October 12, 2012: After their first meeting, Kitty seeks Logan out again.




  • Lockheed

Mood Music:

It takes a week or two before Kitty's wounds have healed themselves into ugly bruises and merely aches where there was before great pain. In that time she has had multiple arguments with Lockheed about Ogun and the man she was sent to kill. The stubborn woman is insistent that Ogun can help while Lockheed is adamant that no one who hinges his assistance in someone else's death is someone they should require the help of. Most of their arguing is done in the looks and gestures reserved for old friends who know each other's minds.

One morning, however, Kitty leaves without telling Lockheed where she is going. It takes her quite awhile, but she has been keeping tabs on Wolverine's movements as best she can. On this particular evening, she keeps downwind and to the shadows, keeping herself phased, at a distance and in the shadows to be practically invisible. While she studied him from afar for a bit, before her first attack, this time she dedicates a long period of time to following him.

Before, she took Ogun's word about his character. Now, she wants to see it for herself.

Logan's a hard man to keep tabs on— the loft where Kitty woke up, assuming she locates it again after fleeing under duress, is vacant shortly after the chase. Exactly where he's moved to is a mystery for the moment, he's also a hard man to trail. That said, for all the subtlety the veteran seems to be capable of, he's also… not the most subtle of men at times like this. The situation on the street is tense, to say the least: The Yashida, a powerful clan with deep ties to the economy and history of the nation, had brokered their fortunes with the Yakuza and an ancient order of mystic assassins called the Hand to amplify their power and reach. It might even have worked out— as much as such arrangements ever do— if the man called Logan hadn't gotten embroiled in the conflict, and taken offense to the methodology at play. Not to mention the people who were hurt.

The bloody path to renege on that underworld deal has left a power vacuum in more than the Yashida's hierarchy— several rival clans currently battle for control of the streets, and several chessmasters ply their art behind the scenes of that power struggle. Meanwhile, all of them have to deal with the Wolverine, with a larger than normal chip perched right on his shoulder. This morning, it's a hostel that doubles as a brothel and is, in actuality, no better than a slave ring in the feral runt's assessment— home to exploited and addicted young men and women from all over East Asia— and a few beyond. The operation is tied to a Yakuza crew operating at the behest of Tsurayaba Matsu'o, one of the most powerful of the men currently vying for control of the empire.

The gaijin vigilante hits them in the wee hours of the morning, while they're hungover and lazy, wearing the burnished red-brown and golds of the Clan he effectively decapitated, and wielding a samurai's sword he has little use for; the guards and enforcers never had a chance. The more sadistic of the house's clients never had a chance. It makes for a trail that's easy to find, full of bloodspatter and limbs, the source no mystery amidst the shocked, agonized deathmasks. That, and the flight of several groups of those aforementioned women and boys from the site, carrying mixed currency in notable quantities— Logan's looting mid-rampage went to the people who earned it, this time. Any number of questions might be raised, but one is soundly settled: Wolverine wasn't lying when he owned up to being a killer.

Kitty stays to the shadows and does not follow Logan when he enters the brothel/hostel. It's only after she sees the blood stained man leave the building that she phases through and sees the devastation he wrought on those in his path. Despite her larger plan to kill Wolverine, being that close to so much death is enough to quickly make her flee. She attempts to not throw up, leaning against a blood splattered wall before phasing through it to fall to her knees on the ground outside. While she had some sympathy for Wolverine before, and the talk with Lockheed had softened her, the results of what she could only call a massacre is enough to harden her resolve. Though she notes the women and boys, she is not quite sure what to make of the horror she witnessed the aftermath.

After a short recovery, she takes off after Wolverine. This is not hard to do. From a rooftop, she watches him in all of his bloodstained glory. She does not approach him, nor does she attempt to attack him, but she is no longer attempting to hide her presence. With a skilled warrior and tracker, she's sure he will be able to discern her presence soon enough.

