Participants:
| Scene Title | Something Stupid |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Logan makes a visit on Niki, gets Jessica and warns them both not to do anything stupid. |
| Date | July 23, 2009 |
Outside of Old Lucy's
Strange, is fate. The way it makes us walk down paths both entirely familiar and completely separate. Despite the many bars, both the dive variety and more high class, that Logan has walked in and out of, Old Lucy's is one he has only ever entered once. It holds a special kind of signicance. The beginning of the end, in many ways.
He's not going inside, fuck no. Better to stick your hand in a hornets nest, or jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and hope an angel catches you. Incidentally, Logan has nothing to fear, but he doesn't know that. Doesn't desire to. So he remains a rather lanky shadow leaning against the outer wall of the bar, shy out of sight should anyone undesirable step outside, a get away in the form of ducking into the side alley. For now, he simply looks like a man who's stepped out for a smoke, the lit cigarette between his fingers and his silhouette defined by the leather jacket he wears and tailored, black slacks. The shirt beneath the leather is of expensive make, naturally, but his boots are well worn, old, industrial.
It's about that time, when Linderman's man had said she'd get off work pretty shortly. With twitchy restlessness, Logan flicks his cigarette, acknowledges the cowardice of skulking outside like a kicked dog, and takes a long pull of spiced smoke.
Despite her rocky start, Niki has managed to hold on to the job at Old Lucy's. Her desire to try and find something normal about her life drives her to keep it, and with that, her apartment as well. Granted, she's far from the perfect employee, but she's settled into a nice peaceful existence going from home to work to home and doing her best to stay out of trouble since the day that Jessica made her way to the Linderman building.
She's bundled up the evening trash as she has begun to close down the bar. Knowing her strength, she's put on this shift to ensure that those who are supposed to leave at the designated time leave. As of yet, she's not had to force anyone out. She hopes she doesn't have to. Her recent conversations with Jessica and Gina have been unrewarding. Jessica wants to tear down Linderman's building brick by brick, girder by girder, and Gina just wants a change of scenery. Niki, however, cannot bring herself to run. To hide. Nor can she bring herself to put herself in danger. Even if he doesn't have a living, breathing body, Micah still exists and needs her. She steps out the back and tosses a couple of bags of trash into the dumpster, then locks the door behind her as she steps out of the alley to head for home.
The sound of footsteps has Logan going still— what if it's Deckard or Abigail or Teodoro or— in patient observation, keeping his focus on his burning cigarette and tilting a casual glance to the woman who steps out of the alley, with all the confidence of someone who doesn't need to worry when it comes to roaming dark streets. And of course, Logan recognises her - he has enough photos of enough angles to do that much - and so he moves.
Which is around the same time that she might be able to feel it. A sort of subtle shift in physicality, the weight of the world seeming a little heavier on her shoulders when superstrength is gently shelved. It comes at the same time as—
"Niki." The name is spoken sharply, deliberately, and without familiarity, and the sound of footfalls against the asphalt accompanies it. In many ways, Logan is a rather normal sight, all sharp angles and good posture, but his eyes are distinctively bright in all the dim lighting, circles of green that don't quite glow, but have a cat-like element to them, as if able to catch any and all light and stand out in the darkness. The Englishman takes a drag from the cigarette, blows it out in a sharp stream after a shallow inhale. "Mind you, that's a guess."
Niki, as per usual, removes the the ponytail from her hair, allowing it to fall down around her shoulders as she starts to step away from the alley. Of course, the scent from his smoke would be the first indication that perhaps someone is around. It isn't uncommon for her to smell it, but it should have been the first sign. The second would have been that subtle tingling that would warn her of something else in her immediate area. But it's the third, her name being called that causes her to stop in her tracks, her sneaker scraping against the blacktop as she stops and turns towards the voice.
"I wonder when he'd finally send someone. I guess what you have to decide is just who it is you're meeting." Niki or Jessica. "If you're here for trouble, let's get it over with. If you're here to give me a message, then just give it so I can get home. I've had a long shift." She doesn't stand as if she's about to do battle, but she rarely needs that sort of preparation.
Logan keeps his distance, in a respectable manner, coming to his own casual stance and watching her carefully. The corner of his mouth turns up at her words, nodding once. "I like a woman who tries to call the shots," Logan says, in a note of conspiracy. "No, who are you's, or what do you want's. Straight to the point. You've got style, Ms. Sanders."
