New Chapter, Same Page


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Scene Title New Chapter, Same Page
Synopsis Logan comes looking for a change of scenery, and Kain offers him different window dressing.
Date July 8, 2009


The pulsing beat of bass throbs through the walls of Rapture, a high-class nightclub in the heart of Harlem. Rows of expensive cars line up out front of the exclusive club and a crowd of would-be patrons wait outside, cherry-picked by the bouncers to have only the cream of the crop on the interior, while leaving just enough eye-candy outside to entice other patrons. The club serves as a respite for the trendy and the influential from the grind of daily life.

On the inside, Rapture is as much a spectacle as it is a structure. Multiple dance floors in tiered balconies overlooking an enormous central dance floor ringed by plush leather-upholstered booths. Pale blue light shines on the wrap-around bar that curved around the back of the establishment, and the entire building is filled floor-to-floor and shoulder-to-shoulder with the pulsing, flowing sea of people dancing to the rythmic beats of electronic dance music piped through the expansive sound-system.

Somewhere out there, there's a homeless person wandering around Staten Island working a leopard print three piece suit.

A hypothetical situation, as Logan hasn't been back there since he was driven away in a periwinkle van, leaving his broken into apartment for whoever might chance upon it and loot whatever remains of his belongings, including the more ostentatious of items. Which might be why he's only dressed in chic black tonight, the silken shirt open at the collar and silver thread woven in here and there.

He's also wearing snakeskin shoes and sunglasses indoors. Small steps.

Rapture is occupied this Wednesday with the young and beautiful creatures of early evening New York City, a far more vibrant, pulsing, magnetic dive than anything Staten Island could hope to attract. Logan has been across the river enough for this to be less of a culture shock, but there's some minor displacement and admiration for his surroundings as he takes off purple-tinted glasses to scope around. Eloni is a shadow several feet behind him, only watching the immediate area rather than hoping to get a grasp on the business transpiring, moving for the bar to simply lean and watch, impervious to the flashing lights of the club.

Hands in his pockets, Logan makes his way over towards where a booth is occupied by the man he's intending to meet, and for someone who lost nearly everything in the world important to them in one fireblaze, he seems together, relaxed, and confident in his approach.

It isn't a night for Kain at Rapture without a woman on each arm, which perhaps makes tonight abnormal. Seated by himself at one of the booths near the dance floor, Kain looks remarkably sullen, brows lowered and lips downturned in a frown against a strong five o'clock shadow across his jaw. The crisp blue of his tie seems even sharper under the blacklights overhead, which also unfortunately hilight all of the lint collected on his pressed black suit. It's impossible not to look like a dust magnet under a blacklight.

Watching the table, the some seven feet of pale, bald bodyguard is familiar enough to Logan. Manny Calavera was stalking a certain raven-haired assistant to the Rookery's ripper for quite some time, and now that pale shadow is back where he belongs, watching over Kain and making sure he doesn't fall down any wells.

Kain doesn't notice Logan's approach for a long while, not until Manny stops him with a silent pawing of one sausage-fingered hand against his chest, patting him down for weapons with a stoic expression and eyes hidden behind tiny round-lensed sunglasses. After a cursory enough tap to places more suited for a lady's fingers, Manny moves aside and pats Logan on the back, motioning towards Kain.

"Been a while, Crocodile." He has the oddest way of phrasing things. "Funny to see you out here in this ol' neck a'the woods, Logan." And from the narrowing of his eyes, it isn't a funny ha ha kind of surprise. "What's got your tail tucked between your legs? Didn't have fire insurance?"

No weapons. No impractical silver revolvers, no wicked switchblade that's seen far too much, but Logan tolerates the pat down as appropriate, giving Manny a smile once it's done that doesn't reach ice-chip green eyes. He's headed for Kain in the next moment, lifting an eyebrow to find him as alone as he is, but not acting shy about sliding into the booth opposite him, an arm folding on the table.

