((In relation to my thread on plot propositions.))

"Well, I can see why they don't want him," Logan heard the people talking. The voice belonged to a woman, no older than thirty.

"I don't think anyone would want that goddamned child!" A man shouted. Logan grinned, frozen in thought.

His piercings stuck out like a sore thumb. He had a lip ring, an eyebrow ring, a tongue ring, and two earrings on both ears, but his bleached white hair covered his earrings. It was a pity. They were so pretty.

"Well, of course not," The woman said, pausing to frown. "At best, he's going to end up in juvie," she added, sort of feeling sorry for Logan. The child was an absolute asshole because of his parents.

"What are we going to do?" The man asked, glancing around the room with a frown.

"I don't know," the woman said, placing her hands on her hips. "What should we do?"

The man shook his head. Logan grinned again, staring them down with his icy blue eyes, twirling a lock of his hair with his fingers, and crouching around the corner with the other hand resting on his knee. His fingernails were painted completely black, and he fancied them.

The room was too hot, and it smelled bad. There were too many kids unlike Logan, and he hated children anyway.

Too bad, so sad. Still haven't found another place for me to stay, you fools?

Logan frowned. People were so incompetent.

He's not really the kind of man you'd expect to see walking into an orphanage to adopt. If anything, it's a rather odd situation. A single man with no wife and no known girlfriend, he wanted kids but didn't want a baby, and he has his eyes on what could possibly be the most troublesome boy of the entire group.

Not to mention that he shows up at the orphanage on a motorcycle, wonderful first impression right? Crisstoph...or more commonly known, Gothtech, climbs off of the motorcycle and approaches the orphanage, his black hair is long, reaching just past the middle of his back and braided into many little braids that hang loose from his scalp. He's wearing dark glasses, his skin is darkly tanned, he wears a form fitting nylon shirt, a pair of fairly tight black leather pants, and heavy black boots. Oh, very nice wardrobe for walking into an orphanage let along an adoption agency, that’s right, he went there dressed like this too.

Gothtech’s face his thin and narrow, a little bit long, his eyes are blue and heavily lined with black makeup. His shoulders are in between being broad or slim, same for his chest. His waist is thin, as well as his hips and leg and he stands six feet one inch tall with his boots.

He pulls open the door of the office, pulling out a thick wad of folded papers, adoption papers, and unfolding them as he went. Why would anyone give a child to this man? Because he has a nice home, good income from two jobs, plenty of time, and he was once an orphan as well. (And quite possibly he may be the only person willing to take a certin problem off their hands) He peers around, steps to the front desk and announces who he is. “G.T. Angel.” Gruff voice.

The woman, who was previously in conversation with the before mentioned man, turned around to see Gothtech walk in. "Yes? Can I help you?" He looked like the kind of man that would adopt someone like Logan. Oh just take him off of our hands she thought, then straightened up a bit. She couldn't expect so much from him. He was possibly lost or something.

(Eh. Sorry for the horrible reply. I had more typed up, but my dad was messing with my keyboard and hit refresh and it all dissapeared.)

Criss looked her over. She didn't look very thrilled to see him. He handed her the crinkled up documents and papers. Don't people usually keep those crisp and fresh? In a folder or somthing? Well, he didn't.

"Fostering," He replied. "Logan, uh....Angor, fifeteen years." He pulled out an Identification card so they could use it as referance.

The woman walked forward, took the unorganized documents and crinkled papers and flipped through them carefully. When she was done, she handed him back the papers. Her brown hair came into her face, and her glasses rested on the end of her nose while she glanced up at him.

"This way," she said, turning around and walking down the hallway. Logan had retreated back to a seperate room and shut the door, so she had come back to open it. "You sure he's the one?" She said, hesitant to open the door just yet.

"Oh yeah. He's the one."

He smiles, charming smile, crooked smile, it's a stage smile. He's pushed his sunglasses back up onto the top of his head. He didn't want her to open that door yet so he put his had on the doorknob, holding it shut.

"He knows I'm coming?" He aske her. "He knows he's moving to a new home yet?"

(Gah! That one was short)

"Not quite yet. You came suddenly." She said. "I haven't got a chance to inform him. If you want, you can personally tell him." She said that because she didn't want to go in there herself. There was no way in hell she was going to do that.