Logan winds up on a rooftop himself, smoking a cigar— it makes him easy to locate indeed once Shadowcat regains her bearings. The bloodspattered sneaksuit he wears is peppered with bullet holes, cut here and there by knife or sword, smouldered and tattered edges revealing absolutely no injury beneath, by the time Kitty catches up to him. He takes a series of deep puffs from the stogie and blows them out in rings that sail leisurely up and over the narrow streets of one of Tokyo's older districts, scarcely touched by the titanic towers of metal and glass that loom on the horizon. It's likely some time after he's become aware of his shadow that he actually looks back towards her, one eye darting that way as a smirk comes to his face that shares some awareness of the sheer irony of his current situation; it spurs a long, deep sigh.

"Didn't figure you for the sort who'd avenge slavers." Wolverine observes— perhaps informing more than actually believing it. He rises slowly from his perch at the building's edge, and turns to face her, setting aside the ancient katana he carries in one fist; it's not for this situation, however it goes. "Or are you just here hopin' to catch an old man tired and off his game, darlin'?" This prompts a wider, toothy, wolfish grin full of instinct and vigor— he looks neither tired nor old, and with the lack of injuries from his obvious trials, one's impression might drift more towards 'immortal'.

There's a shift in Kitty as she looks at Wolverine, takes in his sneaksuit, the bullet holes, the the cuts, the blood that must be both his victims as well as his. However, where there are holes in his suit, she can only see unbroken skin. The young woman has not replenished her swords. She only has the one. Though broken, it is still close by. Despite his flippancy, her own expression is serious. She's two close rooftops away, but that doesn't mean much to either of them.

"You can't be killed, can you?" It's a serious question, one holding both the weight of her situation as well as a natural curiousness that she finds hard to suppress. Curiosity killed the…well, she can hope that's not the outcome of this evening. Her head turns, mimicking the cautious furred animal she takes her nickname from. "Are you a mutant?"

The woman with the broken sword is, for one reason or many others, clearly not the most terrifying thing Wolverine has faced; even today. Not that he seems overly gung-ho on a round two with the superpowered brunette. He saunters, more than strides, to the first divider between rooftops and vaults it, landing smoothly and continuing his unhurried, unthreatening pace to close with Kitty— though he stops a polite distance away, outside of pounce radius even for him. Can't blame him for not wanting to shout about this shit, right? "Dunno yet." Logan answers frankly, with a shrug of one shoulder. The pair of questions further compounds at least part of the clawed mutant's assessment from earlier that week. "I'm Wolverine, lady." Under other circumstances, he'd probably chuckle— the amusement touches those dangerous, predator's eyes. "If you don't know what that means, you're comin' way less prepared than most saps who take this job."

Logan eyes her evenly as he pauses to puff his cigar, introspective yet clearly curious. "You don't want me dead for crimes real or imagined, you ain't even a killer, talent for it or no." He can read her like a book, at least with regard to her fighting acumen and experience. "Why are you here? They got something on you?" The question is soft, gruffly tender in its concern and incongruous to the man's apparent nature— but it's hardly the first time that dissonance has popped up in her face. Doubtful it'll serve as the last, either. His head cants in return, tilting the opposite direction as he studies her eyes and realization continues its creep into his braincase, "What are they hanging over your head, darlin'?"

"I know your name." Kitty, at least, has that much information. And she was told that he was the most formidable fighter she would ever face. But, she did not quite anticipate a man who could not actually be killed. "But, you've been stabbed and shot and I'm sure a few other things and you're still walking. That seems pretty invulnerable to me."
Despite the distance Wolverine closes, she doesn't move from her perch on the rooftop. Again, she tenses, prepared to jump away or phase through the roof to disappear, but she does not move to do so yet. There is a long pause where the young woman studies Logan and his words. It may be that she has gone back to her decided silence before fleeing, but she takes a chance. She trusts the arguments of Lockheed for a moment, allowing, "They have my father. Ogun can get him back."

