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Sometime Wednesday during what would have been school hours Logan calls Sylvia.  "Would you like to have lunch with me?  I'll understand if you can't."

By Wednesday Sylvia feels like a bottle of pills--a fresh bottle with cotton wadding packed down over her insides so they don't rattle and break in shipping.  Her childproof cap is on tight.  She's more than fine.  She is unbreakable.

Of course, by Wednesday, Sylvia has popped two of the four remaining Vicodin from her robot-laser encounter, the ones she hid in her emergency first-aid kit in the event that Colin wasn't around and someone's excruciating pain was making it hard for her to think.  The fact that she's feeling pharmaceutical--copacetic, even--is not a coincidence.

"I'd love to go out with you," Sylvia says warmly.  "Where and when?  Should I dress up?"

"An hour.  The cafe where we normally have lunch.  Unless you'd like to do something fancier?"

"Let's go to New York.  You don't have a private jet, do you?  I want to see the Statue of Liberty."

"A private jet?  No.  But if you can convince your parents to let you go to New York, I can make the arrangements.  That's assuming you're serious?"

Even hopped up on Vicodin, Sylvia knows her limitations.  Her mouth runs, uninhibited.  "Are you kidding?  Do your parents let you run off to New York on a whim?  Mine would think I'd lost my mind.  And then there's Donnie.  Holy crap.  He'd lose it.  He'd go run off with whatserface, and maybe they'd actually have sex, just for revenge.  Why does everybody think there's something going on between you and me?"  And then there's a sudden non sequitur.  At least, she thinks it's a non sequitur.  "How was your date?  Did things go swimmingly with Gladys?"

"She's good company, and she said she had a good time.  But for all I know she hated every minute of it.  So, is that a no to New York?  So an hour at the cafe?"

"An hour.  I'll go make myself presentable and see you there."

Logan is punctual, and always seems to be dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, with appropriate winter gear.  His parka has been replaced with a three quarter length wool coat and knit cap, and the gloves Sylvia made him.  He waits to get a table until she arrives, and orders tea.  "You seemed chatty on the phone.  Pain killers?"  he says as he takes off his winter garments.

OOC: I can't remember what she made him, or if she made him anything.  If it's wrong I can fix it.

[I'll roll with the gloves.  She gave him some kind of book, I think, and I'll retroactively call it When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six by A.A. Milne.]

Sylvia nods, liking the way it makes her world shake.  "I'm fine," she says.  "Things are so much nicer when you relax, but it's so hard to relax sometimes.  You don't seem to have a problem with that.  You never seem to get angry.  Except that one time when we were talking about Rory, and even then, you weren't angry like--"  She makes a face and claws her hands.  "--rawr!  Why is that?  How do you stay so calm?"

Logan smiles.  "As much as I find it annoying in others, I think you're cute stoned."  he says as the tea is brought.  "I get angry.  I just cover it up.  I got good at covering it up when I used to get picked on all the time.  Then, it dawned on me that when I failed to react it made them angry.  And that amused me.  But I feel anger.  I probably keep too many things bottled up inside, but that will be something I sort out with a therapist at some exorbitant rate I'm sure.  And you're right.  You should relax more.  Put the world down every once in a while Atlas."

"I'm not Atlas.  Atlas carried the world because he could.  I'm more like--"  She stares at an interesting spot on the ceiling and then comes up with the name.  "--Sisyphus.  I keep trying and trying to roll that stone up the hill, and just when I think I can relax, the damned thing rolls down to the bottom again.  All I can do is try not to get smushed.

"I called you," she goes on, almost in the same breath.  "I tried to call you.  I couldn't reach you.  Hamilton came to talk to you, and I was there.  I was there to try to stop him.  At least, I thought I'd be able to stop him, but as it turned out, I couldn't stop him at all.  Why'd he think it was you?  In any other school I'd figure you were the top dog, the big brain, but in this school?  With the love goo and the lasers and the spider-armed robots?  Competition for valedictorian must be brutal, and you haven't even built your first death ray."

"That depends on what you consider a death ray.  But, Mr. Hamilton had become convinced I was calling the shots.  He's been lurking in the other camps.  You have Mr. Heep, and they had Mr. Hamilton.  He's seen me with the others, listened to the conversations and made the assumption that my not actively trying to stop them meant I was on their side."  Logan orders for them, since he's convinced the task would be a little beyond Sylvia's attention span at the moment.  "I'm glad you weren't hurt.  I have the feeling I owe Elliott some thanks, but that might be a little awkward.  That's the second time he's put himself between something unpleasant and you."

"John is great.  I have to talk to John.  He saved my life.  What do you get for the guy who saves your life?  I never did get Colin anything."