(Ick. That shouldn't have taken that long. I typed up a longer response, but it wasn't that great so I trashed it. Forgive the shortness. Gomen nasai.)

He took a deep breath. Then he smiled again.

"If someone dies in there, just kick the body in the trash." Well, obviously he'd been informed of Logan's attitude. He opened the door and stepped in. Scanning the room silently with his black out lined eyes for Logan.

"Logan?"

With a silent nod and a half-smile, she walks back to her previous position, but the other man was not engaging in conversation with her because he'd been showing someone else around.

Logan, from the other side of the room, turns his head. "What is it you want now?" Slight eyebrow raise. He was interested in prying one of the floor boards off before, but when Gothtech stepped into the room, he had to see what he wanted. "Did that wench send you in here?"

That smile again. But somehow more strength behinde it, more power showing. Signs of dominance maybe? But not noticably dominace, it would be passed as simply a strong smile of confidence.

"No. That wench did not send me in here. Nobody sends me anywhere." T'is true. No one actually tells Gothtech what to do or when to do it. "I came on my own. You're causeing problems around this place I hear."

He advanced in the room uninvited, swinging the door shut behinde him. Leather pants were broken in enough not to squeek when he walked anymore.

"I've got a proposition for you. Your end of the deal won't be hard at all." Without waiting to be asked, he went on, "What do you say I get you out of this Hell hole, feed you real food instead of the cardboard they feed you here, I teach you things that will the worth your while, when are you ever going to use "cramer's rule" in real life? You'll have your own room as well since I don't foster anyone else." He paused, standing in front of Logan.

"All you do is clean your own laundry and do your own dishes, and don't cause me as much trouble. Does that sound better then this place?"

The drastic piercings and whitened hair seem to go unnoticed to this man, as if it's practically normal thing to see.

He noted the smile, paused, and waited to see just what kind of deal this man was going to offer him.

He laughed, but then re-collected himself quickly after that. "A lot more than they can handle, supposedly," he admitted with a grin that soon faded. [i]Holy Hell; conversation! The last time anybody had tried to speak with Logan (which was about a year ago) they ended up as a bloody mess.

He stretched slightly, almost perking up at the word food. He hadn't had any real food since he was a kid, nor had it offered to him.

"Well, I'll think about it..." He said, folding his arms against his chest. "As long as your house isn't a dirty ass dump..." He was hesitant to go with him, but by Hell, once he got out of this place, he could do whatever he pleased.

"A lot more than they can handle, supposedly"

That's why I'm going to give it a try, he thought .He chuckled, his husky voice causing this to sound like something you'd hear on an old black and white television show. She'd crossed his arms loosely over his chest, shifted weight to his other foot, leg, hip and matched Logan's gaze levelly, not higher, from down on the same level, not better.

"Of course it's clean." He worked for a lawyer, he got paid up the ass. Gothtech had known ahead of time that the whole food ordeal would get attintion. He'd hated the foor around the orphanages himself until he was eighteen.

Actually, he was plesantly suprised by Logan's reaction. He'd expected the kid to dutifully ignor him or to tell him to screw off. He nodded.

"You can hang around this paradise until you've decided if you'll accept those terms," he eyed the room critically. "I can pick you up whenever you want." He held out a slip of paper with a number on it. "Just give me a call. Until then," he made a 'so long' sort of guesture wtih his hand and turned his back. He walked towards the door.

Perfect, don't force someone to go with you, give them the option of when and let them know this place is shit compared to where you want them to go, then leave. He was almost sure that Logan would accept. If not, he'd find another kid.

Logan eyed the man carefully. Once he got ot of this dump Gothtech could see for himself what Logan could do.

He chuckled. Logan just simply stood there, accepted the paper, pocketed it, and placed a hand on his hip. "Be aware that that woman who showed you in here will do anything for someone to take me, so if you're not back here, some heads might be rolling." Wait to go Logan, try and scare your only hope of getting out of this place.

Then he added, with a little bit more thought, trying to be as sickeningly as polite as possible, "I'm just saying that there's a possibility a few people might be dead when you come back here." He shrugged, saying that casually, as if telling someone you'd be late because you were stuck in traffic. That was probably a worse addition to the already bad first impression.

