busemox | (no subject)

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[It's strange that wearing something other than his spandex ensemble would make him feel more naked in public, but there it was. Wade always was a master of contradictions. Even with the image enhancer in place, which gives him the appearance of what he'd looked like years before the cancer, the absence of cloth covering his face is enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable. But this place has recently opened, and he supposes they're not exactly used to costumed superheroes traipsing right on through. Not yet, anyway. Give it a few weeks.

As he sits there, alone in an unfamiliar Indian restaurant after waving away the waitress for the second time, he once again entertains the notion that he's been stood up. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened to him, and it's not as if he was prepared to make a big deal out of today anyway. After all, he's had tons of birthdays come and go without incident in his lifetime. What's one more?

Still, something causes him to keep glancing over at the entrance, waiting for a familiar face to come walking through. There must be some reason he keeps waiting, some reason he keeps holding back from eating a solo dinner and leaving to resume the festivities in the solitude of his apartment. It may seem pathetic and more than a little schmaltzy, but this is the first time Wade's ever had a chance to share this day with someone else in quite a long time.

He supposes that's worth waiting for, even for just another five minutes.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For Bishop, right?

[Wade winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, holding his hand up as if in a physical attempt to stop Travis from answering. God, what a douchey, callous thing to blurt out.]

Shit-- sorry! Just popped out. I mean, it's only natural that I'd come to that conclusion considering what you already told me, but... yeah. You don't have to answer that. Sorry.

We can talk about how I got into the cleaning biz, if you want. No walking through awkward minefields there.

[Ouch. The reminder stings a little-- even knowing that Wade understands-- but he shrugs it off.]

No, that part-- it came later. Much later. [And it's been a while since then, too, even if the wound still feels fresh sometimes.] Different kind of score.

[In any case, he figures that the entire story, murderous ex-girlfriend and all, is too convoluted and depressing to make any sort of decent dinner conversation, so he moves on.]

Yeah? How'd that go, then?

[Wade hides his shy smile in his glass of water as he takes a sip.]

Promise me you're not gonna laugh? I always wanted to be a secret agent. When I was a kid I used to watch James Bond movies religiously. I dunno exactly when I switched to assassination, but it was pretty much the same thing.

There was a kind of glamour in that lifestyle, y'know? You could feel powerful. Confident. Dangerous. You know Max von Sydow's character in Three Days of the Condor? I wanted to be Max von Sydow. Just this awesome guy who commanded respect before you even knew his name.

That's partly the reason why I joined the army when I was younger-- I wanted that sort of... lethal respect, y'know? I dunno... the concept was really sexy to me. So after my stint in the army, I met an agent who arranged that kind of thing. Worked for him for a while before I went freelance.

It was pretty a pretty lean first few years, and I think the guy was kinda jerkin' me around for a lot of it-- taking more than his fair share of the pay and all that-- but I was young and in love with the lifestyle, so I didn't really notice or care too much. And it was easy, too-- taking people's lives and getting paid for it? Pretty much a dream come true for me. Wouldn't change jobs for anything.

'Course, I also do a bit of pro bono work from time to time, but everybody does that, right?

Come on, man... [He lowers his voice to a hushed undertone.] Don't say that shit so loud. [As curious as he is, Wade's getting right to the subject without bothering to dance around it-- and there are still people around.]

[But he listens anyway. And as it turns out, Wade's as much of a pro as he'd assumed he was, the quirk of a flashy costume aside: military, years of practice, an agent who hadn't been feeding him more lies than truths. Or so he guesses.

Funny. You think getting crowned number one no less than twice would make him immune to feeling like such a damn novice all the time.

He's not sure of what to say until he hears that last bit. That... what?]

Like what? [He's tentative, asking that. Maybe he just hasn't been in the business long enough for that to come up.]

[Wade grins, making a show of casting a glance around him. The few people in the restaurant are wrapped up in their own affairs-- talking, laughing and eating. He returns his gaze to Travis and raises one shoulder in an innocent shrug. The meaning behind the gesture is obvious: "Who's listening?"

[His point made, he leans back in his chair with a sigh, closing his eyes as if searching his memory for a good story. Eventually he opens his eyes and leans forward, steepling his hands together and resting them on the table.]

Here's a good one. A while back, I got a call about a potential job from this cute couple. It was concerning their daughter, Jennifer-- they sent me pictures of her and everything. She was beautiful, and not in that fake supermodel way, either. She had a nice, familiar "girl next door" quality to her. She was only sixteen, but you could tell she would've been a total knockout a few years down the line.

