Sam's car is hard to miss. That '70 Buick GSX in yellow, with two black stripes. The paint job's loud. The engine's loud. Her own personal herald to announce her arrival. The woman steps out of the car and walks across the lawn to the Wayhouse. She's dressed in jeans that fit a bit loose, as well as a used-to-be-white tee that reads WEIAND Intake Manifolds, with the picture of a tiger on it. There are a few stains on the pants, doubtlessly from auto work, but she looks otherwise clean. She gets to the front door, stops there, and knocks.
Sam pulls up alongside a gorgeous blue limited edition 2011 Porsche 911 Speedster, which just goes to show how different she is from the man she is meeting with, perhaps. Although lord knows he can appreciate a good '70s car. The door opens soon after you knock, and Logan's grinning face appears in the doorway. "Hiya, Sam. Glad you could make it. Please, please, come in!" He steps aside and gestures her inside. Logan is wearing a marine blue v-neck t-shirt under a white seersucker blazer with subtle blue pinstripes, paired with jeans and vintage-esque blue Adidas.
"Hey," Samantha greets, though she pauses to give the man a once-over. "You sure you got time to meet? Still going to have enough light to go yachting...?" she asks, with a smirk. She steps right in past the man, and then gives a gesture around the place, and finally looks back to him. "All right, so what's up?"
Logan stands there for a moment, one hand on his hip as he continues to smile at her. "This is just how I dress," he says lightly, and then swiftly moves to the dining room, where a number of takeout dishes from Crossroads have been procured. Granted they were procured by Logan's assistant Jeremy and not Logan, but close enough. There's a number of different choices, which he points out to her as he takes a seat at the table. "Well, first of all, thanks for being willing to meet me. You've been here to the Wayhouse before, right?"
"Nooooope," Samantha says, easily enough, as she follows. She eyes the food, and then promptly helps herself to a seat. She doesn't grab anything and start eating, mind, just a seat. "Though I know the place. Know the idea. And I'm fairly aware that this is where I should have been taken, if your people had actually wanted to show any kind of... good manners or civility."
Logan blinks, but he keeps smiling. "No one ever took you here before?" It's /possible/ he may be flabbergasted by this revelation...but hard to tell. He tends to wear the same pleasant smile regardless of what's going on. "That's most unfortunate, Sam. Well, I hope I can make up for past indignities. Try the pancakes." His grin broadens as he points to them. "They're delicious." He leans back in his seat and gestures with one hand. "So, level with me here. Max told me some of your concerns. I'm an actual Waykeeper, and I'd like to hear them from the horse's mouth." The horse being Sam in this case, apparently.
"Never underestimate the incompetence of your own Freehold, Logan," Sam says, with a sacchrin smile. She looks particularly snake-ish right then. Then she gives a nod and reaches out, to help herself to some pancakes. And bacon, and whatever else meat is on offer. "My concerns are that you all are a bunch of fucking children that are going to get us all killed. Is the brief version. Something you're confused by, in particular?"
There is definitely bacon. And sausage. Logan spared no expense on the breakfast food here, though there are also burgers, fries, chicken fingers and the like. Probably enough to feed an army, but somebody will always be hungry at the Wayhouse. So waste not, want not. "I'm not at all confused by that, no. Whatever gave you that impression?" There's no change to Logan's expression as he takes a sip from a glass of orange juice, one he'd be drinking before Sam showed up. Once again, he makes an encouraging gesture with one tan, manicured hand. "Please, continue. I want to hear what you have to say."
"Honestly, Logan?" Samantha answers, her brows lifting. "If you want me to be entirely honest, the fact that you're asking me questions right now is the reason I'm afraid," she says. "Because either you're pumping me for information, or you are so short-sighted, and your Freehold is so delusional, that they don't see what problems they're making," she says. "So, which is it? You want intel, or do you really, truly not understand how you all have been routinely fucking up, over and over?"
Logan clears his throat. "I am a relative newcomer to this Freehold, Sam. My own intel is based on any reports I came across and first-person accounts from those who have been members longer than I have. Truth be told, I wasn't particularly interested in you or the Soundless until you showed up at my party." His smile gets a little bigger, a little brighter. He didn't say 'crashed,' maybe for a reason. "This brought the things you represent right into my own backyard, rather literally. So I took it as a sign that I needed to pay attention. And now, here we are." He spreads his hands. "Why don't you tell me in your own words how Fate's Harvest has been fucking up? I'm not disagreeing with you, by the way. I simply want to hear your perspective."
Samantha gives a huff, and a roll of her eyes. "So, the human and the new guy are who your people are going to have meeting with me?" she asks. Then she waves her hand. "You're a business man. Tell me. Does that sound like a fuck up, Logan?" she asks. "Anyways, your people are loud. They text private business to each other. They argue about it in the middle of the fucking cafe." She then gestures to him directly. "They host mixed parties - where regulars humans can show up - and they talk about hedgespun weapons?" she asks.