"Heard about that, did you," is the non-question, skimming over allusions to tails and their particular positioning. Logan's hiked his accent several notches up from working class London, languid and as insincere as every other part of him tends to be. "It's amazing how quick things on Staten Island have gone up in flames, lately. Shouldn't be a wonder that I'm interested in slightly more fire-proof endeavors from now on."

A look is given to Kain, up and down, as if he could see the rest of him beneath the table. The corner of Logan's mouth hooks up in a slight smile. "I recall you liked the Dagger. Quite regularly, some months back."

"You got yourself an eye for ladies, Logan, I'll give you that." It's the closest thing to a compliment Kain can deliver, "So seein' as how you're here and not in a pine box full'a the rest of your little jibblets, Ah' gotta compliment you on your survival tricks. 'Cause there ain't nobody who knows the name John Logan that ain't wantin' to twist your head off your shoulders these days."

Leaning forward, folding his hands together on the table, Kain's expression becomes almost absurdly earnest. Staring at Logan for a few moments, Kain's hand slowly moves over to a half empties dirty martini, picking up up by the stem with a furrowing of his brows. "So, what Ah'm wonderin' is…" he plucks one of the two olives out, popping it into his mouth to thoughtfully chew and delay his words, the toothpick flicked into an ashtray nearby. "Can you keep your head outta' the fire long enough t'be an asset to anyone? Or are you goin' to be makin' a bloody path straight to mah front door if'n things work out the way Ah'm thinkin' they might?"

Logan has the insight to let his gaze drop from Kain's at that note— it's not entirely affectation, either. He's never been one for dreams. Normally they're all the same, blending together, forgetting in the morning even if his ego doesn't, but that one stands out like a stain. Not quite willing to summon up an argument as to the Cajun's observation, he listens, instead, that smirk dimming down.

One slender shoulder raises up beneath the tailored black fabric of his jacket, a shrug. "Things don't operate out here the way they do in the Rookery," Logan states. "And I'm done with the Rookery. Done with shitholes in general, actually. Not that New York City is a gleaming gem on the map but it's a start," and that is accompanied with a fleeting glance around that ends with Kain under his focus once more.

"So I'm not intending to repeat my mistakes, Zarek, if that's what you're asking. Call it a new chapter."

"New Chapter," Kain echoes, taking a sip from the martini before setting it down with a clink on the table. "A'right," blue eyes track up through the haze of strobe lights and clinging smoke, "so you're lookin' t'get out from under what ol' Muldoon got set up in the Rookery. Fair's fair n'all that, given how much heat's been leveled in that direction lately." Folding his hands again, Kain takes a moment of quiet amidst the pulsing beat of the music to let his eyes wander the woman pressed up against each other on the dancefloor, considering the way colored light catches sweat, before his focus turns back to Logan again.

"Danny's got a few positions open, but the thing is Ah' don't know what you do aside from sit pretty and eye the ladies," that has to be irony, right? "Well, aside from beat and torture, we got openin's in that department too I figure. Got one tricky blonde who'd need to be taught a lesson or six about breakin' an' enterin…" his tongue rolls on the inside of his cheek, "what're you offerin' us? If you're lookin' to get in with this crowd, what's your sellin' point?"

Sitting back a little, not quite relaxed but putting in some effort to appear so, Logan seems to consider the question for a moment, in the same way a poker player has to consider their cards and understand what front to put up. "I've got several," he decides upon, voice chipper, and a smaller smile accompanying it. "I've got a certain talent for making people powerless. Beating and torturing's only one way."

Logan's greener eyes have become a constant, now, beneath the flickery lighting of the club, twin circles of brighter green than before. If there were any cause for panic on Kain's side, there would be a certain lack of reaction to such, a subtle calmness. "Suppression of what Evolved can do," the Brit explains, almost dismissive. "Muldoon found it right handy, considering his business at the time."