Anyway, Jen had some issues. Her parents didn't really get into what kind-- that wasn't important. What was important was the therapist she was seeing. Guy liked to get his kicks by getting his patients to give him their full and total trust and then take advantage of them. Physically, in the case of his female patients.

He never got caught. Most of his victims were either too messed up or too scared to really do anything against him. Pretty sure some of them actually went along with it after a while. Like this was how it was supposed to be. And people wonder why I don't trust shrinks. [A harsh, sardonic laugh.]

But that's how it was. Sweet little Jennifer... she was just one in a whole laundry list of poor suckers. She tried to tell someone about it, but anyone she talked to either chalked it up to her being crazy or just making it up for the attention. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore. Locked herself in her room one night and let Prince Valium and good old Jack Daniels carry her away.

[Wade stops for a moment, taking the opportunity for another sip of water.] Now, her folks didn't want revenge-- they just wanted to make sure that this sort of thing never happened to somebody else's baby. [His voice doesn't exactly catch, but it grows slightly rougher the more he loses himself in the memory.]

So I agreed to help them out. For free. I considered it a sort of civil service. I set up an appointment to meet with him under the pretense that I was sick of bein'... y'know. Me. He claimed he'd treated superheroes before, so I didn't have to worry about going incognito. Not that it would've mattered. I talked with him for a while, fed him some stories about my life and my afflictions-- most of 'em bullshit-- and just when he was completely invested in my case, I let him have it.

You should have seen the way the color drained from his face when I told him why I was really there. I had him pinned to the wall like a butterfly in a collection, and all he could do was listen as I tore him apart. Toward the end he was begging me to let him go, trying to make the excuse that Jennifer had wanted to be with him.

[He pauses again, his jaw tensing as his grits his teeth tightly together. His eyes are sparkling with a righteous hatred. Even with the image enhancer, he probably looks more like a murderous assassin-- more like himself-- than he has this entire night. When he speaks, his voice is filled with an almost serene satisfaction.] And that's when I sliced the fucker's head off.

[It is at that exact moment that the waitress approaches their table, her arms loaded with plates of aromatic Indian food. Wade's face immediately slips back into relaxed calm; he flashes her a delighted smile as she sets his plate down in front of him.]

Hey, all right! Thanks, darlin'. It smells fantastic.

[Travis has been doing more listening than anything this evening. Which he's fairly content with: he's not half bad of a listener, and Wade seems to enjoy the sound of his own voice a whole lot.

But this is something different. "Community service" be damned: it's straight up vigilante justice. He feels a little pang of inadequacy as the story goes on; a little jealousy; a mounting respect for Wade. For taking matters into his own hands. Productively wrecking shit. Or something.

And Travis? He's never tried to pull anything like that. He doesn't think he's even thought of it being a possibility. That much isn't frustrating so much as it is a little, gnawing bother that's just been set up in the back recesses of his mind. He shouldn't be thinking about himself. He should be thinking about Wade: there's too much to the man, too many sides, that he knows he'll never be able to guess at-- not unless he tells him first. It's simultaneously infuriating...and really, really interesting.

How exciting.]

That asshole deserved it. [His hands are under the table. He feels his nails pressing into his palms. The tone of his voice is almost as rough and decisive as Wade's had been.] You gave him what was coming to him.

[Because it always goes back to those people, doesn't it? Violence begets violence. What goes around comes around, right? He's never believed in that comic book idea of leaving the villains alive to reform them; it feels good to know that someone else, apparently, agrees.]

You know, you're--

[...Which also means that Wade's abrupt shift in tone and expression catches him way, way off-guard. He looks surprised enough that the waitress shoots him a puzzled expression before setting Travis' plate down with an uncertain, slightly sympathetic smile.]

Jesus, I didn't see you there.

[Oh. Reassured for now, she wishes them a good meal and leaves.]

Damn. The service is really quick around here, isn't it?

[Wade offers him a slow, lazy grin at that.]

Maybe you were too immersed in the story. Kinda flattering, I have to say. Anyway. Bon appetit and all that.

[He snatches up his fork with a hungry expression on his face, scooping up the first bite and popping it unceremoniously in his mouth. He utters a muffled sigh of satisfaction as he chews, his eyes closing with pleasure.]