"Unless, of course, I took up your offer now..." Sly grin, but it was barely visible.

He continued to walk towards the door as the kid spoke. This was not intimidating, nor was it amusing, but he also knew that while he shouldn't let the kid get under his skin, and it would be stupid to be intimidated, he shouldn't underestimate Logan. And while he didn't put it past Logan to hurt and maybe kill people, he still had his back to him.

"I'm almost sure there will be." he replied to the fact that there might be some dead. But the truth was they would take him and put him in a mental hospital for the criminally insane for that one because while you can't put a child in jjail, you sure as hell can stick them there.

Unless, of course, I took up your offer now.

He turned, shaking a braid out of his face. "If you want to come now, that's up to you." He put his hands on his thin hips the way Logan hand. "I'm not making you. But it will save me a trip back here...and you from the idiocy of this place."

"Idiocy is an understatement." He slid his hand down his thigh some of the way, then left it hang there. "However, I'd loved to be saved from it." He e ignored what he previously said entirely, brushing it off like it was something like a simple 'how are you?' kind of conversation. Nobody wants to know how you are, because they're just going to ask the next person they come across that. So, it's just simple to brush it off like that.

He nodded. "Then lets go."

That was it. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of this. It didn't really matter that much to him. So he feels like a do-gooder right now, but that feeling would wear off soon and he'd be back to his usual self. He turned his back againa and pulled the door opened. Then he turned back half way.

"Not afraid of bikes are you?"

He doesn't specify but by Bikes he means the black motorcycle sitting out in front of the office at the moment.

He walked out, hands stuffed in his pockets. He was amazingly calm... for now. He didn't bother to turn around, but instead walked out into the hall way little ways. "Of course not." He just assumed he meant what he drove, and he'd rode on a bike once before. The sound didn't bother him, either, for there had been a few times people had come into the orphanage with bikes like that.

Criss watched Logan as he lead him back to the front of the ofice building.

Gothtech turned to the woman that had shown him in. "Is there anything else I need to do, sign something, nothing?"

He stood with his thumbs tucked into his back pokets, fingers folded around his hips. He even looked like an actor, moved like one, stood like one. He turned to Logan.

"Sign him out completely. I won't be bringing him back."

He was sure that would make both Logan and the woman happy. This was his way of letting Logan know he wasn't going to give in to anything he did, anything good or terrible.

She was conveniently fiddling with Logan's folders when he asked. And when he said 'sign him out completely', she pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, turned around, and raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?" She was looking at him like he was some miracle worker or something, and she was astonished at the fact that Logan was standing still, calmly, not doing anything... violent. She pulled out the folder completely, then headed toward a desk, opening it. If you're completely sure, I need you to sign here," she said, pointing to the line on the top of the paper, "as his legal guardian, and again, right here," she added, pointing to the bottem where there was a legal agreement. Like a contract.

Logan just waited, small smile stretched out on his long, thin lips. He was just waiting for the right moment.

Criss was rather suprised that Logan said nothing. He got a lurking feeling that the kid was up to something. He turned half way and looked at Logan again with a 'Don't you even think about it' sort of expresion. If Logan wasn't up to anything fine, he'd gotten a dirty look for no reason, if he was, maybe, hopefully, the fact that Criss had head him off in the path would make him stop.

He turned back around. "I'm positive." He picked up a pen, his fingernails were painted black and were just a little long, like he usually cut them and just hadn't recently. He scribbled an unreadable GTAngel all smushed togather and put the pen down. He folded his arms over his chest again. "And thats it?" Another glance at Logan, still the curious feeling.

"And that's it." She nodded with a smile. A smile that said 'Thank God you took that child and I hope I never see his face again', or at least something of the equivalence. She gave a little wave of her hand to the two (especially Logan), and Logan walked out, but not before he shot her a nasty glare.

He'd noted how he had looked at him, and simply wiped the smile off his face, but held it for later.

"I couldn't read your signature. What's your name?" He asked flatly. "If you know my name then I should sure as hell know yours."