His smile grows wider, his eyes dim once more to that soulless pale. "Amongst other things."

One black brow slowly begins to rise as Kain hears that brought up. It's not what he expected, in fact, over the course of all his months knowing the man he never once even suspected he was Evolved. "An' you're off the books, right? No paper trail comin' pointin' back at you havin' superpowers?" Kain somehow manages to say superpowers with a straight face, as if that is his standard nomenclature for the Evolved's abilities.

"Normally, Danny likes t'hire people out for trial periods, kinda' like renting something before y'buy it," Kain reaches into his jacket, pulling out a metal case that he flips open with a press of his thumb on the slide lock. Colorful blue-green light from one of the overhead strobes reflects off the case as he plucks a thin, black-papered cigarette from within, tucking it between his lips as he fishes around in another pocket for a lighter.

"We got this problem girl," he notes with a lowered tone of voice upon retreiving his lighter, flicking it open in the same motion of his thumb that he spins the flint wheel, brushing the tip of the cigarette with a tongue of flame. A few puffs and thin tendrils of smoke later, Kain is letting his eyes drift back to Logan. "She's strong as ten people and nuttier than a jar of peanut butter. Ah'm thinkin' if you can make her… not be a problem anymore, we might have a good future here together." Because the last thing Kain wants to have to do, is fix the Jessica problem personally.

"The one with the little breaking and entering problem," Logan surmises. It's not a hard equation to make, breaking in women who believe themselves to be strong. Simple math. An apparent attempt at being smart, however, is being made, studying the smoke patterns in the air beneath the shards of light more than the man across from him for a few moments.

And this time, his eyes don't glow their warning green, but he does begin to manipulate once more, a delicate shift of serotonin, of chemical good mood that seeps into Kain's system as smoke sponges through his lunges.

Then, a shrug. "I do like a good future. There's more to it, what I do. Learned a long time ago that when it gets down to it, we're all sort of made up of the same stuff, aren't we? On a chemical level, at least. It's where power lies - emotions, too, feelings. I could make you feel good when you don't, and the other way around. I could make you fall in love."

Amusement crosses the Englishman's face and he adds, "I can take care of your little girl, Kain. What's the pay like? What're you offering me when I join your circle?"

"Payroll ain't my department, you gotta' talk to a feller named Caliban for that." Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket as he puts his lighter away, Kain withdraws a business card, slapping it down on the table and pushing it towards John with two fingers. "That' shis card, office number, cell phone's written on the back. You talk to him," he nods towards the card, "he'll give you all the details on the lady we need toned down, and he'll set you up with whatever it is you want."

A lopsided smile slides across Kain's face, perhaps too knowing in its appearance, "Ah've got a good feelin' that you an ol' Caliban will get along like ol' buddies," dark brows raise, and Kain laughs to himself, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips to draw in a lungfull of ash and smoke, exhaling it through his nostrils in twin streams. "On the side, Ah might have a few extra-curricular things you might be able t'do once you get yourself situated. But I'll cross your desk," he gets a desk? "with that once we reach that point."

The card is picked up, pinched between two fingers and flicked over, read without much overt interest before it's disappeared into his own inner pocket, Logan raising an eyebrow across at Kain. An affirmative nod is all he gives on the topic of contacting Caliban, before a wry smile alights on his face. "Oh, do. Can't let me get too bored," he agrees, somewhat wryly, before he grips the edge of the table and levers himself up and out of the booth. Not leaving, however, without offering a hand across the table, perfectly manicured hand clean and dry, showing the glint of an expensive watch beneath the sleeve.

His pale eyes hooded a little as he adds, "Thank you for the conversation. The way I see it, it's never too late for change."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say, Logan ol' boy," Kain grins crookedly as he leans up out of his seat, taking the Brit's hand in a firm squeeze, faint wisps of smoke slithering their way out of his nostrils, "No matter how much things change, they always seem to stay the same."

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