan's foot falls are heavier than they would otherwise be. He doesn't have much in the way of sea legs, and a ruptured eardrum from catching the brunt of Jin's sonic blast has thrown off his balance to the point of trailing his free hand along the railings of the walkway. He aches, but it could be worse. One man is dead, but it could be worse.
He could be seasick! There you go.
He moves across the deck, now, to where Toru is huddled against the wall. Fancy boots, plain jeans spattered with sparkling glass debris and blood drops, and a separate pant leg of a different garment draped over one arm shimmers oily leather. The briefcase is held by the hand, swinging casual, and with his free hand, Logan wraps his fingers around the neck of the liquor bottle he'd dug up from within. Without a word, it's with some clumsiness that he folds up his long legs beneath him, coming to crouch and sit in front of Toru. Face pale, smile wan, he sets the bottle down between them.
There's still traces of dried blood on his face, the dregs of smears although his nose and ears have been quite deliberately cleaned. Traces of flaky crimson remain on his neck, the side of his mouth, interchangeable almost with the tiny cuts and slices of an exploded knife having shattered from his hand. "I'd look for the medical kit," Logan states, his voice a manageable level, but not the usual quiet, intimate tone he tends to adopt, "but I wouldn't have a clue what to do with it."
To his credit, Toru stopped whining quite a while ago. His breathing is still pretty ragged, but a lot of his problem right now is fear more than anything. There is still some pretty terrible pain, of course, but the pain is slowly dulling as he's grown used to it, though natural endorphins have certainly helped. Mostly, Toru's anxiety stems to the irrational fear that he's going to die on a filthy boat from a gunshot wound to the shoulder; he's never been shot, after all, so what does he know?
There's booze. That's usually nice, but tonight he eyes it hesitantly. "I dunno. I don't— " He bites his lip, winces a bit, and lifts his good hand to rub at the bullethole gingerly. Blood's clotted by now, at least. That hurts too, though, so he stops. "— If I drink I might fall asleep and I don't wanna fall asleep 'cause.." Because he might not wake up. "I never been shot before," he whimpers, shaking his head. "It hurts. I don't wanna die."
He is apparently forgetting already that the man he's talking to suffered a similar wound not all that long ago. But no matter! Toru shifts around a bit, clenching his teeth as he does, and draws his knees up to his chest, turning to lean his good side against the edge of the boat. Not away from Logan, just a mildly more comfortable position. "I killed a couple guys. I never killed a guy before either."
Logan's brow crinkles a little when his gesture of good will and alcohol is rebuffed, setting aside briefcase and lady pants. His own jacket's been peeled off, too, leaving the cling of a dark navy T-shirt in defiance of the chill river air, the shoulder rig strapped neatly to his torso, gun in its holster. Hesitation, before he's crab walking a little to sit against the wall, casting a look upwards. Deckard and Teo are up at the pilot house, he trusts, and he's got Kase stepping around the remains of dead McAvoy to take stock of their steal and make sure there aren't any nasty surprises. Apparently, the boy knows bombs.
Shifting to sit beside Toru, his own shoulder angled against the wall, Logan folds bare arms in his own comfortable huddle. "You're not going to die. I wouldn't let you die. I just thought it might help the pain." He can't help but defend his own gesture - it takes effort to think of the comfort and needs of others.
Logan leans his head against the wall, regarding Toru. The angle of his head means that whining deafness is turned a little away from the other man, helping the conversation. "It's their fault for not realising they were being outclassed." The clipped nature of the syllables along with that Brit drawl makes him sound haughty. "I only wanted to steal from them, not have a massacre, but oh no…"
Toru offers a cracked smile in return, shaking his head briefly. "I just meant.. I didn't think you'd try to hurt me or anything, I guess, I'm.." The word doesn't come out very easily, but eventually he does admit, "I'm scared. 'Cause it hurts. 'Cause I never done any'a this before. I didn't figure I'd get fucking shot by a Chinaman the first time I go and get to actually do something exciting." He closes his eyes, lowers his head, looks back at the booze. Nn.
