drake wallace ; dean winchester (likedillinger) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-03-07 02:33:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | deadpool, dean winchester, elizabeth bennet, viola |
Who: Warren, “Eli” (aka Preston) and Drake. Later appearance by real!Eli.
What: Having a rational discussion between two men.
Where: The abandoned house past Aubade.
When: Friday night, around 8pm.
Warnings: Trust no Warren.
It took Warren longer to find the abandoned house than he intended, seeing as how he spent more of his time slinking around alleyways and rooftops to find his targets. But, Noah’s ‘friend’ wanted to meet him and discuss who the hell knows what. He scoffed. For once he was being the innocent creature, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, yet it was Noah who had his stupid freakout and waving a gun around at everyone including him. But mostly him. Yet somehow, Warren was the bad guy. Not Warren. Isaac. But that was neither here nor there.
Really, it wasn’t fair. Why did he get to have people around him, others who wanted to take care and protect him? Noah was just as bad as him. Just as tainted. Just as detached from normality, because that’s who they were. He would have fun reminding this Eli person of that.
Of course, smart people went in with plans, securing the perimeter before going in. But Isaac hadn’t been feeling himself as of late. Eschewing his other self’s rationale and instincts, he wandered into the house. Dressed pretty much the same as when he went to the EIT meeting, he still hid on his person a small knife and 9mm glock. He was insane, not crazy. Just because Eli claimed to be going in alone, it didn’t mean he was telling the truth. Rule number 14. Besides, he would be disappointed if Noah didn’t show up. That was the one person he could be concerned with.
Seems he was the first one there. Stretching, Warren plopped himself on the floor and against a wall so he could face the door. Closing his eyes, he pretended to meditate while listening for any changes in the regular outdoor sounds.
Drake had been inside the house for fifteen minutes before Warren showed up.
It was times like these that Drake loved his ability, since it ensured that no one would have any inkling of his presence unless they were staring at him straight on. Unless someone went looking for him specifically, like some weird game of hide and seek, and found him... well, there was nothing to worry about. At first he’d planned on hiding upstairs, but at the risk of not being able to hear what was going on properly he scoped out the first floor instead for a place that provided decent cover.
Which turned out to be a small-sized space underneath the stairs. Not the most practical or comfortable, Drake knew that, but there weren’t many good spots in an abandoned house. At least there was actually a door - or at least something that served as one - and there was no lock, so he wasn’t going to get stuck inside and he could peer out if need be. Never one to be unprepared, Drake had two 9mm Berettas, as well as a knife in his belt and pepper spray - yes, pepper spray. The stuff came in handy and he knew from experience it could be a lot preferable to shooting out someone’s kneecaps, in terms of lessening the violence. Now that he was secure and in place, all he had to do was wait to see if his cue came.
Preston couldn’t really explain his presence. He was fairly sure that Eli would never talk to him again if he lived, and even though Preston would probably point out that at least the younger man was alive, it probably wouldn’t make a difference. It had been years since Preston had used his ability, and never once had he used it on his own behalf. It wasn’t part of his make-up to profit by hiding himself, despite how much easier it would have made life in general. No, Preston only used his ability to do things for people he cared about, and never with their permission. Once Preston got it into his head that this was necessary, he tended to do whatever he thought necessary, and the rest of it could go to hell.
Eli was probably fully sensible by now in the back of his car, but Preston had never tied up anyone before, so he wasn’t sure how long that would last, and he wanted to get this over fast. He looked around as he moved forward into the ruins, passing the shadowed wall where he and Eli had his interlude, wondering where Drake was. He had Eli’s phone in his pocket and a bluetooth in his ear, but he must have dropped his own phone somewhere and he had no idea where it was.
At least he knew for sure that the image of Eli was accurate and solid. He knew Eli well, and he’d take the time to practice the image... just in case. He couldn’t perfectly simulate Eli’s voice, of course, only his image, but Preston could do a British accent very well, as a matter of fact. That combined with the Boston would probably fool someone who’d only spoken to him once. It wouldn’t fool Drake, but, then, Drake wasn’t here, as far as Preston could tell. “Hello?”
Still on the floor, Warren was inbetween making annoying ‘OHM’ noises and stretching his muscles when he heard the voice calling out. That could mean only one thing: it was showtime. Now they would get to play by his rules and not Noah’s friend. Well, not until after he found out what Eli wanted first. Can’t be JUST for some supposed bullying.
Smiling, he slid down until he was lying in a prone position, looking up at the figure that entered the house while swinging his heels in the air. “Howdy! What can I do for you?” Warren was nothing if not polite. Or so he pretended to be.
