Something About Happy Daggers


logan_icon.gif satoru_icon.gif

Scene Title Something About Happy Daggers
Synopsis Satoru returns to the nest, confesses feelings, and makes inappropriate implications.
Date June 17, 2009

Outside The Happy Dagger

Sometime during the evening, it rained. Right now, a shrug away from dawn, the oil-grey sky is dry and clear of clouds, the slickness of rain left behind making the black asphalt of the parking lock shine like glass and reflect the neon lights just as well. As shiny as a fisherman's raincoat or the skin of a whale, though the nearest port is a Vespa's trip from the Rookery.

No cars in this parking lot anymore, although a van is parked around the corner. Periwinkle paint is obscured by the brighter neon from the building.

Even at this hour, Staten Island doesn't sleep. Right now, there's laughter, a collection of footsteps against the ground as a small group of men make their way out the backdoor of the brothel. An early morning breakfast at Shooters is their probable aim, the collection of security guards off their shift and inclined to enjoy each other's company for the length of time it takes to drink one for the road.

A minute also after the pack had gone and dispersed into the wild, John Logan emerges with a coat thrown over his clothes in an effort to look civilian, not particularly expensive and almost shabby, with a deep hood currently loosely hanging at his back. It obscures the silk, the velvet, and he's dressed entirely in black. He pauses once his wingtip shoes hit the asphalt, taking out his silver cigarette holder to light up, brow furrowed in temporary concentration as he touches flame to cigarette, burning embers glowing bright orange. Around him, the neon lights, one by one, shut down at someone's flick of a switch.

A wisp of smoke is a fine white tendril of ashiness in the wind before dispersing again.

In all likelihood, Satoru had probably not intended to come back so soon after having spoken with Ghost. Sure, it's been a few hours since then, but he had figured on returning a bit before his next shift, rather than at the end of this one.

He did not work tonight either, of course, though in all likelihood should return to work tonight, barring any unpleasant happenings after he confronts-slash-apologizes to his boss about his recent absence. When he arrives in the vicinity of the Happy Dagger, it's with the intent to slip through labyrinthine passageways to Logan's office, as per usual, and with his mind on that goal, he almost completely misses the man while en route. That, and he's walking a bit slumped, head down, not really paying that much attention to passers-by.

But it is just as he passes Logan that he starts slightly, realizing his mistake, and turns around again. "Hey," is what finally suffices as a greeting, or at least a means of ensuring his boss doesn't mistakenly disregard him as well.

He's still wearing the clothes that he'd been found in earlier; his usual blue pants, and, coincidentally enough, a black hoodie over his torso. It's rather over-large, but it isn't quite ridiculous on the younger boy, though it does skirt the line rather closely. If nothing else it does cover him up almost entirely — while his hands are currently in the kangaroo pocket, the sleeves do go well past his fingertips.

Ultimately, one thing that Ghost had been particularly right about is that Toru could use a shower.

Logan's shoes scrape against the asphalt as he turns in acknowledgment, even before Toru had realised who he was walking past. So there are already green eyes in his direction by the time he's looking, all English superiority and feline curiousity and of course just a hint of ice in the paleness of his eyes. Long fingers hold his cigarette clamped between them, bone-white and tipped with glowing orange, which comes up as a bright point of reference when he goes to take another drag of it.

"Hey," he responds, sardonic in mimicry, smoke curling out the corners of his mouth as he does so. His other arm goes out, wrist flicks to banish his sleeve further back down his arm, a hint of shining silver and glass as his watch is revealed. "Better late than never, I suppose. How long'd it take for Ghost to find you, then?"

"I guess that depends on when you sent him, innit?" Toru slips into an exaggerated Cockney on that last word which, while inappropriate in grammar, nonetheless works as well in returning the sarcasm. "Came by prolly a little before shop opened." He sniffs, wipes at his nose with the edge of his sleeve, though this is due to chill for once rather than tears. "And like I told him, it ain't like you don't know why I left."

With that, he moves over to the nearest wall, turning to lean his back against it with an irritated sort of huff. "So I don't see as how you got any reason to be surprised about that, or nothin'. Anyway." Hand is lifted again, this time to run over his hair - though in doing so, he keeps his hand tucked into his sleeve. Tousle, tousle. "I don't mean to get all emotional or any shit like that, but you wanna talk, or what?" Probably not the best idea putting that question in the hands of John Logan, but there it is. And after a pause, his voice is lowered a touch as he adds, "I guess I'm gay."