Another pause:  her train of thought doubles back on itself.  "I wish I could save lives.  I don't know what I do, but it doesn't seem very useful to anyone but me sometimes."

And again.  "So now they have no Heep, no Hamilton.  What do you think will happen?  With no leadership, will they fall apart?  Will they fight for supremacy?  What do you know about Hugo Strange?  Is he in this somehow?  I should get Mr. Heep a gift, too.  He's an ex-con, did you know?"  She slaps her hand over her lips.  "Whoops."

Logan listens and nods mostly.  He helps her put her sandwich together the way she likes them, and then makes sure she knows to eat it.
"You do save lives."  he begins between bites.  "The kid that tried to run over you, you saved him.  And Cindy, you saved her.  And by saving her you saved Mike.  And you saved the rest of the pep squad.  And, you'll save the school's morale when you get them to go back to being the pep squad."

Sylvia laughs at that last bit.  "It's a good thing Gladys didn't hurt you.  She was there at that dance, and she was so excited, and I guess she was probably hopped up on mutagen, too.  She likes you, you know.  She likes you a lot.  That's evident from looking, so I don't think I'm blabbing when I tell you she likes you.  Be real careful," she instructs.  "Make your intentions clear.  She's a nice person, but hell hath no fury and all that.  Don't ever use the L word unless you're pretty sure you mean it.  There's something about that L word.  It makes people think you belong to them.

"You didn't answer me about Strange," she adds as she picks at the fringe of lettuce that protrudes from her sandwich.  "Don't think I'm so spacey I didn't notice."

"I got involved watching you eat I forgot.  But he's not one of the players, unless he has his own game.  Which he might I suppose.  He has an office at the district office in Chicago.  Not married, been with the school district about six years, has his own practice but only sees patients on Friday and Saturday."  He eats some of his own sandwich.  "I like her too.  I think she's going to ask me out again, and that will lead to the possibility of us going out regularly.  I seem to make her happy, and I can relax some around her.  I don't think she's going to use the L word.  I think she'd like to have sex, but she's still too nervous about that subject so I wont rush her."  he sips some tea.  "I take it all is not a bed of roses with you and Donnie, but that's normal for you two.  You're like plutonium and beryllium.  Move into proximity and you create energy, too close and you emit hard radiation.  Just try not to get too badly burned Tickling the Dragon's Tail.  Okay?"

"Tickling the dragon's tail?  That sounds dirty.

"With Donnie and me I always have the feeling there's some alternate universe in which we're just a couple of geek kids, and we're just so shmoopy-in-love that we grow up, get married, have eight kids, and run a comic-book store.  I like him a lot when he's just Donnie, when he's talking about normal things, about games and stories and pictures.  But the part that's not Donnie, I don't care much for that.  He wouldn't be like that if he were just some guy, and I wouldn't be able to tell if I were just some girl, but that dragon that pops in from time to time?  He's like one of those bodice-ripping heroes on the front of an old romance novel, all one-track mind and flaring temper.  The dragon doesn't really see me as an equal.  Understandable.  I'm only human.  But I refuse to play the captured princess.  Carolyn didn't raise me to be that way."

Sylvia lets out a gusty sigh through her pursed lips.  "But that's only part of it.  There's some girl sniffing around Donnie, all fishnets and giggles.  And he kind of likes her.  I peeked.  What am I supposed to do?  I guess he's losing some weight, and his skin's clearing up now that he's laying off the Cheetos, and that's a good thing, but I--I guess all anyone really wants is one person who's completely theirs.  And maybe that's a delusion.  Maybe everyone thinks every day about their choices, and I'm just upset because I can't keep believing that, when Donnie says I'm the one he wants, he really means it."

"Wanting someone isn't the same as loving.  But I'm not really one to give that sort of advice."  They eat, and have more tea.  Logan steers the conversation away from drama and trauma and towards movies, TV, the kind of drama they perform on stage.  Anything to help Sylvia relax.  Without her falling into a coma.

Sylvia watches most of her TV with Carolyn, late at night, so she knows more about reruns from the 90s than current primetime drama.  As their conversation goes on, she becomes more lucid, but it's hard to give up the drug-induced candor.  She finds herself asking him about his life, about the people around him--whether he's lonely, whether he likes his family, how he hopes his future will go.  She sort of wishes she could hug him or hold his hand, but that's the old boy-girl-friendship problem.  Physical contact confuses things.

