Participants:
| Scene Title | The Damage |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Miranda and Logan discuss it, re: a man with too many names, and the latter convinces the former to work with him. |
| Date | August 30, 2009 |
Outside Burlesque
From the outside, Burlesque resembles any other strip joint off its hours. The sign that would glow neon pink is faded mutely grey like a blind man's eyes, and the chrome door sealed shut doesn't, right now, have red carpet rolled out in front of it or twin security men taking stiff-backed position on either side. The daylight shows up the faults in the brickwork, the stains on the pavement, and the smudges on the glass in the heavily curtained windows.
Currently, Logan is having a fag outside, which is British for something that isn't what people might automatically think. Not that he's not permitted to smoke within his own strip club, but he's waiting for someone, and sunlight is good for you. Even if he manages to look like an anemic vampire under the directness of daylight, no veils of shadow and cigarette haze and all the seedy layers of a smokey booth inside at nighttime, his usual habitat. His clothing is also too evening, black lines of his suit framing the brilliant red of his shirt, the waistcoat beneath oily in its silky make.
He ashes off his cigarette, glances at the simple silver watch on his wrist, and lurks about the front door as if that's where he's meant to be, choosily loitering.
Arriving by taxi, Miranda slips out the back seat after forking over the ragged bills to pay for her ride to the club. As she unfolds herself, she glances around the street, closing the door and stepping away to allow the cabbie drive off. A sigh escapes her, a thoughtful look to cross her face before she finally turns away, dismissing the driver from her mind. Here's hoping the man might take her gentle dropped hints.
As her gaze turns away from streetside, it finds the building she's come to visit, the worn exterior shown off so nicely in the bright sunlight to leave her smiling at some idle thought. But, it's the smoking man glimpsed that soon gains her full attention, and it's then as she steps in his direction, that she takes a peek at his emotions - always a good thing to know what you might be facing before even opening your mouth, right? Right.
Bored. Which, in turn, is boring, if not for the wealth of some sort of undercurrent of churning anxiety that might have something to do with how constantly sleepless he looks. No recent injuries, no true ailing health problems, unless you can count the general plague of most twenty somethings who diet on late nights, alcohol and cigarettes. But also detachment. A piece missing. It's probably not the deepest aura Miranda herself might explore, as if perhaps he were able to conceal it, or just— maybe he is that shallow. It's hard to see at a glance. Which is all she gets by the time he sees the woman making steps in his direction.
The cigarette is pitched to the mottled grey pavement, crushed out under the slightly raised heel of an Italian leather shoe, and a bright smile that doesn't even slightly affect his aura is given to her in greeting as the erstwhile pimp and current strip club owner awaits her proper approach.
"You'll be Miranda, I expect. You look how you sound," Logan says, once she's within range, his own English accent matching what she heard on the phone herself.
Such an intriguing mix is found in his aura, Miranda's gaze taking it all in on the side. Each color, each pattern or flicker, to be unconsciously picked apart and the meanings behind given to her her mind. Shallowness, whether real or not, intrigues her. Might not be the deepest aura she's seen, but there's things about it that draws her interest.
A smile appears upon her lips, curling them upwards to reveal the whiteness of her teeth, eyes to show a hint of humor in their hazel depths. "That would be me, yes." Her accent would show her as being a 'local' from NYC to those familiar with the tones. "I do? I'm glad to know that now.. good, I hope?" She cannot help but grin, a laugh to escape her at the last moment as a hand is held out to him, "Sorry I called and ruined your afternoon, but I figured I had a few things you might want to know since the boss told me to talk to you."
The hand is taken without hesitation, a brisk, business-like handshake that he allows to linger as he adds; "Attractive. Being, how you sound. But 'good' works too." Logan's own eyes are an icy variation of green, nearing grey but not quite making it, and these don't bother with a sweep up and down - simply meet her's as he retracts his hand, steps back, goes to push open the doors. "Never mind ruining anything - thanks for coming all the way out here. Somehow I doubt these corners of town are really your scene. Come on in, the place is empty."