"Damn near it." It's not quite invulnerability— but he bounces back fast. "You don't understand." Logan offers up simply, as if that much weren't already apparent from all angles. "It's more than a name." It's not pride or arrogance that prompts the explanation— it's just how it is. "Most formidable you'd ever face.." Wolverine echoes, and this time, he does let out a chuckle. "Told you, darlin', he sent you after me to die. Ogun's better'n I am, always has been. Years ago, he taught me everything anybody needs t' know about the way of the sword. Don't know if he was rotten then, and I missed it, or if it took him all this time to turn into what he is today. He knows they can't break my body down, so they're trying to put blood on my hands I wouldn't put there myself."

Break the spirit, and perhaps the man follows. "Blood like killin' you for trying to save your pop." Wolverine shakes his head, "Ogun's knee deep in the worst of the Yakuza, lady. You want your father alive, you're wastin' your time with the wrong camp already, and adding yerself to the pile. These aren't patient people, and it's not like anyone's expecting you to succeed. Week of downtime you already took…" There's a touch of a wince. He's not trying to be harsh— but he's bad at sugar coating, too. "Look, you need help. So how about taking it from a guy who's not tryin' to make you kill, or get you dead?"

And echo of Lockheed's argument echoes in her head. Any who truly wished to help wouldn't hinge his help on the death of someone else. However, the wary Kitty studies Wolverine and is not quite sure what to make of the blood spattered man who tells her he can help her and that the man who took her in and trained her sent her off to die.
Her eyes narrow at his accusation. "Oh, so I've wasted my time and you are the one that can help me make it up? Now, what must I do, turn on Ogun, return to him and let you in so that you can finally have revenge on the man who is attempting to break you?" While the woman is normally an optimistic woman, while her father is kept on death's door, everything seems like a trap. "What price do you want for your help, hm?"

"Yup." Facetious or no, Kitty has the right of it, at least initially. She's wasted her time, and if anyone can turn it around, Logan is pretty sure she's looking at him. "And nope. That ain't yer fight. This ain't yer fight, either. You decide to point me in the right direction, that's your call." It looks more and more like Ogun is a problem he'll have to deal with, after all. "Far as the price, let's just say I already paid the toll for this ride." The cigar is stubbed out and sent arcing out over the street, "You've seen what I can do, y' know it's not very nice, and I'm the best there is. Long as these assholes make sure it needs doin', it might as well be me doin' the doin'."

It's what they don't understand. They can't break him— Logan's already been shattered, broken, and tempered back together a hundred times. The only thing left is to cut one's hands on all the sharp edges. "You want to pay me back, you'll be better than killin' a man because someone's holding a life you value more over your head. That's a reason to tear out the throat of the fucker offering you the bargain, at best." Lesson one.

Kitty watches Logan and his debonair and swagger. Immediately, she shakes her head, clearly not liking what she hears. "You're no different. You'd kill to kill because you think yourself right and not care to hear the argument." Kitty slowly stands and starts to back away from the edge. "You ask me to leave my father's life in the hands of someone who cares so little about taking others." Her head shakes just once, but it is vehement enough to get the point across. "I don't want a blood bath. I want a life. You can't give me that."

The retreat becomes faster. "I don't want anything from you, you've got nothing to give that I can stomach. Ogun told me you were a warrior, the best he'd ever known and a good man. But, you turned ruthless and merciful only to serve what little conscious you had. Letting one small person go let you sleep at night despite killing hundreds of others. I'm not leaving my father's life in the hands of someone who doesn't care about him."

There's no attempt to swagger or play up his abilities— it is what it is. "Once upon a time." Logan admits of his killing, his mistakes. All the bad people he's let wield him, over the years. "But you're wrong, darlin'. I kill because if I don't, the people I stop will do worse. That should tell you the kind of people you're in bed with." He doesn't pursue her, just eyes Kitty sidelong, head canted subtly to one side. "Because those worse things'll push more death, break more people who don't deserve it. Maybe I'm just a monster killin' monsters…" he's not going to argue that point, it's been said, and recently, by people he respected. It clearly does little to ease the undercurrent of sorrow and regret, "But at least it's fewer monsters."

