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.]

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[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.

Heh. It was implied. [As if he's any good at nuances anyway. Travis nods at the waitress as she bustles off to fetch their check.]

And are you kidding, dude? If you were gonna go for some girly-ass cocktails I'd have tried to get you drunk anyways. You only get one every 365. Don't worry about me keepin' up, either. Getting wasted and doing stupid stuff is one of my talents at this point.

[At least Wade won't have him signing any contracts or shady job offers, either.]

[Wade raises an eyebrow.]

Try to get me drunk? So this is all just an elaborate set-up to wine and dine me and then take advantage of me when I'm at my most vulnerable? Never knew you had it in ya, Trav.

In any case, girly-ass cocktails pretty much go through me like water. Can't even give me so much as a spike in blood sugar. No, if we're doing this, we're going all the way. Nothin' half-assed. Hard stuff only.

[There is a distinct, eager gleam in his eyes.}

Maybe we'll get in a fight or something while we're at it. You don't mind bein' my second if some dude wants to tangle with me, do ya?

Gimme some credit; I'm not that much of a sleaze ball. I just wanna-- [Shit. Is this where the embarrassment comes back? The cocky attitude dims just a little.] --y'know. Make sure you actually get to have fun at some point. Might as well, right?

[He only falters briefly, though. The mere mention of a fight is all it takes to get him right back on track. The telltale grin creeps its way back onto his face. This is the face of a man who's absolutely looking for trouble.]

Fuck, it's an honor. Violence and hard alcohol, what more could a guy ask for?

[To say that Travis's expression looks familiar would be stating the obvious. Lord knows he's worn that same expression a thousand times before, and it's very refreshing-- exciting, really-- to meet someone who's just as into starting trouble as he is.]

Glad to see we're on the same page, then.

[Though they've only been drinking water, Wade raises his glass in what he hopes will be the first of many toasts.]

To inebriation, altercations, and hopefully no incarcerations.

[He has to admit, he's quite proud of that one.]

[Travis laughs pleasantly--it IS pretty catchy, he's gotta admit to himself--and clinks their glasses together.]

And to coming outta this in one piece. Or mostly one piece. Cheers.

[...Okay, so maybe he overdid it a tiny bit.

Sure, he'd managed to trip over his own feet when he and Travis were, erm... politely asked to leave, but that was just due to the sidewalk being uneven. A stray pebble catching him unaware. Something. He's not that drunk-- he can totally walk on his own. He just... likes leaning on Travis a lot more, that's all.

He winces as he feels a twinge in his side-- definitely a torn muscle there, if not an outright cracked rib. This on top of however many other injuries he has. He knows he's got a real shiner right now, and a few of his teeth feel loose in the back of his mouth. He chuckles even though it hurts.]

Dude, I can't believe you picked a fight with that guy. Dude was the size of a fuckin' Ent.

[...His words are only slurring because he's tired, okay?]

[Travis half-wheezes out a laugh, himself: he's not quite as worse for wear as Wade is, but without the luxury of that nice little healing factor, it'll be way worse in the morning. That and someone had taken the opportunity to punch him in the gut and knock the wind out of him shortly before they'd gotten the boot. Eh. Details.]

He looked at me funny. And I threw 'im over the bar anyway. [Truly a sight to behold, it was.]

[Surprisingly, he's a lot less drunk than he thought he was going to be, even as he dreads tomorrow morning, when the adrenaline stops numbing the pain. His torso probably looks like a bad tie-dye job; his lower lip's only just stopped dribbling down blood; he hopes the throbbing in his head is just from the booze and not from a head wound. He can walk better than Wade can right now, though. He moves patiently along with him at every wobble and stumble, trying the best he can to keep them from completely losing balance.]

How're you?

I feel fan-fuckin'-tastic, Trav. I'm totally smashed-- who the hell even has absinthe anymore?-- an' I'm pretty sure we would've won that fight if that party pooper of a bartender hadn't kicked us out.

[For some reason, the word "party pooper" strikes him as amazingly funny right now, and he bursts into a wild, raucous sort of laughter--injuries be damned-- that takes him several minutes to recover from. When the paroxysm fades, there's still an easy, childlike smile on his face when he glances over at Travis, or at least as much of Travis as he can see when he's currently leaning on his shoulder.]

Thanks for helpin' me out back there, by the way. That was the most carnage-free fun I've had in a long time. Oh, and when you suplexed that big guy? Fuckin' awesome. Where the hell did you even learn how to do that?

What do you mean, 'would've'? The fact that we got kicked out means we won!

[God, that laughter's infectious. Even if he wasn't totally drunk right now.]

Calgary. [He'd be shrugging a shoulder if Wade wasn't currently occupying it. All this stuff from his mid-20's seems like a lifetime ago, and looking back like this always feels a little weird.] I got this idea to become a pro wrestler one day, no lie. So I hitchhiked and took buses all the way up to fuckin' Canada-- heh-- took like a week 'cause I kept getting lost...

Paid off though, right? Hey, watch the curb there. [Travis shifts a little to help Wade lean on him properly again.] Nothing better'n beating the shit out of some random guys for the hell of it. I should be thanking you.

No shit-- Calgary? Really?

[It's strange, but Travis had always struck Wade as the type to have never been out of his own town, let alone his entire country. And it might be just the intoxication talking, but knowing that he took a trip to Wade's homeland makes him feel... he doesn't know. Almost as if they're blood brothers now somehow. Or something. It makes more sense in his alcohol-addled brain.]

How long were you there? What'd you think of it?

[It's suddenly very important that Travis had a positive experience. Damn if Wade could say why, but there it is. He imagines it's kind of like giving a good friend a tour of your house and having him be just as delighted with it as you are. Wade has his national pride, after all.]