Participants:
| Scene Title | Peacocks and Percocet |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Logan comes by to inform Wendy that the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day was all her fault. She makes it up to him with spare keys, narcotics, and then some. |
| Date | October 11, 2009 |
Solstice: Wendy's Home
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.
Night in, as opposed to night out. A night working in her studio after a morning being lazy and gallavanting around the city to buy food, supplies, order fresh clay and other supplies that she needs. Treat herself to some new paintbrushes and the like. So by afternoon she was settled in, and by early evening she was elbow deep, throwing a vase and creating something for a friends birthday. THe upside to being artistic, you can handmake god knows how many presents. Never need to go out and buy one unless they're not the homemade kind of gift getter.
So there's the call up that there's a visitor, name given, permission granted in return. When Logan is ever to make his way up, there's a clay marked Wendy lounging against the door to the first of the two front doors on this floor. A glass of wine is held in hand and swirled around. "The prodigal son returns. Welcome back Logan. I hope that you made it off the boat okay with your minions" So cheerfully spoken, that it can't be meant in any mean fashion.
Every man dreams of dating an ~arty~ girl, at least once. If only so they'll show you new things, a different perspective. Or perhaps they look good when they're dirty. Either or. Logan's gaze cuts up and down her, coming to a halt several feet away. "Oh you hope, do you?" Since coming home— or what passes for home— from his work during the day, he's out of the fine cut of waistcoats and crisp shirts. Boots, jeans, a light grey V-necked sweater beneath a black peacoat are all expensive items, and possibly magazine material, but none of the formality with which she's mocked him before.
Perhaps deliberately so. His bedazzled finger splinted hand rests upon his chest, over the sheen of black leather - a separate garment he's haphazardly draped over a shoulder, as if holding it hostage. "What, just so the chinks could come straight to my doorsteps upon docking? You told them my name, didn't you?"
"And if I did?" Wendy doesn't un-lean, move or otherwise. "If it's any consolation, they gripped my shoulder pretty hard and goose marched me alll the way to chinatown after dropping off my friend. I have a future date with someone named Liu? Liu, something like that, or maybe it's someone else. I don't think they're happy with me at all" Her gaze falls on the splinted fingers, the rhinestones on the metal and instantly her face softens. "Oh Logan…"
Now is when she moves, making not for the pants, but for the the splinted digits. "They did this to you?!"
At first he seems about to back up, out of a certain defensive wariness that doesn't completely cross over into fear. It ticks over a second later, and he holds out his hand for her inspection, the metal padded against his fingers and the bandages that bind and cover bruised, broken flesh. "Well. I did steal their boat." The leather slithers against his wool clad shoulder, Logan's other hand gripping a fistful of the slick leather and holding it up for her to take.
Leather pants are forgotten as wendy coos, croons and otherwise frowns at the state of three fingers. "It's a boat, with how much they make off me, they can buy a new fucking boat and stop whining. Fuck, they're a mob are they not?" Wendy doesn't quite get the concept of them. "Come in, I got alcohol, and I can scrounge up some painkillers - good stuff - if you need it for your hand. God, Logan. I'm sorry. The audiokinetic hand a good grip on my shoulder, and they were hauling Devi around. They gathered that I knew you from when I was on the boat. Come on in, I owe you, big"
He watches her more than her fingers picking gentle around his injured hand, his wrist and palm easy and malleable in comparison to the general jagged strength Logan tries to carry himself with. "Alcohol and the good stuff?" he says, the smile curling at one corner of his mouth audible in his voice, before he's agreeably stepping towards the door to her apartment. "Then all is forgiven, innit?"
This is the kind of pity that a man like Logan can stand. Hand retracted, he lays down her returned garment on the first clean, flat surface he comes across, shouldering out of his own jacket no longer needed to shield him from autumn winds that have already tinged themselves with the coming winter.
Lots of clean flat surfaces, she's not a slob. It's her studio area that you might run into that issue but even then, there's order to the chaos. Wide set eyes focus on the rhinestones with a lift of brow but dismisses the decoration. She's had a broken wist and affixed so much stuff to it for the duration, rhinestones as well, that she can't make fun of it. Oddly, it suits him. "Good stuff, I promise. Though doubtful even that can make up for what's happened. Was it really them?" Poor Logan.
There's a gesture to the technology laden main living room with it's comfortable couches you could sink into and never come out of, the wall mounted TV with it's surround sound. Luxuries that don't go with the lifestyle that most artists have. She disappears off, presumably to get said good drugs that aren't kept in the familiar chest on the table. "Bar in the livingroom, the cabinet. Help yourself!" Bellowed through the halls to the Burlesque owner.