"I would think you would need to if your going to be stuck with me," he replied. He'd given the woman a smile equally unpleasant. Something that seemed along the lines of 'people like you create kids like him.' Then he'd followed Logan out the door, pulling his glasses over his eyes. He walked to the motorcycle and lifted one leg over it.

"Sorry, no helmet. I didn't think to bring one." He folded his hands almost plesantly over one knee. "Gothtech." No last name given, fuck his real name. That's all he gave Logan.

"Yeah, sure." He said. "Screw helmets anyway." He didn't care. He'd gladly take any ride away from here. He also pulled his leg over the bike and got on. "Gothtech?" What kind of name was that? Logan raised an eyebrow, but dismissed it. The name was nice, just... unique.

(Erk. That was crap. Sorry. :aww: )

"Yeah, Gothtech." He repeated. When Logan lifted his leg over the motocycle Criss took his hands off his knee and took hold of the throtle and handle. Flipping the kickstand up with the heel of his boot, he twisted the throttle and stomped down on the ignition chamber, starting the motorcycle with a loud roar. He loved it.

He looked on eaither side to be sure Logan's feet were up, then moved forward until he was fast enough to lift his own feet. He sped, enough to get attintion from the cops but not quite enough to get their full attintion, zipping through the city heading into the middle of the city. He wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor, so the appartment building he rolled up to was a middleclass, nice enough but not over du=one building. He parked in the grass and shut off the engine.

He heard the engine kick in, and then got ready for the loud sounds. His ears were sensitive, sure, but he was used to the loud noises. He stayed completely still and silent throughout the whole trip, occasionally stealing glances at police, but mostly keeping to himself. Then he watched as they came to a stop, and swung his leg back over. "This is your place, eh?" Perfect. He wasn't dirt ass cheap.

"Yes." He replied, kicking down the kickstand and then lifting his leg over as well. "This is where I live. Fifth floor, number 503." There arn't five hundred and three apartments...more like four appartments on each floor.

Criss lead him into the building, walls painted a soft blue, wood floors A mirror every other door down. He boreded the elevator and hit five. He stood, hands folded in front of him, looking Logan over with blue measuring eyes.

Fifth floor? Well, he hoped there was some kind of elevator or something. He didn't like stairs in the least bit. Too much work and effort required to climb them, too.

Logan followed, hands stuffed in his pockets so that only his thumbs were visible. He hadn't liked the building much. The blue didn't do much for it, and the mirrors bugged him. He hated mirrors... and light colors. This would take some getting used to.

He followed Criss into the elevator, remaining silent. Yes, he was plotting. And he was glad he didn't have to climb any number of wretched staircases.

No elevator music. That had been the first thing to go when Crisstoph moved in. He would't put up with it. Ding Swoosh He stepped out of the elevator, passing no one on the way out, only expecting Logan to follow. HE produced a set of keys from somewhere, they couldn't have fit in those leather pants, and unlocked a door. It was the only door in the hall without some sort of decoration hanging on it.

Inside, a short hall, a straight shot into the kitchen which was nothing too specail. To the left was a closet door and a hallway, to the right, an opening into a living room, decored in black leather and mahogany wood, and a dinning room with a mahogany hutch, glasswork for a door, and a round mahogany table. Four chairs, only one place setting.

Down the long hall was first on the left, a bathroom door, inside was the same light blue tile that the hall in the apartment building was, dark blue rug, glass shower door, dark blue towls. One toothbrush and one razor sat on the sink. A blue hamper in the corer. The bathroom was small. Next to that a closet door, then another door into a bedroom, what looked like a office, only messy and contained a computer, a desk, clothing, and unpacked boxes. The only messy room in the house. The hall took a small 'L' shape off of that door to a closet door and another bedroom. That room had a full sized bed of gray cast iron, a wooden long, short dresser, the top painted black the rest left alone. The same kind of desk, the same wood sliding closet doors. A bookshelf built in and a window, short and long. A blanket thrown over the window for darkness and privacy. On the right of the hall, only two doors, one was a closet. The other was a bedroom with a queen sized canopy bed of cast iron, a black comforter with black and red pillow cases on the pillows, red sheets, a high backed, classy black chair, a tall dresser and another long short dresser. The closet doors were closed, the room was dark, and the window curtians drawn, a clean room. Over all, the place was dark.