Oh yeah. Yup. Definitely made the right choice with this one. But... sorry. Go ahead. You were gonna say something?

[Travis shrugs a single shoulder and grins back, digging into his food.]

Well, you know how to tell 'em.

[Thankfully, he's polite enough to finish chewing before he answers.]

You're not what I was expecting is all. [It's said with the tone of a confession.] I can't figure you out.

[Now Wade's grin is mischievous, and he points both thumbs backward at himself with all the flourish of a gameshow host.]

That's me. Always spontaneous. I like to keep people guessing.

[He shoves another forkful into his mouth, but suddenly hesitates mid-chew, as if something's just occurred to him.]

Wait. So... what were you expecting?

[He thinks of all the assassins he's met thus far. Most were ruthless, completely merciless, directionless save for the monotonous, bloody deed of murder; the others were... well, too tough to sort into a category. Shinobu. Alice. Holly.

He isn't really sure what he'd been expecting. Somebody less personable, or less actually willing to do things for good reasons? He hadn't gotten much extended exposure to any of the not completely nutso assassins, either, which made comparisons even more difficult.]

Dunno.

[He chews on some more of the naan thoughtfully.]

Most people in the biz are just trying to get me out of the way, not make conversation, y'know? [In other words, this is the first time he's seen an assassin out of the context of work. Much less been this involved. ~~Not that they're involved.~~]

[Forgive Wade's puzzled look, Travis-- this sort of conundrum is all new to him. Not knowing how to react to Travis's statement, he forces out a laugh.]

What, d'you just make a habit of pissing people off so bad that they decide to put hits out on you? Am I gonna have to worry that some Godfather type shit is gonna go down before I've even finished my birthday dinner?

Sheesh. You should've told me you were bad news right from the start, dude.

[The remark sounds almost affectionate.]

Maaaaybe? Pissing people off is sorta my thing.

[He feels sort of silly now. Of course Wade would have more than the paper flatness of a murderous caricature. After all, it isn't like being an assassin means that Wade's isn't a human being like everybody else--

...ah.

That explains it. He's still working the kinks out of this whole empathy thing.]

Like you're any better. [The smirk creeps its way onto his face before he realizes, but lingers for only a moment before he returns to his food. (How much of tonight has been flirting? Goddamn.)]

[In Wade's opinion, there's never enough flirting. But they probably should spend more time eating and less time talking. Not that Wade has a problem with doing both, of course.

He lets out a good-natured laugh to show that Travis's coquettish comment is appreciated before he resumes attacking his own meal. An amazing ten seconds goes by-- a new record-- before he decides to prove his skill at multitasking once again.]

Honestly, I'm not sure what to tell ya. I mean, this is the first I've ever heard of something like that. Assassins killing assassins and all that. I mean, I know it happens, it's just never happened to me. Maybe once. I dunno. I remember what you said about them pitting assassins in some weird blood sport or something. I... don't really think that's how the game is played. In normal channels, anyway.

[He taps his lips thoughtfully with a finger.] Maybe I just haven't met the right clients.

[Wade's right. Sure, he'd done contract killings to keep up with the bills every once in a while, but in those first glorious months it'd all been about the UAA. And he'd seen enough movies about bounty hunters and hitmen, hadn't he? The sort of set-up he had fallen into wasn't a normal thing in the least: he should've smelled something off from the start.

Should've. That kind of possibility--actual sound logic--is a game breaker, he's pretty sure.]

Maybe we just aren't playing by the same rules.

[Travis huffs. He's thinking about Sylvia again: how she'd managed to run a con as big as the UAA for so long, he'll never know. But he's determined not to let any stray thoughts of her in; he can talk about the facts without dwelling on the brains herself, right?]

The matches back home were something different, though. It was a status thing, mostly. [Though he'd cruised up the ranks for the hell of it the first time around.]

[Wade raises an incredulous eyebrow.]

Wait-- status? What, were they set up by an agent or something? So you weren't even paid?!

[The tone of his voice suggests this is an unpardonable offense, as if Travis had actually confessed that his agent ate babies on a regular basis.]

[Little known fact: Sylvia Christel actually bathes in rosewater mixed with the tears of orphan babies every night to keep her skin so soft and silky.]

Yep, an agent set up all the fights. For the most part, all good matches, too. [He motions dismissively with his fork before stuffing another piece of chicken in his mouth.]