He leans awkwardly and takes the bottle, wrapping legs around it so as to open the lid one-handed. He drinks, pulls it away, and stares at it a moment in disgust.. then takes another drink with a grimace. After a contemplative pause he ultimately declares, "It was fun until it stopped.. being fun. I know I whine a lot about not being able to do cool shit, so don't go thinkin' I didn't appreciate it now that we've done it, or anything. I don't feel bad about it, it's just.. I guess it kinda feels weird."
"You do whine a lot, particularly when you get double shifts," Logan says, his voice mild and gentle enough that it seems as though he is making a genuine effort to not make Toru's night any worse. Banter! It's banter. His hand goes out for the liquor bottle once those two pulls are taken from it, takes a sip himself, then caps it. It won't do to get the younger man drunk and puking or even unconscious.
He's not sure how many friends he has on board, too. "You shot them. They shot you. That's the basic exchange. I had fun 'til that audiokinetic cunt turned out— to be an audiokinetic cunt, really. I sort of know what you mean, though— about it feeling weird. It'll pass, 'specially when you're healed."
And even if it wasn't banter, Toru is too hurt and tired to take a swing for the remark. And he did just admit to being a whiner, so he'd be kind of contradictory if he disagreed now. "At least I know you probably aren't gonna fire me," he mumbles, fidgeting a bit. He sighs, tilting his head back, and gives a look around the deck. Nobody else around, so his good hand slips forward a little, aiming to grab one of Logan's.
"The screaming didn't help either," he agrees, snorting in response. Which in turn results in some dried flakes of blood blowing out of his nostrils. He's just a nice bloody mess, really. "At least we won? … But I don't really get why you're all tryin' to get into this drug shit anyway. I'm all into it and all, but like… I mean, it isn't really sexy."
Logan's hand is warm and open to being held, longer fingers coming to wind through Toru's without glancing around him first. There's no flood of endorphins, however, no tweaks and shifts of serotonin - simple skin on skin, a mundane connection that Logan is too weary to particularly mind. "Sexy?" he repeats, eyebrows raising. "Oh if only I could choose my battles based on sex appeal." I'd win everytime~ doesn't need to be spoken out loud, his tone wry enough to imply it.
Serious, though, a moment later, dull pale eyes glance out towards the deck, the river shifting and dark beyond them. "I've got reasons. I know what drugs can do to people, and there's no reason it can't do it to whole cities. Towns. This won't stop the Triads from taking Staten Island, but it's a start. I have it on good authority that it was the Flying Dragon brats that had the brothel burned down, too, so they can consider this a thank you note."
His thumb rubs along Toru's, Logan glancing down at their joined hands. "Then there's Refrain itself. It's powerful. I've…" — never told Toru exactly what his power is. He hesitates, catching himself, and shrugs. "It might not be sexy, but it's profitable. Fashionable, too, and you know me."
All things considered, this may not be a good time to tweak with chemicals anyway. If nothing else, Toru would probably notice a shift into a more positive mindset in his current condition. So! The handholding is nice and ordinary, which, as far as he can tell, isn't out-of-the-ordinary. "Well, you usually.. I mean, the Dagger, and Burlesque now, you usually do stuff that's sexy." A shrug, there, followed by a pained wince. Oh, right.
"It just seems.. bigger scope than I'd figure you goin' for. Does this have somethin' to do with that Linderman guy?" His head tilts a bit. "I mean, I don't care if it does," back to excusing everything he says, "I just.. I mean, if they did the Dagger job, that's definitely a good reason to go after 'em.
"I'm just used to smaller-scale stuff. But it is money, I'll give you that." Eyes closed a moment, Toru shifts somewhat, leaning more fully against the wall. "I'm not whining," he adds, both protestingly and assuringly, "I just get weird around change."
Logan shifts a little, leaning more of his back against the wall rather than his shoulder, hands settled in between them. He brings up his knees, braces his boots against the floor of the deck, and loops his free arm around his legs comfortably. "It's— yeah. I guess it's a change," he concedes, wrinkling his nose, before those lines smooth back out. "It's funny, though— sort've reminds me of the things I used to do before I got to New York. Guns," he adds, with a glance to Toru, "not drugs. And no boats, except for this one time.
