Participants:
| Scene Title | Manly Bonding |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Logan and Toru do some casual training for things to come. |
| Date | October 23, 2009 |
Staten Island — Inland
The inland of Staten Island changes dependent on the path you choose, but for the most, it can be described as containing desolate, sprawling suburbia ripped apart from the sudden overpopulation of Bomb survivor refugees, and the subsequent evacuation that took place nearly immediately after. Streets and blocks of houses emptied of families and taken over by squatters; the libraries, the schools, the churches all left behind and taken over by whoever is brave enough to claim it.
The cluster of civilization is namely controlled by a still developing crime population, a neighborhood known as the Rookery. A large portion of the island is taken over by a somewhat wild, unkempt rural landscape known as the Greenbelt, and most of everything, be it structure or vegetation, seems to be in a stay of slow death and decay. Graffiti stains brick walls, glass windows are broken and boarded, and plant life slowly tries to make a feeble reclamation of the land.
This is New York's forgotten borough, and it looks it.
An unlikely car is parked out front of an unlikely house at an unlikely time. The car is unlikely because it's not something Logan would dare to drive in the mainland, a rundown old thing painted a hideous shade of forest green with the driver's door a canary yellow, but it will do for the excursion through Staten Island, rented a few steps off the docks to drive on inland and save his shoes.
The house is unlikely because it's perfect suburbia, or used to be - its windows are half-heartedly boarded, or were at some stage, and the door swings broken on its hinges, the garden simultaneously dead and overgrown with the rented car now making grooves in its lawn.
And an unlikely time, just a little past noon, for there to be high end weaponry glinting under the sun.
"Ever shot one've these?" Logan is perched upon the hood of the car, black-clad all over with mirrored glasses as he sets about ramming a magazine into the AR-15, currently on loan from one Teodoro Laudani. There's another just like it lying atop a duffle bag, full of things very similar to it. Luckily for them, the street is empty - this ramshackle abandoned suburb of Staten Island theirs to enjoy.
Returning to Staten is a welcome relief from spending time on the mainland, rubbing elbows with America's finest phonies. It's very Holden Caulfield, but Toru does tend to dislike associating with people on the 'right' side of the law. Both because they're generally pretty insincere, and there's also the small matter of it being easier for him to get into legal trouble over there.
Well, anyway.
He's generally kind of quiet on the ferry ride over, preferring to enjoy the ride itself in a mildly juvenile sort of way, but once they actually disembarked… the drive over would be peppered with him being unusually boisterous and jovial. Nerves, probably; regardless of Logan's own feelings on the issue, Toru himself is a bit nervous about this whole training thing. He isn't used to guns. He likes them, certainly, but he isn't used to them. And looking like an idiot is not one of his favorite past-times.
He's wearing sunglasses, today. Black jeans, hiking boots, Brooklyn parrot t-shirt and a black denim jacket. Perched on the hood as well, supporting himself with his hands, he turns over to Logan and tilts his head down, lowering his 'shades so that he can look at the man over plastic rims. "Logan. Baby. If you ain't seen me with it, I ain't touched it." Toru… is trying very hard to sound cool right now.
He sure is. It's not that Logan is nice enough not to laugh at him— even if the corners of his mouth do twitch up and he keeps a careful focus on checking the gun in his hands— it's just that he plans to be handing him an ugly looking automatic rifle in a few moments. "Ah ha. So basically everything."
Holding out the rifle, albeit watchfully, he tilts his head towards the row of broke-down houses across the street, as indication as to a rough enough target. "Why don't you 'ave a go, get used to it a bit." Weapon relinquished, Logan is moving off the car, which shudders a little with the movement, to pick through the duffle bag, similar weaponry - old, used - stored within.
"Bloody hell, he sold a lot of shit, didn't he?" Gilbert Tucker, that is. Logan selects a handgun, picking out a box of ammunition and coming to lean back against the car as he fidgets with both, watching Toru in his periphery.
At the very least, Toru does know not to point at things you don't intend to shoot. The rifle, once handed over, is held in his lap for a moment; he looks it over inspectingly, lifts it a bit to test the weight. And once he figures he's comfortable with it, he holds it up a bit theatrically, butt against his shoulder, looks down the sight— and uses the other hand to push his glasses up onto his forehead.
Ready, aim, fire~!
