ArchivedLogs:A Three Hour Tour
{{ Logs | cast = Melinda, Murphy, Hua Yong, Tian-shin | summary = Murphy greets Mel's Visitors | gamedate = 2013-08-21 | gamedatename = | subtitle = Just sit right back... | location = <NYC> Melinda and Tag's Apartment - Lower East Side | categories = Private Residence, Humans, Mutants, NPC-Tian-shin, NPC-Hua Yong, Melinda, Murphy, Citizens | log = The apartment is composed of four bedrooms, two baths, a living room and an entry space attached to the kitchen, near the door. That kitchen is covered in tile, from floor to countertop to back splash on the wall, all white, with light, thin blue stems and flowers. The cabinets are newish, with blond wood kept meticulously clean of fingerprints. It is also outfitted with an excellent coffee maker, or two, with all the accoutrement to go with it.
The living room is mainly furnished by found pieces, two chairs and a couch. None of it was constructed at the same time, but it all has been reupholstered with the same cloth, the surfaces colored similarly and with a regular weave. The wood has all been refinished as well, dark and able to hide stains well. The walls are colorful, but that goes with the territory of having a mutant roommate with Tag's ability. Today, it is a sage green with some abstract blue and orange intermingling in different places. Tomorrow it will be different. A cursory inspection shows that five people live in this four bedroom apartment, so it's difficult to pick out what belongs to any one person.
As the day turns to evening, the heat simply will not leave the apartment. Mel has thrown open all of the windows, after returning from work, and is busily setting up fans to try to encourage circulation. She's taken the time to change out of hir work clothes and is now wearing plaid shorts in blues and greens that come down to her upper thighs, and a pink tanktop. Her hair is looped over itself in a ponytail tie at the back of her head, with a portion of it sticking to the sweat on her face. She frowns and shakes her head as she looks down at the street, then out across the thickening dark in the sky.
Murphy (Mother-Fuckin’) Law is currently doing precisely the same thing he’s been doing since he came to Mel’s apartment several days ago: Fuck-all. Right now, he’s doing this intensive task from the comfort of a couch, laid across it -- hands folded underneath his head, cigarette (unlit) between his lips, eyes closed. Just what the hell he entertains himself with all day is probably a mystery; he doesn’t watch TV (‘nothin’ new on’), doesn’t read books (‘read one you’ve read ‘em all’) and growls whenever anyone turns music on in his vicinity (‘you must be fucking joking’). Basically, he just eats Melinda’s food, snoozes on her couch, and smokes like a chimney.
Murphy seems impervious to the heat; all he’s done in response to the escalating temperature is take off his black wool jacket and loosen his black tie; it leaves him in his white buttoned up shirt and dress-slacks -- and his socks. He took off his shoes and left them by the door. This, along with the occasional breakfast he makes (eggs, bacon, toast) are pretty much the only concessions he makes to Melinda’s comfort.
On top of all this, Murphy /has/ been up to one thing: When he first arrived, he brought a black duffel bag with him. He’s made a few trips to a nearby hardware store, too; during the nights, Mel’s roommates have complained that the guy doesn’t sleep -- he’s just up shuffling things around and making noises. One roommate might have even mentioned finding a steak-knife taped underneath the kitchen sink.
"I was thinking Mexican tonight," Melinda offers when she realizes that her tired zoning out stare has been focused on Murphy's shoulder for what feels like a full minute. It could be longer, but it's difficult to judge when the staring began. "That sound good, or were you in a cold food mood? Could have sandwiches." At this point, the muttering about meals is becoming more commonplace. She's too tired after each crappy night's sleep and subsequent lousy work day to prepare food. She's already informed Murphy that feeding him okay by her as a type of payment. She drags feet over to the arm chair where she keeps her laptop, opening it up and booting it directly to the last food delivery service restaurant she used the night before. "Sushi is cold, too."
“If I can eat it without shitting blood,” Murphy responds with all of his remarkable charm -- eyes still closed -- “then I don’t give a fuck. Sushi tastes like slugs.” He doesn’t note how he knows what slugs taste like. Otherwise, though, he shows no indication of rejecting the sushi suggestion; instead, he just shifts on the couch, adjusting his lounging.