"And yeah— " His tone pitches somewhere between amused and irritated. "It's to do with that Linderman guy. You do realise that the business I was handed on a silver platter is owned by him, yeah? Besides— I don't do anything unless it aligns with what I want to do. You worry too much, whining or no whining."
"I think I'm still kinda holdin' out that we can be innepennent contractors again. I know it takes money, you'll get it eventually and all that, I'm just…" And there Toru almost shrugs again, but catches himself. "Whatever, forget it, I don't really know everything that's goin' on anyway so I shouldn't be talkin' about it." With that admission, he squeezes Logan's hand firmly for a moment, while at the same time moving over a little to lean against the older man. Eyes closed, he rests his head on Logan's shoulder, apparently not caring much for whether the Brit may protest.
"'m not worried, anyway, I just— okay, I am worried, but we talked about that already too and you got mad that time 'cause I'm not good at talking. I just don't wanna end up with you bein' this guy's puppy and me not even bein' in the picture no more." Even if he does make a good chew toy at times.
"No more on that," Logan agrees, voice a little more brisk than it was before. Made tense by the head resting heavy on his shoulder, perhaps, though he angles his head enough to brush his jaw against hair in a way that seems to welcome the contact. Perhaps it's more or less the analogy used and the taunts of leashes from the mouth of a certain woman that gives him pause, the weary gaze cast uselessly out to the river becoming a little frosty.
He swallows, then shifts a little restless against Toru. "You shouldn't worry. I've not even met the man, just a couple of associates - it's really no different to what I had with Muldoon, before you came around. To tell you the truth— I think I do better like this. You might not recall, or not noticed, but the Dagger was sinking before it got set on fire. I'm not— the best at this, on my own.
"And— " And, to divert quickly from this little moment of self-reflection, Logan adds; "Linderman's a healer - perhaps he'll help both you and I, if I can't get a hold of Mu-Qian. I think it might be pushing my luck to see if Deckard and Ghost'll lend me Abigail." There's an insincere smile in his tone.
"Well I can't exactly go to a hospital," Toru notes, sarcasm slightly more biting than necessary. He'll blame the injury, no doubt. "We won, like I said, you'd think if he can heal us then he'd think it's a fair cop given why we're beat up." Headshake against British shoulder, another brief hand-squeeze. "The Dagger wasn't doing that bad, it's just.. nn, I dunno." Half-shrug; the half that isn't injured, once again. Learning.
"Are we gonna be on the water much longer? I don't really wanna.. stay like this forever, y'know. With the shoulder." He hastens to add that last bit; the rest is fine! Shoulder just makes things awkward. "Isn't Abigail the bitch who watched the Dagger burn down before, anyway? I don't think she'd be keen on helping us out." Or that he'd be keen on letting her, for that matter.
Logan doesn't make a comment on how badly the Dagger was doing. Either he's exaggerating or he covered it well. The wages of his employees certainly didn't waver— most of them blackmailed, anyway— but he sharply recalls not eating as frequently and bets made at the Pancratium meaning much more than they used to. The withdrawl of Muldoon's financial safety net was noticed by owner, if not employees.
He leans forward to cast a look towards the coast they hug. "We'll be docking soon," he says. "Not far to go. You might have to endure the evening, though - I need to secure the cargo before I head back for the mainland. Or you can go with Teo and Kase, I'm having them take this thing back to Red Hook. Your choice. Still hurts, does it?"
Well, it is a gunshot wound, and like Toru noted, Logan had a similar injury. Blessedly, he did not see the squirming agony Logan had thrown himself into, or else he might sneer at that casually spoken question.
"Yes it still goddamn hurts!" Toru nonetheless manages to reply, pulling away with some irritation but then hissing and reaching up to grab his shoulder, naturally breaking the hand-hold in the process. Once the wave of pain subsides, he lowers his head a bit and mumbles, "Y.. yeah, quarters'd probably be good. I don't wanna freeze out here with this." He's probably heard somewhere along the lines that it isn't a good idea to get open wounds especially cold.