And with a yelp, he almost falls back onto the hood of the car, but does have the presence of mind to stop shooting beforehand. He lets out a nervous laugh and looks over to Logan, grinning almost overly widely. "Little more kick to it than a pistol, huh?" Ha ha, jokey jokey. Toru slides off the hood of the car to stand on both feet, a bit more support there than otherwise, and looks the general area around more. "Gonna take a little getting used to, probably, but I guess that's what we're here for."
The stagger back from the kick gains an approving smile - for the weapon, more so than for the shooter. Dragging his own glasses off, Logan neatly tucks the arm of it into the low collar of his shirt, and takes his weight off the car as well.
"Fun, though, innit?" On that note, he aims his sidearm, and squeezes the trigger. The single shot cracks its presence across the territory like a sharp slap, and splinters fly off the door of an opposite house that gets shot as a result. He'll pretend like that was his target all along. "Those'll give us the opportunity to be fast about it, as well as clear the room pretty quick. No one wants to be in a room with an automatic rifle. You won't be worrying about precision when we're there."
Another shot fired, this time breaking glass of one of the few intact windows. "They do run out quick, though, so I'll show you how to reload and I'll get you one of these," a tilt of the sidearm, "in case you need it. Truth be told, I haven't shot a rifle in years. Only once when it counted."
"Yeah, man. I mean, not that I know all the details and shit of usin' a thing like this, but I figure pretty much anyone who watches TV knows when you got somethin' like this you're pretty much just sprayin' bullets around. Like." To demonstrate, Toru takes the rifle and sets to shooting at a couple houses across the way, arcing the rifle back and forth. And if Logan can hear over the sound of the gunfire, he'll hear Toru making sound effects with his mouth as he does it anyway. He does act his age sometimes.
He only does that for a few seconds, though he is gradually getting used to the weapon regardless; it doesn't take too long to get used to, especially when aim isn't a real concern. Just a matter of knowing how to stand and how to hold the thing, really.
"It's like, y'know. For when you just gotta kill every motherfucker in the goddamn room."
This is the loudest date ever. Logan's brow creases a little as Toru goes to town on the buildings in front of him, cartridges falling like rain in the process and littering weedy grass at their feet. "Just like that."
With the two bullets he'd put into the pistol spent, it's discarded. A spare magazine is picked up, Logan picking up the twin AR-15 from the ground and throwing its sling about his shoulders, settling it comfortably. "This isn't rocket science and 'm only going to show you once, but it bears knowing. You can polish off thirty rounds with this thing in barely a moment, so."
And with that, Logan demonstrates the art of reloading an assault rifle, and more importantly, how to do it quickly. His movements aren't even close to military practiced, a little scrabbly, but adequate enough for the weapon he's handling. "Practice that a bit, I'm going to see if I got my money's worth from Tucker." A pause, followed by a flick of green eyes as he looks Toru up and down in assesment. "It looks good on you."
A shotgun is pulled out from the bag, its barrel sawed off, and it makes a distinct crack as Logan breaks it open. "Very becoming." He may or may not be talking about Toru anymore.
The compliment gets quite a blush from Toru, who looks down at the ground in response to hide aforementioned reaction. Daw, shucks. Let's just assume that last bit was also directed at him, so as to make him feel all the more self-conscious.
He paws at his cheek for a moment before proceeding to try out that reloading action; slowly, at first. Another thing that isn't too hard, but he does want to make sure he can get it in the right spot without too much fiddling. Load, unload, reload. A nice, mechanical series of motions that he occasionally speeds up a bit and fumbles at. Practice, practice. Safety's on.
"How many guys do you figure are gonna be there, anyway?" He nods towards Logan's gun, doing the reloading thing a few more times with his own, but then stopping for the moment. "I mean, if you got one of these and I got one of these, and it sounded like you said we were gonna have a lot of backup. Seems like a lotta firepower."
He's gone through a couple of weapons in the time it takes for Toru to go through the motions, and by now, Logan has what appears to be a rather batted looking AK-47 which he is inspecting dubiously. "Ghost is coming, and someone on recommendation from him. Then we've got a good group on loan as well, so. Yeah. 's a lot of firepower. Almost excessive." Logan's smile is wider still, showing canines, before he's hefting up the semi-auto, though not about ready to shoot.