Logan listens calmly, continuing to smile. It's just a small smile, but it remains there. Occasionally he drinks more orange juice. "You're mistaken about the party. The invites were for Freeholders only, with enchanted or ensorcelled mortals being allowed only if they came with a Freeholder. Granted, I suppose there is no true way to vet for that, unless I had a full security task force at the door. Which I thought about doing, actually." Weirdly enough, his smile gets a little bigger, like maybe he enjoys that idea. "Anyway, you're correct about the talk of hedgespun weapons. I take full responsibility for that. I should not have let Billy Ray take the stage. I don't believe anyone was at that party who was 'vanilla' in any way, so we are safe, but I should have taken stronger precautions. At least it was a private party." He tilts his head, watching Sam carefully. "Listen, I'm not going to stick up for the issues Fate's Harvest has had in the past. I only care about the present, and the future. I want to make things better in the here and now. And I happen to be in agreement with you about the carelessness this freehold has shown -- on a number of levels." He pauses and continues, "Now, I understand that you have long sought an audience with the Queen. Is that correct, or am I misinformed?"
"That's not what your invitation said, nor is that even a thing, per your own Freehold's by-laws. Any Lost that ensorcells a human is to have that human join the Freehold," Samantha explains. It would be that she's got a legal mind... for someone else's freehold. "And everything you just said is bullshit. You're sloppy, and more concerned with your own fame and glory than the safety of you and your people," she says, a drop of venom in her words. She stabs at a sausage link. "And yeah. Marty wants to talk to the Queen," she says, then proceeds to shove that whole link into her mouht. That is a big mouth. And there are some very pointy teeth in there.
For the first time, some of the smile falls off Logan's face. Only a little. It doesn't go away entirely, but it gets a bit tighter. Terser. The brilliant light that surrounds him gets a touch dimmer as the shadow in his mien increases, almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he says lightly, dismissing the venomous ideas. "But if you and Marty still want an audience with the Queen, I can help you get one. Although, I'd like to know the reason for it."
"Yeah, me too," Samantha says, after she chews and swallows. The agitation is still in her voice. She takes a swig of coffee - surely, there's coffee! - then looks back up to Logan. "Marty probably wants to yell a lot, and demand things. But really, we want to know what you all are going to do to fix shit. Because it's been a disaster," she says. "Then, you know, maybe. /Maybe/, if you all are serious about security, we can talk about a relationship. Maybe even loan you some of our people, to teach you how to keep things quiet."
Of course there's coffee! It's even still hot! "Alright," Logan says, his smile starting to brighten again. Folding his hands together on the table, he gives a slow, agreeable nod. "I will contact the Queen and get a meeting set up." There's a beat, during which he drinks more orange juice. "Although, you know. I bet people would be a little more amenable to the Soundless if they understood your motivations. You don't need a royal audience to talk to people. Why, you're talking to me right now." He shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe people blew you off in the past, I don't know. Anyway." Blue eyes focus on Sam, the smile still on his face, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"They did. Routinely. We contacted the Waylady and... I think Marty spoke to your... what's the title. Custodian-Elect?" Samantha asks, not entirely familiar. "And we don't want to talk to fucking individual people, Logan. That's not how you fix a broken Freehold. One conversation at a time," she says. "Especially not when the people you talk to -" She gestures to him "-don't seem to think they personally have done anything wrong. Makes this all a bit fucking hard," she says, obviously ornery.
"It's interesting that you imply I don't think I've personally done anything wrong, when I took full responsiblity for some of the mistakes that happened at my party. That sure sounds like an admittance to me." Logan says this with no waver of his smile, polite to the end. "And the Queen is only one person, too. So, if conversation isn't the answer, how do /you/ propose this 'broken Freehold' be fixed?" There is no provocation in his voice. He speaks in a calm and soothing manner, although the light around him seems a bit muffled. Muted.
"Maybe it's just that stupid fucking smile that gets to me," Samantha responds, and though she seems just as ornery, it does seem like an admittance that he is correct. "Looking so fucking happy. And smug," she mutters, as she stabs another sausage. She then takes a breath, and refocuses on the man. "I don't know. That's not my job. I don't fix things. I came here to set up a meeting. When no one would meet with me, my job changed to watching you all, and prepare for fucking damage control," she mutters out. "I give it another few months before you have your first loyalist attack," she says.
If anything, this observation about Logan's smile just makes him grin more. Although this time, his grin seems a little...hungry. Like maybe he's forgoing the sausages so he can bite into Sam next. "Alright, Sam, well. At least setting up a meeting with the Queen is in my power. I'll get you one as soon as possible." Hands are still folded on the table, and he leans in a little, blue eyes moving over her face. "Is there anything else I can help you with? I know that I'm the one who set up this meeting, but it's not because I want something out of you. I just wanted to understand what you want and where you're coming from."
"Thanks," Samantha says, and though her tone is still bitter, it's clear she's at least /trying/ to sound gracious. She then sucks in a breath. "Yeah, uh... you want to tell me what you all have been up to? And who else is leaking? And what bullshit disaster you all have stumbled into lately?" she asks. Hopeful, this one! Nevermind her tone is fiery and annoyed.