Preston concentrated on keeping the British strong, but he’d been listening to Eli for a long time, and using the voice changer for his own voice, so there were enough samples for him to work from. “We came to talk about Julian.” He crossed his arms just like Eli did when he was feeling defensive and he wanted to be imposing, and he remembered to keep his shoulders back.
Warren chuckled at that. “I’m so sad. Here I thought you were here to see me,” he mock whined, rolling over on his back and laying spread eagle on the floor.
“I’ve seen you before,” Preston said, sounding as irritable as Eli even if he was scared plenty.
“Mm,” Warren hummed, not moving from the floor. “So talk. This was your idea after all.” Hm, he really came alone. Too bad, I really wanted to have fun with this. “Agreed,” he murmured aloud.
His eyebrows jumped in inquiry. “Agreed to what?” He shifted his weight without thinking, and caught himself.
He crossed his arms behind his head and propped up a knee, swinging his leg over it. “So why are you friends with Julian?”
“He ended up on my doorstep. Why are you friends with Julian?” It was a quick return, sharper than Eli might do it, if possible.
Warren’s eyebrow raised. “Last I recall, friends don’t wave guns at friends. But maybe that’s a cultural thing.” He peered up at Eli. “I’m not changing my mind. He started it,” he accused, petulantly crossing his arms against his chest. Way to take charge there. Why don’t you demand cookies and milk eh? “Shh,” he grumbled.
“He knows you. You know him.” That much was obvious, even to Preston. Preston also knew a lot more bible verses than Eli. “‘Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering...’ Isaac. Abraham?” He’d just keep naming off people until he got a reaction.
“You’re smarter than you look. Kudos to you.” If Eli was expecting a reaction to his bible verse quoting, he got it. Warren laughed loudly, moving himself to a sitting position. “‘And he builded an altar unto the Lord; and took of every clean beast, and of every clean fowl, and offered burnt offerings on the altar.’ I don’t usually bother with things like that, but Julian seemed to like it. Memorizing’s one of my strong suits,” he cheerfully declared.
Just find out his point. The guy bores me. “Nah, not boring. But true.” He gave Eli a tired look. “You arranged this. What are you hoping to accomplish with this chat?” he asked.
“I want to find out about Julian so I can help him, and to do that, I need to understand you, apparently,” Preston said in his best approximation of Eli’s exasperated British accent. The problem was that Preston didn’t know anything about Julian’s behavior outside of what he had seen at the EIT meeting and immediately following. “Why does he think you’re going to kill him?”
He stopped smiling. “You want to help him?” he looked irritated, his eyes narrowing. Oh that’s just RICH. “That’s what I was implying!” Warren snapped, seemingly at the ground and clearly not directed at Eli. Then his eyes directed back up at him. Warren laughed again, but it was without mirth. “Julian, if that’s what you want to call him doesn’t need your help. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. If he’s anything like me, and I know he is, then you’ve got nothing to worry about, don’t you.”
Preston (Eli) was staring at him as if he’d gone mad. (Was mad.) “Who are you talking to? What’s his name if it’s not Julian?”
Warren ignored all of his questions of course. “Why do you want to be his friend anyways?”
“Answer one of mine, and I’ll answer yours.” Because if Preston was going to do this meeting, then he was going to do it right for Eli, just so the fucking idiot didn’t do it again. It was starting to feel like a business meeting with another assistant, someone he was trying to pump information for with both of them knowing exactly what he was doing.
He shook his head. “Nope, I don’t want to play by your rules.” Wiping imaginary dirt off the front of his pants, Warren stood up and twisted his back, the soft cracking sounds punctuating the tense silence between them. “It’s unfair when you think about it. He and I are the same. We both had friends. Now all my friends are gone.” He took a few steps toward Eli, thumbs hooking the front of his pockets. “So why does he get to keep you? Hm?”
Preston took two decided steps backward, and tried to think fast--which, of course, only resulted in everything going slower.
So far all Drake knew was that the guy out there who looked like Eli didn’t sound a damn bit like him, which was suspicious enough, while Warren acted a lot like he was talking to someone who wasn’t there. He’d tried his best to stay low and wait, but little progress was being made and he’d had just about enough of the whole thing. Time for drastic action or they’d be here all damn night.
It was when Warren stood and moved towards not-Eli that Drake decided to make his move. His ability kept him silent as he slipped out from his hiding spot and came up behind the other man, though he wasn’t very trusting of either person in the room right now. “Maybe you’ll like playing by my rules instead,” he said with mock cheerfulness, keeping some distance between the two of them as he raised one of his guns and trained it on the back of Warren’s head. The sound of the weapon being cocked should have been telling enough. “Answer the man’s questions before my patience runs out. Please.”