Oh, boy.

"I never did say I was surprised," Logan notes, after a moment, an arm coming to cross around his middle, other arm rested against it at the elbow, forearm raised to keep his cigarette aloft, which continues to spool out a fine tendril of smoke. "But I figured it might be easier for you to have someone come along and haul you out of your sulk by the scruff of the neck. God forbid you be mature about it.

"You should be thanking me."

People with emotions. Regret, guilt, shame. Hurdles that life has apparently allowed Logan to simply dodge rather than make unnecessarily straining leaps and bounds. He paces on closer towards Satoru, but keeps a distance, as is professional. "Sorry to hear that. Women are often prettier."

With possibly expected irony, Toru crosses his arms across his chest in a somewhat petulant pose — made all the more so given that he looks like a child in his father's clothing with that sweatshirt — and looks off to the side. "Fine. Not surprised. Whatever. I don't know, some word like that." For someone who insists he isn't dumb, his oft-referred-to intellect never seems to come to his aid when he needs it to. As far as maturity goes, he notes, "I'm twenty years old, man, I'm just a kid."

He sighs, runs that hand over his hair again, and looks over to his boss. Fairly certain he's feeling rather a bit more awkward about this than the other man. "I mean, fine, not a kid, but— maybe I'll thank you when I'm thirty. When I'm lookin' back at my youth and thinkin' 'bout all the dumb shit I done, huh?" He takes in a deep breath, sighs again. Let's give maturity a try. "Look, man, I di— at least I'm pretty sure— I think I liked it." This is mumbled a bit. Bright blush, there. "I freaked out because it's never happened before. I was gonna come back, I just didn't know what I was gonna say when I did."

Not awkward, no. Awkward implies a sense of insight, of looking at yourself and seeing the faults in what you're doing and saying and letting that sense of self-consciousness throttle you into stammers and stop-starts. Uncomfortable, though, that fits Logan fine right now in defensive stance and bewildered silence, and is a lot like awkwardness really! Kind of like chemical addiction is a bit like love. Logan is like a lot of things. He's a lot like a human being, also.

He sucks in another lungful of smoke as Toru speaks, the chilly morning breeze snagging it away before the scent can linger. "For what it's worth," he finally states, a little flatly, "you were meant to like it."

Just. So that's out of the way, not to diminish your revelation there, kid. Logan's hand moves to ash his cigarette so it doesn't get on his coat, as worn as it is. "And you still have your job, and the offer to come with should we head for the mainland. That what you're worried about? Aside from— " He's not smiling. Not with his mouth, anyway. "Aside from your identity crisis. Pretty sure that's part and parcel for being twenty-years-old."

The initial response elicits a near-jump of surprise at Toru; not so much what Logan said, but the fact that Logan, of all people, said it. That his boss would actually intend for someone other than himself to enjoy something is nothing less than startling. Toru does have a general idea of the sort of man he works for, after all. Nonetehless, once Logan finishes speaking, Toru replies, "That.. it kinda boils down to that, I guess. I wasn't really sure I'd wanna come back. I didn't figure you'd care either way." His tone doesn't make that come out as a barb, though it could easily be taken that way.

After a moment of silence wherein he weighs a mulls a few things over, the younger man suddenly blurts out, "I don't have a crush on you." Unlike his prior assertions of 'I'm not gay' or 'No, seriously, I'm not gay', this one, while oddly specific, rings a bit less like denial. "I mean, er, just. I figure so you know I'm not gonna be all.. weird or anything. Like that. I mean, I know girls'll do that a lot with guys who…" …and that thought is left pointedly unfinished. "…anyway. Um. I just, you know. In case." Blushing a bit more, there, he looks to the ground, clearly even more uncomfortable than he'd already been. "I guess that's it, unless you wanted.. anything else."

"Anything else?" Logan asks, musingly, before taking a final breath of smoke and then pitching the cigarette towards the nearest puddle, and his hands seek the pockets of his coat. He meanders a little closer, just a shy inside conversation space. "What things I could ask for. You know, first time with a man— first time with a woman— I never had the excuse of being chased. Even at that point in time, I knew exactly what I wanted and took it. I was even sober."

