ArchivedLogs:All Good

All Good
Dramatis Personae Dan, Mei, Murphy
In Absentia	2013-05-12 '
Location <NYC> 201 {Dan} - Sunrise Apartments
Sunday morning, and Dan's got the day off. Well, technically, he's had the whole weekend off. But today doesn't involve going out to the country and keeping a fourteen year old girl from going completely stir-crazy. So, he's enjoying the quiet (as much as it can be quiet, with Mei in his bedroom playing on his laptop.) The ex-soldier sits in his living room, a book in one hand (The Neverending Story) as he chomps a cigar. Dressed in jeans and a white wifebeater, he's kicked out on the couch, puffing smoke rings into the air. On the crappy little boombox on the kitchen counter, Dan has found an AM station that plays Big Band music, and the apartment is currently filled with the sulty voice of Jo Stafford working her way through 'You'll Never Know', Knock. Knock. Knock. It's a steady series of knocks; the sort you'd expect from a mailman, or a messenger, or a Jehovah's witness. And when Dan opens the door - SURPRISE! Someone's brought him good news -- MURPHY'S FIST. Straight for his jaw. Murphy's dressed in his usual black coat, white shirt, black tie -- haggard, eyes sunken -- sporting some fresh bruises on his face, along with a fresh limp -- he's currently got a /crutch/ under one of his arms. Which makes this punch all the more stranger; he's forced to shove his weight down /on/ that crutch, swinging his weight into the other arm and just - rotating a little. HUP! *SWING*. That's the problem with unexpected gifts. You never know how to respond to them. Dan moves from the couch at the knocking, and when it proves Murphy on the other side of the peephole, well, he has no reason /not/ to open the door. And if Murphy looks angry....he /always/ looks irritated, so that's not really a fair judge of his current emotion. So Dan is completely open to the punch, taking it on the jaw and staggering back a couple of steps. "Mother/fucker/," he says, and comes right back, with a punch leveled at the bridge of the detective's nose, unfettered by crutches and/or bandages. "Fucking sneaking jarhead /pussy/." And hello to you, Murphy! WHUMP. Murphy at /least/ has enough good sense not to take it full in the nose; his face turns to the side a bit - managing to deflect it off to the side of the head - but he's still stumbling back, hobbling, crutch making a *tkt* *tkt* across the floor as he's sent reeling into the hall with a dull *WHUMPH* - followed by a series of curses. And: "So, you'd punch a fucker in /crutches/, I should have fuckin' known you fuckin' /snitch/." And then Murphy's getting up, /limping/ his way toward Dan. He looks like he's about to punch him again. Then again, Murphy /always/ looks like he's about to punch him. Dan watches stonily as Murphy reels back, shaking his hand lightly. Maybe Murphy's head is made of ROCK. Apparently so, since he seems to be approaching again. "Don't." Dan says, and it's simple instruction. Then he's turning, and heading back into his apartment. "Don't leave the door open." It's unclear whether it's a dismissal or an invitation, as Dan moves into the kitchen. "All I got is good beer. I can throw some salt in it, if you want." "Nnngh. You fuckin' little -- do you have /any/ idea," and now Murphy is limping his way in, shuffle SHUFFLE shuffle, "how fucking /insane/ that bitch is. I mean, just how fucking batshit /crazy/ we're talking, here." The door slams shut; Murphy uses his crutches to do it. "And the kid? Free meal ticket. You think she ain't gonna try to cash that shit /in/? You think she ain't gonna gut you like a fish? Nnngh. The fuck you got against keeping your goddamn mouth /shut/." Murphy's on a bender, now. He's monologuing. You might /never/ get him to stop. Dan turns and raises an eyebrow at the door slamming, and his expression turns a bit flat. "I know what I'm doing," he says, and fishes a couple of glasses out of a cabinet, setting them on the counter. "She don't know the girl is here; only that I'm trying to find information about who wants her, other'n the Chinamen. She's got eyes on this place, in case the Triads come sniffing around here." There's a bit of a stretch as he hauls a bottle of bourbon down from a top shelf, and unscrews the cap. "If she was gonna make a move, the kid would be gone and you'd have punched a corpse." He pauses as he pours, and furrows his brow. "Scratch