Not-Eli wasn’t off the hook, though. Drake hadn’t yet figured out why he looked like him but didn’t sound like him, and until a reason presented itself he was just as willing to aim the other gun in his direction if need be.
And there you go, now you’ve got a gun on your ass. You’re on your own.
Now he was laughing harder than before. Spinning around, he grinned wildly at Drake, eyes flickering to the gun once and making a quick assessment of his threat level (medium to high) before speaking again. His attitude was that of an overexcited child going to Disneyland for the first time. “Ooooh, now this is getting interesting!” He scooted forward, uncaring of the danger he was in. Moving his forehead so it lined up with the barrel, he eyed and asked Drake, “so, you gonna shoot me? Gonna make my head go boom?”
Preston, who was fairly certain he was about to see just that, recovered from what had been an imminent threat and moved sideways, out of the line of immediate fire, but not too far away. He could try to get over one of the walls, but it was pretty high and he’d probably get shot before that happened. The instinct to run successfully conquered by logic and bravery (in turn), Not-Eli took a step forward, hands up. “Now, wait a minute--”
Drake was sorely tempted to pull the trigger and wipe that ridiculous smile off Warren’s face, but he didn’t kill on mere suspicion alone. Unless there was proof that this man deserved to die he couldn’t let himself cross that line. “That’s all up to you, my friend.” His smile was full of sardonic humour, almost too comfortable with the idea of having a gun against another man’s forehead. “See, we just wanna know the truth about you and Julian. It’s damn near impossible to get any answers out of crazy boy, which means it’s all on you now. So what’s it gonna be?” The pressure exerted by the gun against Warren’s forehead increased.
If he refused to cooperate there were numerous non-fatal alternatives at his disposal. “Stay back, Eli. We’re doing this my way now.” His gaze never wavered, as he was too focused on Warren in case he tried to retaliate or pull a weapon of his own, but he was aware of what the other man was doing all the same.
Looks like they don’t get along. Isn’t he supposed to be the calvary? Warren shrugged before paying attention to Drake again, snickering as he felt the pressure of the barrel aggravate (no doubt by his antics). “So those are my choices eh? Hm...” He looked lost in through for a moment before coming back to reality. “Shoot me.”
Preston, who didn’t know well enough to stay out of it, took another step forward, just barely within Warren’s reach at the man’s five o’clock. “Put the gun down.”
Drake considered one warning generous enough and wasn’t feeling very inclined to give another. Julian and Warren had some kind of connection, and he suspected that whatever they knew each other from was nothing good. He needed some damn answers before Eli went and got himself or someone else killed because he was so determined to ignore the truth. “Your choice,” he said simply, ignoring not-Eli’s command in favour of keeping the gun steady. He’d deal with him once Warren was taken care of.
The gun switched hands in a blur of movement, and immediately afterward his right fist came up with the intention of landing a solid blow to Warren’s jaw, knocking him down and away from both himself and not-Eli. Once he was on the ground this entire process would be a lot easier.
Admittedly, Warren didn’t have a plan when he stuck his face right into the gun, but as he took the fist to the face, he decided to amend his prior ideas of just doing as he wanted. The initial impact was less than enjoyable and had it landed a little lower, it would have been lights out for the crazy guy. Instead he reeled backwards, wobbling and clutching his now bleeding purpling eye but without taking a step in any direction. Normally he would have made a funny joke or commented on Drake’s fabulous hair but he was clearly too skilled to let Warren do that.
Not wasting time to recover, Warren put his hands up in fake surrender before his left hand grabbed and twisted the hand with the gun in it inward and down to force the Beretta out and onto the floor. At the same time, his right hand curled into a fist as he aimed it for Drake’s lower ribs.
In the background, everyone ignored Preston-who-looked-like-Eli, and he went for the discarded gun, with some half-baked idea to get it out of the fight. Obviously there was another gun, somewhere on Drake, but he didn’t know that.
Unfortunately Warren didn’t go down as he’d hoped, which meant Drake’s next intended step was to smash the butt of his gun against the other man’s jaw and deal with the consequences afterward. No such luck. Before he could raise the gun properly his hand was being twisted inward, pain flaring down the limb and making it difficult to keep hold of the weapon. The only reason he didn’t fight harder to keep it was because he knew he had another Beretta on him, but as the gun clattered to the ground he realized that he did have to prevent Warren from getting his hands on it.
The blow to his ribs really pissed him off, and though he did double over from the impact he didn’t waste time waiting for the pain to subside. Without bothering to straighten up he charged towards Warren like an angry bull, aware of Not-Eli in his peripheral vision but unable to do much about him at the moment.
