2011 11 19 Revelations Once More

Log Title:

Revelations once more

Phantasm and Richenda-Grey

RL Date:
19 Nov 2011

IC Date:
19 Nov 2011

Mike's Apartment - Chelsea

Brief log summary::
Chenda stops by with questions about the man with the 'dragon slayer' cards…


There is no TS in this log::

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-==[ Mike's Apt - Tate Apt Bldg - New York ]==-----—-

This studio apartment is quite simple. To the right of the entryway is the kitchen and bathroom, to the left a closet and a washer/dryer. Straight ahead, the Living/Dining Room combo. Walk to there and there's a sleeping alcove to the right. As far as furniture there are five notable pieces of furniture. Two futons in the alcove, two more futons in the living /dining room area, and a rather beaten, and likely salvaged from a street corner on trash day, coffee table. Resting on the table is an old TV and converter box.

It is unsure to what is sadder. The minimalism of the furniture, or that four guys pooled their money for this and this is all they did. But factoring the amount of sound proof paneling around the place along with the drumset, guitars, keyboard, recorder, and practice drum pads scattered about there's likely a good reason why the furniture count stopped where it did. With just two people sharing the apartment now, this quasi-two room, quasi-kitchen, one bathroom apartment seems quite spacious. Although, the occupants would prefer it much more if the other two former occupants were still there.

As the night's hours drift by, the apartment building that Mike currently calls home has grown rather quiet. There are a number of folks still out with their Saturday night activities, while others have come in, declaring the night to be done for them. As for up in Mike's apartment, the results are half and half. While Wade is currently out, Mike is very much in his apartment, situated near the keyboards. Although fingers go along the keys, no sound is made as what's made gets redirected towards the headphones that grace Mike's head.

A bit further away, situated upon the floor area but a safe enough distance away from the equipent is a small mini forest of black glassed bottles.

The streets of Chelsea are definitely a few steps up from Hell's Kitchen, or so Chenda discovered on the way here. Mike's phone went unanswered the several times she rang it, so the dark-haired girl has taken to her feet to check on her friend.

Once she finds the right floor after a quick talk with the doorman, the gypsy girl has little trouble finding Mike's apartment. With an uncertain glance the other way, at the door to Tom Revelin's apartment, she knocks on Mike's door.

Be it good timing or simply the need for more alcohol, Mike's work at the keyboard finishes around this time, allowing for the earphones he wears to only slightly muffle the knock on the door. "Wade, you got your own key." He says aloud, voice raising as much as he thinks he needs it to be heard through the door. Despite the vocal reprimand, the musician slides the headphones off and turns around, walking partway to the door before pausing to pick up the one bottle on the floor that still has liquid in it. So it seems it was the alcohol that made him stop.

Hmm. No answer. Chenda shrugs, gives it a few seconds, then knocks again, keeping it light and polite. This is one of those times she'd really prefer to have x-ray vision, or thermal vision, or just some kind of radar sense. You know, /useful/ powers. As opposed to disintegrating a friend's door, which would get her in but cause some problems with said friend and his landlord, no doubt.

As the knocking continues, Mike mutters a curse, stepping over to the door, feet practically stomping upon the floor to indicate his irritation as he reaches the non bottle holding hand towards the lock, "Christ Wade," he snaps as he starts opening the door I'm NOT in the mood to be dealing with your stupid ass forgetting-" As the view of Chenda comes in, the voice dies away as he looks to the shorter mutant, "-uh. Hi."

Chenda gives Mike an almost beatific smile and fingertip wave when he answers the door… and pauses in mid-wave as a wave of highly flammable breath hits her. "Hi… wow. In a mood to forget tonight?" she asks concernedly, her smile slipping. She steps inside and gives the musician a quick hug. "Was just in the neighborhood after you didn't answer your phone."

Mike blinks as he is hugged and Chenda lets herself in but he doesn't stop her. Head turning, he watches her as he absent mindedly closes the apartment door. "You called?" He turns his head, glancing into the kitchen area where the phone rests on the counter space near the fridge and an empty ABC store bag, and then towards the keyboard where the headphones rest on top. "I probably didn't hear it. Was messing with the keyboard." He reaches a hand over to some of the counter space, setting the bottle down before he starts to scoot over to the mini Guinness bottle forest to work on some glassy deforestation, "Annnd it'd probably take more than this to forget. Got a lot of tolerance for the stuff."

