Bird Boy

January 08, 2019:

After her icing deal in Mutant Town, Lena runs into Logan, who's dealing with business of his own.

New York City


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Rain and sleet and a hint of snow give Manhattan a haze to it that is only rarely seen. There are no clouds to be seen above, just a set white and grey of overcast that in colder times would promise a blizzard of epic proportions though today with it being too warm the city is struck with just the mush and the sludge that freezes the hems of pants and sleeves as well as rendering the roads a place for the brave in some ways.

Nights like that always see the bars and restaurants working overtime. People come in out of the cold and are loathe to leave it. So when the stream of people file out of Chauncy's Bar and Grill, all of them hastily putting on their coats, something inside must be damned dire to be goin' on to get them all to leave so quickly.

Inside the bar, there's shattere glass, broken bottles, cracked pool cues. And bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. Unconscious, to be fair. Most groaning and grimacing, rolling back and forth and clutching at various broken bones or dilocated joints. And amongst them all stands Logan, holding one of the remaining men against the wall and scowling as he tells him simply. "So you gonna make me ask you again? Where's the bird guy?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about man?! That bird freak?! He's gone!"

Lena adores this type of weather. If it could only push over and allow snow to fall, she was love it all the more. The walk doesn't annoy her, in a way, it sooths her deeply, giving the girl a sliver of peace otherwise unfound. The peace, however, doesn't last, once she notices the flow of people leaving a bar. Blinking, curious, her brows dip before she walks in its direction. Maybe there was more fun to be had after all. The night wasn't a bust, thankfully. It could only get better, right?

Waiting for everyone to pass, she steps in just to hear the sound of someone speaking, frantic. She eyes the rest of the room, all the bodies scattered about and writhing. A look toward Logan, and the man in his grip, she side steps some of the bodies and heads for the bar. If everyone was gone, that meant it was happy hour. The best kind of happy hour.

Some might remark about how strange it is for her to be going in when others are leaving, but as she enters there is not a soul that will pay attention to her, at least not for now. Instead she is given blessed freedom to administer copious amounts of liquor to herself. Even as she hears the man's frantic voice in the background.

"He took off! Like literally, dude! Jamie was all gonna pluck his ass, but then he just leapt up and…" He waves a hand quickly, his beanie cap falling off as he moves and makes a sound like 'fwoosh' as he gesticulates the flight of the escaping mutant.

As for Logan, his back to the light-fingered Lena, his nostrils flare as he 'sniff sniffs' taking in the scent of the man he's questioning. For a time he scowls to himself, but then grudgingly he lets the man back down onto his feet.

"A'right, get outta here."

"Thanks man, thanks!"

And the informant beats feet, running past Lena without even a look. And that's when Logan turns around.

Smiling his way, Lena holds up a stout glass, giving it a wave and swirling about amber liquid within it. "You're more fun this way." She states, pointing in Logan's direction just so he knows she's talking about him specifically. "I like this version better." She decides, sipping from her drink, she licks the residue away and leans on the bar (from the back of the bar) as if she were its tender. "Hot time on the cold town tonight, it seems. This your work?" She inquires, pointing lazily around to the bodies left in his wake. "Want a drink?"

The scent's familiar, she'll see his nostrils flare again and see that same furrow to his brow. His anger is still up, riled as his jaw sets as if trying to gain control of his temper. He starts to step across the way, moving over and around some of the fallen. But then he lashes out with a kick at one and growls at them, "Get yer friends up and outta here."

That one, at least, has enough strength to push himself to his feet and try to start nudging his friends into motion. None of them are bleeding at the least, or rather bleeding from cuts or slices, most of the blood is from broken noses or lost teeth. But they're still moving slow even as Logan crosses across the way towards her.

"Ehn, somethin' like it." He responds to her question about his work. But then he thumps onto the bar with his forearms flat upon its surface as he answers her question about a drink. "Don't gotta ask me twice."

Lena settles into the part, pouring him a sampling of what she was having. It was rich, it would burn, but the ache of it was a welcome one, warm after the fact. Setting the tumbler infront of him, she sips once more and leans, giving him space, but the width of the bar wasn't exactly that much to begin with. Her jaw stiffens as she considers something, perhaps her next words before she eventually asks, "You alright?"