One manicured finger taps across the knuckles of Logan's other hand. "Well, some of us have been investigating a series of mass murders that took place in 1963. These murders were unsolved, so we're interested to see if there's any connection to current events." He tilts his head at Sam, still smiling, although it's a smaller smile now and not full of blindingly white teeth. "You guys know anything about that one?"
"Maybe," Samantha asks, with a vague little shrug. "I might have heard a thing or two," she says, as she stares at him. "Know that a lot of Changelings died. Know that the Silver Tree was uprooted, in a spat of horrible violence. I know it's the exact reason why you don't hold big fucking parties full of fucking Lost, Logan," she says, her snake eyes narrowing once more.
Logan is cool, of course, even though he continues to be the brunt of some of Sam's venom. He takes it in stride. His face has an almost masklike appearance at times, what with those perfectly proportioned, boyishly handsome features that don't display much apart from pleasantness. "What is this Silver Tree, Sam? Were the victims all Changelings, or mostly Changelings? Do you know if there are any connections between those murders and local Gentry? The anniversary of these events is quickly approaching." He continues to smile his irritating smile. "Anything you are willing to share could potentially aid us all."
"I don't know," Samantha says, with a faint shrug. "Not really. I have a pretty good guess, though," she says. She eyes Logan a moment, then she reaches for her cup, and lifts it up, and takes a sip. She takes her sweet time, and Logan will have to wait patiently until she's good and ready. Which does come, just a few moments later. "My theory is that, just as I said, the locals got careless. The Gentry launched their attack, and murdered or captured every lost they could find. Supposedly, every single lost was killed or kidnapped," she says. "And if it's got anything special to do with time... well. I don't think there was any mass murders last year, around this time."
Logan is patient. Very patient. He barely even blinks while he waits, and the light around him ebbs and flows with the shadow at a steady, even pace. "Good point," Logan says, nodding. "What about the red skies? Do you know anything special about those? They occured at the time of the murders, and more recently as well -- although I heard that one of our local Lost was responsible for it this time around."
Samantha muses, as she hears 'red skies'. That one, she gives some thought. Then comes the next bit, and she lets out a laugh. "What?" she asks. "You-... are you asking me if they're related, when you're telling me you know what the cause is?" she asks, grinning and shaking her head. "You're weird, Logan," she declares. Then a pause. "Anyways, doesn't ring any bells."
"I know what the cause is this time around. Not the first time." Logan tilts his head slightly. "You never answered my question about the Silver Tree, though. What is it? And lest you think I'm not being fair, tell your people to beware of new caves in the Looptrod. One of our Freeholders, a Harvester, was killed there by a beast just the other day. I'm sure you guys have a great handle on all the dangers in the area, but it can't help to warn you," says our Eagle Scout here, all smiles again.
"You'll have to research the Silver Tree yourself, Logan," Samantha says, and for that line alone, her voice does turn a touch softer. A touch of pleading. She then sucks in a breath, and nods. "Got it. Looptrod, caves. The Looptrod, that goes right past Stoneheart, right?" she asks, lifting up a brow.
"Yep. That's the one." Sensing that Sam is not exactly forthcoming with information, Logan gets to his feet. "Is there anything else you need, while we're both here? You have my contact info, now. Feel free to get in touch anytime." He folds his arms as he stares down at her. "I'll get that meeting set up with the Queen. And you're welcome here anytime." 'Here' meaning the Wayhouse, natch.
Sam gives a quick nod. "Thanks," she says, as she slips out of her chair. It would seem she was done, having stuffed her face and slammed down a cup of coffee between her words. Seems she's going to leave. But she does pause, and then glance back. "You know anyone in this shitty little town that's interesting?" she asks. "And interested? Romantically?" she asks. "Can't say I'd mind someone to have a reason to come here and see," she says, that sly smile crossing her lips again. "And a nice, warm, inviting bed, when I'm too tired to drive home..."
Logan leans up against the wall, and his grin morphs into more of a smirk this time. Little rivulets of shadow undulate through his light like ripples on a pond. "That depends. What team do you bat for?" Does he find it intriguing that she clearly doesn't count himself as an interesting/interested party? Who can say? "As for a bed, there's always available rooms here. With or without a partner."
"With, would be the point," Samantha says, holding her grin. She then looks the man up and down, considering. "Think we play for the same team," she decides. "Someone like you would do juuuuust fine," she decides. And now it's her turn to stare at the man, her gaze turning positively predatory. "Summer's coming. Need someone to celebrate it with."
"There's no one like me," Logan says, with a grin and a stare that's sure to give Sam a match for her own. "But I'll think about it. If I find someone who seems right, I'll send them your way." His eyes narrow in a way that's almost mischievous. It's very different from the smiling, squeaky clean Golden Boy you were talking to only moments ago. Accordingly, his mien shows far more shadow than light right now. "That's a promise, Sam."
One of Samantha's eyes slowly closes, an overt wink, before she turns off. "Hope it's nice sailing weather!" she calls over her shoulder, as she goes. Unless stopped, she's out without another look back.
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