Logan takes his time, wandering towards the cabinet and selecting the token bottle of gin present in the midst of the collection, along with a low glass and helping himself to a modest measure, sparkling metal making singular wind chime tones against the crystal as he pours. "It was them," he confirms, voice raised just loud enough to carry through to wherever she's disappeared to. "The pretty boy that was in the cabin with you, in fact, the screamer." Turning back to the wider room, he comes to lean against a sofa and wait her return, swirling clear. poison-tasting liquid clockwise about the glass.
"Audiokinetic. Knew the moment I touched him. God, I think they're as prevalent as super strength is in men. Do you know how many men have enhanced strength?" She's wandering back, crazy socked feet and out of clay littered clothes and into loose pants and a tank top. An orange pill bottle dangles from her fingers as she wags the Vicodin back and forth, followed by a bottle of percocet. "Eitehr or, the latter is stronger, can knock you on your feet"
"Screamer is Jin. The one who took a liking to my shoulder. Though he told me I looked damn fine in a thong. No one else there was evolved though, not that I could tell and it's pretty infallible what I can do. You show up to ask about that night and return my pants or were you looking to experiment again?"
She nods approvingly of the gin choice though her artists fingers end up selecting just some vodka for herself and pouring a few shots in a tumbler so she can nurse it.
"Oh, he introduced himself." Logan doesn't sip from the gin right away, nor take the painkillers off her either. "Hold still." His good hand drifts up to snag her chin in an almost mother henly touch as opposed to anything particularly salacious, his thumb skimming against her jaw to nudge away a flake of drying clay. "You're a walking little pharmacy, aren't you? I could probably do with something strong, to be honest, give it 'ere."
His hand clasps about the bottle of Percocet, reading over the label as if any of the words would mean that much to him, although surprisingly, a couple do. Not downing any of them right away, however, as he takes a modest sip of gin. "I could do with some practice, although mind you— did you hear about the fire at Dorchester Towers?"
Logan's hand is brushed away as he finishes mother henning, fingers fluttering to skip away the fingers, clay and anything else. "I try to keep a little of something, here and there. Never know what the mood will strike." Her vodka cup raised to salute the other man, the dopey grin on her face after she takes a quick mouthful of the harsh liquid. "Hmm, yes, I heard about that, the fire that is. Crazy assholes whomever did it. Crazier woman for advertizing what the hell she is on the news. And I get so much grief for what I do, I wonder if my friends ever look at the others who wave the big red flag of evodom in the face of Humanis First" She turns away to look in a sliver of mirror in the bar ot make sure there's no more clay on her face. "God, did you live there?"
"Of course I did. When it rains in my universe, it pours. And that's what I get for not being the card carrying variety of freak - I wind up living beneath one. 's just a good thing I wasn't home at the time." The cap of the Percocet is twisted off, a pill shaken out into his palm, before it's thrown back along with the rest of the gin, Logan grimacing as both pill and mouthful of harsh liquor goes down as one. "Blimey," is breathed out.r
Then, he gestures with his glass. "This is where you ask me, all concerned, if I've got a place to stay."
Wendy's head tilts forward, to the left, brows furrowed and concern washing over her face as appropriately indicated. "Logan, dearest. Do you have a place to stay? A shelter from the harsh streets and the colds winds?" Ponytail slides over shoulder and into view as she blinks over at him. "Should I make it up to you" A gesture to his hand "By offering you shelter in my oh so humble abode with it's maids and free food, ample drugs, fabulous entertainment and comfortable beds?"
"I'll give that a seven," Logan says, with a smile that almost makes it to his eyes as he finishes off the dregs of gin, brushes past her to set down the glass. "Actually I do have a place to stay, but call it my inner gypsy or whatever. Or having a bunch of Chinese fuckers out after me for not compensating their stupid yacht and said place to stay is in the heart of bleeding Chinatown."
A hand drifts to catch her arm, and there's an instant shimmer of mood-warmth low in her gut, as artificial as it is pleasant. "I could certainly make it worth your while."
Even if he hadn't added in his fail safe, Wendy would have given in. Not because there'd be on hand a source of another slightly more natural high without the horrid after effects that some can have, but because she feels guilty, tremendously guilty that by giving the name to Jin, they broke Logan's fingers from the looks of it.
"I think I have a spare key. Spare bedroom or two as well, for you to come in and use as you see fit till they renovate the damage" Her own hand comes down on the inside of his arm, leveling a grin at him. "Not like I have family descending any time soon and they stick out at the Hamptons anyways" Oh to be born to money like she was and say 'the house in the hamptons'. "Studio is off limits. Lookie no touchie. Unless you wanna try doing something artistic, then, i could let you in. Maybe"
His eyes shine a little not with power use, despite that chemical tug, but at the silver platter he's handed. "That would be very generous of you." Honesty rings surprised in Logan's voice, before he leans in to dart a kiss to her cheek, before rocking back on his heels. "And. And that would be the Percocet, wouldn't it." Not to mention the gin that went with it. He retracts his hand from her arm with a dry chuckle. "'ere, why don't you show me these spare rooms of yours until you cave and decide I match the decor of your bedroom much better."