The drink is downed. Abruptly and sharply, just tilted back, drained, then clinking softly upon the bar surface. He answers with a just as clipped, "Yup." As he makes a fist with his free hand, tensing and releasing his fingers several times as he scowls down at it. Some broken glass, stuck inside the back of his fist seem to quiver and then slowly push out of each of the small wounds they had created, the small pieces falling to the ground with a clatter even as the lacerations seal up with only a few moments of time passing.

"Just some reasonable adults discussin' a difference of opinion." He offers as way of explanation. Then he looks sidelong towards her and he asks, "What're you doin' here? Asides from makin' free with the local stock."

"Looks like. Something about a bird fellow?" She inquires softly, watching the event happen before her with an almost passive expression. Glass empty, she fills it back up for him without pause. "Me? Walking around. Wandering, really. Taking a break from my normal activities, as it were." She explains, shrugging her shoulders under the massive fluff of her coat. Eyeing him more so, watching him tense and breathe, she exhales and sets her glass down, pulling at her gloves to expose her hands. "Let me touch your face." She states.

The response she gets right off the bet is him saying, "What?"

That just hangs there after she asks her question and his blue eyes meet her gaze levelly. But then she's taking off her gloves and pulling them free to expose her hands and he cocks his head at her curiously.

Leaning forwards some he liberates another bottle and pours himself another drink. Then offers to fill hers as well. "Why?" He asks as he eyeballs her, the bottle being set down roughly, so much so that it sloshes.

Logan seems wary, those grim features stern. But then he waves a hand as if giving up. "Knock yerself out."

"That's what you were talking about, right? Someone with feathers?" She questions, having caught the tail end of the conversation, as high-pitched and terrified as it was. She waits for him to give her a go ahead, expression stoic as ever. The why, at least, gets her to speak. "To help you. I'm not feeling myself tonight. I'm feeling down right charitable." She muses with a partial smirk.

Hands forward, she rests one palm to his brow and the other to his cheek. As before when they met and shook hands, the off-cast of her skin is cooling. It doesn't project the temperature change persay, but it offers a comfort for someone perhaps suffering from rage induced heat, for example. The reverse of holding someone's hands if they're cold in an attempt to warm them. Patient, slow, she presses her palms down, moving them across his face in an almost caring man.

The man's flesh is warm, blazing with a heat and intensity that flirts with a fever. Yet for now he's holding in control. The booze helps. The mechanical movements he takes of filling the glass, drinking, focusing on himself to let his heartbeat slow and his anger drift away.

Behind them some of the fallen have rallied themselves enough to help each other up. It starts first as just a handful of guys, then it's a small shuffling parade of a half dozen who try and walk out silently and past without disturbing the two remaining bar patrons.

Her touch helps his temperature lower slowly, and he takes another steadying breath and say simply. "Thanks."

But then he seems to remember she asked another question. He shakes his head and murmurs, "Friend of a friend, Mutant Town. None of your concern."

"I was just there." She comments, not even casting a glance toward the departing figures, tails tucked between their legs. Her hands continue roaming gently, allowing the press the spread the natural chill of her skin to his own. Lowering still, she rests them now on either side of his neck, one tucking back for the nape specifically.

"Ran across some colorful characters wanting to play gang on a girl I've met before. You know, yelling slurs and curses. Threw a rock at her, too." Blinking, she only now ponders the aftermath of it all. "I don't know if they'll survive, but I got them to stop." She shrugs.

For a moment Logan's eyes close as he tilts his head back letting the tight muscular neck tense under her fingertips. He takes another deep breath and then holds up a hand as if to wave her off, or to silently tell her that he's good, doesn't need anymore. But he doesn't insist either as he looks away and takes up his glass again for a long pull of his drink.

"S'good of ya. I don't have the energy tonight ta wrangle about yer methods." Considering he just got done creating his own corner of mayhem he's not exactly on holy ground when pontificating that point of view.

"I wouldn't listen anyway." She informs him, pulling her hands away as requested. Finally reclaiming her glass, she sips and relaxes, leaning back into place and sinking slightly into her coat. "This might not mean anything, but I have contacts. I can ask around if you need me to. Just an offer, keep it personal if you want." Another sip, she works at downing her drink and moaning after the fact, feeling that heat burn down her throat. "Another?" She offers, bottle up and filling her cup.

