ArchivedLogs:Introductions

Introductions
Dramatis Personae Murphy, Logan	2013-05-08 Murphy meets Logan. Look, Murphy has /trust/ issues, okay?!
Location Harry's Hideaway - Salem Center
A cozy nook of a bar, Harry's has been run by the same grizzled proprietor for decades. The fare they serve is plain and typical bar food, but solid and well-prepared, and what the alcohol lacks in variety it makes up for in quality. Close proximity and long-developed relationships with the staff at Xavier's means they turn a blind eye to the mutants who frequent the bar. After hours. Happy Harry's. It's a cold mother-fucking night; the last of the patrons are heading out. Probably among the scragglers is - Logan. Wherever he is, he's about to get approached. By a MURPHY. This is a man that, in all likelihood, Logan has never met. He's a man in a fine charcoal black coat - a man with a slight limp - a hard, /brutish/ face - a man who, at the moment, smells - perhaps curiously - of battery acid. And just the /faintest/ whiff of kerosene. Along with that, cologne - a spritz of liquor - and blood. His, by the tang of it; a wound, stitched up, still healing. "Hey," Murphy says to Logan, as soon as he sees him - zeroing in. Moving in closer. "Waitupasecond." Logan lifts up a hand to the approaching man, and alters his trajectory to move around him. The Wolverine is in foul spirits - not because the weather is cold (but that doesn't help much) - but that the trail he was following to locate Peter Parker is cold. He's wearing jeans, boots, belt, shirt and leather jacket - and scowls at everyone. "No comment, bub." He growls at the man as he heads past. "Logan," Murphy responds, as he steps past him. Then, just a /mite/ softer: "/Wolverine/." Assuming that's enough to catch Logan's attention - Murphy will close in - and offer him his hand. The man's bulky; a bit heavyset, actually. Kind of shaped like a pear, judging by the way that coat fits him. "We need to talk." Eyebrows. /Crunched/ together. Briefly scanning the street - checking to make sure there's nobody who might overhear. Logan's nostrils flare, his eyes narrow and his lip curls. In an instant he has spun around, reached for the front of Murphy's clothes with both hands, and then makes a move to push the man back against the wall of the bar, whilst breathing hot air into the man's face. "Don't have time for games, bub." He veritably snarls at the private detective. "You gotta point to make? Make it." Murphy doesn't resist. When he hits that wall, he shrugs back, as if retreating - his feet sliding apart, his hand descending towardr Logan's stomach. Taking an instant to make sure - no part of Logan's lower body is touching him. And then, sucking in a slow breathe... Murphy depresses the trigger. The smell of battery acid was a clue. So was the pear-shape. Murphy's not fat; he's just big-boned. Or big-/battery'd/. Two car batteries are strapped to his waist, under the coat - both of them hooked up to a home-made tazer. With a click, two little barbs are firing - aimed straight for Logan's crotch - tiny hooks aiming to snap into place before delivering - an /astounding/ charge to the mutant. Enough to kill a man, really. /Probably/ enough to knock Logan out cold. For a minute, maybe. Half a minute? The adamantium skeleton's probably going to help. Meanwhile, at the same time, Murphy's shrugging out of his coat, /ducking/. Because he knows about those claws. And he knows that it's very likely that when shocked, Logan's going to /use/ them. Which is why, an instant after this, he's unlocking the trigger to the taser - interrupting the flow long enough to try and /slam/ his knee into his belly, and knock him back. Away. Hopefully, to the ground. Logan's face flashes with surprise - then horror - then mind-numbing RAGE! - A pity it didn't NUMB other parts of his anatomy, and the man drops to the ground ROOOAAARING in AGONY at this DESECRATION of his most holy of holies, down between his legs. Not much of a payback, but Murphy's 'knee to the gut' didn't quite hit the right place, and it glances off one of Logan's lowest ribs - his adamantium-reinforced ribs. Logan hits the sidewalk, convulsing in pain, and amid the incoherent snarling and growling, one might hear him say: "I'll--... KILL--... YOU!!!" Then his head falls back and he passes out. He won't be like that for long... "Nnng--/fuck/," Murphy spits, his knee /glancing/ off that harsh, metal edge - and the custom-made taser doesn't /exactly/ shut off as fast as it should either. Which leads to a brief, flickering shock - not as much as Logan gets, but. "Tsssst," he whispers. But then - as Logan goes down - he's stepping forward, keeping those cords implanted - giving a quick look around the street. And then... he fires it again. This time, /holding/ the trigger. For a good 3 seconds. Until... "...fuckfuck/fuck/." Ignition coil overheating. Murphy turns it off; he reaches underneath his coat, unbuckling the harness. Car batteries - along with the rest of the home-made gear - slump off and hit concrete, smoldering and sparking. The whole setup's burning up; neveryoumind, though - he got what he wanted. Logan's out. For a little while, at least... Murphy, still