He flicks the cigarette away, and it goes flaring tip over butt into the curb, where many others just like it have been similarly discarded. "Thing is, my message is different for whomever I'm talking to, innit? But I figure— a job like this at a bar like that, I'm thinking I guessed right. Niki Sanders, working girl, moderately honest living. Tell me something, between you and me, between friends, what do you want from Mr. Linderman?"
A smile is cast her way in open presumptuousness, insincere in the way it shows canines. "I think we already know what Jessica wants."
"I think you'll be very lucky if it's not her you're talking to at this moment. She might not have my patience, but that doesn't necessarily mean mine is limitless." She lifts her hands to wave him off. "If Linderman doesn't know what I want, then he's far and away a bigger fool that everyone gives him credit for. Is it really so hard?" Niki takes a step closer to the man, though her manner in no way suggests it's in a threatening manner.
"What do you think I want? The man hid my son from me. He let my son die alone. I could have been there for him but his selfishness kept my son from me when he needed me most. He let me go on thinking he was dead, while he was fighting for his life. You tell me what any mother would want under those circumstances?" The passion that flickers in her eyes is evident as she speaks, even in the dark of the alleyway.
In contrast, Logan's eyes do flare in the darkness, but it's not with passion. Ice cold, if anything, analytical without understanding. He takes a step or so forward as well, despite her warning, a saunter in his approach over than true threat. He's not a physically imposing man at the best of times and he's not trying to be now. "I imagine she'd want her son back," Logan says, voice somehow equal parts gentle and snappish, though his bright eyed gaze is a severe one. "At the end of the day. But she's not gonna get it by going on a vendetta."
He tilts his head to her. "Give it up. Tell Jessica to give it up. Mr. Linderman knows well what it is to lose someone close to you, so see this as a kindness, that he's letting you walk away. But you know these rich businessmen types - they don't like to say things twice."
The change in her voice is subtle. Just a little more husky than before as her own subtle change begins to take place. Rub the genie's lamp and get your wish, isn't that how it goes? "You can tell Linderman to go screw himself. One day he'll pay for what he's done, and if I have any say in it, he'll pay by my hands. And I'll enjoy every minute of it. Someone needs to shut him down. One day, I'll catch up to him. So, if you're his messenger boy then you can take this message to him. I'll find him."
Jessica seems to be done talking as she turns to start down the alley towards Niki's home. Her shoulder roughly brushes against his without apology as she starts to move away from him. She's given her message, this discussion appears to be over as far as she's concerned.
The bump of her shoulder easily has him shifted away and out of her path, Logan putting up no resistance, almost lazily so. He turns with it, watching her back for a moment, and he doesn't pursue her. He glances up and down the street, a look of brief disdain showing in the tension of his brow. This would be easier, on Staten Island. Things are so much simpler, there.
So rather than foot falls or flying weapons of any kind, Logan lets his voice follow her instead. "Let it go or the next time we talk we won't be, if you catch my drift, darling. You're not going to kill him. You're not going to touch a hair on his head, so don't die trying. I'm not a messenger boy. I'm the man whose here to make sure you don't do something stupid."
Whatever confidence Niki might lack, Jessica makes up for in spades and then some. She reaches up and flicks her blond hair back as if waving him off. "When I come for Linderman, don't be the one who gets in my way. Then who would go around delivering all of his messages?" Her back is still to him as she talks, but the quiet of the alley carries her voice just fine. Though as she furthers the distance between them, she does turn around and walk backwards. "So be a good little boy and go deliver your message back to Linderman. I will be coming for him." She grins and just before she reaches the main road, "So, I guess you can expect me to do something stupid."
Logan's languid demeanor closes up like a steel trap, an expression on his face that's partway sneer, partway scowl. But as she moves away, the glow of his eyes dim back into that pale, icy green that they naturally are, indistinguishable in the darkness, and he brings his hands up to adjust his jacket around him. That subtle tingle returns, rightness restore, almost indefinable when her ability remains dormant.
And this time, there's a feeling low in her gut, a spiral of good mood, however it might manifest with the subtle shift of serotonin to make the world seem more favourable. It might not even be so out of place.
"What a bad little girl you are," Logan says, voice silky, too much so, as insincere and theatrical as much of his affectation, although it's without the smirk this time. He raises a hand, fingers waggling in a wave. "I'll be seeing you then, Ms. Sanders."
The feeling that strikes her doesn't go unnoticed, though she attributes it more to the situation than to him, which could be an issue later. Regardless, Jessica doesn't offer him a response, but turns and takes a left as she reaches the street and heads for home. No, she thinks to herself, definitely not a good girl. It might have even been a small giggle that escapes her lips, rather uncharacteristically. She continues to walk home a smile on her lips.