Just A Very Alarming Coincidence


logan_icon.gif peyton_icon.gif wendy_icon.gif

Scene Title Just A Very Alarming Coincidence
Synopsis Two friends - Logan and Peyton - descend upon the Hunter residence
Date December 9, 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.

Morning, proper morning, brings with it phonecalls. Bella was one because the woman is a professional shrink and the nightmare had involved her in the first place. The second call had been to Peyton. Wendy needed a friend right now, she realized that the woman was likely busy and it was okay if she was, just that she'd had a horrid night and some real freaky things had happened. When she woke up, might she think about coming over if she didn't have anything pressing to do. That's the message left at a little past 3 am on the cellphone. Same went for Logan. She hadn't seen him in a bit but she knew what his ability could do. That and his own brand comfort that wasn't evolved induced.

After that, it had been a long shower to try and get rid of aches, stare at the bruises that mottled her back, and tour her apartment to make sure windows were locked. Things like… The french door that led to the patio that was wide open. That scared her. She was one floor up from the street but the thought was niggling and scaring her. Scaring her enough that not long after, and one search through her closet she'd found a vial of that blue stuff. That luminescent liquid that she needed. The same physical pull wasn't quite there, nor the psychological. But it was the only thing she knew of that wouldn't put her to sleep but would take away the feel of the nightmare and waking up where she was afterward.

That failed and only induced a bad trip. Not the screaming that came from before when Aaron had done his revenge dosing but it was bad enough to keep her shaken and wielding a paintbrush and a canvas and just layering stroke after stroke of dark colors on the canvas no matter how much it ached and hurt.

When no one answers her knock, Peyton tries the handle. It's still pretty early — 9 a.m. She figures that Wendy maybe fell asleep if she was up all night, and she'll come sit until she's needed. She has two cups of coffee just in case, and a bag of bagels. When the woman isn't in the living room, Peyton heads down the hall to check in the bedroom, and finally the studio. "Wendy? Are you okay?" Peyton says softly, hoping not to startle the other, her brows furrowing as she looks at the dark brush strokes on the canvas.

Men's shirt, sleeves folded to above her elbows and hair back in a ponytail. There's been work done on the firearm ravaged ear. striped boxers, the whole of it flecked with blacks and navy blues, there's some small strokes of red here and there. "Peyton" She could hear the other woman tromping through her home but hadn't spoken up. The empty syringe sits beside some paintbrushes that soak in a can of paint thinner, little thin streaks of luminescent liquid clinging to the inside. "How's Aaron" There's a heavy drag down of the brush near the side, grey muddled with streaks of blue left in it's wake and obscuring the white below. She dips the brush again, swirling the horsehair around before lifting it to keep making all the white disappear.

Peyton frowns at the vial, looking up with stricken eyes at her friend's face. "Wendy — what happened? I thought you were through with that. Aaron's fine, don't worry about him." He's not fine, but mostly because of lack of sleep and worry for her and worry for Gillian. Peyton herself looks a touch pale, even for winter, and pale lavender marks under her eyes suggest a lack of sleep, though over all she looks healthier than she has in recent months. She sits down, peering at the easel. "That's rather ominous looking," she comments, then waits for explanation on the phone call, the vial, the painting — whatever Wendy wants to begin with.

It is pretty ominous. She'll probably destroy it after. "I'm not depressed. I swear I'm not depressed" She keeps going for more paint, a stroke going sideways here, there. Ending quick, another stroke lingering and dragging along minute streaks. "Pey.. I think I tried to kill myself."

The thick paintbrush is lowered, hand laying on her knee as she actually looks over at the other woman this time. "My patio door was open, the place was cold, I don't know how long I was laying there. My neighbour found me. But" Wendy is confused, stunted fingers coming up to run through her ponytail as she looks towards her living room. "I was laying on the sidewalk and my back is just.. it hurts and my head hurt and my plants fell too. I think I tried to jump. I think I did jump" Thank god for living not that far off the street level. Enough to make it hurt it seems.

Too many thoughts flood through Peyton's head at once to make sense of them all. She simply stares at Wendy, jaw dropping, then closing, then opening again as if to say something. She shakes her head for a moment. First things first.