"I'll go with whoever c'n help me out with this faster, don't care if it's you or Teo, yo. Is Red Hook near where this Linderman guy is or is there someone there who can help me out?" Genuine questioning, there, since he's not really sure what the significance of the docks is in this particular case.
The significance of the docks being that it is a boat that requires docks. Logan raises an eyebrow and simply says, "I'll make a phonecall and see that there's someone there to pick you up." It's probably less certifiable than his voice, all easy confidence and power, makes it sound, but when you have a bullet in your shoulder there are only so many options. "Here— "
A bright idea, if the sudden change in his voice has anything to indicate. Logan leans and drags the suitcase closer, tugging it open. The chilly blue glow of the Refrain syringes washes easily over them, vibrant and ethereal. "You could always try one of these and 'ave a lie down. Should take your mind off've things."
When the briefcase is opened, Toru pushes himself away, in point of fact, shaking his head a bit hurriedly. "Nuh-uh, I don't think so," is his initial explanation, and without another word he pulls himself up to his feet, using the low wall for support until he's upright. Kind of dizzy, but otherwise fine, he gives a look around. "I heard what that stuff's supposed to do and I ain't goin' for it. I got way more bad memories'n good ones and I don't wanna get a bad trip, man."
He'll wait and make sure Logan doesn't try to force the drug on him, and add, after a moment's thought, "Plus, I mean, this is a loose interpretation and all, but you don't get high on your own supply, y'know? I know it ain't mine but since I work for you it sorta is by proxy or some shit like that." Tone of voice suggests he's almost actually upset by the whole idea. "Captain quarters'd be upstairs prob'ly, huh?"
Hesitation, before Logan clasps the suitcase closed, and climbs to his feet. "No, it's not yours," is the rather chilly agreement, a smile that doesn't really match the tone and then a shrug. "This is supposed to be one of the purer batches made, I don't think you'd get a bad trip on it. That isn't how it works." And he should know - but Logan can't really delve into the argument without being telling, so he allows Toru this, tilting his head in a shrugging gesture. "Suit yourself."
He brings a hand up to rub against his nose, still itching from what had made it bleed not so long ago. "Downstairs, actually - I'd tell you to just use the saloon but I figure our new best friend might be a bother." That would be Li Zheng, with his hands roped with plastic behind his back and dumped somewhere behind a couch. Logan'll figure out what to do with him sometime between now and docking.
"Try and get some rest - and take this with you." He picks up the liquor bottle, holds it out. "Trust me, you'll thank me for it, it's what got me through, the last time. Just don't get drunk."
"I'm not insulting you, I just don't want to start doing hard shit. I've watched enough movies to know better, homes." This may also explain why Toru talks the way he does. Just a thought. Either way, he reaches forward and takes the booze bottle, hefting it briefly in his good hand. "Don't get drunk. I suppose I can try that out, for once." A smirk, there, and he looks over to the saloon entrance, through which is probably also the door downstairs, let's say for the sake of argument.
"Shoulda just thrown him off the side, I'm sure his pals would've taken care of it." Oof. Well, he's standing, dizziness has passed, so walking shouldn't be too much trouble at this point. And, in the first step or two, proves not to be. "See you later, then, if I'm not dead and in a gutter." Toru moves to make his way past Logan, but once he's standing in front of the man he stops, leans forward, and nips the Brit's nose in a swift and bizarrely affectionate motion before carrying on and away~.
At this claim of I'm not insulting you, Logan's eyes bat in genuine bewilderment, a hand going up, fingers splayed. The I didn't think you were goes unsaid and mostly articulated in silent cues of body language, but no argument made. Bygones. Toru is injured and all that, and Logan needs a drink, too, and maybe make casual conversation with his new prisoner - it's been a while since he's had one!
"I'm sure I can be more creative than that," he drawls, as to the ultimate fate of Li Zheng, and then— he is nipped, to his vague amusement. A hand swings back but is just shy of swatting the younger man's ass in passing, sadness, and so Logan gathers up briefcase, leather pants which are slung over his shoulder like some sort of trophy, before he's headed on into the saloon to raid the minibar.