"Logan, you already match it. My bedroom is themed peacocks. You have so much in common. " Zing. Vain. Hands are released as she levers a peck on his cheek too. "So does the percocet. God, you need to relax. They're not getting in here without a shit load of passing security. I should call up a fucking masseuse to see if you'd actually relax. But, come on, you can check out the place, show you the bathroom and if you find you like the spare room better, well, I suppose you could stay in them. Come on come on come on, the dime tour!"
Someone else possibly staying there. Not that one night stands don't spend the night, the doormen are so used to it. "Just leave a list of what you like to eat, and Darcie will pick up the groceries"
Obligingly, he trails after her, long arms coming to wrap around himself, though he doesn't do too much glancing - he's been here before, after all, and instead watches her, as ever. "Trust me, my love, you don't need a masseuse to get me to relax," Logan points out. "Narcotics are only optional too, if greatly appreciated. Wendy— "
He stops, then, before she can disappear into the spare room to show it to him, standing in the limbo section of apartment that's not quite a hallway, nor the living room proper. "Come here."
"You say that now, but they are a great way to unwind and forget about the world for an hour or mo-" Her palm is on the door to the first room in the hall when Logan stops her, causing her to lean on one foot and wheedle back and forth, the other up in the air. Her lids lower for a few moment a fraction of an inch before she pushes away.
"Something wrong? Peacock thing was a joke Logan"
"And it was very amusing." The twist of a smile indicates that offense wasn't taken - nor is there something wrong, necessarily, save for the fact she isn't obeying. It's his injured hand he holds out expectantly for her, that slice of exposed palm turned up towards the ceiling, bandages and splint doing much to conceal damage, as the rest of his hand is whole and clean.
Not wanting to offend, guilt, a like of pleasing and because he's a guest bring Wendy away from the door and back towards Logan with a puzzled look marring her features and slipping her artist worn hand into his. She's careful of the splints and how she puts her hand in his when she does. "okay.."
Predictably, Logan's ability sinks its claws into her system, a stronger push of serotonin and slower release of endorphins. His good fingers tangle with hers, splint pressing cold against her wrist as his other hand seeks out her arm. "My turn to ask; something wrong?" The glow of his eyes is not preternatural light enough to reflect off eyelashes, but they're still vivid, a hunting cat's green. "I would suggest that you're the one who should relax."
"Nothing's wrong." One hand waves away the question. "Guilt is all Logan. I'm partly responsible for you getting hurt. But I can make it up to you so it'll all be fine" His gift, the use of it no matter how little goes a way to easing the guilt and relaxing her. "But then again, you got my money too so, at least that will pay for your doctors bills" Her hand sinks warm, grip gentle in his. "I need to make it up to you. and if I can do that by giving you a roof over your head till the Dorchester fixes your apartment, then I can do that. I don't think Jin and his friends will think to look for you here"
He shakes his head, as his ability continues to wind and climb her mood, the blunter, physical aspects of emotions higher, the natural curve of bliss and giddiness for as long as he can touch her. "I don't think they will either. Trust me, everything is more than fine and made up for. There is just one loose thread left untended." They're at all almost equal height, and so it doesn't take much save for a step forward for Logan to nudge her into a kiss - rather than a coy and ever so slightly camp peck to the cheek, it's soft, not quite gentle enough to be chaste, and as ever, awfully presumptuous.
What he offers up on his own silver platter along with the soaring emotions is accepted for what it is. Wendy's not an idiot, John Logan doesn't love her and she doesn't love him. He's a guy, she's a girl. He's a manipulator and she knows that what she's feeling, in the back of her brain is all so artificial.
But that's what she likes about him. That he can give her the artificial the same as she can give him.. something, in return. She gives him the kiss in return, heightened in affection by the green of his eyes and what it signifies while alternatively tugging at him to start stumbling and walking down the hall towards the door. The giggling sound that seems to reverberate off the walls coming from her as a result of him. 28 year olds giggling like a teenager. "Come on then. I'll show you the peacock room if i'm forgiven. I'll show you others ways I'll make it up to you"
It's kind of like letting in the cat who was scratching at the door. They'll take everything you have and then some, but with jjjust the right amount of affection, they can even get away with it. Logan's smile is bright as he's tugged, arms wrapping around her as he guides her the rest of the way. The notion of treating the world and everyone in it like a bitch in heat, Caliban's scathing words thrown so easily at him, is briefly contemplated upon before dismissed in the next moment.
It's gotten him this far, after all.