Hua Yong sweeps into the building with Hua Tian-shin in tow. He is wearing a light gray suit, white shirt, and a blue striped tie knotted in a tight double Windsor. His daughter sports a pink blouse and black pencil skirt, her own jacket draped over the same arm that carries her purse. In strappy black heels, she stands just a hair taller than him. He only looks at her for directions, and when they arrive at the door it is he who knocks. Three firm, urgent raps.
"Is this... a food allergy, an intolerance to peppers, or do you assume all delivery Mexican food is semi-toxic?" Mel's tone is a little dry as she surfs through the options on the screen in front of her. Her level of concern is evident by her next question. "Crunchy or soft?" Her lips settle into a purse as she starts making selections.
When the knock sounds at the door, she stiffens a little, her hands freezing where they are. Her head turns toward the door, a flash of panic in her eyes. There's a small, embarassed smile on her lips afterward, eyes closing as she shakes her head. A moment later, she gets to her feet, laptop deposited on the arm of the chair, and heads toward the door, pressing her face to the surface as she peeks out into the hall. "Murphy."
“The only allergy I’ve got is to salmonella,” Murphy replies, eyes still closed. “Crunchy. Hot as they dare.” The three raps manage to coax one of his eyes into opening; it’s a lazy sort of gesture, like a tiger roused from sleep post-feast by the scuttling feet of prey. But when Melinda says his name…
Suddenly, Murphy Law is on his feet -- straightening his tie -- walking toward the door with a brisk, professional pace. As he does so, one hand moves to touch Melinda’s shoulder -- the other hand reaches toward the coat-rack /next/ to the door. A soft scrape of tape as he yanks something small and black off the underside of the shelf behind it. “I got it,” he says. Like he’s just paying for food.
Hua Yong waits, hands clasped in front of him. "{You are certain this is the correct place?}" His voice is measured, businesslike, as though he were speaking to a secretary about his itinerary.
Beside him, Hua Tian-shin stares down at her own similarly clasped hands, chewing her lip. "{I am sure.}"
Without acknowledging this reply, Hua Yong reaches out with his mind and feels around the apartment beyond. He is not reading minds, but searching for a particular one. Those familiar with telepathic contact might become aware of a faint sense of disquiet, a suggestion that they are being watched.
Melinda is not terrified, per se, but there is a lot of fear mingled in the discomfort she feels. She nods to Murphy as she pulls away, allowing him access to the door. Her mind spins at with names and faces, returning to Jim several times, trying to decide if she should call for help, but unwilling to involve anyone else in this mess. <<Best to leave it to Murphy, >> she decides, glancing toward the doorway to Tag's empty bedroom. "I suppose pretending we're not here won't actually work with psionics."
Murphy /is/ familiar with telepathic contact; when that light, delicate touch strokes over his brain, he grimaces -- and grins. It’s a joyless expression, more akin to a grimace than anything else; it’s accompanied by -- through that brief avenue of contact -- an unusual psychic ‘buzzing’. And then, inexplicably, anyone glancing through Murphy’s mind would find themselves faced with an episode of Gilligan’s Island.
The door gets shoved open -- rough and sudden. Murphy -- still clad in his white shirt and tie -- emerges. No time is wasted -- and unless Hua Yong dives in deep, no warning given -- as he swings out, one elbow slamming for Hua Tian-shin’s solar plexus -- his opposite hand lifting the black box to point directly at Hua Yong’s torso. And fire the taser at close range.
In his moment of perplexity--what is this 'Gilligan's Island' nonsense?--Hua Yong is completely unprepared for the attack. Though his body collapses when the current runs through it, his mind still issues one last command to the effect of << STOP. >> Tian-shin reacts in time to redirect Murphy's elbow aside, into her ribs. He still lands a solid blow, but not an incapacitating one. She throws her black jacket at his face and swings her purse toward it.
Melinda frowns when Murphy springs into action, her frown rapidly turning into a cringe at the blows delivered. "I'm sorry, Tian-shin." She didn't really expect Murphy to come out swinging, but at the same time... did. She draws in a deep breath and casts her eyes to her cellphone, starting to move across the room to grab it, intending to phone the police.
“--nngh,” Murphy begins -- when that psychic SHOUT hits his mind. Like an avalanche descending to the shores of a beach; his body freezes up -- his jaw clenches -- his eyes narrow. The coat gets thrown in his face; there’s a pfft, pfft beneath it, followed by a grunt as the purse hits -- for a second, Murphy’s frozen in place, depressing the taser. But then… The volume to Gilligan’s Island gets cranked up to 11.
