Participants:
| Scene Title | Matters Of Friendliness |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Logan doesn't play well with others. Toru complains. |
| Date | July 19, 2009 |
Toru's Place~
Given recent events and the need for different schedules, Toru has, on a temporary basis, given Logan a copy of the apartment key. Possibly a grant of too much trust, but Toru is often foolish, and it is more convenient. And given that Toru spent the previous day out of the apartment and is only just returning this afternoon, it would be rather awkward for his 'roommate' to be unable to get inside.
It is a bit after noon, the day after Logan's meeting with Bebe, that Toru returns to the apartment, hauling a pair of grocery bags and a box. Juggling those items, he makes his way through the door with some difficulty, dropping his loot on the table and doubling back to close and lock the door.
Once things are all situated and such, he calls, idly, "Logan, I'm back," whilst putting away the groceries and doing some general tidying up. Once that's all finished, he goes to hunt his boss down — which, in an apartment with two doors, can't be terribly difficult — and, once he finds him, leans on the nearest wall and adds, "I got some food and saw my ma, she made some cake thing since I said I had a guest stayin' over. Kinda weird." A shrug, there. "And I saw Ghost the other day, and I think we oughtta have a talk about some stuff if that's cool."
No, it's not hard to find Logan, currently seated cross legged in the center of the bed they occasionally share, occasionally don't. Whatever this is, it's a strange blurred line, negotiable, between employer and employee, roommates, lovers, and otherwise simply two people who tolerate the other's existence. The glossy pages of a magazine lay opened-winged across Logan's thighs, and he doesn't look up immediately as Toru hunts him down. The blocky shapes of square-shouldered male models in the latest of fashions - although to some it will be all the same pinstripe and navy - adorn each leaf, blurbs in fine white print of labels, dates, only sometimes prices.
It will be nice, to go shopping, when he has the money and inclination. If there's any reason to live in Manhattan, that would be it, Bomb or no Bomb. Incidentally, not a single zebra stripe, not a single leopard spot, not a single shred of golden thread are advertised. It's a good time for a change, anyway.
As Toru enters the room, there's the scent of mingled cigarette smoke, stale and new, and an undercurrent of incense, harking to the same sort of scents that curled in smoke in Logan's office, before that went up in smoke. There's nothing burning right now, but clearly has been. Dressed casually, as if he'd recently been asleep, in light grey sweat pants and a borrowed T-shirt, Logan looks up from his chosen reading material, an eyebrow raising at this news. "You're back," he notes. He'd gone over that, but, it bears repeating.
A shrug, at that. Indeed, Toru is back; he shoves himself away from the wall, wanders over to the bed, leaning over to pick up and put on a baseball glove on his way. He sits, cross-legged, towards a corner of the bed opposite where Logan lies; a decent distance away, given that it's a Queen. Good for fitful sleeping, convenient for sharing space. Barefoot, of course, having removed shoes upon entry. His expression is fairly neutral, almost consciously guarded, though if anything else he would likely have given himself away had violence been on his mind. Anger isn't an emotion the boy hides well.
He buries his fist in the palm of the glove, using it as a useful prop to keep restless hands busy, and looks Logan over for a minute. The whole scene strikes him as entirely strange, for a minute; actually having someone in his bed is not something he would have figured would ever happen, at least not at this point in his life.
"Anyway, so I was talkin' to Ghost the other day and.. I guess some stuff kinda hit me. I mean, I don't really know what's goin' on with everybody, and.. I mean, I'm not the only person' stickin' with you, right? He said he'd come back when the money's back, but like, Eloni and them, what's goin' on with the other guys?"
There's a soft whisper of pages coming to close, flicking them with the edge of his thumb until they flop to the side, close, and are tossed aside. Perhaps this scenario should be striking Logan as strange, too, but to be honest— nothing hardly ever does. There's been stranger. His knees come up, bare feet bracing against the bed covers and long arms coming to circle about his legs, wrist gripped in hand, and a bored, dull-green look being cast to Toru as the younger man speaks.
"Mm. You can imagine most weren't willing to leave the island at all. Cut their losses." Logan splays a hand, inspects his nails. "Eloni is back there too, but reckons he'll come back as soon as there's a paycheck. He hasn't severed the tie, yet." Toru might have an inkling as to what that means - the telepathic link. "And a few of the others know better than to go running off. Been working on that the last few days - reminding certain individuals where their loyalties lie."
