Face the Blood - Emma and Logan

[x-penance.livejournal.com]

Backdated to very late last night: Emma and Logan take matters into their own hands.



The room was used usually for interviews between lawyers and their clients, or prosecutors and defendants, and had no illusions of being anything but a serviceable box. Blank concrete walls, battered but sturdy wooden table bolted to the floor, plastic chairs and wire mesh covering the light fixture and the observation window. Normally there was a guard watching from that vantage point when an interview was under way, but this time the room beyond was dark.

Emma knew, based on the small twitches of his nostrils, that the perfume she was wearing was probably assaulting Logan's senses rather vigorously. She normally took care to limit her use of perfumes when she was around anyone with enhanced senses but not this time. Forced to dress down, to be inconspicuous, to blend, the perfume (hideously expensive and made specially for her by Fragonard) was her defiant flag, waved in the face of the grey blandness of the world she had to enter to protect one of her children.

She did not like this country, she did not like this city, she did not like this prison and she certainly did not like the man who sat opposite them.

"Ivan," said Emma, her voice icy with contempt. "You know why we're here. Our colleagues made clear our purpose. I am led to believe they attempted to engage a sense of altruism that you simply do not have. So we have come to see if you respond to other methods of persuasion."

"See, what the lady's tryin' to say is that you're gonna die anyway. Raper, killer, scum. You got two choices. You can die slow and messy and we can take what we want, or you can give us what we want and we can talk about makin' it quick. Painless. Nice and easy. Your call, bub." Logan said, his voice flat and hard.

Ivan glanced from Emma to Logan and back before shaking his head and laughing out loud. The scornful sound rang strangely in the room, echoing off the walls and weaving itself into a jarring, curring song. "Chist Jesus, you people... You really think you can do something to me that haven't yet been done?"

The Serb swayed, his thin stringy body almost shuddering with laughter. "You fucking Amis..." The shackled arms made the movements awkward but somehow Ivan managed to snake out of his shirt, turning toward Emma and letting the garment fall to the floor. His pale body was criscrossed by old knife scars, bullet wounds and still weeping burn sores. "Well then... " he grinned mockingly at her before turning his eyes on Logan. "Surprise me. Make me hurt."

This guy had no way of knowing that making that kind of challenge to Logan was, in fact, an excellent way to get hurt. Without so much as an eyeblink or a hesitation he grabbed for Ivan's nasty hair, getting a good handful and using it to introduce Ivan's face to the table. Violently.

"You listen to me, you scumbag." Logan growled. "Your little girl's gonna die. And I'd take one of her over any dozen fucks like you." he said, bouncing Ivan's head off the tabletop one more time for good measure. "See, the woman next to me here can make you want to spend the rest of your pathetic little life believing you're a seven-year-old girl." he said. "You'll want nothing more than to play with dolls and look pretty." he said with a truly disturbing feral grin. "So why don't we cut the shit, here, Ivan, before we need to rename you and get you a pretty frock." he growled.

Ivan chuckled, the sound having a distinct wetness to it now, and spat blood carefully splattering Logan's boots. "That tickles, Ami. Want to put some muscle into it? I haven't been caressed like that since my first brothel visit."

"Don't." Emma's voice was as soft as the touch of her hand on Logan's arm. "There's no point, Logan." The tip of her tongue caressed the centre of her upper lip. "He likes it."

Logan looked at Emma askance, but decided to heed what she was saying. This time. "Fine." he said with disgust.

"He likes to think he matters," said Emma. "That he's the hard man who can't be broken. That he's got something we need and that he can make sure we don't get it. He likes to hate." Her voice was dreamily disconnected and her gaze focused through the man who sat before her as if he wasn't there.

Ivan shook his head, smiling. "Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun? One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever."

He spat again. "Think what you want. We come from earth and there we return. Soon I shall be dust. And my daughter will follow. Free of this vale of tears. As I told your friends - you came for nothing."

Ivan sat back in his chair, quirking one eyebrow. "Now. I believe we are done here?"

"Oh, you are certainly done," replied Emma, her attention snapping back from Ivan's mind. "And this vale of tears shall not miss you at all. But do not presume that you will be taking Yvette with you." She stood, beckoning Logan to join her and stopped only when the pair of them had nearly reached the door. "Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. Didn't your Preacher say that as well? Goodbye, Mr Marinkov. When you meet the Devil, say hello for me."