"You think I don't care, girl?" Logan spits to the side, onto the roof, "You've done less homework than I thought. I didn't spare you 'cause it makes me feel okay about all the blood behind me. I spared ya because I don't know that you deserve to die. Think this shit through." The insinuations clearly get under his skin, much as he tries not to let it, or let it show. "Yer -already- leaving his life in the hands of people who don't care about him; or you." The pleading note is certainly odd from a man who doesn't give a shit, and it's a scenario he's seen mirrored a hundred times; it's not too late for at least one of them.

"Still makes you a monster," Kitty tells him. Her voice isn't quite as accusatory as she might otherwise make it. The words are soft, but somehow still manage to carry. "I've heard about you. The stories." Of course, she thought they were just stories before actually meeting you. "No one thinks they're the bad guy." That may also bleed into Kitty's own viewpoints.

"No, I'm leaving him in my hands. You want me to sit back and pray for my father to suddenly appear like a gift from God. I won't do that." There's a snort. "And all because you want to me to think that you care about us. Someone you never met and another who thinks you a horrible killer."

"Yup." Wolverine doesn't bother to debate it, and it scarcely registers on his face aside from the fact that he's much stonier than he was a few moments before— and there's the subtlest sag to those weighty shoulders. "Ain't you listening? That's why it's gotta be me." She doesn't need to convince him that he's a demon. Of course it never makes the road more joyful to get repeatedly slapped for -trying- to keep the balance tipped towards the side o' the angels. "This shit strips away the good from anybody, till everything soft is worn from the bone."

Logan wets his lips and leans back into a service hutch on the rooftop, closing his eyes a moment and rubbing his temples. It's not hard to imagine him running down the list of people who are better at explaining this shit than he is. Just being direct about it when it counts is clearly a taxing pursuit, he'd rather snap at her and storm off. "Maybe I'm just sick of watchin' that happen. I couldn't care less what you think of me, darlin'. I know what I am, an' if I were doing this as penance, I'd be just as deluded as yer thinkin'."

"Yes you do." Kitty's eyes narrow on Logan. "If you didn't care about what I thought, you'd have left by now. You'd have just done whatever it is you were going to do. You didn't kill me when you could have." It's as if she's arguing with herself here for a moment, brows knitting in confusion. She's seen - recently - his handiwork, his killing. However, he spared her. It's confusing.

There's a cry from the sky and a streak of purple wings past Logan. There's no attempt to rake at the other man. Instead, Lockheed has his angry eyes set on Kitty. It's clear he's annoyed that she snuck out on him from their hiding place. There is a snort of easily dissipated fire as he looks between the two and mutters something in a different language.

"We're just talking," Kitty tells Lockheed with a roll of her eyes. She lowers her voice, bringing the small dragon up to speed. "He's said that he'd rescue Dad." There's a screech. "Yeah, I know, but you didn't just see the bloodbath I just did."

"Yer not an assassin." Wolverine says it like it's just that simple, like he saw it in her eyes— which probably isn't far from the truth. "I don't kill people still tryin' to weigh their soul's worth in barter." He's not going to soft-sell it, either. She should be glad he can survive being run through by a samurai sword. Kitty's teetering on a line, in the Canuck's estimation, and he's not particularly subtle about implicitly linking it to the same one she's calling him out on, now. Lockheed's arrival draws a quizzical glance that fades from alarm as quickly as it arrives there, brows raised once more at the odd little flying lizard. "I kill the sons of bitches who've already made that trade twice over."

The demons roused by his stab into one of the Beast's many eyes arrive almost on queue, Lockheed's agitation as telling as Logan's sniffing nostril in the instants before the kind of killers the Wolverine speaks of appear in force, from every corner of the building as if a nest of spiders had been disturbed within, the rising sun disappearing entirely behind the skyline as a rising mist casts a shroud which leaves a square three blocks in twilight. Some of the men no longer look like men— their eyes fiery pits, a gaping window on the abyss plenty of brain-food texts talk about. Muscles unnaturally bulge, men and women dart from place to place without taking a step, their dead and deadly gaze forward on their prey.