"Like I said, speed's the ticket. Fast and brutal. Can't really afford to spare expense - Flying Dragon's got so many Evos in their flock too, so you never do know what'll come crashing through."
That mention of Evos prompts a vague look of realization on Toru's face; he frowns a moment and nods. "Oh right, yeah. I keep forgetting that there's more of them than I know about. Us. Whichever." Good job. "Anyway yeah, cool. I just— was kinda afraid for a sec that we were going against an army or somethin'. I mean, I know they got a lotta guys, I just didn't wanna go running into Sparta or anything."
Load, unload. Reload. His clip is half-empty from his shooting before, and he looks it over thoughtfully for a moment. "So after we do the 'ole in-out thing think maybe I can take the night off, or you figure I oughtta go to work after? Business as usual and all that shit."
"Not at all a question of numbers, or trying to match them. Overpowering with unneeded force. It's how the British have always done it. You know. Way back when." Standing with his feet set against the ground, Logan pauses and shrugs a bit. "Take the night off. Probably best to go back home and get a good night's rest, among other things. Sec'."
And he squeezes the trigger on the AK-47, a single shot firing. Not bad. Logan this time takes care to actually peer through the scope and take the time to aim and everything, out of boyish curiousity to see if he can hit a proper mark. The shot rings out, which is the least of it when—
The rifle fairly explodes in his hands, a puff of smoke as well as a part or two springing away. Logan drops it like it were molten, arms windmilling just a little as he reels back. "Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ."
Exploding gun results in Toru leaping back away from the car with a womanly yelp of surprise, dropping his own gun in the process — which does not explode, thankfully — and staring at the ground. Surprised more by Logan's reaction than by the actual gunsplosion, he stares at the ground and then up at boyfriend-boss, staring. "What the hell was that?!" A pause. "Are you okay?"
He steps forward, nudging at the AK with the toe of his boot, and tilting his head curiously. As he steps back to pick his own back up, set on the hood with the painful end pointed decidedly away from the pair, he remarks, "Maybe we shouldn't use guns that fall apart and go boom."
Logan manages not to give into nerves which might have otherwise induced him into rain dance hand flapping territory and even more cursing, managing to keel them over into a sharp smile, eyes bright. "Yeah, let's not." Looking down at himself, and inspecting his hands, he gives a brisk shake of his head. "I'm fine. Jesus. Tuck warned me that there was a couple of dodgy ones— fuck, my heart, it's going like the clappers."
A nervous chuckle, casting a look towards Toru can moving to sit against the car hood, hands digging for his cigarettes in his pockets. "Last time I did somethink like this," and the hard edge on the 'g' is nothing close to deliberate, "it went a lot smoother. What were we saying?"
Toru considers, but dismisses, the idea of making a joke about Logan having a heart. Instead he replies, "You were giving me time off for good be'aviour," the silent 'h' and entire last word there spoken with an unconsciously feigned accent, "an' I was sayin' as how I figure as long as we get to kill a ton of those bastards then it don't really matter 'ow many there are since we got plenty of backup. Right?" Smile smile.
"The one nice thing about Chinatown is how nobody ever gets involved with shit. Least we'll probably have some time before any pigs show up, I mean. I figure that'll probably be the most awkward bit about the whole thing, huh?" He nods slowly, pauses a moment, and rubs his cheek. "Are we doing any looting or anythin' or is it just go in there and kill the whole place?"
As Toru talks, feigned accent and all, Logan sets about the process of lighting up, a flash of silver cigarette case, a flick of flame hidden in his hand from the wind, and finally the steady exhales of smoke into the air. Tools away, he shrugs slender shoulders. "If there's time. I figure I'd send you and one've the Ghosts in to scout out the place, see if there's anything worth taking. If not— we'll just kick it all apart, won't we.
"And fuck you, very much. I get laid for the way I talk. It's all I can do to shut you up," isn't particularly malicious, by Logan's standard, words spoken lightly and a smile hiking around his cigarette pinched between pearly teeth.
The last remark gets a blink from Toru, who looks around a moment and stifles a snicker. "Man, I wasn't makin' fun of you, I didn't even notice I was doin' it. Jeez." He shakes his head. "Sensitive Americans." That remark was, of course, a tease; and he sticks out his tongue as well. Nyah.