Don't worry, we got paid--provided you won--but... she stuck me with some bullshit entry fee. [Travis makes a face.] The fee was, like, twice the cost of the match, and I didn't catch on 'till it was too late 'cause the cash went back and forth so quickly.

[Among other things.]

Entry... fee?

[There is a profound silence as Wade attempts to process this. For a moment, he merely sits there, blinking stupidly, a forkful of food held forgotten in one hand. It's one of those rare instances where he's completely struck dumb.]

...Wow. I... honestly don't know what to say to that, dude. I'm sorry. That's just... wow. If I ever had an agent do that to me... well. Let's just say I hope they'd have enough money to buy a new head.

[He jams the fork into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.]

Seriously, though. That is not how that sort of thing's usually run. Agents are kind of expected to be a little shady, but they're not supposed to completely fuck you over like that. Sounds like you got handed a raw deal. How'd you even get mixed up with a racket like that, anyway?

[Well, first of all, he was thinking with his dick. (As usual.) He was also drunk, and desperate, and, again, thinking with his dick...

How, indeed.]

Guess I just didn't know any better.

[And still doesn't. For as much as he resents Sylvia--for everything--he still doesn't know what he'll do if he finds her. When he finds her.]

Safe to say I'm not gonna fall for that shit again. [At least he hopes he won't.]

[Well. That certainly killed the conversation. In the sudden awkward silence, Wade takes the opportunity to pick at his food, trying to find something to say to lighten the mood.

It's obvious the conversation's gone to a place where Travis didn't want it to go, and not for the first time Wade wonders why he doesn't just talk. About anything. The most satisfying kill he's ever had. Places he's traveled. Wade himself. Hey, it's a perfectly viable topic, and one of the easiest ways to deflect him from an uncomfortable question.

It's not that Wade's annoyed by Travis's taciturn ways. Far from it-- he's actually intrigued. He swallows the mouthful he's been chewing.]

Hey. Wanna grab a drink after this? I know a place not too far from here.

[They aren't just talking shop anymore, even if Wade still thinks they are: it'd been an honest question, sure, but the answer to it is... not something he's particularly proud of, much less polite dinner conversation. And he doesn't like pondering on himself. Or his actions, for that matter. Wade wonders correctly: normally, Travis would just change the subject, keep that steady flow of chatter going.

But it's happening again. Not for the first time since he's begun dealing with Wade, he feels like he's hit a wall-- like he doesn't know what to do or say when he really, really should. Hell, he's a protagonist. He's got cheesy one-liners coming out of his ears, for God's sake. It shouldn't be this hard. But it is, and it's entirely stupid. He wants nothing more than to keep explaining, but it's like he's too chicken to be real now that he can be. And too guilty to try and fake it.

It's stopped him short. It shouldn't be; it's making him look like an idiot. He hates it.

Needless to say, his expression immediately brightens at the mention of booze.]

S'your birthday, man. Your call. But I can't say no to a drink.

Heh. Somethin' tells me there's a lot of things you can't say no to.

[In fact, experience has taught Wade that quite a few things earn an enthusiastic and resounding yes. He doesn't mention this part out loud, of course-- merely sits there in silence with a mischievous, knowing grin on his face that he doesn't even bother to hide. Just gonna visualize for a few seconds, don't mind him.]

I hope you realize that I'm not gonna stop at just one. That okay with you?

[The tone in his voice indicate that he obviously knows the answer.]

[Mr. Wilson, you are downright filthy. Good thing Travis is actually into that--and very glad, again, to be talking about something other than himself.]

Like I said. [Travis answers Wade's grin with his own; it means just about as much bad news as the original, really.] It's your birthday.

But maybe you should finish your food before you start trying to get in my pants again. We gotta hit that bar sometime.

[Meanwhile, the waitress takes this golden opportunity to walk up, pretend she hasn't overheard most of this helping the next table over, and stumble her way through asking them both how the food is. (It's great. So says Travis.)]

[Wade offers his own compliments to the chef, supplementing it with a wink in the waitress's direction (because if he's going to make someone feel awkward, he's going all the way) before addressing Travis's remark.]

Don't tempt me, Touchdown. I didn't even say anything about getting into anyone's pants. Who's got the dirty mind now, huh?

...I wanna get shitfaced. [He laughs at his own bluntness.] It's my birthday and I wanna spend what's left of it as inebriated as possible. Wanna see if you can keep up with me? Don't worry-- it's not like either of us is gonna remember if you do anything embarrassing.

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