milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Logan. Bar. Coffee.

He went home recently. Didn't much like it, so he came back. Things are chaos at the Casablancas house and in Neptune in general, and normally Logan would be thrilled, but his playmate's too busy for him at the moment, and Veronica and Duncan are still super-lovey.

Miliways is a better place to be at the moment.

He's pleased to be here, and looking for a chat.

((OOC: On way to cafe for homeworking, but will be online most of the night.))

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On the other hand, Behrooz can say that about his mother, too. But on the plus side, his mother never tried to kill him. Just his girlfriend.

... you pick your battles.

Behrooz looks back down at the bar. This is somewhat awkward now.

Just a little. But Logan's experienced at Awkwardness now.

"Have you seen Lilly's newspaper yet? It's pretty funny."

"No, I haven't."

Pause.

"That was a pretty big segue."

Logan grins. There's only a little humor in it, and most of that is self-deprecating.

"Yeah. You got anything else to say about the previous topic? I'm all ears."

This is that point where Behrooz is torn between being sick of lying and ... the truth.

Finally, "I told you, my parents were involved in some... pretty illegal things."

He's really reluctant to use the word 'terrorist.'

Logan just nods, not wanting to stop the words.

"That... pretty much sums up the illegal things."

Behrooz needs to be poked every so often, though, or he's inclined to go back to evasiveness.

"No, it doesn't," Logan says, exasperated. "Doesn't even come close. You're such a tease, Behrooz."

"There's not much more to it than that. Just killing as many people as you can at once."

He doesn't know why he's saying it like this. It's not really true.

Or completely true.

Or something.

Logan staaares. "Right," he says in a strangled voice. "Anything else? Because you're winning the dysfunctional family award right now. Which is quite a feat, let me tell you."

He watches the bar.

"Nothing that will make it sound better."

Logan shrugs. "My dad killed my girlfriend, who had proof he was fucking around on my mom with starlets. My mom jumped off a bridge. My ex-girlfriend's best friend found out my dad committed the murder, suspected me of both that and raping the girl detective, while we were dating. She now thinks I killed a Mexican and is dating my best friend, who won't speak to me because of my dad killing his sister. Add the gang war in, and my life's pretty much shit. Terrorist parents blow major chunks, but unless they succeeded, I'm not sure how much worse it is."

As if these things can be judged on some sort of standard scale, or even a sliding one.

"They didn't." He's not looking at the bar. He's not really looking at anything.

"I killed him."

("Heart and head, that's where it counts.")

"Ouch," Logan says quietly. He looks at the table. "Sometimes I wish I'd had the chance to kill my dad."

It's almost a whisper, that last part. "Maybe then Duncan wouldn't hate me so much."

Unsaid: Maybe Veronica would love me back.

Not looking up, "No. You really don't."

"I don't?" Logan asks bitterly. "The man tormented me for 17 years. He made me choose the belt he'd hit me with, for God's sake, made my mother listen to my screams, taught me how not to cry out until I thought I'd die. He killed the person I loved best in the world, drove my mother off the Coronado Bridge and made my sister hate me. Please, tell me again I don't want to kill him. Because I'd beg to differ."

"" He holds his right hand tightly in his left, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes seem unfocused, ""

""

Logan gapes. "How did you -"

He breaks off, blinks back tears that threaten to fall. God, he's such a girl lately, he thinks.

Behrooz doesn't look at him. ""

"I always said I'd do it, one day, swore I'd take care of him, get him out of my life. She did it, not me. Only she was strong enough to save me, and she's gone."

He doesn't look up. His eyes are on his hands, on the scar on his right palm.

"."

He's not really coherent enough to remember to translate it right now.

((OOC: Sleep, and we'll finish later. It's pretty draining, and there's no need to kill ourselves over it.))

Logan doesn't understand, and he reaches out, touches the scar. "What's that mean?" he asks quietly.

(Blood - skin - shattered bone in the dirt. He forgets her body - wrapped in plastic - right behind him. Too hot - surrounded by corpses -)

He usually makes an effort to hide the scar, but right now, he barely notices it. H-shaped, Hain, Traitor. His father didn't do that. There was no time.

(He's dead - through the heart - don't even remember it - put the gun down - handcuffs - "Mom, it was me, I did it, I killed him -")

Murmur, ""

"Not," Logan says harshly. "Not like him. Never like him."

"Killed him. Like he would have. One shot through the heart. He told me that."