"Do you want me to bring you to the doctor?" she asks. Fix the body, deal with the fucking mind trip later, perhaps. "Is anything broken? You could have a concussion…" she worries, peering into Wendy's eyes to check the pupils — as if she really knows what she's looking for. "And God, after that — you shouldn't take Refrain! If you hit your head — that could have seriously been dangerous, Wendy," she chastises. Irony: Peyton Whitney lecturing someone else on the irresponsibility and dangers of drug abuse.

If Logan had pot plants, he'd probably kill them out of neglect as opposed to his infamous maliciousness, being less nurturing than a desert even on a good day. For the same reason, he hasn't been around Wendy's all too often, despite the physical luxuries of the place. But when he wakes up, drags his blinking phone into bed with him and listens to her message somewhere under the warm expanse of bed linens, it's where he sets off to, when he gets ready for the day.

Not that he doesn't dress well, even on autopilot. Slacks and waistcoat of charcoal tones with silvery pinstripes shot through the fabric, a white shirt, and a lighter toned winter coat thrown over in afterthought on account of his own paleness. By the time he's made his cautiously footed away to Wendy's door, the chill outside has numbed ungloved hands, and he's swathed in the scent of cigarette smoke.

The breakfast of champions. He doesn't bother knocking, only heralds his presence with the scrape of the lock being turned. Possibly good timing, for the lady of the house.

"No, no, I don't need a doctor." The urgency in her voice pretty much puts it out there that no way in hell is she going to a doctor, emergency room or any other medical professional that will jump to the conclusion that she's been denying. Pupils are a little wide but that could be due to the drugs that she loaded into her body post sleepwalking nightmare to deal with things emotionally. Numb it all as much as Logan's hands are.

"I called Bella. Nothing seems broken, just, you know. I'll, if she comes I'll let her look" Her own eyes dip down to the refrain vial even as the footsteps of someone else entering the apartment comes filtering through and a glance over tells that it's Logan. He's more nurturing at times than he believes. "John. Oh thank god, I need you" Her lower lip trembles enough, eyes starting to rime with saltwater.

The younger woman knows who John is, and met him once briefly, but that's all. Right now Peyton is very aware that he's probably needed as a substitute for drugs, but if it will help her friend, she's not about to protest. Her arms go around Wendy when she sees the tears begin to well in the woman's large eyes.

"Shhh, it'll be okay. You're okay. What do you remember? Did you take anything before you went outside? What do you remember, exactly?"

Considering he's had the time to prepare, as it were, for whatever he's walking in on, he didn't expect a queue. Peyton is glanced to with vague uncertainty, some glimmer of recognition afforded before he looks towards Wendy and hears the magic words. With her friend's arms wrapping around her, Logan has time to tuck away keys, to peel off his winter coat with a little stiffness. It won't be the first time he'd wandered into Wendy's apartment, bearing a stupid amount of injury, and it won't be the last.

Apparently, being a strip club manager is a violent job. "I got your message this morning," Logan states, managing to squirm a hint of apology into his voice. "Otherwise I would have come by when you called."

"I didn't take anything. I saw a movie then I stayed in and I went to bed. That's all I did. A few drinks then I went to bed and I had.. I had the most horrendous nightmare. B..Bella was having me find people in New York, in the park. God it's so crystal clear. I had to do it or else they'd find you and you Logan, and they're lock you up for being evolved. I had to write it down in my note books. They were making me tell them what these little kids had. It was Bella, then it was the Irishman and finally Danko and he just shot little kids. And I tried to strangle him and he ended up shooting this.. this younger version of me and when I woke up I was dead in the nightmare and I was outside looking up. Everything hurt. Felt like I was dying for real"

Wendy's head shakes side to side, as if she can't believe it. "It's like.. I was sleepwalking. My neighbour found me cause the dog was barking and when I came back in.." Peyton's heard it. The patio door was open and plants had been moved, one toppled over. Convinced she jumped. "It's okay John, Logan, really. I understand" She's not going to bitch him out, begrudge him. He's not beholden to her. "I'm not depressed Peyton. I'm not suicidal"

Peyton grows visibly pale as Wendy describes the nightmare, releasing Wendy to stare at her with wide eyes. Her insistence that she's not suicidal echoes her own from a week prior, telling Aaron she would never try to kill herself — despite the fact he found her with a kitchen knife held to her wrists.