that. They wouldn't find me." Once the glasses are filled (/filled/), he offers one to Murphy. "Have a seat. Jesus. Every time I see you, you're more banged up." Dan glances at the closed bedroom door as he moves into the living room, whether Murphy takes a seat or not. "O'Shaugnessy has me on her books as an 'associate'. Which means, as long as I do the odd job for her now and then, she's not going to be watching me too closely. So long as I don't get in her way." "So how long you figure," Murphy asks, /throwing/ his crutch across the room - does he care what it hits? No sirree! - as he drops into that chair with a loud, obnoxious 'thwump'. "Before one of them goons happens to lay their gawkers on the girl and your little jig is up? Then you'll be chopped up into tasty little bite-sized pieces that'll be distributed equally among portions of sweet-buns. Jesus /fuck/." He fishes into his pocket for a cigarette; he does not take the offered glass. Not yet. Instead, he pulls out his lighter, and *FLNKT* -- *FLNKT* -- *FLNKT* -- "I would kill you myself if I hadn't sworn it the fuck off, you goddamn--NERRGH. Where is she right now." Murphy rubs at his brows. Then, without another word, grabs the glass of bourbon and proceeds to POUR IT ON DAN'S CARPET. Then lifts it up and holds it out at Dan, /glaring/ at him and waiting for his /refill/. "Oh, yeah. That never occurred to me." Dan's sarcasm is bone dry, and he presses his lips together tightly as the crutch strikes a basket of kid's toys and spills it slightly. "Because I am a moron who has never dealt with mobsters and criminals before. Whatever will I do?" His own brow furrows, and he watches with an ever-darkening expression as Murphy empties his glass into the rug that Mei was so nice enough to clean to something less vile-looking. He SNATCHES the glass from Murphy, and narrows his eyes. Mmmhmm. Marching slowly back into the kitchen, he does not reach for the bourbon bottle. Instead, he holds the glass under the faucet, and turns it on, running the glass full of water that is -- bourbon-colored. Very weakly. "She's in the bedroom," he answers the question as he comes back, holding out the glass with a wide, tight line of a smile. "Waving to random people on the street and calling out the apartment number." Murphy takes the second glass. And proceeds to DUMP IT, again. On the /other/ side, this time. Oblivious to the fact that it's not bourbon, apparently. His face still scrunched up in Murphy-rage, he responds: "Oops. Spilled. /My/ bad. Third time's the /charm/, right." He holds out the glass /again/, apparently intent on testing just how far Dan's patience extends. Before adding: "Wouldn't surprise me. Jesusfuck. /Jesusfuck/." *FLNKT FLNKT FLNKT*, at last he gets a tongue of flame; he starts /puffing/ immediately. "And now /Jim's/ missing, you know. Along with a bunch of mutant kids. They're probably all dead -- did you have something to do with /that/?" Murphy asks, now, narrowing one eye at Dan, like he's seriously considering that this might ANOTHER thing Dan's somehow managed to do wrong. Murphy -- a banged up, angry-looking Murphy, is sitting on Dan's couch, with Dan standing facing him, and two puddles by his feet in the carpet. One is bourbon, and the other is water. Perhaps this is what the men are so unhappy-looking about. Or maybe it's the fresh bruises coming up on their faces. A muscle jumps in Dan's cheek as the water, too, is dumped on the rug, and his eyes flick from that to the puddle of bourbon in the carpet. He takes the glass, again, and just HOLDS it. Maybe Murphy's been cut off. "The kid is /fine/," he says. "I finally go her to stop going up on the roof. Good job leaving her with crazy people. She was freaked right the hell out." He moves into the kitchen, then, and sets the glass on the counter. Where he leaves it. Bad kids get no more milk. "Wait. What?" The news about Jim seems to catch him flat-footed, and he can only BLINK. "What do you mean, he's missing? That cat's out of his apartment for a week or more, sometimes." But his expression and his face both state clearly that he knows it wouldn't have been mentioned if it weren't suspicious. "I don't fuck around with hurting kids," he says in a dark voice, glancing at the spilled basket of toys, pinned by Murphy's violently cast-aside crutch. "At all." If Murphy's offended at not receiving his third drink, he doesn't show it. Instead, he just - mops. At his face. With the hand that /isn't/ still bandaged. "Yeah, he's missing. Didn't send me a message before vanishing. Not like him. Other things, don't make sense." Mop, mop. "They ain't /stupid/. They know the score. They know how /not/ to get themselves /killed/," Murphy adds, with just an edge of hostility to it - well, /extra/ hostility. Before: "Muties been vanishing off the streets. More than /usual/. One of 'em - that Spider kid in the papers? Vanished a week ago. Jim was lookin' into it; now /he's/ gone. A couple of others I've read about, too. Ain't lookin' good. Somebody's snatching them off the streets. Kids n'all." The face-mopping descends toward his jaw. Scrub, scrub. "Got a rodent sniffin' around, but we ain't turned up enough, yet. Need some fuckin' /leads/." Mei was in the bedroom, with Dan's laptop but all the yelling has her attention and now she's at the door to the bedroom, listening to the argument, trying hard not to be noticed mind you, just standing near the door listening through it, not peeking out at the moment as she tries to pick up what the two men are yelling about and all. A frown on her face as she concentrates to make out the words and meanings. Dan scrunches his nose as he moves into the kitchen again. Is he getting Murphy another drink? Nope. A /towel/, which gets tossed at the other man wordlessly. Then Dan is moving to take the other end of the couch, rubbing at his own face. "That's fucked," he rumbles, furrowing his brow. "I mean, I'm not the world's biggest supporter of mutants, but they don't deserve to be snatched up and disappeared." He glances at the door, and frowns. "What about the kid? Jim's boyfriend or whatever? He okay?" It seems the yelling has stopped, for now. "He's fine. Been keeping an eye on him. Teaching him how to box." The towel is - flicked. Aside. Somewhere behind Murphy. Just, ptooie, he ain't got no need for fucking /towels/. Give Murphy long enough and he'll have this apartment looking worse than /Jim's/. Maybe Murphy's the /reason/ it looks so bad. "Th'fuck that even mean, 'the world's biggest supporter of mutants'," Murphy asks, as if he's just /bristling/ for a fight. But then, as if suddenly interested in moving on: "You hear anything. 'Bout mutant fights. Labs. Any weird shit like that." Mei had spent a lot of time getting the apartment spotless, and the sound of someone spitting on the floor makes her cringe but she doesn't open the door, as she leans towards it. Her frown deepening at Dan's words about mutants and the news about missing mutants and all. Her eyes narrowing in concentration as she tries to make out everything that's said and trying to figure out what's going on by just sound. "Hey!" When the towel gets tossed aside, Dan's brow slams into a V as he barks at the other man. "The kid worked fucking hard to clean this place up as a thank you, and you ain't gonna come in and shit around just 'cause you're pissed off." He rises to fetch the towel, using Murphy's bandaged leg as a brace and LEANING into it. "Clean up your fucking mess." The towel is dropped in Murphy's lap, and Dan leans back with a solemn nod. One eyebrow slides up, waiting for the challenge. He watches the other man for a minute, and then wrinkles his nose. "It means, I got a complicated relationship with mutants," he says, and it's clear that he's /allowing/ Murphy to know this. Like he needs reminding of this fact. The question gets a snort, and he shakes his head. "I work in a fucking bar and around guys who failed at being cops on account they ain't exactly the sharpest minds. I hear ten conspiracies a day." His eyes narrow. "Maybe I need to start paying attention to them." Murphy proceeds to /roar/ with pain when Dan leans up against that leg. "FUCK! FUCK! YOU FUCKIN'--ARRWARRRGH!" Fists. Clenched. /Flailing/ at him, but never quite making contact. Just. /FLAIL/-/FLAIL/-/FLAIL/. "GetoffamyLEGnngh." Once Dan manages to get back up and drop the towel to his lap, Murphy just responds with a sore, pained grunt, /panting/: "Fuckin' figures you'd make a /cripple/ do your housework. Th'fuck is your problem you fuckin'... nngh..." Laying back on the chair. Wheeze. "Yes, /pay/ a-fucking attention, I need to -- Jim's fucking /missing/ and I don't have any /leads/." Pant. Staring at the ceiling. /Glaring/ at it. Like he might manage to burn it down through sheer /hate/. Mei winces at the sound of Murphy in pain but keeps her