“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale,” Murphy croaks. Through his mind, a /chain/ of memories are flashing, each a solid block of experience -- so real, so vivid, it’s as if they’re happening right now. Murphy’s leg getting split open in an alleyway by an explosion; Murphy getting shot. Murphy on Lucien’s front porch, sinking to the ground, screaming in anguish, begging to be killed. The pain is beyond excruciating -- and in the wave of memories, Hua Yong’s commandment is lost -- just another sensation struggling not to drown in a sea of sensations. Murphy roughly throws the coat aside, delivering a rough /kick/ to Hua Yong’s stomach, still depressing the taser, continuing to growl: “A tale of a fateful trip, that started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny /ship/.”
Hua Yong, though fit enough for his age, doubles over and crumbles to the floor. Any temporary mastery he had over the minds around him evaporates. Tian-shin gives a wordless cry of dismay and lunges at Murphy. This attack is not as desperate as her first reaction. The pointed heel of her right shoe grinds down into his instep and her left fist strikes at his gut.
Melinda frowns as her hand closes around her phone turning to stare at the mess of people half way in the hall way. "Tian-shin, please, don't..." She scowls, unsure of what to say. Her mind tells her to call the police, but what good would that do? Informing them of an angry psionic at their door is likely to draw attention, but the notion of turning anyone over to the brutality of the police seems unacceptable - and if the police are not brutal, they will simply be victimized as well. "Can you just take your father and go? Murphy, let them just leave, please?"
“The mate was a mighty sailing man, the skipper brave and--fffft,” Murphy grunts; the heel snaps down, losing a chunk of impact force when it glances part-way off his steel-toe, but managing to deliver enough force to his in-step to leave him hissing. Through the haze of his own brain-fuckery, he’s not fast enough to stop the blow to his gut -- it sends him back, wheezing, taser still in one hand -- his other arm clutching at his belly. “--ffffuck, Mel, get over here and /keep tazing the nutcracker/.” He drops the taser to the floor -- stepping back only far enough to give himself some room to recover.
Even with the brief reprieve from the, Hua Yong does not rise. He remains on the floor, breathing hard and emitting a long, low groan. Tian-shin's face is red and her fists clenched. Her skirt and footwear do not lend themselves well at all the fighting stance she has assumed. "What is wrong with you?" She glances down at the taser as if she has a mind to go for it, but opts for keeping her eyes on Murphy instead. "Do you attack everyone who comes to your door inquiring after family?!"
"No, not usually. However - it's your dad and he... he scares me, okay? I asked Murphy here to protect my head and he's..." Melinda frowns, moving over to take the taser from Murphy when he offers it to her. She does not, however, keep the electricity flowing, as she's heard stories of tasers killing people. "Tag's not here. I don't know where he is, except he's safe and where he wants to be. Can't you let it be at that? Can't you and your father respect the space he asks for?" She yanks the wires out of the taser and tosses it away. "I know you want to respect his decisions, Tian-shin. Everytime I've spoken to you, you've said so. Just... let it go. Send him an email, a voicemail, whatever. If he wants to speak to you, he will."
Murphy growls a low, throaty curse as Melinda drags the taser’s wires off of Hua Yong -- he steps over the groaning man as he recovers with a hoarse grunt -- assuming a boxer’s stance. Feet spread, fists clenched, a boot /precariously/ close to Hua Young’s head. “You start with the funny business,” he tells Hua Yong, “and you’ll be singin’ Gilligan Island while slurpin’ dinner through a tube for the rest of your life.” But his eyes are not on Hua Yong; they’re on Tian-shin. “Tian-shin,” Murphy says, his voice going suddenly level: “Mel told me you talked with your dad about his son. Do you remember the conversation?”
Tian-shin looks on the verge of attacking Murphy again when he steps over Hua Yong, and her shoulders tighten at the threat. His question, however, brings her up short. "I agreed to come with him to see Tsai-hong." Her slender black eyebrows wrinkle. "But I do not /specifically/ recall the conversation. Why does that matter? However poorly they get along, we are family!"
Hua Yong, for his part, does not try any ‘funny business’--at least none that Murphy or Melinda can perceive. He just lies still and catches his breath.