'The place' is also a little dark, too, until Logan flicks on the house lights and allows a warm, orange dim to fill the shadowy corners of the club. None of the more exciting lights are on, and the curtains banish away most sunlight. The decorative stages are also unlit up, and reflect glassily and metallic, looking a little bereft like this.
Kind of like when you walk into an empty, abandoned theatre. There's a stray feather left on the ground, that gets swept aside under the slight draft as Logan leads the way inside. "Do you drink at this hour?"
Her own handshake is as firm and businesslike as his, Miranda to once more smile as he explains, "Well, I'm not against accepting attractive either." Laughing, her gaze holds his until he steps back and turns to push open the door to the club. Her steps sound lightly upon the cement of the sidewalk, her low heeled sandals offering a faint hint of her passing as she moves to follow after him.
Pausing there as he turns on the lights, her gaze soon passes over the expanse of the club looking lonely, much like an aging hooker who still tries to make it on the street with the young girls. Turning as he moves, she steps away from the door, soon to follow after him. "A drink would be nice. I've been up since… way too freaking early this morning."
He veers around the long stretch of black glass bar, leaning down enough to flick open one of the small refrigerators below the rows and rows of spirits to select a wine - merlot, this time, as opposed to the dry pale variety he'd served a woman of the Linderman Group before. Not that he himself couldn't use a wine. Two glasses are set out, poured, Logan remaining on the tender's side of the bar even as he leans his elbows against the surface.
"I can relate to graveyard hours," he states, over the gentle sound of wine filling the deep curves of the glasses, sliding one towards her. "Used to do them all the time. This place's actually made me get better sleep, what with curfew and everything." In theory, anyway.
Approaching the bar, Miranda finds a place where she might stand, half leaning against the counter as he goes about opening and pouring the wine into the glasses. Thanking him quietly before taking the one meant for herself, she draws it closer, a sip to be taken and the bouquet to be savored before she smiles, "Thank you.."
But, as conversation continues, she laughs quietly, the sound husky and at ease, "I do them as needed for the boss here and there. This time, I volunteered to take another's shift so they could go do something with their family.." A shrug is given, the motion simple before she swirls the wine in her glass, glancing back to him, "Curfew… don't remind me."
There's the dull clunk of the wine bottle being set aside from them, Logan's elbows folding on the bar's surface, forearms lazily crossed and long fingers spidering over the rim of his own glass that he only rotates around a little as he listens. His mouth pulls into a half-smile, eyes hooding as he drops his gaze with a shimmer of a shrug. "A real job. Couldn't imagine that."
He takes a sip of the rich red, letting his eyeline dart back around the club, the silver polls of vertical cliche and raised stages and the tables that will, not before long, be slowly filling with patrons. "I'd prefer to own a bar one day. Can't go wrong with someone that just puts out drinks for a living. Give me less of a headache.
"What've you got for me, smalltalk aside?"
"Real job.. part-time, at least." Miranda laughs as she brings the glass back to her lips, another sip to be taken of the rich red in the glass. As it's lowered, she holds it in her hand, gaze dropping to it for a moment before finally setting it down and looking back to him. Her position there is as casual as his,one arm set across the counter as she meets his gaze, "Headache? Dealing with the strippers and such?" She asks, curious for the brief moment.
But, business is brought up, and she states, "Boss had me look up someone that's been a little MIA from things. I caught up to him, and learned a few things the other day.. " A pause, and she gives the name, "Mortimer Alex Jack, though he goes by Jack right now."
"Fuck me, that's a lot of names, innit?" Not that Logan doesn't already know them - his tone of one is mutual observation, imploring her to agree with this foolishness, although he's answering her question in the next moment. "It's women. They always lead to bad endings and trouble. Not in that particular order, but sometimes. You'd probably be surprised. I may as well be running a bar, really - the girls rent the stage and earn their living off tips. I make sure the alcohol's pushed so as to keep the place going. I've just gotten a taste for it, I guess."
