Participants:
| Scene Title | Without Strings Attached |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Logan arrives to scratch the itch, and offer a little more help for the long term. |
| Date | October 25, 2009 |
St. Luke's Hospital: Wendy's Room
Evening meals have been passed out then collected, the majority of the hospital and it's patients getting ready for the change in shifts, and preparing their patients for another night in the safe walls of St. Lukes. The TV is set in it's elevated corner to some sunday night movie, a sweeping drama set in the backdrop of a war. Who knows what the name is, surely not Wendy who frankly could care less. She's doodling with her good hand on a sketch pad that her brothers brought, idly drawing what comes to mind and focusing through medicated haze. Machines beep, liquid drips, gaze rests taped to left side of Wendy's face and hides what resides beneath from view. Swelling has gone down thanks to what they pour into her and her left hand rests on the rolling table pinning the pad in place.
Family is elsewhere, their small breaks away for Wendy's sanity though a cellphone resides nearby as a means to communicate really fast and summon them should she need them in her little private haven.
Most people bring flowers, soft toys, well wishing cards, but what was request of Logan was merely himself, and that is exactly what he's brought. Transplanted from the scenery of Burlesque to a hospital ward, he stands out in his usual choices of designer lines and fabric choices, waistcoat in place but foregoing a tie. White walls and clear lights make him distinct in black and royal blue, new leather shoes creaking as he paces down the hall, arriving at Wendy's room.
He knocks, twice, more of a warning as to his imminent arrival than requesting permission as he levers open the door and steps inside, pale under the light but not unhealthy. Hand still bandaged, fingers kept immobilised, although the twinkling splint as is foregone.
"Hello love," is a casual greeting, as he pushes the door closed.
Brown eyes drift over to the door even before the rapping of knuckles, widening a fraction with relief - and joy - at the sight of the decked out Logan gracing the door way of her room. She'd watched the invisible pull glide along the wall when he'd some into range and had hoped it was him and not her brother or some other random evolved in the hospital.
"You, you are a sight for sore eyes" The edges of her voice are slurred, and the smile perhaps a little more one sided than it should, but Wendy looks genuinely happy to see the man who's taken up residence in her condo with her permission. "I hope my hospitality hasn't lacked with my disappearance" The sketch pad and table are eschewed, pushed away to the side in favor of just laying her hands over the woven cotton hospital blanket draped over her legs. "Surely it was better than mine"
Left side of her face kept away from sight leaving just the green and yellow right cheek with it's linger splotches of fading purple courtesy of the rifle butt. "Because let me tell you, if I ever sink to the level of hospitality that Humanis First affords it's guests, just shoot me."
Moving further into the room, with a darting glance around the scenery, Logan picks up a chair by its back, moving to set it down and straddle with long arms resting folded on its edge. And now does his gaze peruse the woman in front of him, linger on the swatch of bandaging on the side of her head, the bruises, the way her hand is bound thicker than his own. "They didn't seem to take very good care of you at all," he agrees, gently. "But your apartment's certainly safe. Didn't get burned down while you were away or anything."
He isn't offering his hand, yet, both arms kept folded where they are on the chair's back, head tilted as he regards her and offers a half-smile. "So, who do I have to have killed?" His tone is light enough to be a jest, at least.
"One of them is dead, so I've heard, Emile Danko is the other. Humanis First. This is twice now, I'm not hearing the end of it from my parents." Wendy doesn't lunge for his hand, no matter how much she'd like to, and seek out that flutter in the pit of her being that he and his touch can bring if he so wants it. "Last I knew though as well, Mr. Danko was having his ass handed to him as well not far from where he was keeping me"
There's a scowl. "Bastard wanted me to tell him what he had. Bill dean that is. The dead man. Locked me up ina cell with his daughter, the leader of Phoenix the little group of terrorists" Wendy sighs and lays her head back against her pillows. "Take a shotgun to all of them"
"Ah. Terrorists. Sounds tedious." Which is small indicator as to how far Logan is going to be leaning away from this string of events, as the only favour terrorists ever did him was downing the VN bridge - and that's only a fraction of the truth. "Sorry to hear you got tangled up in that business, but I'm very glad you're alright." Sincerity is sugar sweet and silver, and as much as his eyes might not communicate it, his voice certainly does, gentled as it is with accent and quietness.
His hands twitch, as if in instinct to go and get a cigarette to fidget with, but they're stilled a moment later upon remembering that that's been bad form since the 80s. "How bad's the damage?" he asks, instead, brow furrowing as he glances to the bandage covering ruin beside her face.
"You won't be whispering naughty things into it Logan, anytime soon. They shot a cellphone out of my hand while I was talking on it" THis was wrong, she shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't have called it. Maybe just should have asked him to bring her some refrain.
"I'm sorry, I should have just left a message at the condo instead of calling you down, it's stupid to ask, really. I'm better off the blue stuff than on it but…"
Wendy's good hand rises to rub at the non gauzed side of her face gently. "I should be back in a few days I can last till then" Surely she can last till then.
Logan's eyes hood for a moment, as if studying the small gap between chair and bed, before he goes to lay his uninjured hand on the bed, palm up and open. "I don't see why you should," he says, simply, dragging that gaze up to meet her's, with a raised eyebrow. "You've already been without for goodness knows how long."