"You're going to think this is crazy… I don't know if it will scare you more, or make you feel better that it's not just you," she begins, taking Wendy's hand and wrapping her hands around it, perhaps for her own reassurance. "Aaron and me — we both slept… sleep walked last week. On the same night. He found me with a … with a knife in my hands, like I was going to k-k-kill myself." The stammer that comes when she's nervous or afraid returns, causing her to blush a bit, since Logan is there to listen. "But in his… and in my dreams, I was trying to kill m-myself."

Drifting to Wendy's side, the beginnings of a warmer mood begin to unfurl in her belly. It's not as intense as it could be, not even close, a subtle nudge as if she were one of those people Logan were trying to get warm to him without their knowledge. That she does have knowledge, hell, expectations makes his caution illogical, but then, the subtleties of chemical balance are that - subtle. He puts a hand out to touch her arm above the elbow, an invitation for closeness as he listens, and—

Listens some more as Peyton describes her own experiences, his expression drawn and demeanor stone-cold and silent. Even his chemical manipulations of Wendy withdraws, but he does at least manage to force a smile.

"Girls, I think you both have very active imaginations. Sleep walking isn't an uncommon thing," he protests, a little too insistently.

That warmth, emotional and chemical, was what she was hoping for with Logan, to beat back what the nightmare, the waking and the bad trip on refrain had instilled in her. Eyes widen as Peyton expounds upon her experience of late with all things nocturnal and Aaron. The black haired woman looks left, then right, respectively to each person with a shake of her head. "I've never sleepwalked before. Not even as a kid. I didn't take nay drugs beforehand, just some drinks" Though the refrain effect still swirl and eddy in her system visible only to Logan and his touch. "Sounds like Aaron's ability, with you"

The bereftness of the eddying warmth draws her attention to Logan though and the change in tone, the very way he holds himself and her hand lights on the one that's gripping her upper. Something's off. "Just suicidal sleepwalking?"

"I did research," Peyton begins, with a bit of a scowl at Logan for suggesting she imagined trying to kill herself. "Sleepwalking isn't that common at our age, especially if we never did it before. Also the weirder thing — sleepwalking usually takes place in the deepest sleep stage. Dreams usually take place in a lighter one, closer to wake… wakefulness," she says, eyes lifting up to the left as if trying to read the words from where they are imprinted in her memory. "I don't know how I could have walked all the way to my kitchen and gotten a knife and gone back to my room and not known it… And the weirder thing… my memory led me to trying to kill myself. Aaron's led him to trying to save me… right at the right time." Her own dark eyes begin to fill with tears at the memory and the thought of what if. What if Aaron hadn't had the dream at the same time? What if he hadn't sleepwalked? Peyton would most likely not be here to try to console — or further freak out — Wendy.

"I thought maybe it was Aaron's ability that did it, but if it happened to you too…" she trails off.

"Then it's just a very alarming coincidence," Logan offers at the tail end of Peyton's words, aloof and fooling no one, or at least, not fooling Wendy as he sets about ignoring her query, the touch to his hand until he can't, completely. It's the mention of bad dreams, of knives, and adamant phrases like I'm not suicidal. He moves his hand from hers to tuck a few strands of black hair behind her unruined ear.

Hand retracts, smooths very lightly down the front of his waistcoat as if to do away with unwanted crinkling in the fabric. "I haven't been sleeping well. A couple of nights ago, I didn't dream well either. When I woke up, I'd manage to— "

Oh, this is silly. Logan stops, glances away thoughtfully, then announces; "I'm getting a drink," and moves off towards where he knows the liquor is kept perpetually stocked.

Has to be co-incidence. What would be the odds if it wasn't. Wendy drifts a little towards the hand that tucks her bangs away safely behind her ear. The other one looking much more like a normal ear these days, little stitches denoting where they're reconstructing it. Still a ways to go. She could deal with a drink too and the paint brush is dunked into the can of stripper.

"Gin" Or Vodka maybe. Something. "You'd managed to what?" A hand wipes at her eyes, taking away tears that were tacky on her cheek, her left hand out to snatch at Peyton's hand and bring her along. "That's why you're stiff?"