He knocks back another sip, and moves back around the end of the bar so that he might sit on the patron side. He levers himself up onto the stool just beside her, one leg instinctively stiff, but otherwise fine. Now Miranda gets a look up and down, although searching as he inquires, "You got anything about Jack on paper?"
"It's a bit of a mouthful, yeah. I'll stick with Jack for now." Miranda laughingly agrees with him, another sip of her wine take before she grins at him, "Well, as long as your taste doesn't change? That would suck then." Whatever she means by that, leaves her grinning and trying to hide that behind the lift of her glass again.
Lowered again, the glass is played with before she looks up as he comes around to sit next to her, not minding the brush of his leg against hers. "No, not much on paper. I only know that the boss would like him back, wanted him checked up on. What I know of him.. is what I learned while with him." There's something there in her expression that might suggest to a man like Logan, that the woman seems uncertain on hiding things from the guy. She likes him.
Logan nods once to her statement about what the boss would like, re: the man in question, twirling his wine glass back and form in a pendulum swing between his fingers, the crimson liquid shifting in a circle beneath this absent bout of fidgeting. He angles his head as he studies her before responding; "That right? Well then." Another smile traded her way through the dim lights of the empty club, silent save for the noises of traffic beyond. "Then you'd better tell me what you learned so I might better make sure everyone's where they need to be. Locations would be fantastic - what's he up to, what's he like, that sort've thing. Though I doubt this is your first rodeo."
"It's not my first, but it's.. not like the ones i've done before." Miranda says after a moment, then soon turns back, "Give me a little more time with him, see if I can't bring him back to work? I'm not sure what he would do for the group right now, actually." The last of the wine is downed before she sets the glass aside, turning towards him, "He's broken right now, and he trusts me. The man burned himself out to some degree. Built a mechanical arm for the one he lost in the explosion. Went to some crack doctor that helped him 'sane up'.. He's given up his ability in doing that."
"Now, now. You're the one whose job it is to feel the boy out," Logan says, voice gentle and a little singsong, the remains of a smile still at the corner of his mouth. "If you want a change of plan, or time, you're going to have to talk to the boss himself - you have his ear, I wouldn't imagine. And don't worry," his hand drifts out to touch her arm, just above the wrist, "I'll be gentle with him."
What she feels next isn't the blanket control of an empath, the skillful mind control of a telepath. It's baser, cruder, and perhaps more insidious for how simple it is. It's chemical. Serotonin has its functions, and one is mood, a flutter of good feeling that could easily be the alcohol she's drinking or a change of mind - however it's interpreted isn't Logan's job. Just the nervous system, brain juice, and he keeps the tweak subtle, to slide in along with his verbal reassurance.
"Broken?" he adds, raising an eyebrow. "What sort've broken?"
"I called the boss and let him know already.." Miranda says without hestiation before she tilts her head, "If you rush him, I think you'll just do more damage. If we want him back.. we need to give him a little more. I think I have him to the point of trusting me that he won't freak out on me."
The words are given before he reaches out to touch her wrist, the faint touch of his power to snake it's way through her body, shifting her mood. And yet something makes her frown a little - a single glass of wine does not hit her that quick. Pulling her hand away from his, she studies him closer, trying to read deeper of his aura to see if he's up to anything. She /is/ meant to be a defense to Linderman Group, even the big man himself, to read people before he meets with them.
"Broken, as in.. his gift makes him insane, he said. So he went to a doctor, got his problems resolved, and with sanity.. his gift was lost." Miranda answers him, explaining what she at least knows. "But I think I can pull him back in, without anyone having to drag him kicking and screaming."
There's a short amount of silence, Logan seeming to read her as she reads him - but unfortunately, he does not have her gift at his disposal, and even less than. Whatever lightshow surrounds him doesn't particularly shift or change, brighten or darken with his use of ability, the simple nudge slightly too second nature. Then, he polishes off his glass, knocking down the rest of the wine with an exhale out.