"Seven days, give or take a few hours" Every junkie knows how long it's been since their last hit. Especially when they're been involuntarily without it. "Longer since you. I'm starting to like you better than the blue fairy" Wendy glances down to his hand, swallowing hard and debating before she reaches over, shifting in the bed to slide her thin and hale hand into his. "Just, just thank you. For this, for coming. You're a good man John" Her voice dropped down to hushed and humbled. She's relying on him. She's hooked.
The smile that she gets in response is free of guilt, free of cruelty, as if perhaps he really were a good man and believed it too. Maybe he does. Impossible to tell. The slow burn of euphoria is just that - slow, less the instant hit of heroin or Refrain itself, but near unstoppable once it's started. Logan's eyes glow their vibrant, snaky green as Wendy's blood begins to run with good mood, or that's perhaps the best descriptor for it. Warmth to the surface, the beginnings of that giddy rush.
"I'm less expensive," he adds, which may or may not be a lie, depending on your point of view. His thumb brushes the center of her hand, focusing a little and so therefore, temporarily silent. He's still rusty, with this newly discovered talent, but soon enough he can sure up those behavioral patterns, the cravings, in response to that flow of euphoria. "Ever want to get off it?"
His eyebrows go up, looking back towards her bruised face than their tangled hands. "Refrain, I mean."
"There's no easy way off of it. I've been told it's worse than heroin. I was going through it where they had me. I just wanted to die until they dosed me up and moved me" Little lines in her face smooth, relax and she sinks into the hospital mattress with no small measure of relief. Logan's ability touches it seems what all the drugs they're pushing in her just can't seem to do. "I would. It was a nice experiment. But the withdrawal" Wendy falls silent, hand tightened around Logans as he keeps fiddling with her chemistry, watching the bright greens eyes with her own lids low. "God, you're so good"
As the world grows fuzzy and warm around Wendy, she might only just notice, let alone care about, Logan shifting off his seat to come sit against the edge of her bed, still keeping her hand in his, his eyes still that muted glow. He brings in the scent of the rainy urban outdoors, damp fabric, cologne, wine, cigarettes. Not unclean, but not near the sterility of the hospital room, too invasive.
"I could help." Palm warm, a silver ring around his thumb the only slice of cold against Wendy's palm. "I mean. You know. I could give it a go. It'll take one last hit. One last dream with the Blue Fairy. And then I can make it so you'll never need her again." Or so he theorises, but uncertainty doesn't enter into his voice.
"At what cost?" Nothing comes without string attached. Not when it comes to dealing with drugs, the after effects and the actual taking. She follows him enough with her eyes when he rises to sit on the side of her bed. She inhales deeply, pulling in the general scent of him around the gentle flow of oxygen which brings a smile to her face a little wider than what his manipulations are doing.
"Could you really do that?"
"I could try," is his one concession to perhaps not one-hundred percent success guaranteed, slender shoulders rising and falling beneath royal blue silk and pitch black worsted wool. "Once you're discharged, perhaps, we can try together. And I don't see how you owe me anything - you are how I learned, you realise. And anyway," Logan may or may not be talking to himself, as the giddying effect sweeps Wendy all the more thorough, but he continues all the same, "I've got money, allies, business. There's nothing I need from you, my dear."
And of course, the strings are already attached.
The warm blanket being pulled up, settled around shoulders and keeping her warm. Better than refrain - Blasphemy - and it's dredging up things from the past. This is the here and now and Logan's making everything disappear into a high that's blowing away pain and worry and just floating. "We'll try" is mumbled, words tapering off towards the end as she doesn't try to keep a handle on staying coherent and talking to Logan. "Later"
Eyelids close, fingers don't grip so tight and instead relax, go lax in his grip even as there's a knock on the door from a tall man who bears the familial resemblance that all the siblings share. "Hey. How's Fish?" Coffee's in hand, still steaming. "Friend of hers?"
The glimmering green look Logan switches to the door is, for perhaps a second and a half, vaguely predatory and analytical, brow tensing as he frowns before the invasion makes some sense, looking twice at the stranger at the door. The smile in the next moment is easy, Logan glancing down at their tangled hands before returning his attention to Wendy, studying her. "Yeah." Gently, he eases his hand out of her's, his eyes fading back into watery paleness. It's been long enough that it'll take some time for euphoria to fade on its own.
Standing up off the bed, back straight, Logan runs both his palms together as he looks the newcomer up and down. "And you must be family," he deduces, and a glance towards the bed that could almost be guilty if he felt—
You know. "She's getting some rest."
"John, Brother. Nice to meet you." John's gaze doesn't leave Logans, staring at the other man for seconds at a time before he breaks it off, Logan apparently passing some test. "Yeah, She's been through the ringer. You should probably go, visiting hours are gonna be over. You're welcome to vist again but, you're not family so…" There's a peace offering though, the coffee he brought for Wendy is held out to Logan. "Good to see friends visit"
Oh, hey, that's how he was going to introduce himself, if without the brother-qualifier. Logan's eyebrows raise as he's summarily broom-shuffled out of the room in every way words can, but the offer of coffee is taken all the same with a quirk of a smile. "Logan," is a minimal introduction, as he cracks open the plastic cap of the coffee to inspect the contents, replacing it after a moment and adding, "Cheers. You take care good care of her, then."
Perhaps oddly, the girl in the bed doesn't get a glance back - but better than not leaving at all, and he is, taking smooth steps around John and headed for the door.