Peyton follows, fingers interweaving with Wendy's, her other arm wrapping around her own self as she fights off the waves of fear and shame that recalling the dream bring on. "I went to a doctor. He said it could be an oh…" she pauses, as she often does with words new to her personal lexicon, "oneiromancer. But I don't know anyone with that ability, not someone who would come after me, try to hurt me like that." Her dark eyes well with tears at the thought of someone she doesn't even know trying to get her to kill herself. "So I think he's wrong. But I don't know what else it might be. I thought maybe my power, or Aaron's, but…" But now Wendy's part of the equation, unless it's coincidence. And Logan too. She glances at Logan. "You had a nightmare too? Did you sleepwalk?"

Logan steers on over towards the minibar, briskly dealing out two helpings of gin. If there's any hard liquor to be consumed just shy of nine in the morning, it would be that one. "I didn't walk, per se," he corrects without turning around, the servings of alcohol tame if not for the fact that any quantity at this hour is as inappropriate as his evening wear. "But I'd managed to cut myself. Enough for stitches but no worse. Thought I'd been attacked, or…"

Something. Going crazy, without the interference of anyone. It's been a frequent concern. Turning back, he offers out a glass to Wendy, regarding both women coolly, as if challenging them into sympathy, cynicism, indifference, anything. Then; "It could have been an accident. I don't sleep far away from a knife." His teeth click against the glass when he brings it up for a sip, and adds, a little wryly, "Self defense. It's a very dangerous city, this one."

"Oneiromancy. Dreams. classification can mean a great many things. There's those who can only see a dream as it's unfolding, there's those who can manipulate them to darker things, lighter things. There's…" Onieromancy is a lot of things. "Still deals with.. dreams.." Wendy's hand takes the glass, a fine tremor running through it and a wish that Logan would extend his chemical calm again. But she understands why he doesn't.

"I don't sleep out in the street in the sleet either and I don't jump off balcony's" the artist proclaims. "I know a few oneirmancers, but they don't live here. I haven't met one in the city" She throws her head back, and the gin black paint streaks left where her fingers touch it. "Do you often stab yourself in your sleep?" It's not meant as criticism, just curiosity.

"I've never sleepwalked or sleep-anythinged as far as I know. Not even talked," Peyton says with an adamant shake of her head. "I was with one guy, that bassist I told you about," she's not about to drop names in front of Logan who she doesn't know well, "he talked like crazy in his sleep. You could have total conversations with him, and he didn't remember it at all in the morning. It was pretty amusing, except I got nosy and asked questions I didn't really want to know the answers to. Stupid girl syndrome."

She shrugs. She heads back to the table she set the coffee to-go container on, and picks up her cup to sip, since the other two are apparently drinking Gin for breakfast. "And I'm not at all suicidal. I never have been. I'm too vain or maybe too shallow, I don't know, but I've never thought anything was that important to kill myself over." She glances away at the word shallow — every time she hears the word, her stomach clenches.

"Not often," is blithely dry, that hand settling again on his stomach as he swirls around the dregs of gin in the glass gripped between the fingers of the other hand, trading a look towards Peyton as she speaks. His pale green eyes go a little flat around the words 'that bassist I told you about' and Logan's wandering attention moves off towards what he can see of New York out of Wendy's generous windows. By the time there's a 'totally' thrown in there, he's physically making his way from the two women to finish off his drink.

It settles with a clink against the nearest surface, and he breathes out a sigh. "Vain and shallow people don't call themselves vain and shallow, darling," he notes. "Unless they've been told as much. Do you really consider yourself so important to keep living? It's very hard work."

"I don't often vault off balcony's either" There was the one time, but that was into a big swimming pool and the balcony was placed there for that purpose. In close concert with Logan's, Wendy's glass makes an identical sound as her stomach welcomes the alcohol and she pads over for the brought coffee and searches for another smoke. She'll need to buy more, she's gone through most of the pack all morning.

It's as she's reaching for the pack of cancer sticks, tapping one out into her palm that she stops.

"I do know one" staying quiet long enough to let Peyton respond to logan, wise enough and been around him long enough to recognize that he's in a mood. Same as she's in a mood, decidedly bad mood. "Manipulator. But.. this doens't sound at all like what he'd do." Was it maybe just sleepwalking? She'd need to ask Bella. Bella's be more knowledgable of this sort of thing.