For all the strange connections he has he seems perfectly normal.  He's close to his parents, and they have a lot of fun together as a family.  And his idea of the future is one where he admittedly works too much and lives alone.  His one fear is that he will have to loose his neutrality.  It's not a common fear, but it suits him.  He does open up about himself with her.  Amusing anecdotes, and he laughs.  Logan Darklighter at Oak Park is a smiling grifter with a firm handshake and always saying the right thing.  A conversation with him is usually about the other person.  With Sylvia, he's someone else.  Like two diplomats who are friends.  they don't speak of internal matters of state, but of personal things.  Today, he's Logan the pre-cool version.  Who loves Star Wars, Star Trek, and comic books.

OOC: Done here?

[I tend to assume that, when the scene goes into exposition, it must be mostly over.  But you know me.  I'll keep going if there's anything at all left in this.  I obviously don't get enough gaming in a week.]

Sylvia, even when the Vicodin has left her system, finds herself still at ease, especially as Logan starts to talk about his interests.  She can enthuse about some of this stuff.  Her interest in role-playing games and comics is solely defined by what Donnie's exposed her to, but she can geek out pretty well on the subject of old TV (watched with Carolyn) and books (bought used from her favorite little shop in San Francisco).

After a while she asks, "Do you think it'll always be this way for you?  Will you always have to live up to the expectations of the people around you?  Give them that smile and firm handshake and make them think you were always Mr. Perfect?"

"Maybe.  I'm sure I'm not fully formed as a person yet.  Just like you're changing, so am I."

He orders more tea.  "I do hope that this recent incident wont stop you from being a cheer leader.  School spirit would suffer, and so would I.  I'd have to come up with something else to occupy the ninety minutes that you girls use for practice."  He smiles.

"Please," she scoffs mildly.  "You could always go watch Gladys.

"I'm not sure I want to stay with it," she says.  "I'm not feeling sure about anything right now.  But I like it.  I like the team.  I'm glad they're not super-powered mutants anymore because they can't follow instructions for shit, but they're okay otherwise.  I like that the pep squad isn't all about being rich and pretty anymore."

"Well, Gladys isn't the person I started going there to watch.  Don't take that the wrong way, I'm not what I would consider a stalker or anything.  But I had a purely selfish reason for suggesting you go back to the team.  I've found you to be someone I enjoy talking to.  And let's face facts, I'm a teenage boy.  Watching cheerleaders is one of the few things I find perfectly mundane about myself.  I'd miss seeing you there."

She throws him a no-bullshit look.  "What you're really saying is you'd miss seeing my ass there.  Or the short skirt.  Or something.

"I'm glad I can't actually look into your head and tell."

"You can't?"  He seems a little surprised.  "Have you really tried, or is it just not a casual glance thing?  Forgive me, I really don't understand the nuances of how that works."

"I really can't," she says.  She's come a long way from not trusting him.  "Your skull is lined with lead."

"That's strangely not comforting."  he says, taking a sip of tea.  "I'll have to figure that out.  But to satisfy your curiosity, if there is any, it's the whole package.  Not just one part of you, or the skirt.  You have a grace and beauty that I enjoy.  And watching you at practice doesn't run the risk of drawing the attention of people that might take offense to me staring at their girlfriend."

Sylvia chooses to interpret that as appreciation for her skills as a performance artist.  "I'm glad Cleo doesn't like Justin Timberlake.  She's more of a rocker.  The routines aren't as skanky as they used to be, and we get to do more tricks and less ass wiggling."  That's everything she has to say on artistry in cheerleading.

"Are you the anti-jock?  Do you avoid athletics?"

"Not anti-athletics.  I just never had an aptitude for it.  I find I like to watch children play sports.  So long as their parents stay supportive and don't start treating it like it's a battle to the death for the glory and honor of their entire clan."

"Some parents treat their children as an opportunity to rework their own youths," Sylvia says.  "All the glory and achievement they couldn't attain, they project on their kids."

"I'll make sure that if I ever have a child to not do that.  They should suffer at least as much as I did."  he smiles again.  "My mother said once that they were saving for my college, or therapy, whichever I preferred.  Dad would just laugh.  He didn't realize she was serious."

"Except for the part where you fraternize with wanna-be supervillains, I'd think you wouldn't have much to complain about.  You're Logan Darklighter.  As far as anyone at Oak Park is concerned, the world is your oyster.  You'll be the guy who'll go to an Ivy League school and graduate summa cum laude.  You'll get a great job at a high-profile technology firm.  You'll make vice president before you're thirty.  You'll go on to be the one guy people ask most about when your ten-year reunion comes around, and you'll be too busy to go because you'll be closing deals in Tokyo or taking supermodels to Hollywood movie premieres.

"You won't need therapy.  You'll have revenge."

"You make it sound much better than I imagined it."  He smiles again, "Maybe it wont be so bad after all."

"Of course, if you wind up pulling Slurpees at the local 7-11, I will support your lifestyle choice."

"Maybe after I retire.  Just for the excitement."