"You told me that you would leave him be if that was his wish. I told you to look for inconsistencies. You know Tag loves you and wouldn't have denied you visits when he was in rehab. You know that there was no good reason to blindfold him in rehab. You know he is gentle, and would never take out aggression over withdrawal on other people - and that he can't hurt himself with his power, so why would anyone restrain him in that way?" Melinda attempts to refresh the bits of conversation she knows, eyes imploring Tian-shin as she moves away from Hua Yong and Murphy. "Please, Tian-shin. I'm pretty sure that you only came here because he made you ignore everything else you were thinking and feeling." There's a pause and then, "If you want to get away too, maybe we can help?"
Where Melinda is gentle and persuasive, Murphy is brutish. His tone has all the care and grace of an anvil descending through a house of glass: “You can’t remember a conversation you had with your father about your brother getting tied the /fuck/ down. That you had two /days/ ago.” These last two words are punctuated -- with Murphy’s foot. Suddenly swooping in to sharply THUMP against Hua Yong’s stomach. WHUMP, WHUMP. “Th’fuck I just say about funny business? I can /tell/,” Murphy snarls, before his eyes level back to Tian-shin. “That’s something that happens a lot, ain’t it? You forgettin’ conversations you had. And when you think there might be something wrong, suddenly you decide it’s probably nothing, and let it go. ‘Specially after you talk to pops.” WHUMP. Another kick, this one harder. Enough to bruise some ribs.
Hua Yong curls up like a pill bug, gagging and coughing. Tian-shin yelps and is about to leap to her father's defense, but then clutches her head. When she straightens back up, her anger has given way to horror, and she is looking at Hua Yong instead of Murphy. “That /hurt,/” she says, incredulous. “He’s right. And it hurt /me/ when he kicked /you/.” Horror slowly winds its way back into rage. Her voice trembles. “You--you--{wong ba dan!}”
"He's trying to make Murphy stop. What do you want to do, Tian-shin? Do you want to leave him here with Murphy and take off? I've got a number for someone whio can probably fix your head. Or do you want to side with this bully and run the risk of losing more of yourself to his ridiculous notions of family and how his children should think, feel, and behave?" Melinda stays calm for the most part, but everything inside her is pulling on her to grab Tian-shin and make a run for it and hide out in Brooklyn if that is far enough away. "Whatever you want to do, you should decide quickly, before he takes away your ability to choose."
/Now/ Murphy’s grinning. And there’s pleasure in it, too -- but not joy. It’s the grin of a predator before he snaps his teeth down on a throat. “Y’hear that, you miserable /fuck/?” he tells Hua Yong, delivering another kick -- and /another/. “You ain’t even good at this shit. Professionals, they don’t leave gaping /holes/.” Whump, whump. “But don’t worry. Me and you, we’re gonna have time to talk shop. We’ll swap secrets of the trade. Melinda,” Murphy continues, and now his heel is /slamming/ down into Hua Yong’s side -- maybe hard enough to fracture something. Maybe not. “Get her out of here. Go out the /back/, he might have boys watching the front. Call Hive, tell him to get his scrawny ass over here. Connect with me the moment he can. And before you ask,” he adds, gritting his teeth and /glaring/ at Tian-shin -- though it’s hard to tell just /who/ he’s talking to -- “I ain’t gonna kill him. Not in /this/ apartment, anyway.” That might be a joke. With Murphy, it’s just about impossible to tell.
“Go,” Murphy says, a hand reaching down to pluck Hua Yong up by the collar. Like he’s a sack of potatoes. Just /dragging/ him back toward the apartment.
Hua Yong barely even struggles when Murphy hoists him up. His breaths come in shallow with pain. He twists his head around and fixes his daughter with the look a drowning man might cast at the only bystander. She meets his gaze only for a moment, dark brown eyes glimmering with tears. Then she bends to retrieve her jacket and purse, her movements stiff. “He has a car waiting out front. There are men. I…” She looks down the hallway at the emergency exit stairway, then at Melinda. “I have no idea where to go.”
Melinda grabs her purse and slips her cell phone inside, making sure she has her keys before going after Tian-shin and catching up to her elbow quickly. "Come on. I know where to go. You're going to be okay." She keeps her mind as blank as possible, just focusing on the inside of rather boring stairwells, letting her feet take her as far and as quickly as possible until they are far enough out of range to not give away their direction. }}