Criss showed Logan around the house, the kitchen the only room with any real light, and when they came to the undecorated room, he stopped.

"This is your room. I'll give you some blankets and pillows for the night but I left it empty. I thought you'd rather decide what to do then have another asshole adult decide for you." A kid at heart probably.

It was amazing how he pulled the keys out of--- air, or something. It was obvious they couldn't have been in those leather pants of his. Logan had to learn how to do that.

He followed him around the house like a duckling following its mother, surveying each room. He liked this apartment a lot better than he had liked that nasty entrance to the building. He had nice taste. Everything was so dark and had an over all morbid feel to it. To Logan, at least. He hadn't much liked the kitchen, but some light in a house was to be suspected. Because of course, nobody had a house that was completely black, although Logan probably would've preferred it that way, being the way he was.

When he came to the undecorated room, he noticed he stopped, so Logan stopped too.

This is your room.

He had figured as much. He removed his right hand from his pocket and rested a slender finger on his chin, the black nail polish on his fingers now showing even more than it had before. He was thinking.

"That's fine for now." He said. He wasn't toooooo picky about his rooms. "As long as you don't use pink, I don't really give a damn."

He chuckled softly, watching and listening to Logan's reactions. The kid reminded him of himself after his family had died. He'd become this rebelious little ass of a kid who wanted nothing more then to ruin people's lives and be left alone. At this realization, Crisstoph wondered momentarily what exactly he'd gotten himself into, picking this kid out of many. But, the guys track record was, after all, what had attracted his attintion.

Criss moved further into the room and pulled open the closet. A mirror, shatted, tightly broken peices in one spot and flaring large out further from the center, as if it'd been fisted. He pulled down a couple of blankets and two caseless pillows and set them on the bed.

Indicating to the broken mirror he said, "I'll get that out of here latter on this evening."

Glancing at the little square alarm clock, it read 5:03 PM.

"You hungry? I'm not a great chef but I'm fair enough."

Logan just stood in the doorway, watching Criss' every move.

First he had opened the closet, and then took out a few harmless things, such as the pillows and blankets. But what really caught his attention was the mirror. The broken one. His eyes never moved from their spot on it until he said he'd get it out of the room later. That got a little dissapointment from Logan, but it didn't show on his face. Broken glass would have been wonderful to play with.

"Doesn't matter," he said, finally removing his hand from his chin and returning it back to its resting place on his hip. "In fact, take your time. No rush," yeah, he'd definitely get his hands on that glass before Criss even thought about touching it.

He was about to say something nasty, but when the mention of food came to mind, he had forgotten what he was going to say. Mind your manners Logan, this guy could end up feeding you cardboard. "So long as what your cooking doesn't smell like ass." He said (and that was about as polite from Logan as you would get), shifted his weight where he was standing, and gave what Criss said would be his room another quick glance. His mind was still on that mirror.

Criss gave a shrug, shifted his weight in a similar fashion as Logan, then glanced to the mirror again. Well, if that hadn't been a pitiful excuse for a grip, throwing a fit like a child would. Breaking that glass had been a lapse into his past for a breif moment, maybe that's what made him decide to pick up Logan.

GothTech pulled his eyes from the mirror and back to Logan. Ah yes, this kid was going to be trouble for a while. Maybe a little longer then that. He pushed past Logan, keys dangling limply in his skelitin fingers as he moved.

"Any requests?" Ass food? He remembered that. That disgusting dog slop they passed off as food in school cafiterias and Orphanages. No, he wasn't an expert but his food certinally wasn't so bad.

The keys are gone. Just gone. Not put away, they just arn't anymore.

"Food. You know, the kind you eat. That's actually digestible." No, he wasn't picky about food either. As long as it was real food. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what real food tasted like at this point. He just wanted it. "Don't take too long." He added, then took another furtive glance around the room.

He watched the keys now dissapear, eyes following GothTech as he moved. "And what do you want me to do while I'm waiting?" Dull, unamused tone. He'd be more exciting later.

A shrug of boney shoulders and he reached up, pulling back his long black hair into a ponytail, quick and neat.

"Whatever the hell you want."

He'd been walking down the hall when he'd said that, but then he paused, turned halfway.