cursing up a storm, crouches down besides him - seizing him by a shoulder - and /drags/. About two minutes later, Logan is in the back alleyway behind Harry's. Inside of an empty dumpster - the plastic top is down, padlocked shut. The stench of kerosene is /overwhelming/; Logan is, in fact, currently laying in about an inch of it. Were he not a mutant, he'd probably have /suffocated/ to death - the only air coming in is through the side-panel. The drain-slits for the dumpster have been clogged shut with oily rags. And on top of that... there's this curious sound. From /outside/ the dumpster. *FLNKT*. If - and when - Logan starts to get up - he'll hear a voice coming from outside that open panel. Murphy's. Slow, steady, coarse - a little wheezy from having just dragged an /incredibly/ heavy rodent from a street to an alleyway - but otherwise? Almost /cheerful/. *FLNKT* "Hey, chucklefuck. Fun science fact: Human fat /burns/. So, quick question: If I get you hot enough, and you grow that fat back /quick/ enough, you think I could patent your ass as a /perpetual motion/ machine?" Then: "Don't get out of the dumpster. Or..." If Logan looks out of that open side-panel, he'll see Murphy - on the other side of the alley - sitting in a lawn-chair. Enjoying a smoke. And another *FLNKT* - his brass colored lighter with the Marine Corps insignia. Tumbling, ever so easily, between his fingers. "You and me, we're gonna have a /chat/. Or a barbecue. Your call, rodent." Logan groans. Light. Bright white light. That's all he could see at first when that bastard outside the dumpster tazed him. Then it went black. Completely black. Logan might have imagined it, but even unconscious he still had the sensation of 'roaring' in his ears. Maybe that was his subconscious self trying to claw its way out and tear this guy limb from limb. Now, as Logan's eyes slowly open and he almost chokes down a mouthful of kerosine, all he sees is RED. BLOOD RED. "You've managed--*cough*--ta get my attention, bub..." Logan growls through the coughing and gagging on the awful smell of kerosine. "You might not be glad ya did." He coughs again, his mouth to the opening so he can breathe better. His eyes focus on Murphy, who's looking back at him. Murphy's looking at Death. But for the moment, Death is staying still. "Uh-huh." Murphy takes in a long, /deep/ pull of that cigarette; the lighter continues to *FLNKT*. "Mmmn. Good, good. We're making progress, here. Working our way up to a /decent/ conversation." Puff. Puff. He's actually... not looking at Logan. No, he's looking at his lap. Where there's a magazine. A magazine that he's currently in the process of /reading/. Then, as he flips a page: "We're gonna play a game. Here's how it goes: I'm gonna ask you three questions. Two of 'em, I already know the answer to. You lie to me on one of those, I light you up. You play it straight - you tell the truth - then I give you somethin' you want. S'pretty sweet deal." Another turn of the page. Murphy /snorts/ as he reads. "Holy /shit/, you hear about what Jennifer Aniston's up to? What a /bitch/." Logan bares his teeth at the walking corpse talking to him - with enough restraint to not fly into a berserker rage... just yet. Silently, his claws slide out of his arms, between his knuckles - his arms at his sides. He takes a breath through the grating in the dumpster. "What're ya waitin' for? Ask." He growls the words, eyes staring fixedly at Murphy. Murphy's patient. When it comes to stoking the rage in others, he's a goddamn /zen-master/, frankly. So instead of responding to Logan's request... he flips another page. And reads. For a good five seconds. Just when it might be about to get unbearable, Murphy fires away: "Weapon X. You ever hear anything about it?" "Weapon X?" Logan repeats with a growl. "Weapon X?! What the FUCK is Weapon X??!!" He has absolutely NO recollection of anything that sounds like 'Weapon X'; nothing jogs his memory, and the question... sounds ridiculous to him. "Look... bub. If you went to all this trouble just to play games..." He growls through his teeth and headbutts the small grating through which he gets his only source of breatheable air. "You tell me an' we'll BOTH know!" *FLNKT*. The lighter stays in Murphy's hand; this, apparently, was the right answer. Or was it the question Murphy /didn't/ know the answer to? Instead of responding to Logan's growling, he just - flips to the next page. And then: "Are you currently working for the government?" Is this guy for real??? Logan snorts. If it hadn't been for the 'Logan' and 'Wolverine' comments, AND the lengths to which this guy went to put Logan in a box... he'd think the man was insane. Hell, the man is probably STILL insane... but he knows things. He knows Logan. So Logan plays along. "You lookin' for a reference?" He sneers. "I work at a fucking SCHOOL, bub. That COUNT as 'working for the goverment'?" "Mmm," is all Murphy says. /Still/ not looking up from his magazine. But then - this last question. /This/ is the one where his eyes rise - finally meeting Logan's. The lighter *FLNKT* suddenly coming to an abrupt halt: "You know somebody by the name of 'Jim Morgan'?" Logan doesn't answer. With a sudden sweep