Likely, whether they like it or not. It's not as though Logan had a conventional means of paying everyone, whether it be blackmail, his insidious versions of addiction, or gut-deep wealths of guilt. Everyone has a hook. He lifts his chin. "What did Ghost have to say?"
Toru manages a weak smile at that last part; in some ways, he himself does feel as if the money isn't the only thing keeping him working with Logan. Secrecy, of course, being one good reason to stick around. If we ignore the fact that he does like most of his job regardless. "Well, it's good to see you gettin' back on your feet, boss." He nods slowly, running his free hand through his hair, brushing at a few stray spikes. "Ghost.. had a few things to say. I guess he's workin' with those Phoenix guys now, if you know about 'em. Said to remind you you got his number."
"Thing is, he also was sayin' some stuff about how you think he's dangerous, and how you think I'm not— " and he isn't, really, "— and how that's why you don't really treat me with a lotta respect." He allows a moment there for an awkward pause, mostly on his own account. "I.. I mean, it's not as bad anymore, but— I guess I just thought I should bring up how I don't really appreciate the way you act sometimes. I know you were drinking the other day but you really were being kind of a douche, and…" Awkward pause resumes, though this time he just looks down at his gloved hand, frowning somewhat. 'And that hurt my feelings' doesn't really have a very manly ring to it, so he settles on uncomfortable silence.
Speaking of strange vs. different. This lies firmly in the middle, if the rapid blink in reaction from Logan is anything to go by. Don't get him wrong - when you make it your business to have people become attracted, become magnetised and hooked and all those words that only peripherally edge around love, talks like these happen. They can be kissed away, guilted away, willed away.
Perhaps it's the source that renders him baffled, the timing, rather than the words themselves. I don't really appreciate… "I was drinking," Logan agrees, simply. "And you. You don't know when to stop pushing buttons. You could stand to watch your mouth too, you know."
The magazine is swiped up, and Logan rests back against the bed frame. "He's dangerous, of course he's dangerous. Body possession and— fucking— future telling and the like. Not to mention he probably doesn't like me. But don't think I don't pick at him just as much as I pick at you, Toru. Maybe he just has a thicker skin." A moth-flap of a wink is given over his knees, as he absently flicks the magazine back open.
"I wasn't trying to be a jerk, I told you that. I'm just— not good with words when we aren't talking about breaking things." He shrugs, shifts uncomfortably, lifts his gaze just a bit. At the very least, he didn't get the teasing he had expected from the complaint about teasing. "He said you don't lean on him as much as you do on me. He— he's kind of a jerk about it too, really. A lot of people— I just think I deserve a little more respect. He can possess bodies, I can turn your skin into bone.
"And you can stop peoples' abilities from workin', so I don't see how you should really be scared of him, y'know. I mean— I mean shit, maybe I just don't remind y'all about what my ability is often enough but it's like everybody I run into thinks I'm just some dumb kid who doesn't care when you fuck around with 'em and maybe I got a list of people I'd like to take care of, y'know?" He takes in a deep breath after that rant, finally working up the gut to look at Logan again.
"He was just sayin' all this shit about how I take your crap and I let you lean on me and I'm dumb for stayin' by your side without money, and shit about rollin' over f— " There he stops, blushes, and looks down again. "— anyway I just think maybe you could appreciate that I'm helpin' you out a lot here and I ain't gettin' paid for it. My ma made you a cake."
Logan's hand lifts to rub at the back of his own neck in a sort of impatient, mildly aggravated gesture, opening his mouth to interject— and shutting it again when the opportunity is not given, breathing out a sigh. When there's a pause— on cake, of all things— his tone is bordering on snappish when he says, "You jump to such conclusions. Like as to why I'm afraid of him. I'm not afraid he'll possess me, because— well you just said it, didn't you? No. Face changers are just tricky. You never know what they'll look like. It's hard to trust them."
If he could reach, he'd thwap Toru with the magazine, but frustration simply simmers, untapped. "Would you just stop and think for once? Or, fuck, ask me or something. I don't fear people for their powers. I never have. I don't fear you for yours either.
"Anyway." Logan splays his hand on the cover of the magazine, getting no reading done. Frustration dispersed, at least, through those last several words. "If you think you're stupid for staying by me without a paycheck, then by all means, I'll fuck off, won't I? Though not before knowing at least what kind of cake." The magazine is set aside, and he pushes himself across the bed, sliding on closer in smooth, coordinated movements of long limbs. "How would you like to remind me?"
