2014.09.08 - Chinatown Dinner

Saturday evening, a late summer breeze runs down the streets of New York, bringing a slight chill into the hot, steamy air between the washeries and Chinese restaurants. The red lampions begin to glow as the sky dims a tad, promising food for those who want. In some of the more secluded areas the Light is of a golden red color, almost like brass as it reflects from the windows, casting fingers of light upon the street. One of those rays ends just in front of a small Mongolian grill, which sports five bar stools and a counter of maybe a foot width behind which a bare steel plate heated by gas is used to fry the food in plain sight of the customers. At this time, the only customer is the young woman with the pixy-haircut and the inline-skates on her feet, the motorcycle jacket open on her shoulders. In her pocket was a pair of Jacksons, wrinkled and worn. Both she had earned herself by fixing the school scores of a student, and they had had three brothers a few days ago, but living as a nomad without ID did eat her money at times faster than she could earn it...
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The soft glow of red light welcomed Logan. For a moment he was taken by to Okinawa, Madipoor, and places of the East. Between Mariko and collecting himself there, Logan part of his heart rested in Japan. He was needed here, in the States. Between the X-men and Academy Logan knew where he was meant to be for the moment. Although part of him yearned for the East. Often he found himself here in this small facsimile of Japan. Sure, it was better than most places. Between the signs, the smells, and even the customs it was easy to think you WERE in Japan just for a moment. However, the fantasy only lasted for as long as you were in the place. The second you were out the cold reality was ready to pounce upon you. All of the English signs screamed at you that you hadn't really left. Logan made the most of it each time. Even now as he opened his eyes he went for the small Mongolian grill. 
Sitting at the end, the furthest spot away from the pixie-hair cut sporting girl, Logan spoke in fluent Japanese, "A Koshihikari Echigo if you have it. Sapporo if you don't. Thank you," his voice was rough, but the words were elegant even when ordering a beer. The structure of the Japanese language forced Logan to speak with more form and proper diction than his English. It was an amusing thought that a native English speaker spoke better Japanese than the language of his homeland. His brown bomber coat had a red sheen thanks to the lighting. Blue jeans rested comfortable on his legs and a black tanktop was hidden thanks to the coat. His eyes went to the girl, "I know you," he spoke in Japanese to see if she knew the language.
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The Chinese grins on the choices, grabbing for a green bottle "Tsingtao. Brewed in a brewery in Qingdao brought there by Germans to supply their and the British expedition corps with good alcohol. Since 1903, just using rice instead of grain." The voice of the elderly man is nice, but firm. China was not exactly Japan after all.
The girl turned the head to the speaker, shrugging. She hadn't had spoken Japanese since the incident which had essentially blanked her memory, but it was not a bit rusty as she replied to the man which was looking twice her age. "No idea where you might know me from, but I have no idea who you might me. But that might just be my faulty memories." The accent was obviously the Okinawa islands, but that was by far not anything in her face that even gave a hint she would have Japanese blood.
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Taking a good look at the woman Logan smirked. Sure, it was China Town but the small corridors reminded him of the slums of Madipoor. On its own Madipoor was dangerous, if you went down the wrong turn it became more troublesome tenfold. How China town dipped and bent reminded Logan of those slums. A smile was given to the old man then he spoke in Mandarin, which wasn't as elegant, "Apologies for the confusion, sir." 
His attention went back to the woman with whom he was speaking Japanese, "Yeah. I remember you. Your form was sloppy. It was years ago. You were training. You were young and wanted to get a takedown just right. For hours you practiced until it was right. Sakamoto, yeah that was your name. Jen Sakamoto," Logan eyes scanned the girl up and down. "Still keeping up the good work?" Logan asked not knowing the door asked not knowing the door he just opened.
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With a shrug Jane answered to the request, eying him over "No idea what you are talking about. The last training I remember I had with a few girls in that seedy gym. I think it's owned by this old boxer." Her eyes show no recognition of the name even. "Probably just a lookalike you know?" Well, how many people do Tokushinryu Kobudo outside of Okinawa? Not too many...
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Logan looked at the girl he knew as "Jen" and he nodded. Then his head shook, "No. It's not. It was you or maybe a twin if you have one," the words were soft. His eyes continued to take in the woman's details.
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The second notion just got another shrug from her "I have no idea. If I have, I don't know about it." Her eyes were peering in his, as if trying to drill out the information he might harbor in his brain. The fingers tweitched slightly, then she grabbed her bottle, a clear one with something golden in it and a lizard floating in it. Taking a sip of it, she smirked "So why don't you tell me about that girl you think I am?"
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"Jeshika was your name. You had people call you 'Jen' because of a few Gaijin in the class. You were determined. You weren't going to let the anything stop you," he continued to speak in fluent Japanese. His eyes remained on the girl, "You have her cheek structure. Eyes too. Everything about your face matches. It's been years, but it's you," his eyes just examined her trying to take in the changes, or the difference in the case this wasn't Jeshika. "You had an attitude when we weren't in formation for drills. When you were in the class it was very strict, and you were no nonsense kind of person," he spoke as if everything was said as pure fact.