"You should run, darlin'." Logan advises, already wise on the likelihood of Shadowcat /taking advice/ in her present headspace, as twin snaps of *SNIKT* draw six footlong daggers from the berserker's fists. "Don't think they're here for you." He spits once as the proverbial noose closes around them.

From her place on the rooftop, Kitty quickly moves into a defensive stance when the attackers appear. She doesn't have anything more than her broken katana as a weapon on her. And, there is a moment where she clearly believes leaving Wolverine to his own devices is a good call.

However, with all the talk of scales and souls and balances, she realizes she can't just leave him here. Also, the stubborn part of her that is still like a petulant teenager isn't about to just leave a fight because some jerk tells her that its dangerous. She's a warrior and she will prove herself as one.

There's no verbal response from Kitty to prove that she's staying. Instead, she takes a few steps back and readies her half blade. At least she still has that as well as her phasing ability to help her through. Lockheed takes to wing, hovering above his friend with a determined look on his face, smoke starting to tendril out of his nostrils.

First things first: the red-clan man who's at the front of the line spills his guts, quite literally and torrentially, as Logan makes a too-sudden motion that plants three of those glinting metal claws into, then through the man's belly. The same motion disarms the assassin of his lethal, demon-accented longsword, and the ninja's blade is subsequently tossed towards Kitty, skidding around pommel-first to intersect her measured defense. It's all but perfectly choreographed with the twin slashes that drop the next two in line in a spatter of crimson— it's quickly clear where the Wolverine gets his namesake and reputation, and perhaps why his wake can be so damn chummed up, some days. Not that he never goes hunting the trouble himself.

Poisoned crossbow bolts take shots of opportunity largely for Logan, but Kitty finds herself marked for death the moment she turns against them and puts her back to her own quarry. Her phasing likely makes the majority of the weaponry at play harmless, her advantage of surprise complete— but there are more ninja coming up onto the rooftops moment to moment, flitting one to another from several over as shuriken and crossbow ply their deadly arts. Logan pulls them out as quickly as they bite in, and it never seems more than a reflexive step in the horrible, nigh-perfectly choreographed whirlwind of death he draws around their stand. Meanwhile, in the streets below, black cars with tinted windows roll up in sedan and SUV form, engine after engine roaring in from the outskirts in progressive seconds, followed by angry shouting in Japanese.

The blade arcs and then skitters on the ground at Kitty's feet. Lockheed whirls about in the air as crossbow bolts start to take aim for the dragon and swerves to avoid them. It is an immediate defensive reaction to phase as the poisoned bolts are aimed for her. They pass right through her, one or two taking out those attempting to surprise her from behind.

The young woman ducks, scooping up the sword from where it was tossed to her, quickly cutting upward and backward to disarm the men starting to surround her. Shadowcat shifts from substantial to insubstantial in bursts of movement, only becoming solid again to land a hit.

Lockheed swoops downward, emitting fire, catching the wooden weapons on fire and causing the demonic ninjas to drop them unless they, too, catch fire. While Logan's movements are all death blows, her own are to incapacitate and to disarm. After one particular clash, her eyes lock onto the opponent across from her and the woman's eyes glow red and almost vacant other than a burning hatred. "What is wrong with them?"

"That shit about sellin' yer soul for power and worldly glory wasn't just metaphor sweetheart." Logan drily snarks mid-kill, closing one of those rage-fueled stares with a quick overhand jab. "Get ready to move, our exit's the low road." Apparently, Wolverine has a plan— it helps that he understands shouted Japanese from the street below, to say nothing of those adjacent. The feral Canuck's alert, lethal vigil keeps Kitty's rear flanks clear, though the skill with which she acquits herself does no small service to stemming the tide— to say nothing of the dragonfire from the unexpected flying bundle of napalm. Still, that tide seems endless, and even Wolverine can't do this forever.