"Look." The word is punctuated with the sound of the glass being set back down again. "There's a good reason why Mr. Linderman would see me talk to our Jack, and it has to do with him being broken, as you say. I have a talent for— fixing things of this nature, know what I mean?" Those last four words come out in the usual London slur, as if it were one. "But I tell you what. I reckon you're on to something - about him trusting you. Maybe we should be working together."
There is just something a little odd going on, and if there's one thing that Miranda has learned from working for Linderman, is that just about anything goes power-wise around the place. While she might still remain seated near him, she is cautious for whatever reason, hazel eyes to study the man. Finding nothing in his aura, just leaves her on the edge in that moment.
With his words, and those so empasised, she nods slowly, "You think you could fix him? Really?" The woman asks before she smiles quietly, "I would rather work with you, Logan. I can see why the boss would want him back in the fold. He's down on his luck, depressed because his ex left him, the whole nine-yards. Could easily tip him in all sorts of directions. Yet, he trusts me right now after we went out and all. Convinced him to let go and have some fun. " And then, a curiosity shows, "How would you suggest we work together on him?"
Logan reaches back for the bottle, topping up his only glass, a splash of merlot licking up the transparent sides, coming to stagnant in its bell. "That rather depends on you, doesn't it? We can get 'im back on the preferred track," he sets the bottle back down, scoops up his glass in his cupping palm, the stem between his fingers, "and really, all I need is to meet him - or even better, if you wouldn't mind, me knowing where to find him. You can come, and everything. Hold his hand."
He hesitates, slanting his gaze back towards her, then asks, "You like him, don't you?"
"That easy then?" Miranda asks, considering this for a moment, "I can introduce you two, perhaps. I've asked him over to my place in a few days for a meal. He's staying at a hotel at the moment." That much she can tell since he's not staying under his own name. "I'm not sure if he wants to go back.. but then, I get a sense that part of him does." It's a mystery to her, though as the last is asked of her, she actually blushes a touch before nodding, "I do, yeah. Don't know why, but I guess we clicked. And I'd rather not lose his friendship if I can help it, if that makes any sense."
"No worries," Logan says, with a shrug, a flicker of a smile. "I'm sure you won't. However, if I'm going to be doing this, like this, with you and everything— "
He purses his mouth, thinking for a moment, his pale green eyes turned to crescents under the hood of his lids as he thinks. "Do me a favour in return. I'm— off the books, as it were. Unofficial. Illegal, to get right down to it. I don't want someone we don't know will even come back to us knowing my name and that I can do things just yet, does— that make sense?"
There's an earnestness in his voice, even as his aura stays stagnant, and he tips his glass in a gesture. "I've got enough trouble to deal with than word getting out, and then you'll've lost two employees of the boss in one foul swoop."
A quirk of a brow upwards is made before Miranda laughs, "Do you really think I'd go telling him… or anyone for that matter.. about you, Logan?" Shaking her head, she gestures with one hand, dismissing his worries lightly, "You work for the boss. I don't tell secrets. " Well, unless she's directed to by the bossman himself, ya know? Dropping her hand back to cross arms on the counter, she leans there for a moment, pondering something.
"How long would it take you to do what you need to do to Jack?" The question is asked after a moment, a toss of her curls over her shoulder made as she glances aside to him, "I mean, do you need a lot of contact, or can it be done say.. in an elevator.. or on the street?" She doesn't figure it's that easy, but don't know till you ask.
"Good girl." Somehow, that doesn't come out condescending - at least not in tone, simply grateful and genuine, as if what he meant to say was thank you. Logan takes another sip of wine, shrugs his shoulders loosely beneath his jacket. "Contact is probably better, and some time. But I can probably take care of that myself. Really, I'm just doing my part on a physical standpoint - if you want to be the one to reel him in, ultimately, then by all means, I can leave it at that."