"It's like I told you the other day and it's like I told Ghost, I don't mind lettin' you stay because I kinda think of you as a friend, 'cause you don't think I'm awful for liking to.. break things." He sighs, looks down at the glove on his hand, and pulls it off to toss it on the floor. "But I dunno, it's hard to— since you're still my boss and all I guess it's just kinda hard to talk to you. 'Cause I feel like I'm wastin' your time and you're gonna just make fun of me for it. And it ain't like we know each other really."
Here he just shakes his head, running that hand through his hair again, though this time he yanks on it before letting it go. "I don't mean to sound like a girl or anything it's just I can't think of any other way to get my point across other'n just sayin' it. I'd like it if you treated me a little better, though I guess I can't really demand it or anything, can I?"
The remark about the cake is met with a bit of a doofy smile, though, and he leans forward just a bit, resting on his hands, but not enough to be lying down. "I can think of plenty of ways to remind you, though I gotta find a prop before I can. Tucker, maybe; he's fun to play with." He trails a hand along the bedspread, makes eye contact slowly. "It's an angel food cake," he concludes, sincerely.
Inches glide by, closer, close enough that Logan can reach a hand, to steal a handful of shirt, or an arm, and reel him in until mouths can meet in a kiss. There is more ground Logan has to cover, his grip is firmer to prevent Toru from shying away, but it's not an unpleasant kiss. No stepping over the boundaries, acknowledging, in some ways, the walls of defense thrown between them. But it's nice, especially at the hitch of good mood that goes with it, strong. The nervous system's serotonin inspired equivalent of a heart skipping a beat.
A fairytale, magical kiss that is contrived and stops sooner than Logan might have otherwise allowed it, head turning, breath curling briefly against Toru's jaw as he lingers for the moment. Feels a twinge of— something. Not guilt. Pavlov's guilt, maybe. The chemical hold is releases, and his hand loosens a little, but he doesn't shy away.
"Don't mind what Ghost says. Your choice to be here, innit. Don't think he has friends anyway. If you'd like me to be friendlier, then I think it can be arranged." There's nothing shy about his tone, either, although he does rest back on a hand. "Tuck could stand to be played with, actually. If there's anyone who'd go pawing through the rubble, it's 'im. Maybe you can shake him down for something I left behind."
Toru's hand grabbed, he comes this close to pulling away — instincts expecting perhaps a pre-emptive strike against threats of ability use, or just blind self-defense — but he doesn't, in the end, and as usual, that kiss is completely disarming. And somewhat expected, if not so early, hence the removal of the baseball glove. He closes his eyes, leaning in, and there is something close to a whimper when it's broken off; he turns his head a bit, not forcing himself back in, but close. Noses rub, and his lips rest just to the side of Logan's.
"I guess— I don't— mostly I do like you the way you are, I just feel bad about myself a lot and I guess I need to find a way to stop that. Helps if there ain't teasin'." That weak smile comes back, but he is easily convinced to stray from that subject; no doubt Logan has noticed this is a good way to get his mind off the subject at hand.
"I think I can take care of him, he isn't very imposing without Cardinal around." There he does steal another kiss, though brief. "I have some ideas. You didn't get to see him before, so I should maybe find a place to take care of him where I can leave him a while."
"My." There's a smile in Logan's voice, and a fainter one on his mouth, occupied with another brush of a kiss. Breaking things. At least, when all else fails, they can always come back to this. A hand comes to rest on Toru's thigh, another kiss sought - one on his throat, this time. "Ideas. You'll just have to tell me all about it, won't you? It's a lock box, that I'm after. See what you can turn up."
Now would be the time to simply pull Toru down, stroke his biological chemical makeup among other things and allow this conversation to simply disperse itself into the history of empty words. And he doesn't, hesitation, uncertainty to follow.
About whether it's— good. Sorry, Logan isn't the most articulate at the best of times, not when it comes to— goodness. Uh. There's an uncomfortable pause in both words and movement, before he offers a half-smile at the younger man. "I don't do well with it. Talking. Not unless I'm lying, or— being really honest. And that only gets me so far. I'm mean." Surprise! It's not spoken as self-analysis, however, just a fact. A choice, in some ways, but less of one than he knows. "But I can make you feel good. Perhaps not about yourself, but— it's a start."
Another brief kiss, one that's more of a bite, a flash of amusement as Logan adds, "Innit."