Logan's course is swiftly to the roof's ledge, and he extends one hand to Kitty; grabbing for the other mutant wouldn't do a great deal of good in her case. Even as the gesture is made, gunfire erupts around them— from below, automatic fire, and from rooftops further removed, snipers fire again and again… dropping assassins, not Kitty or Logan. Assuming she joins grips with that offered hand, or proactively finds her own way down, the surprisingly dense Canucklehead literally and abruptly hurls himself off the roof like a runty anchor, rapidly dropping towards the street below. He knows what her powers do— he knows what his powers do— he does what he always does. He takes that risk.

"It had nothing to do with power. Or glory." Kitty ducks under a slash toward her throat. "The what?" Jumping off a roof with someone normally means that you have some measure of trust that they have a plan or that you are not jumping to your death. Of course, she has none of that. The grabbing of Logan's hand is more out of instinct. If someone you're fighting with sticks out their hand, you take it. The last thing she expected when that happened was for him to take them and launch them into thin air.

She does not scream or shriek. Instead, it is something more of an accusatory squeak. "Whatareyoudoing?!?!" Automatically, she starts to phase. Though she has very little idea of how that will help when they hit the ground, at least they'll both be clear of both gunfire and arrows now that they are in quite the vulnerable falling position.

"That part wasn't /your/ metaphor." If he had another moment, Logan would roll his eyes. As it is, they have appointments to keep— and ninja assassins in various stages of undeath and ire are bearing down on them. As he crosses the ledge, his free hand grasps the sword he set there seemingly hours earlier, that second set of claws snaps away in a flash, and the pair of them careen for the asphalt. He doesn't know if Shadowcat can go up the way she phases down, he doesn't know if she can take the impact, though he'd tend to expect so— regardless, his plan becomes readily apparent without further explanation from the clawed Canuck. He twists about on the way down, his excess mass easily keeping him ahead of Kitty as he aligns to crash back first into the asphalt— of course, he doesn't have to, nor does he need to provide a survivable landing to his passenger.

This brings a grin to the deadly little mutant's bearded mug as the wind whips past them; sure, he could survive it, but it's just not present. On the ground, the hitsquad firing on the Hand quickly help their new friends into the nearest car— a sleek number with a posh backseat divided from the driver and the man riding, almost literally, shotgun, by reinforced glass. It draws a smirk from Logan as he twists the stub of a crossbow bolt or two out of his chest and tosses them unceremoniously onto the carpeting, before raiding the wetbar for its best whiskey.

Kitty's offered a glass with a raised brow. "Takin' the low road out." He answers rather belatedly, and with more than a touch of acerbic doublespeak. He already knows who this is, picking them up, and it seems to behoove him to be at least momentarily smug about it.

Kitty can't exactly go up the same way that she goes down. There is certainly an impact on Wolverine's back as he twists: their phased bodies start to encounter air resistance. It's not at all like hitting the pavement, luckily enough. Then, it's almost like rolling down a steep ramp. Once on the ground, she's not quite sure why she is getting into a black car with a man she is supposed to kill, but it's better than fighting waves of demon ninjas.

Inside the car, she shakes her head at the glass. Instead, her eyes watch the crossbow bolts drop to the ground. The car is already moving, but she reaches over to the opposite side they entered from and rolls the window down low enough for Lockheed to fly in when he catches up with them.

"And who are the low road?" Just because he can be smug doesn't mean that she will rise to snapping at him. Instead, most of her concern is clearly out the window as she looks for the telltale purple blur of her friend.