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"As much as I have to disappoint you - The only think I seem to have in common with her is what you remember as her face and that I can do a bit of self defense." Jane answers, shrugging. "And that's quite a big portion of what I know." With a sigh she takes another sip of the alcohol bottle, leaning back in the bar chair as she peers at Logan "Your face tells me that you really think I am that girl, but I don't think you are right there."
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"So, what will you do if I'm right?" Logan doubted if this was the same girl now. However, with such a boast he couldn't help himself from issuing the challenge. After the answer he took his alchol and knocked back the first swig, "Tell me about yourself now. Your name, who you are, whatever you feel like sharing," the way Logan even asked questions was as an equal. The Japanese language had different ways to address people, usually five different ways. How you addressed people above, below, and equal to your social status was very important to them. Logan's choice in language saw that he was speaking to her as an equal.
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Jane however chose a more formal style, addressing him in very much a similar way as if he was a teacher or such. "I'm just a programmer. Freelance IT troubleshooter you know? Your PC is making trouble, you call and I fix it. Pretty much on call 24/7. It doesn't earn too well, but it's enough for a living." She had picked up that line of work since she regained consciousness in the hospital months ago, so it was pretty much untied to the life she had had before, even if she couldn't remember.
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"Is that all?" Logan asked unsure if he believed. What would a program have been doing in China town? Sure she looked like a programming. Something just didn't add up. He sniffed the air near her a few times to get a sense of smell. Maybe there would have been a tell when it came to her odor. His nose had the ability to pick up things like gun powder and other potent chemicals that often went undetected.
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The smell she carried was mostly a mix of ozone and the rice based distillery product she was drinking atop of clothes that should have been washed a week ago. Very much unlike the shampoo-and-cherry-soap that the girl he knew from Okinawa was. "Courier stuff from time to time and a tad day trading when I have a good idea what might pay off and time to spare. But without money to invest it is fairly pointless."
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 "Everything you use comes from Okinawa. All of it," Logan spoke in the neutral tone. His eyes watched her, "What kind of daytrading and courier stuff?" his eyes were level on her. Again, he wasn't sure what to make of her story. Something about it was just off.
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"Not really. Shirt? Made in china, bought second hand in hells Kitchen. Jacket? No idea where it is from, but got it in the Lost and Found at the JFK. Skates? Made in Taiwan, little shop in the Bronx." Jane replied, patting the messenger bag. "The get a letter from some lawyer here and bring it to the court as fast as you can type of courier. Daytrading is stocks. You know, Wall Street, big money. But you need money to work with it, so it just don't work out for me really."
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Rolling his eyes he shook his head. This person was something else to say the least. Although Logan knew what it was like to start over. He knew what it was like to have strangers claimed to know you. The phenomenon was interesting to say the least. "And your name?" he asked and then picked a simple sweet and sour chicken dish for his meal while he waited for an answer. Another swig of the beer was taken and he let out a satisfied "Ah!" from his lips.
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"Jane." The answer was coming only after a second, taking another sip of her bottle, stretching the lips on the sour taste. "I guess your's starts with father for all your asking... Or am I wrong there?" The fried vegetables with a bit of pork in front of her had long turned cold, but she nevertheless picked up her chopsticks to eat them - holding them in very much the same way as any europeen trying to emulate it. "Or something like Drill Sargent."
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Chuckling Logan answered in English, "I ain't a preacher man. Too many sins on my hands, kid," at least he was honest. Looking to her dish he shook his head, "I ain't a drill sergeant either. Had my fill of military," although he could see where she drew her conclusions from. Same for the leader bit but he was silent on that front. Looking toward her he answered, "Logan." The diesh came out to Logan and he offered to scoop some into her rice bowl if she wanted to try it.
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Jane shook the head on the offer, munching on her fold veggies, the soy sauce giving it a salty taste. As she returned to English - or rather spoke it for the first time this evening - her accent was pretty nonexistent, the hints on her origin just nonexistent. "So Ex-something, doing what an ex-something does these days for a living? Busting kneecaps or guarding the Monarch Playing Card factory at night?" It was just a pair of options many ex-soldiers had to choose between - and neither was a career with many possibilities for promotion. "You seem more the underground fightclub type."
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"No. And no," Logan said to the first two career choices. Taking a bite of his sweet and sour chicken he munched on it. The flavor was savored for a moment. All of it was pretty good so far. This small place had a penchant for making dishes that was so very good. Too bad it didn't deliver, "Only one weekends. You seem the type to get in a fight yerself. Any truth to that?"
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"Only with a furry dude who is a bit of overprotective about what he claims as his turf. You know, the type who can't handle a bit competition when it comes to computer home service. But we kinda got an arrangement, even if it is not too nice for my side..." Jane answered with a sigh. "And I know better than trying to get him upon me again for renegotiations."
Category:Log