of his adamantium claws he carves an X into the side of the dumpster whilst simultaneously hurling himself through the weakened wall. Kerosine spills out over the alleyway, as the Wolverine comes charging across the intervening space, kerosine fumes rising from his body, his claws aimed at Murphy's belly... The instant that Logan's claws are sweeping, Murphy's moving. The first thing he does - leap up to his feet and /hurl/ the lighter at Logan's chest with a final *FLNK*. It doesn't go off. Either way, Murphy's on his feet - /kicking/ the chair toward Logan's legs, sending it skidding - exposing the fire extinguisher underneath. Snatching it up with a flick. And promptly /firing/ - a surge of foam /rushing/ out to greet Logan's face and claws as he makes a charge right for Murphy. It's a bid to blind the mutant - probably just temporary at best. "Take that as a yes. He's missing," Murphy says, with a quick, rapid, *put-put-put*; the adrenaline's surging, now; he's just trying to put as much distance between him and Logan as possible, eyes narrowed. Moving toward the alley's /exit/. The lighter doesn't go off--and Logan is already in too much of a frenzy to notice, or even care. He doesn't slow down, not for anything. He leaps over the skidding chair, only to catch a blast of foam to his jaw, neck and chest. He half-gags, closes his eyes to stop them from stinging and puts himself into a dead RUN. When the sound of Murphy's footsteps is near enough, Logan LEAPS directly at him, his arms sweeping in a wild GRAB (or is it a SLASH?) for Murphy's legs!! "Nngh," is all Murphy manages. Not because the claws cut into meat - rather, it's a /pre-emptive/ grimace. For what is /about/ to happen. When Logan /leaps/, Murphy /swings/ - the entire fire extinguisher swung down to meet those claws. Releasing at the crucial moment - even as Murphy just stumbles /back/, trying to get away, knowing fully well what's going to happen once those adamantium claws make contact with a cast-iron shell - and contents under /heavy/ pressure. *FWOOOSH* Adamantium bites pressurized metal container. Pressurized metal container goes: FWOOOSH!' Or BOOM! The two mangled halves fly out in opposite directions; the lower part strikes the ground and ricochets up in between Murphy's thighs, as the other catches Logan in the calf and WOULD have pitched him forward had not the explosion of FOAM knocked both men away from each other, and to the the ground. Thanks to Logan's added weight, he doesn't move as far or as fast, but the NOISE of the bang has his ears RINGING in agony! He rolls about in a bed of foam that spreads across the alley, and tries to spot Murphy. "I hope that's... permanent... damage!" he grates through his teeth (practically YELLING it, since he's temporarily DEAF). He struggles to stand up, and manages to make it to one knee, his body COVERED in this goopy white anti-fire stuff, his eyes burning balefully at Murphy. Murphy goes down. Hard. Fast. There's a rough *crnkt* as he hits concrete; a low-throated gurgle - followed by a groan. Ears ringing. Groggy, confused. Immediately, he starts assessing - anything broken? Hands feeling down at where the cast iron shell - /thankfully/ thin, but still propelled with enough force to crack bone. It hit him in - one of his upper thighs. Shit. Cracked femur, maybe? Cracked pelvis? If the latter - will probably be dead. He's bleeding. Portion of his pants have been torn open; an immense gash - deep enough to expose bone - rips over his upper thigh. Somehow, the femur has managed /not/ to break; he's still not sure about his hip, though. The ringing in his ears means he doesn't hear what Logan is saying. Instead, he just - groans, slowly sitting up. Fighting through shock, pain, confusion. Slowly - rolling off his coat. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Need a tourniquet. Foam is /everywhere/ - but mostly on Logan's side. Point of impact - the foam rushed out over /there/. "Fuck," Murphy says, unable to hear his own voice. And then he continues, not bothering to look up and see if Logan's coming to kill him: "Police. If you're gonna -- unngh -- finish me. Do it now. Otherwise, need you. To help me find. Jim Morgan. Will tell you. Bout dem bones." It's quite possible Logan doesn't even /hear/ what Murphy is saying. He's still dazed, anyway. He might have a concussion. Logan just snarls. Struggling to stand, he limps over to Murphy and says in a voice that is overly-loud (he's still deaf): "I ain't done with you, yet, bub." With his claws retracted, and his head a little clearer (nothing like a good explosion to awaken the synapses!), he bends down, tears off his shirt and immediately starts bandaging the bleeding wound as best he can - even if it only slows the bleeding. He looks down the street to see if anyone has noticed them - someone is bound to have seen, or heard something... and have done what any good citizen would do... call the cops. Logan begins dragging Murphy back into the alley, and then leaves him there while he heads for the nearest payphone. "...You better get 'ere FAST--" he BARKS at the person on the other end of the line. "We gotta problem..." He glances back at Murphy. "A big problem."