He turns to lean against the car, resting on the heels of his palms and looking down at the ground. He hoists himself up a bit, kicking his legs against the edge, and nods slowly. "So, um, I was kinda wonderin'. Once we're done with all this.. I mean, they're not all gonna be there, y'know? Someone's gonna have to survive, that's just like.. statistics." He bites the inside of his lip, rolls his eyes at himself. Stop pussyfooting around. "Anyway I was just kinda wondering if this isn't gonna just get you in even more trouble. Us. Whichever."
"It won't." Logan sounds so sure, too. Flicking dead ash off the end of the cigarette, he studies it for a moment, caught where it is between index finger and middle, which is still bound tightly to the other two. No glittery splint, today, a simpler arrangement, discreet. "That's what we're doing this for. To end this mess. Now's the time to act, while they're half-fucked already. What we don't break, the government will stamp out for us. As far as I know, the law don't know about the place we're targeting, so in a way, we're doing our civic duty."
A sparkling smile accompanies it, twists into more of a smirk as he tips his head, conceding with, "And, you know. Doing me a favour. Liu's gotten all big for his britches. It'll make business in general easier once their gone. So no, don't worry. We're hitting too hard for 'em to just hit back, this time."
Toru nods to all of this, listening intently to the explanation. "Yeah, I guess you have a point there. It ain't so much that I'm worried or nothin'," which he is but we can't go admitting that, "I just kinda figured. Y'know, with me livin' in Chinatown, and all this shit goin' down in Chinatown, I figured when this is all over with maybe we can go back to you stayin' over more often. Only if you wanted to, I mean," he adds hastily.
He looks over to Logan, trying very hard not to seem too needy on the matter, which is immediately destroyed by a rambling, "'Cause I mean since you don't got a place for now and my place has more room than I really need, and it ain't really been safe for you to hang out in that part of town for a while I figured maybe it'd be cool to try and go back a little bit to how things used to be when there isn't so much shit going on and shut up Toru."
The rambling does shatter the pretence some, enough that Logan is watching him in quizzical amusement for as long as it takes for the younger man to cut himself off, which gains a huff of laughter from the Brit, cigarette smoke easing out at the same time. "Well." He taps ash off his cigarette, veering his attention back towards it, aloof. "Once the dust settles, and the Ghost Shadows establish themselves some, I do expect to be able to walk the streets of Chinatown without getting shot in broad daylight, or similar."
Lying discarded on the car hood, the pistol he'd been using is picked up, and placed into a pocket, though Logan isn't moving yet to leave. "Further more, I do still have a key. Why? Do you miss me?"
"Kind of, yeah." For once, Toru doesn't try to cover it up with false machismo, either, though he does avoid eye contact while blushing terribly. "It's nice when you're over. It's not bad when you're not, I just.. prefer it the other way." Rather than continue into a similar rant this time, the Asian is content to sit uncomfortably against the hood of the car for a moment, even going so far as to push himself up so that he's actually on top of the thing.
He reaches back behind himself, grabbing the assault rifle from where he'd left it, and resumes his practice of the unload-reload technique. Clack clack. "You know what day this is all gonna go down, anyway? You never really did say before."
"Monday. As good night for it as any." Logan allows cigarette to smolder, calmly watching Toru practice with the assault rifle. If there's any point of correction to be made, he doesn't make it, just takes another drag of cigarette smoke and pushes himself up to stand. Nerves smoothed out, heart beat down to a common tempo.
Ignoring the pieces of AK-47 on the ground, he nudges the duffle with his boot. "Here, let's get this stuff in the back and head out. We could grab a drink at Shooters before we go back to mainland, make something of a worthwhile day of it."
"Jesus, that isn't really allowin' for much time, is it?" With a final clackity-clack as he removes the clip for Safety, Toru shoves back off the hood, offering said clip and weapon to Logan to put in the bag. Or wherever he figures it should go. "Anyway at least I got a better idea how to use the thing than I would if you just shoved it at me, right? That's worthwhile enough, I figure."
He brushes himself off, strolling down the side of the car to the passenger door, though waits for Logan to get in before he does himself. "'Course if nothing else I can just do the bone thing. Probably doesn't help with guns but if close quarters shit goes down, I should be covered."