A short nod is given as he pushes his empty glass towards her. "Yeah." Another drink would be good. He slides a hand into the neck of his jacket, scowling at something as he squeezes the cords of muscles there and grimaces for some reason. But then he looks towards her sidelong.

"M'good. I think I know where he went. Was mainly wonderin' if he got away or not." He glances over after the men still departing and he tosses a nod, "All this coulda been avoided if…" He shakes his head and looks back. If he didn't have a temper. Or if they didn't sneer when they talked to him. But he settles on saying, "If they didn't crack wise."

He holds up a hand once she fills his and he takes another pull. A squint is aimed towards the doorway, as if gauging if he left would it cause further ruckus or not.

Eyeing his neck, she wiggles her fingers in silent offering even as she stays on her side of the bar. She nods, drinking, falling silent and allowing a silence to grow between them. It's a repeat of the first time they met, with with perhaps a few more smells and ass kickery having been had.

"They won't mess with you." She tells him, pulling away from the counter and leaning on a rear panel. Arm up with her drink, she tucks her other hand under it and against her chest casually. "I know that look. Usually when meeting up against brutes that thrash them, they have two looks. One, the 'I totally didn't lose, I'll try it again', or two, the 'I'm going to go home and call my mama.'" Another drink, she swallows and points toward the door. "All of them are mama's boys."

"Yer prolly right," Logan says and then eyes the door sidelong, giving it some thought. "No point in rubbin' it in their noses, though." A charitable thought assuredly. But then he smirks and looks back at her as he takes another swig of booze and offers, "Not while there're full bottles here and a friendly face."

It's close to a companionably tone, but she can tell there's still an edge of wariness to it. He then, after another drink, asks her. "So how did your thing go down?"

"Fuck'em." She smirks, watching after the retreating men until there were no more. "You don't pick a fight with the brute and expect to win. That was my favorite part of juvie - watching kids pick on my buddy. It was beautiful, really." She laments, sighing and drinking, her expression actually softening when considering the memory.

The 'friendly face' is met with a fresh smirk, eyes squinting slightly. "My thing? Oh, I froze them in place." She explains, finishing off her drink and considering another one. "Two others were there, one being the girl who was being picked on, and another girl who has to swear every time she spoke. I don't know if she was trying to be edgy, or has a condition." Shrug, she continues. "Did my good deed and walked away. I don't know what happened after."

His answer is a grunt and he nods. "Yeah well, screw em. But just in case I'm gonna go take a gander." Logan pushes a rough hand through that wild mane of his as he seems to ponder something for a moment, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His nostrils flare subtly as he takes in a deep breath, then he pushes his empty glass away.

"Buncha guys get cacked in Mutant Town by some random act of crazy, just an excuse some politicians might be lookin' for ta make mutants a scapegoat or come off as dangerous." Says the guy with blades hidden in his forearms. He pushes himself away from the bar, adjusting the hang of his jacket with the sweep of one hand.

"If it does turn into a thing you might wanna lie low for a bit."

"Why? Be safer if I owned up, wouldn't it?" Watching after him, she keeps her position and only shifts to place her glass down. "I want to say I'm sorry for everything you're dealing with simply because you were born different. Can't say I'm one for respecting political figures or rules, though." Moving, she walks after him, glancing toward the window as her hands sink into her pockets. "What're you looking for, anyway? Hoping for another wrestle?"

A snort is heard as he tells her over his shoulder, "Why? You askin?" But he steps to the door and rests a hand on handle then shoulders it open. Outside now, the brisk chill air greeting them. He looks up and down the street, seeing only one lone car at this time of night, its headlights dim with the sheen of ice and snow as it makes its slow way down the road.

"Figure I'll go check out the guys you messed up. If they're dead I ain't exactly gonna cry over spilled milk. But if they ain't or if they've been handled, then it'd be good ta know. Just in case."

"If you're offering, I won't say no. Warning, I'm bad at fighting." She was not one to actually fight; a scrapper and nothing else. When the door opens, she inhales deeply, taking in the cold and eases up. "Well, sure. I can show you where I left them if it matters that much."

The grim looking man has a half-smirk as he looks as if he were about to say something else, but for now he lets it go. Instead he tosses his chin in the direction of Mutant Town. "Alright, let's head on over there. While we go you can tell me yer life story. C'mon."

That having been said he starts on his way, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his shoes leaving tracks in the snow and sleet as it continues to fall slowly.

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