"Just don't go pyro on my shit. Don't fuck anything up." He turned again to continue down the hall. "There are books in that office room, mystry, murder, fantasy, psychology, you name it. And the Telivision in the living room has something like seventy channels.

He didn't know, he didn't watch it often. GT walked into the only room with light in it, the kitchen window was open to the sunlight bore it's way in. He needed the light in there to see what he was doing. What to make? Maybe some kind of chicken.

Just don't go pyro on my shit. And don't fuck anything up.

Well, that ruined any plans of him doing anything interesting. GothTech didn't seem to like Logan's view of interesting. That dissapointed him. Again. Well, what else was there to do, again? Books? Murder... Yeah, that sounded mildly interesting.

He wandered back into the messy office room of Criss', picked out some kind of book that interested him, then returned back to his room and sat on his bed. 'The Red Dragon' was put across the cover, and it appeared to be a book about a cannibal. He flipped through the pages, almost interested... but not quite. He'd rather be doing something than just sitting around reading about it. He closed the book, an wandered back to the closet again.

The broken glass taunted him.

Don't fuck anything up.

Oh, one touch couldn't possibly hurt anything, right? He opened the closet. He was never guilty, so it wouldn't be hard for him to screw something up. He just had to make sure GothTech didn't hear him doing anything wrong.

It wasn't too long before GothTech had a few burns on his fingertips of various sizes and the kitchen smelt of chicken and baisle. Strands of hair had escaped the ponytail, hanging as a nussance in his eyes. Two pans on the stove top, a frying pan with browned chicken and another with a creamy sauce, mostly just made of chicken soup, water, milk, and flour. A loaf of bread was out sitting in it's plastic wrap and butter sitting out.

He turned the corner of the hallway and silently walked back to the barren bedroom to tell his new 'room mate' it was time to eat. Yes, he considered Logan a room mate, not a 'son' or 'foster kid'. Criss was too young to have a son Logan's age. He rapped on the door with a burnt knuckle.

"Hey, I come in?"

Logan had been fiddling with a piece of glass he'd managed to pry out of the mirror, seeing what it could do. However, when Crisstoph knocked, he'd managed to shove it under one of his pillows. The closet door was closed thankfully, so he leaned back over and opened the book.

"Yeah." He said, opening the book to page thirty. Or some number close to it anyway. He skimmed through the text, reading at least four words per second, and not paying much attention to what was in the book.

He'd forgotten about the mirror already. It was a sure thing that he would suddenly remember it again in the middle of the night, make a mentle not to remove it, and by morning, he will have forgotten it again.

Crisstoph shoulders the door opened, shrugging it wide and taking severel steps into the room. He looks at the cover of the book breifly.

"I didn't know I had that." A fleeing thought. "Dinners ready. Whenever you want it. I don't want food back here in the bedrooms, the living room is fine but not the rooms. This damned place has a a problem with ants. I've managed to keep them out so far." He turned his back again and returned to the hallway.

"It's hot now."

His way of getting Logan to come out now? Nah, he figured the kid would be eager enough to eat some real food as soon as he could.

Ah, ants. He hated ants more than he probably hated anything in nature. They just... bugged him. (No pun intended.)

"Eh. How could you know? That place is a dump." He said, remembering the page he was on for later use, and then shut it closed. The mention of food practically made him jump to his feet. But, he was trying to be polite, so he slid off the bed and to his feet.

And once he was on his feet, he quickly followed Criss down the hallway. He was hungry as hell.

How could you know? That place is a dump.

Crisstoph smiled without turning around. His teeth are a supriseing white, like an actor or a hollywood magazine model or somthing. His smile reaches his blue eyes.

"Well, if you think it's a dump, feel free to clean it." Had Logan been talking about his apartment in particular or the building? It didn't matter, the phrase applied to both cases. Crisstoph walked into the kitchen and opened a cabnit, pulling out two plates, white, no pattern, not pretty flowers or ribbons. Just plain plates. Then he pulled down two glasses, also, stright peices of glass, no pattern to it.

He was all too obviously a bachlor.

"Help yourself." Palms on the counter behind him he lifts himself to sit on the counter and wait for Logan to serve himself.