"A man you just call Boss Tatsu'o if you don't want to piss 'em off." Wolverine offers Kitty's way, forthright enough with the moment of baiting passing into a more legitimate info dump. "The muscle have to be part of the Mad 50's, elite arm of the Tatsu Clan's enforcement wing. They're Yakuza, but they ain't onboard with what the Hand and their allies are lookin' to carve out." The Hand is bound to draw a questioning look from the inquisitive Cat, and it's answered before it can be asked, "Ancient ninja clan— powers from a real nasty customer. They bind themselves to the will of a demon." Seriously. He has the air and the expression of a man who knows just how ludicrous it is; and totally agrees.

"There's a gang war goin' on in the Tokyo underworld, and if he sent you to kill me now, Ogun's gotta be on the side of those devils we just faced down. Which means we're gonna need an army. Which means we're takin' a car ride with some people I'd rather flip two birds and a moon, so I can find out where the real trouble's at." Does that about clear up the relevants? Wolverine ponders it a moment, or half of one, before throwing back the fine liquor wholesale, and refilling the empty crystal.

Indeed, the operatives swiftly get their passengers out of harm's way, and Lockheed should have no trouble catching that window before the rapid acceleration onto one of the city's many highways, roaring up a curving skybridge back towards that high-tech skyline that had been so seemingly distant.

There's little sign from Kitty that she is taking in any of this information, or even that she is listening. Her eyes are completely focused on the sky until Lockheed sweeps in through the window and then eagerly curls up on Kitty's lap. A crossbow bolt raked past one of his legs, but it's a minor wound. "Hey, buddy!" She quickly checks to make sure his wound is not serious before scratching the top of his head. "Sorry about before." It doesn't seem like there are any hard feelings at the moment.

Then, finally, her eyes snap forward, the warmth and concern for Lockheed gone as she studies Wolverine. "You put me in a car with the people who took my father?" It's not an idea she likes. "I've studied with Ogun for awhile now and there was never a mention of swearing to a devil." And because of that, she clearly thinks Logan is wrong about him.

"If they did, I guess we're headin' in the right direction twice over." Wolverine observes without nearly enough concern for the idea that they might be walking into a trap, or a deal with a more proverbial devil that he won't be inclined to take. It's important to leave plenty of room in one's expectations for people to disappoint, the legendary spook has found. A cagey half-smile quirks at Kitty— or perhaps Kitty and Lockheed, as the clawed Canuck tosses back drink number two, and pours a third. He seems inclined to hang onto this one for at least a little longer, not that he shows any particular sign of having just taken at least five or six shots worth of whisky in the span of 90 seconds, save one serious breath and moment of appreciation for the burn.

"Doubt they did, though." He almost hates to break it to her. "Comin' at me triggers an enemy of my enemy thing, ruckus I raised over it's the only reason they're here." There's a beat, and perhaps realizing the stress this has to be putting his dubious partner-in-crime under, the appendation is much softer, even sympathetic, "We'll get to the bottom of it." Find the people who need finding.

The armed convoy's destination is in the heart of the Tokyo metropolis, a towering mega hotel with its own parking garage and car elevator— and the afternoon arrives at the apex of a veritable fortress of glass and steel in one of the establishment's penthouse suites, its floor to ceiling windows offering a breathtaking, sheer view of the drop and the skyline beyond it. Accommodations, and the promise of a dinner date with one of the more powerful players in the city's hidden war— Logan's advise? "I'd get some rest." Though nefariously, he heads for the shower first: clearly simply trying to deceive her and seize it for himself.

There's a narrowed eyes at the 'we' that Logan tosses her way casually. As if suddenly they were a team. For now, they may be stuck together, but she does not think of them as a linked unit. Lockheed has started to snooze by the time they reach the mega hotel. Scooping him up, she silently follows Logan to the penthouse suite.

There's only a nod that she has acknowledged what he's said before she moves closer to the windows to get a better look at the beautiful skyline. Despite Logan's advice, with Lockheed a sleep she'll be staying awake. Just because she jumped off a roof with someone doesn't mean that she trusts him enough to sleep in what is possibly a Yakuza owned hotel while he takes a shower. Cradling Lockheed against her shoulder as if he were a scaly purple baby, her eyes scan out over the city, thoughtful.

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