hiding spot for now. She's moved a bit closer to the door, right next to it really, so she can hear as clearly as possible, taking in what she can, even trying to see if there is a crack to peek through around the door frame. "If the cripple is shittin' in my house, you better believe I'm making him clean it up." Dan's voice is without sympathy. "Serves you right." He watches for a moment, then stands up to move towards the bedroom -- or rather, the bathroom right next to the bedroom door. He disappears into it, and emerges a moment later with a bottle of hydrocodone. "Here," he says, flipping the bottle at the other man as he reclaims his seat. "And you can stop listenin' at the door, Kid," he says, raising his voice. "Anyone ever tell you it's rude to fuckin' eavesdrop?" Then, to Murphy. "I'll listen." It's almost gentle, although it sounds resentful. "Just...breathe," he offers. "When's the last time you got any good sleep?" "Don't curse in front of the fucking /kid/, th'fuck is wrong with you." The bottle is /TORN/ open; Murphy shoves pills into his mouth. Without any water to swallow them with. Takes them dry. And then, he grunts: "I'll sleep when I find Jim. I know what I can handle." In what is perhaps a remarkable gesture of /kindness/, Norman replaces the cap for the bottle before slamming it back on the table. *WHUMP*. "We need to get the kid some paperwork, too. Under the table. I know - actually, nevermind, he's dead. I don't know a guy. Ugh." Rub, rub. At his brow. Still staring at the ceiling, now. Mei emerges from the bedroom at Dan's words and she gives him an odd look, "No?" She ventures as she walks out into the room, not looking at all appologetic for listening in. "Jim gone? Um... Egg man take?" She ventures, as she gestures to Dan, "Egg man, broken window?" She tries to remind him, "Or Bird Girl?" She looks thoughtful. After a moment adds, "Lots go gone? Need bait." She says with a nod then hesitates then holds up a hand, "Me no bait!" She adds firmly. "She's okay," Dan says at the admonishment. "She'll hear worse in her lifetime." He watches Murphy carefully as the man swallows the pills, his brow furrowing. "You won't be any good to him /or/ that Spider kid if you're too exhausted to think clearly," he points out. "But, it's your health." Only it's not /just/. Thankfully, Dan ignores that in favor of giving Mei his attention. "The Egg Man...?" he seems confused, and then he BLINKS. "Holy shit. Yeah. I hadn't thought about that. Some dude broke into Jim's the other day and made them /eggs/." His incredulity at this fact is hard to hide, either in his voice or in his face. "Mei said everyone was real casual about it, too. Like, the guy made them all /breakfast/." He tips his head. "So, there's been strange around there, recently." Mei's suggestion gets a firm shake of his head. "You ain't bait," he says in a voice like falling bricks. "Ever." Which comes with a pointed look at Murphy. "But. It ain't a bad idea, if we knew who was takin' the kids." "Bait don't work unless you know where to set it," Murphy responds, /brusquely/. But he soon adds: "If all these incidents are related, these boys, they ain't all that bright. Some of the folks they're snatchin' - they're the sort people are gonna /notice/ goin' missing." Murphy slinks forward in his chair with a /creeeak/, then. "Some guy breakin' into Jim's apartment and makin' him eggs is /not/ weird. That's fuckin' /Tuesday/. Though, I'll look into it. Maybe he'll make me a goddamn sandwich. Mmmn. What's 'Egg Man' look like. He got an address? Place I can find him at?" Mei thinks for a moment then says, "Uncle fucking Myers." She says it as if 'fucking' is just another part of the guy's name. "He smoke. Um... big smoke. And..." She tries to recall more details, "Maybe... man. Ash offer. Cook food, stay there? Ash know. Maybe?" She looks a bit at a loss. She gives a helpless shrug. "No right words. No say see like." She struggles, then shakes her had again. "No Address, maybe still Jim's?" She ventures. Mei looks towards Dan, "Maybe people go. Mutants. Triads look for Mei? So take Mutants?" She asks, worriedly as she bites her lower lip and frowns, clearly not happy at all about the situation. Dan listens, pursing his lips with a hard sort of set to his face as he looks at Murphy. "Fucking Tuesday," he repeats in a flat tone. "And you dropped a scared /kid/ into that place? You're as big a moron as you