Miranda chuckles softly, "It's been a while since someone's called me 'girl'.." Amusment once more to show before she nods, "I'm just trying to figure out if I should introduce you two, or if it should happen 'in passing'. That's why I'm asking." Again, she glances to him. "I'll bring him in, but if you wanna keep out of it, then perhaps something in passing, where he won't know it was you so much.. if his power comes back.." She worries her bottom lip, "If I go by his words, then a certain amount of insanity does as well. I don't think he'd hurt me, but not so sure about what he'd do to anyone else."
That smile returns, knife-quick and just as steely, though not mean. "Worried about me, now are you? That's flattering," Logan teases, over the rim of his wine glass. "Believe me, I can take care of myself. And as for powers— I have a talent for turning them off, as it were. I'm like a Swiss army knife, that way. You know— you could even bring him here sometime, better yet - see that he drops by alone. From what I've read, he seems the sort to not mind that sort've thing, if you don't mind me saying so."
His hand is dipping into his jacket, extracting a silver cigarette case, fingers exploring through the white cylinders inside. "That way, you don't have to ferret up the details about where he is and what he's doing— " There's a knowing glimmer in his eye that accompanies the smirk. "And I can take care of things. I work best in my natural habitat."
From his pocket, he's also taken out a glossy black business card, with pink cursive reading Burlesque on it, fine white print giving contact info and address, and slides it over in offer.
Miranda chuckles softly, "So I can call you Swiss and not get hit for it?" A tease offered before he pulls out the cigarette, the woman to leans in, offering to light it, if he wishes - with a lighter, of course. "If you'd like that, I could manage it. Might even come back here to see a show myself." Surely, she's got to be joking, though it's not unkonwn for women to come by to watch the strippers as well. Presented with the business card, she smiles, looking over it, before tucking it into a pocket.
Logan goes to lean is when she brings out the lighter, an amused half-smirk accompanying it before he's sharply inhaling a lungful of smoke, with a flare of orange embers. "Well, it's ladies night on Tuesday. You'd get in for free and all cocktails are half-price," he says, and despite the facetious tone and the wink that accompanies it, he's being serious on that count. Pinching the cigarette between index finger and middle, he offers his other hand to her, palm angled upwards but clearly an indication of a handshake. "You let me know how it goes with our Jack, and I can take care of the rest."
The flick of the lighter brings up the flame, offered to the end of the cigarette as he draws in on it. Listening, Miranda nods and grins, "I'll be sure to remember that then.. why buy a drink when you can get it for half price? Or free if I'm lucky." The wink is returned, and the lighter put aside before she takes the offered hand for the shake, forgetting earlier uneasiness about his touch. "I will. " She takes out a card for herself to set on the counter with her name and number on it. "Just in case you need to call me."
The handshake is brief, and no chemical insidiousness this time accompanies it, Logan retracting his hand and taking the business card she's set out, gliding that into a pocket. His feet hit the ground as he levers himself off the stool with a rustle of expensive fabrics of all kinds of textures. Taking a step for the door, to show her out, he pivots first on a heel to face her as he responds with, "Will do. And what if I want to?"
Short and sweet, sometimes the best sort of handshake to have. Miranda slips from her own stool after he does, her own clothing not quite as expensive as his. She starts to walk, following him towards the door, though as he turns about to face her, bringing himself around so close to her as she pauses there behind him. "And if you want.. well.. you have my number, Logan. I wouldn't ignore the call." A simple enough answer, given with an impish grin and gleam of interest in her eye.
That gets an easy smile, certainly satisfied with such an answer, before Logan is reaching back a hand to push open the chrome doors. "I'll let you escape the seedier side of Brooklyn," he says, as sunlight promptly comes streaming within. "Take care, Miranda, I'll be sure to be in touch."
Miranda makes sure to brush against him as she steps by and towards the door that he holds open for her. "Thank you, Logan. I'll get him here soon for you. Give you a call when I know we're headed this way." The words are offered before she adds, "Have a good evening yourself.. don't do anything I wouldn't." And with that, she steps out into the sunlight, and to the cab waiting for her.