Once fastened, the heavy bag of weaponry is swung into the back seats, inconspicuous, the gunshot sound of the car door slamming back closed nothing in comparison to the shots being loosened just several moments ago. Logan puts back on his sunglasses, ambling back to the driver's door and casting a look over the top of the car towards the younger man, a tilt to his head.
"You worry too much," is all he states, with a wolfish smile, eyes hidden with tinted glass. "'sides, what should we do instead? Wait around 'til someone spills and the Flying Dragons get word've it? It'll be fine, Toru."
To punctuate his statement, Logan wrenches open the canary yellow door, and slides on it, the motor quick to sputter and purr to life once there.
Noting the sunglasses Logan has put back on, Toru remembers his own, and slides them down from his forehead to rest properly on the bridge of his nose. Very cool; dollar-store chic. "No, I guess you're right about that. I just figured maybe we'd come out for practice again or somethin'." He slides into the car, seatbelt on despite questionable legal need, and kicks the seat back a bit. If he were just a bit shorter, he'd probably rest his feet up on the dashboard.
"I mean, I don't see what's wrong with worryin' when guns are involved, y'know? 'Specially when you got some punk dumbass like me with you who don't really know what he's doin'. Probably everyone else ya got'll be good to go, but I got like what, one shootout under my belt? It's pathetic is what I'm sayin' here."
Logan groans, and it's not— you know— that kind of groan, on account of not being touched and unrelated. Very much exasperated, slicing a glance at Toru over the tops of his glasses— not dollar-store chic, far too expensive for their own good. He allows the motor to idle while he addresses Toru directly. "Satoru, you're— what. Twenty— one or whatever. I didn't get into my first firefight a couple of years later'n that - up until that point it was mostly fists and lead pipes, know what I mean. There's no— "
He flicks a hand in irritation at his own inability to articulate, and occupies himself with pulling out of the rundown driveways. "There's no introduction into this sort of shit. No lesson, no beginner's setting. You get thrown in and you either sink, or you swim. Or thrash around wildly 'til something fortunate 'appens."
Toru turns in his seat a bit, holding a hand up. "Naw, yeah, I get that. That ain't what I mean. I just— all I'm sayin' is that I'm just worried 'cause I'm a liability and I don't wanna get everyone else messed up. I ain't tryin' to convince you to change shit around or nothin', I'm just 'splainin' why I'm overthinkin' it."
He sits back in his seat again, hands up behind his head, looks up at the ceiling. "I mean, I don't plan on like takin' the front line and runnin' in like an idiot. I just know havin' a newbie around can be a bad thing. It's better havin' me be worried than havin' me be all cavalier about it anyway, right?" Head tilted towards Logan, he raises an eyebrow, quizzical expression behind black plastic lenses. "Last thing I wanna do is fuck this up for ya."
"Well, if I didn't want you there, I wouldn't have specifically asked you last week," Logan points out, presently. "Just do your best, Toru. And if you must over think it— " A glance in the rearview mirror, despite the utter lack of traffic they have to contend with in this neck of the woods. "Do so quietly or I might try to find some other use for that mouth of yours."
A glance, and he adds, "You'll either be there or you won't - I think you'd be an asset, inexperience or not. It's just not the kind of firefight that requires, ninjas, you know? Just numbers who can point a gun, and not at me. And, you get one thousand, one hundred dollars for your time."
"Didn't mean to sound like I thought you didn't want me there. I just.. figured I should talk it out." He smirks, looking forward again, and runs a hand over his hair. "You'd think you'd notice by now that I do that all the damn time. Christ." The tone is more amused than irritated, of course.
That last remark is met with a moment of silence, vaguely bewildered expression should Logan seek it out, and after some thought Toru finally replies, "I — wasn't actually even figuring it was gonna be a pay deal, man. I mean, I guess since it was last time I shoulda figured, but the thought didn't even cross my mind." He looks over again. "I do like doing favors that aren't sexy, you know." And after another pause. "Why is it every time we talk we eventually start sounding like we're in a bad porno?"
"Oh, I wouldn't worry. That's just me."
No one can say Logan isn't entirely lacking in insight. "I think I do it to distract you. Or, I have that affect on people," he adds, so, maybe not, and he drums long fingers restlessly against the steering wheel. "And, you know, I shan't pay you if you don't want to be paid. If my company's enough, then I'll write you a cheque when we get home."