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

[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.]

Really really.

[Heck, he only half believes it himself. After this fateful pilgrimage to Alberta it was mostly a downward spiral in terms of sightseeing. (Except maybe that one time in Mexico.)

Travis hums thoughtfully before answering.] I, uh... I actually don't know how long I was there. I spent a lot of time getting the shit beat out of me and trying to talk people into beating the shit out of me, so it kinda blurs. More than a month? I think? [Hell if he knows.] I didn't see a whole lot of the area after I got there, anyway. What I did see was nice. Prettier than home.

[He pauses. All this reminiscing is getting him wistful. Wistful and drunk are never a good combination.] My teacher thought I was an idiot for doing it, when I told him about it. I probably was, but I guess that's just how I learn stuff.

Heh. [This time laughing feels a lot less painful.]

That sounds familiar. The "talking people into beating the shit out of me" part, not the other stuff. In any case, not gonna any judgements here. I'm more of a "learn-by-doing" kinda guy, too.

College or high school, by the way?

[Apparently Wade has remembered that an inebriated Travis is also a talkative Travis.]

Neither. Never got far enough in college to get that buddy-buddy with a teacher, and none of my high school teachers were that... y'know, invested. I mean my real teacher-- the guy who taught me how to fight.

[Remember that wistfulness? Still very, very much present. He's really got to learn to shut up one of these days.]

Taught me nearly everything I know.

[Travis has a very distinctive voice when he's divulging a part of his past, Wade realizes. He can't really describe it-- it's almost as if Travis's voice gets lower; becomes more gentle, maybe. More... throaty? Is that the word he's looking for? He isn't sure.

It's a lot different from his normal voice, though; not to mention a good indication that he's revealing something he wouldn't be revealing if he were sober. Wade is suddenly reminded of his story about Bishop. Considering what little he knows of Travis's past, something tells him he's not exactly using the past tense to imply the guy moved out of the country or something.]

Sounds like he was quite a guy.

Yeah. He really was.

[It's true. He loses his edge whenever he talks about himself, or rather, things that are important to him. But the notes of pain and regret from when Bishop was up for discussion aren't quite there. It's been much longer since Thunder Ryu's death. Plus, the man went down fighting. Travis has gotten his closure.

In the conversation's pause he finally remembers how much his everything hurts. Travis leans on Wade for a little more support even as the man leans on him. It's more comfortable than he wants to admit to, but he's feeling way too touchy-feely right now to not do it.]

Your healing thing kick in yet?

[Wade nods.]

Mm. Seems like it. Still feel achy, but I've got feeling in my lower torso again.

[Seriously, who the hell gives somebody that many kidney shots unless they were trying to kill him? He'll have to complain to the Barfight Emporium for that total party foul.

A short, comfortable silence passes. Wade takes the time to enjoy the cool air against his flushed face; walking home side-by-side (well, staggering, anyway) with a buddy as the sun sinks below the horizon. He still can't stop thinking about the last time Travis and alcohol was involved. Weird how people could reach a connection in the most unlikely of scenarios.

An old Pink Floyd song suddenly comes to mind, and without thinking, he opens his mouth and sings:]

How I wish, how I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl year after year
Running over the same old ground, what have we found?
The same old fears...

[He'd be completely oblivious if he didn't feel the way Travis is sagging against him right now. Wade definitely took the brunt of the abuse, but he's pretty sure Travis isn't feeling too good right about now. Wade ends the impromptu musical number in order to glance at his drinking buddy with a little more scrutiny.]

Hey. You're gonna crash at my place tonight, right?

Good. [Because he's starting to feel like he needs help hobbling back home too.]

[Hey, he knows that one! And Wade's actually not bad. Not at all, actually. He's quiet for the sake of listening politely. It even takes him a second to realize he's being spoken to, and he looks up, looking momentarily confused.]

Huh? Oh, uh... [Does this mean what he thinks it's supposed to mean?] Yeah. Yeah, if you're cool with it.

Didn't know you could sing.

[Wade shoots him an incredulous look.]

C'mon, what kinda guy would I be if I let you drive home tonight? Safety first and all that. Plus I need to make sure you're not... y'know. Bleeding internally or something.

[That concept bothers him more than he cares to admit. He momentarily distracts himself by addressing Travis's other remark.]

I'm surprised you haven't heard me sing before. I like to crank out a ditty every once in a while. I'm not, y'know... Andrea Bocelli or anything, but I think I've got a pretty passable set of pipes.

[He falls silent when he sees that they've reached the apartment. One look at all those stories and Wade knows they're definitely not gonna make it if they take the stairs. So, after crossing the lobby and avoiding the front desk clerk's look of skepticism, Wade makes a beeline for the elevator and pushes the button to go up.]

Almost there. You feeling okay?

[Travis snorts.] C'mon, man, I'm not that delicate. If it makes you feel better, though, I'll stick around.

[Excuses, excuses. Not like he'd have said no if Wade hadn't been worried about him. (Not like he's very reluctantly thrilled to have Wade worried about him in the first place.)

He keeps mostly quiet, though, until Wade turns it around and asks how he's doing. The reversal's almost cute. He chuckles.]

Yeah, m'good. [Standing, speaking, and conscious is a well enough start to "good" that he figures he can answer that honestly.] Mostly. I, uh, didn't actually check everywhere I got hurt, so I might need to actually take care of that once we get there...

[The elevator doors slide open, sure enough.]