think I am." And that's all the input on the weirdness of Jim's he's offering, turning his attention on Mei. "Big smoke? You mean like this?" he reaches for the now-extinguished cigar in the ashtray and holds it up. "Or like his?" he motions with the cigar at Murphy's cigarette. He wrinkles his nose. "Hell, either way, it could be half the fucking block, in this neighborhood." He shakes his head at Mei's assessment. "I don't think so, kid. Unless you were hanging out with a lot of mutants before we found you." He drums his fingers along the cigar thoughtfully before he's shoving it between his teeth. "Do the missing mutants make any other kind of pattern? Like, other than simply being mutants?" "Jim's place is chaotic, but he knows how /not/ to put a kid's life in danger," Murphy says, but this is followed by a /grimace/. "Ain't the Triad's style, I don't /think/. Then again, I ain't been too up on the Triad's style. This sure as hell got the stink of illegitimacy about it, though. No fucking /patterns/. Couple of kids who're blue. Another kid who's playin' superhero. A few others, maybe. Some of 'em look mutanty; others don't. Doesn't make /sense/," Murphy adds, before growling, and repeating: "No fucking /pattern/." Mei points to the cigar, "Like that." She confirms. Then she tilts her head, "No, no more mutants." She admits then shrugs. Then she listens to Murphy then thinks a bit. "Um... what they do? Missing Mutants? Maybe take for something? Know what do, then know what take for?" She suggests with a little shrug. "What have same?" She tries to make her point clearer, struggling a bit as she moves from standing outside the bedroom doorway to find a seat, watching the two guys go back and forth, trying to add what she can to the discussion. "Shut it with that shit," Dan growls at Murphy under his breath. "I inallyfay otgay erhay ootay ettlesay ownday." He reaches for the box of matches on the coffee table, and fishes one out as he listens. He pauses as Murphy starts his list, and his brow furrows. "Blue kids? They kind of sharky looking? Got some kid ain't much older than them that's their pop?" This potentiality seems to bother him, and he puffs at his cigar sullenly, watching Mei as she offers her input. "That's what he's saying, kid. There ain't no pattern like that. I mean, if they was taking mutants they could use as weapons, or whatever, that would be somewhere to start." He rolls his cigar between his fingers, frowning at the air as if suddenly thinking of something. "Dammit. How young are they taking 'em?" "Yeah. Dunno about the--mm, actually, yeah. They were pretty sharky," Murphy states, another connection SNAPPING into place. "And their pop's just some sweet kid. You know 'em?" He doesn't sound surprised. More, well, /resigned/ to this just being true than anything more. This city, etc. As for Dan's query about how young they're takin' 'em - Murphy just /laughs/. A dark, frightful sound. Like the cackle of a hyena: "Depends. How young you /got/ 'em?" he fires back, before he just - rubs at his nose. Saddling up to his feet, then. Limping forward - /hopping/ - in the direction of his crutch. "Keep your heads down. I'll nose around. And kid," he directs this at Mei, "don't shout the apartment number out your window, alright?" Ha. Ha ha. Murphy's idea of a joke. Mei looks more than a little confused as Dan switches his method of speaking. She's having enough trouble understanding what people normally say from the looks of it as confusion clouds her face then she shakes her head, "Jim not kid." She points out. "What Jim do? Use taken for crime? Steal?" She thinks for a moment, frowning, "Bank? Um.... Boat?" She shakes her head, "Need make list. Know what do? Taken?" She asks then watches Murphy start to hobble, and tilts her head, "Dan make window stay shut." She says, completely missing the joke apparently. Dan doesn't answer Murphy; his face goes about as dark and concerned as it can get, and he rubs a thumb along the scar under his left eye. He puffs at his cigar, sending up small smoke signals over his head as he chews on the end. "Fucking try not get any more beat up," is Dan's farewell, although he makes no effort to try and /help/ the other man. Let him hop. "And get some fucking /sleep/." When Mei misses the joke, Dan coughs a laugh, and turns a triumphant look at Murphy before winking at Mei slowly. "Good girl." Then, to Murphy. "See? We're all good."