Peyton's eyes rise to look up at Logan's when he speaks to her. Her brows knit together — is he being nice, or is he being mean? She can't decide. Most likely he's being mean but trying to be nice. Or perhaps he's trying to be nice but he can't help but be mean. Either way, she isn't altogether sure she likes him. "I've been called as much," she says in a tone that suggests it's not an uncommon occurrence. "And no, I don't think I am that important, but I never considered offing myself either. Sorry if not being suicidal makes me a bad person."

Dark eyes turn to Wendy. "I'm going to keep looking stuff up, see what I can find. Um. Aaron and me, we're sleeping in shifts so we don't sleep when the other is sleeping… keep each other out of harm. You might want to do the same — have someone awake while you sleep… if you want to crash with us, we can split them up three ways, or you should have your brother or John here or someone to watch over you." She leans in to give the other woman a hug. "Lock your doors or maybe make a … boobie trap to wake you… alarm system, I don't know."

The Englishman is not rushing to reassure the other woman, even if he was aware of her confusion regarding him and his brittle words. He turns back towards the girls, at least side on enough to glance at them, and he raises a shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know you," Logan points out, steering his attention Peyton, more square and avid than it's been since he arrived. "And I don't care as to whether you're a bad person. What matters to you, love, is that you tried to kill yourself. I wouldn't be second guessing the ability to hate yourself.

"Not that this isn't all a little bit perfect," he admits, to them both, burying a hand into a pocket to take out his cigarette case, gleaming silver. Not going for its contents just yet, just fidgeting. "You two should consider what common enemies you have. Or weaknesses."

"Maybe you as well Logan" Wendy ambles about the room, to grab her lighter and flick it on after a few tries to light up her smoke. "Stop fighting in my house, you're both my friends. doesn't mean you need to be friends with each other." Verbal fighting, she suspects that it wouldn't degrade into worse. "We're all vain people here. I don't care that we are. I'll think about staying over at your place pey" Maybe she will, maybe she won't, depends on Aaron really and whether she'll be able to stay in the same room with him. Right now, she just wants this blanket of negativity that's sitting on her shoulders and wrapping around her like a god damned fucking blanket to go away. "Maybe you should go make sure Aarons okay. I didn't think when I called you, that you might need to take care of him. John's here, i'll be fine with him"

"Nice to know you care," Peyton says drily to Logan. But why should he care about her? They don't know one another. "But … common enemies, the only people I can think of is HF… do you think they might have … blackmailed someone to do this?" she asks, worrying her lip between her teeth after for a moment.

She turns to look at Wendy. "Aaron was awake already. He's fine. But call me if you need me to watch you sleep or something. I can stay now, if John can't, if you want to try to sleep. By the way, the doctor I went to — it's that Brennan guy at the Suresh Center, if you want to see him."

Dry words leveled at him get only a twinge of bafflement, before he resumes his wolf circular pacing around the room, slow enough that reads as drifting as opposed to anything with intent, which would be accurate. "I can stay," Logan thinks to point out, dropping his gaze from where it had wandered to the ceiling to look at the other two women. "I want to see what it does. And, you know. Safety in numbers," and all~ that~.

'See, John will stay. I'm sure if anything goes wrong, I doubt it will, that he'll make sure I don't hurt myself" Wendy works to assure Peyton from the couch between pulls on her smoke. The ash falls from the end into her cupped palm before she leans forward to tap it on the ashtray. "I'll think about your doctor. Or maybe i'll just ask Mr. Gautlin about it" One figures that a man who's got bead on his own dream ability can help shed some light on a bad nightmare and a bout of sleepwalking. "Thanks for coming over, it helped" doens't much look like it except she's not crying, and not staring at a painting and swiping dark colors across a canvas.

"Okay," Peyton says tentatively. She's not really happy about leaving Wendy with John, but there doesn't seem much purpose for them both to be there. She gives Logan a look, as if to say 'If you hurt her, I'll come after you with an Epilady.' "CAll me if you need anything, or come by. If I'm not there, Aaron is, most of the time. I'll let him know to look out for you. I'm sure he'll be thrilled." She takes a small stab at humor, then hugs Wendy one more time, kissing her cheek. "Be careful. Lock stuff up that can hurt you, if you don't have someone watch you." She begins to head to the door. "Nice to meet you, John."