"Four times. But if you were playing I understand." Chenda glances around the place, catching sight of the Black Forest of Bottles, and, not too far away, the keyboard and headphones. "Trying to write something new?"

"It's not much trying as actually doing." Mike replies, stooping down to pick up the bottles, "What you should be saying is 'trying to write something good?' THAT's the challenge." He pauses as he glances towards the keyboard, "The writing's done for the next album. Just have to work on something for GoGo before my schedule goes nuts." Arms full, he moves towards the kitchen, "So what were you calling about?"

"I was doing some thinking about this guy who's been running around sticking knives into people," Chenda replies. "Trying to figure out his whole dragonslayer motif. I know your stage name comes awful close to Dragon, but his MO doesn't make any sense. If he's so determined to get you, he's going about it the wrong way."

As Mike turns around the kitchen divider, there's the creak of a cabinet door followed by the sound of glass banging against each ‘other. Although not smiling when Chenda came in, he wasn’t frowning either. This has changed as he glances down to the bottles, not responding to Chenda as he instead reaches for the bottle with liquid in it and downs the contents quickly.

"I mean, when he attacked you he didn't act like he knew you, but he's so determined that he tried to do it himself. He made it personal," Chenda says, gesturing as she thinks out loud. "And with the whole dragonslayer thing, it couldn't be anything else. So why's he going after people who /don't/ have any ties to you? Like Biggie and Skinny? He didn't ask them any questions or anything, so he wasn't fishing for information."

Mike finishes up the beer, glancing to the empty container accusingly before he sighs, tossing it into the bin as well. "I knew them," he offers up, shaking his head, "Hated those guys though." He slides the bin back into the cabinet before glancing to the fridge in consideration.

"Still doesn't make any sense. He didn't try to find out anything about you, and trying to kill them wouldn't get to you." Chenda frowns in thought. "I just don't get this guy. Maybe he's just crazy."

"Or he's focusing on someone else." Mike offers up, turning back to the counter, leaning forward to rest his arms on it as his frown deepens, gaze seeming to drift off in focus before the eyes close, "Damn it." he mutters, "Baker, you asshole."

"Could be…" Chenda looks toward the counter, then blinks. "Baker? Who's Baker?"

"Sandman," Mike answers, glancing up to look towards Chenda for a moment, "Ben's friend." He shakes his head, "Who is, kind of backsliding a bit. He mentioned something to me earlier tonight." He pauses, "Well, me, Ms. Marvel, and anyone else probably within ear shot."

"Don't think I've met him," Chenda replies. "But he doesn't sound like the kind to be discrete, if he's blabbing things all over the immediate vicinity."

Mike nods, "He said a few things. But one of them was calling me 'son of the Dragon'. I figured he was kind of full of shit and that he was having fun at my expense with the stabbing but…" He straightens up, turning to walk towards the fridge, likely to grab another bottle.

"Yeah… with this guy's dragonslayer motif, it could be related," Chenda muses. There's a moment of thoughtful silence. "Wait. If you're the son of the dragon, who's the dragon?"

Fridge door opening, Mike sticks his head in to pull out yet another beer, "I'll put it this way. Had I not valued Rod like I did and he not been the one who suggested it, I'd never have used Drago for my fuckin' stage name."

"Oh. That tells me, um… actually, that tells me absolutely nothing," Chenda replies. "Though now might not be the best time to ask."

Mike glances towards Chenda, frown still present. "I changed my last name to my mom's when I was eighteen. It was Drago."

"So your stage name isn't that much of an alias," Chenda murmurs thoughtfully. "You really are Mick Drago. Mostly."

"Well, the Mick thing's still made up." Mike points out, "But, yeah. Only thing my father was good for was giving me a marketable stage name it seems." He steps away from the fridge, bottle in hand and his movement already going over to the drawer where the kitchen's opener is located, "Never met him. Never wanted to."

"Sounds complicated," Chenda says, though her tone is anything but dismissive. She glances back his way. "I don't want to impose, but would you mind if I slept here tonight? I have a bad feeling about going back out there."

Brows raise. That was a question Mike certainly wasn't expecting. "Uh yeah. Sure."

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