There's a pause, Logan hesitating, but not for any reason Toru will know about. A judgment is made about how he'd like to manipulate the boy's biochemistry, which is, nothing at all. Not at the moment. "Never got to be corrupted. But in case you hadn't noticed, we were both drunk at the time."

With guys who…

A twist of a smirk, moving half a step closer. "You want to play victim. I shouldn't be surprised that you scurried off to feel sorry for yourself for a couple of nights. I should know that, god forbid, you don't like me or anything, but even more surprising, you didn't hate it. I should also know that you have every right to quit your job now, but you won't. Thanks for letting me know all that, now kindly—

"Grow up." Callous but perhaps not necessarily intending to be cruel. His voice is almost pleasant. And ironic— perhaps sort of bad— that it should be Logan of all people dispensing this advice. "Just a little. It'll hurt less if you do. And be here tomorrow, seven o'clock sharp."

For a minute there, Toru is almost scared, and it isn't even on account of power usage. He cowers down a bit, almost flinching at a few of those statements, many of which are fairly deserved; he isn't really used to having people openly criticize him. At least not about things that are relevant as opposed to generic taunts. Those are easier to ignore.

"I didn't mean it that way. I don't dislike you. And I don't have to like you. I meant that.. I just meant lots of times girls get all mookie over guys who…" And again, despite his efforts to clarify, he tries to gloss over that statement, but finally stammers, "…guys who're… who're their first, y'know." A long sigh. "I didn't mean you forced me." Even if he does feel that way to an extent, and practically said as much to Ghost.

"I'm not quitting because it's not a bad job." Despite the fact that he knows, or strongly suspects, that Ghost was right about his suspicions he'd get sent to shoot Toru if he didn't come back to work. "And it's hard to get a civvie job with the whole prison record thing going on. I'll be here tonight, I just wasn't sure if I'd be able to do my job if I came back right after."

First. That's interesting. First first or— well. Logan manages not to laugh, but he does allow a smile to play out this time, jackal-like. "If I didn't want for you to come back and on the clock once more— well there are other people I could have sent, or no one at all. For the record, I don't have a crush on you either, but I'm pretty sure I think I liked it."

It'll be familiar, now, the gentle coaxing of mood, chemical-based, fuzzy at the edges— nothing like the slam of endorphins Logan felt fit to unleash beneath the mask of alcohol, but that minor subtlety that it seems no one can describe as anything other than—

Good. It's meant to dull the edges of mockery, honest mockery though it might be.

"Anyway." Logan takes an abrupt step back, the intent to continue home in his movement. "If you're that concerned, there's a couple of women here who like to brag about turning men straight. You could give 'em a run for their money if you so wish— or your money, pardon. Unless you make those same bright big puppy eyes you gave me— they might topple over themselves to oblige."

As does happen on occasion, the boost in good mood comes with a certain level of confusion as well, but, of course, there is no thought in Toru's mind to question Logan about it. After all, such mood shifts happen often enough when he isn't around his employer that there isn't a connection to be made. Sometimes, for seemingly no reason, you are allowed to just feel good. Even despite there being little reason to.

If he actually knew what was going on, he'd probably have some other irritating torrent of emotions to deal with anyway.

"I didn't think you did," Toru finally replies. Have a crush. "Not to be rude or anything, but I don't get the idea that you care about other people." And surely enough, his tone is neither rude nor suggestive; simply an honest statement of opinion. If anything, he might mean it in a good way. "You think I ain't tried getting with any of the girls? I can't really g—" He stops abruptly, there. No need to get too personal.

And puppy eyes are not a detail that Toru recalls, thank you very much.

"I care about people," Logan rebuts, although his tone seems to lack the seriousness of a true argument. "Myself. The Millwall football team 'cross the pond." The honest statement of opinion seems to be met with acceptance, and the beginnings of a smile from the pimp that don't suggest complete schadenfreude, for once.

A snort of laughter at Toru's trailed off statement, before Logan waves a hand. "Go home. Enjoy your new place in life, you don't want to wind up like Tucker, now do you?" Repressed to hell and back, in other words.

The hem of Logan's coat flicks as he turns away, aiming his meandering saunter for the streetside of the parking lot. He probably even struts around at home, too.

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