Peyton moves out, Logan moves in. By the time she's at the door, long arms are coming to wind around Wendy's waist from behind, bringing with him the scent of rain and cigarette smoke. He's not actually much taller than the woman, if next to equal in height should he have taken off his shoes, but his chin hovers some inches above her shoulder, and it's not uncomfortable as he regards the other woman's departure over it. "Take care of yourself," sounds as genuine as you please.

The smell of Logan is a familiar one, the same as the scent that surrounds Peyton is as well. There's a nod, a grind out of her smoke as she stands up from the couch by the time Logan's maneuvering around behind her. "I'll call Pey. I promise" She intones again, no exasperation, just tiredness. She watches her other best friend go before she cranes her head around as far as she can to regard the burlesque owner in the lock of her brown eyes.

"Suppose since your here, I should ask what you want for Christmas?" Her hands settle on his, still self conscious as ever about the one hand, getting less so about her ear.

"You," is an automatic answer, pale green eyes managing to have a smile around them in the crinkles of skin seen at this angle, and he kisses her on the cheek before drawing away. "I wasn't going to get you anything," Logan adds, merrily teasing and almost coy, a vicious swing from his dour mood of just previously. Which begs the question as to which one is most accurate.

"I wasn't expecting anything from you save maybe a night of you" He's bi-polar in his moods, she's come to that conclusion. Fickle and ruled by them. It's much like his ability. Can rail you from one end and swiftly down to the other of the spectrum of moods. "In a big red bow for me to undo" She's vainly trying to perk her mood. The coffee cup is plucked up again, running a hand through her ponytail again and a glance towards the patio door. The locked patio door. "They were threatening to lock you up, throw away the key or worse in the nightmare. If I didn't tell them what the kids they lined up in front of me could do"

His fingers goes through the brisk motions of opening his cigarette case, extracting one, pocketing the former as a lighter is found and flicked on. Logan takes his time, touching flame to the end of the smoke, dragging in a draw of smoke, letting it go through nostrils and teeth. "You dreamed about the blokes that kidnapped you," he conclude, as smoke mingles with the lingering taste of gin at the back of his mouth. Raising an eyebrow at her, he asks, "What did you decide to do? In the dream."

"THey came after. At first it was just… just people who work for the government. I refused to, they're kids. I don't like touching the kids and finding out what it is that they can do. Teenagers are fair game, their parents are going to deal with it sooner or later, but the kids" She trails off to the studio adjacent, kicking aside a dirtied paint cloth with her bare feet before she settles with her arms around herself to look at the dark painting.

"Then it became them. Bella though, Bella threatened to throw you all away, somewhere. I don't know where. I gave in, once they put a gun to my head, I told them what one girl could do, but the second one" Wendy shakes her head, reaching out with her thumb to smudge a line in the painted canvas.

Logan follows, trailing along as if caught in the same current as she, smoking leaking from the embering tip of his cigarette. Glancing past her towards the painting, before studying her back, the natural contours of her body swaddled in the men's shirt she wears. One tangential thought has him wondering whose it is, if he can recognise it as his own or not. He's never objected to girls wearing his after a particularly energetic night, but then, gender confusion isn't entirely his problem.

"Could just be we're all fucked up," he offers, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe leading into the studio. "Times are hard."

It's one of hers. Standard lazy painting gear in her home. "Maybe. Maybe I am depressed. Maybe I did try to kill myself" Great, if she did. "I'm going to try and sleep, do you want to come with me or are you going to wander about out here and order something off the TV to watch?" THe innitation is as always there, the hope that hell maybe lift the bad mood she's in. The fear that the night brought to her.

"I'll come with you," is an easy response, taking his weight off the doorframe. "Managed to get in my thirty winks last night without particular drama. You're using again, aren't you?" That's abrupt, but Logan's tone remains mild as he makes that query, ashing off his cigarette into the nearest tray at his disposal, slicing a glance towards her from beneath his eyelashes.

"Just this morning. I wasn't thinking, I just thought if I could find one, it could take away how i was feeling after the nightmare" Needless to say, from her tone, that failed. "I won't take another. I'll try and do it without needing that trick from you to stop it" Shame clearly on the edges of her features when he points out the obvious. "I don't have another one, that was one you must have missed when you took the others"

Logan narrows his eyes a little, as if to say that his missing it might be on account of it being hidden, well aware of junkie behaviour, being such an avid study of it. Or. Or he missed it. It's not an argument he gets into, simply nodding and offering a hand to guide her to the bedroom. Of course, taking John Logan's hand usually means something more than that, whether it's a needy cling that communicates he'll never let go, or a business shake, or the thing that Wendy craves from him.

As if Logan really needs Wendy.

And really, it was missed. Way at the very back, half hidden and easy to miss. If it hadn't been for her ripping everything out of the closet, she wouldn't have found it herself. The evidence is on the floor, the mass of shoes and bags, clothing that's piled in front of the open closet. The woman running on Zombie mode through the rest of the morning after meant that in the few hours between then and now she'd done crap to clean up. Her fingers settle though, comfortably in his like they always do since the first time he hooked her to him and his unique brand of delight. Thumb stroking along the meat of his palm towards the peacock bedazzled room one long legged step at a time with a creeping sense of trepidation the closer they get and a hesitation at the door.

Bliss begins to settle in Wendy's body once more, and Logan is uncomfortably aware of how it works now. Loins, the tips of fingers, lips, glands, all of these things numb and tingle together at the giddy effect of a serotonin mood lift, Logan's fingers winding through her's as they move for the bedroom. He can feel her hesitation in the physical motion of a subtle pause, and he moves to step ahead of her.

Turning his back to the interior, and lead her inside with a tug. "You'll be fine," is his reassurance, sharp insight that becomes him, when he thinks to have it.

THe bliss makes the tug a great deal easier to move her forward with as toes curl and lids lower while her head rolls languidly to one side. A smile splitting her lips and little lines crinkle around the outer corner of her eyes. "When you say that John, I tend to believe you. Everything's fine when you're here" gone is the cream carpet of the hall and it's the black blush, where toes sink eighteen inches it feels like and you never have to worry about freezing your soles off. "Just.. don't let me leap from any balcony's" It's giggled out like some school girl instead of a fully grown woman twisting and turning hanging onto his hand and not wanting to let go.

"You know," is facetiously conversation, tugging her closer and winding his other arm around her waist, guiding her to bed as much as whatever happens there probably isn't going to be of any benefit to him. Logan's voice lowers in conspiracy, eyes gone greener, warmer thanks to power use. "My mum calls me John."

"But does she say it like I say it" Wendy's knee is bent, leg lifted up onto the bed so she can slide back as he guides her back. Deep slow breathes as he causes her to slip deeper into the bliss and joy that she knows at his touch. THe kind of touch that makes her forget about everything else in the world and the focus is him. He's her world at times like this, everything revolves around him if only so that he'll keep touching her, holding her just like this and doing what he's doing. On some level, she's addicted to him, but on another level, she likes him to. For him, or at least the him that she knows. "John" She teases, dropping the level, adding a bit of sensuality to it. letting the N trail a bit. "John"

That gets a genuine, throaty chuckle from Logan as he moves onto the bed with her. There's little of his usual grace and ease, however, stilted in trying to negotiate holding her, lowering himself down, and not pulling the stitches marring his belly. He steals a kiss, as much as his memory is jogged.

Am I allowed to call you John now?

His head lifts, breaking the kiss early, rapid blinks before he manages to force a small smile back into place. "I'd hope not," he murmurs back, a hand up to smooth her hair back from her face, letting bliss wind higher and higher. "Sleep. Then you can call me whatever you like."

"Now if you could only learn to put people to sleep with your ability." She doesn't know the trigger that she uttered and what it brings up and she's cognizant enough to handle her own self and bodily aware to keep him from over exerting himself. no bedroom olympics, whatever you want to call it. Just Wendy settling against pillows, one hand settled on Logan's hip, turned into the stripclub owner with an utterly pleased look. A turnaround from how he'd seen her when he first came in. He can do what Peyton can't and this is why she chose him over Peyton in this instance. "No more Refrain. I promise. All I need is you John"

Logan's hand comes to rest high on her chest, just beneath her throat. He can feel collarbones, the dip just beneath them, resting where skin shows between the lapels of the shirt she wears. He doesn't say that he needs her. "I'll see you on the other side," he promises, and the high she's cruising on shifts a little from giddiness to something more relaxed. Not sleepy, not exactly, but a comfort that has less to do with heat and kisses, more like a blanket wrapping around someone's shoulders.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License