Now that Warren had more of his wits about him, he took the hit and grabbed Drake, forcing them both to the ground as Warren’s free hand slapped out. A quick shift of his hips and with his left leg, he kicked Drake’s ribs in the same spot he punched earlier. Another hip shift and he did a kip up to put himself in a standing position near Eli who was going after the fallen gun. That would just not do. Before Eli could react, Warren delivered a straight punch to his jaw. Whether that knocked him out or temporarily disoriented him, he didn’t care. It was just enough time to grab the gun on the floor, his spoils of this little battle.
As he hadn’t done anything to keep Drake down for good, Warren wasted no time and ran out the front door, turning on the safety and tucking it into the waistband of his pants. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he covered his head with the hood of his sweatshirt and climbed up the fire escape of a nearby building to the roof where his backpack was stashed. Now that his fun was over, it was time to go to work where someone paid him for his talents.
Preston was taller than Eli was, and bent down to reach for that gun, his head was very close to where Eli’s would be if they were in a similar position, but not exactly there. The punch got him a little higher on the cheekbone and dropped him like a rock. The gun skittered away and Preston saw bright lights, and it was a good thing that everyone else was distracted because something flickered, like a sci-fi hologram, over “Eli’s” skin in the vague half-light of the ruins before Preston recovered his senses. Holding his face and eye, which hurt like hell, Eli appeared to sit up and then try to regain his feet. It would be good to get out of here before Drake asked him more questions.
Real-Eli had no concept of how long it had taken him to wake up from Preston knocking him out, but he knew precisely how long it took him to get free of the ties Preston had used to bind him and shove him in the backseat of the car. Ties from Eli’s own trunk, and he was pretty sure the pain in the back of his head meant Preston had hit him with something inside. He counted each second off as he fought with the knots, knowing each second was one more than Preston could be off getting himself killed for no bloody good reason. That was the rub - this was COMPLETELY ILLOGICAL.
Once Eli got free, it was another ten minutes to the abandoned house, which he managed to cut to five minutes. By the time he got there, it was ominously quiet, and he didn’t even bother with a weapon. He, at least, had the presence of mind to approach slowly, but that was about all the presence of mind he had. With him, came all the ghosts and memories of the building. He was too distraught to control his ability just then, and the destroyed space became so full of life and living that it was hard to see anything but people upon people. Luckily, they could not see each other, the people, not anything that was not of their time, and Eli walked in and rounded a corner, trying to find Drake or Preston through the crowd.
Drake was counting on the fight going to the ground, but between struggling to get the upper hand and reach his second gun the kick to his ribs came too fast to be avoided. By the time he regained his footing and pulled out the second Beretta, Warren had taken off for the door, and the shots he got off before the man disappeared missed their mark. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, realizing Warren had taken his gun along with him. One of his favorite guns, to be exact. Oh, he was getting it back one way or another - but not right now. No way in hell was he leaving not-Eli behind without answers, and he turned towards the man in question with the gun still in hand.
“Start explaining,” he snapped, but before he could say anything else the house suddenly became a lot more crowded that it had been a minute ago. Drake raised the gun and fired instinctively before he realized none of it was real, which was evident when the bullet embedded itself in the far wall instead of the person he’d shot at. He moved through the crowd but he’d already lost sight of not-Eli, and for all he knew he could be long gone by now. “Goddammit,” he shouted in evident frustration, the familiarity of what was happening finally sinking it. “Turn it the hell off!”
Drake’s voice served to calm Eli, because if Drake was alive, then Preston was alive (yes, Eli trusted Drake that much). He concentrated on the space, touched a hand to a wall and watched as people and memories faded and faded and faded, until he was left standing opposite Drake, who had obviously been in a fight. “What the bloody hell happened?” he asked, moving forward and looking around frantically. “Where is he?”
Drake didn’t lower the gun when he crowd of people faded away to nothing, nor did the sight of Eli immediately reassure him that there would be no need to use it. Once Drake heard him speak, however, his defensive posture relaxed and the gun was tucked back into his belt. “Warren and someone who looked a hell of a lot like you had a little chat. It was going nowhere so I decided to step in, and long story short the son of a bitch got away because your double doesn’t understand fucking English.” Frustration was written all over his expression. “I don’t know where he is. You know him? Who the fuck is he?”
“I have an inkling,” Eli said, and there was enough teeth gritting in the statement to indicate that, yes, he knew who it was. He rubbed at his wrists, where there were angry red marks from the ropes, and he tried to concentrate on where he was, rather than on his desire to kill Preston. “So, Butter Knife is a threat? Do we have any indication how much of a threat he is?” he asked.
It was pretty damn obvious that Eli knew who his impostor was, and Drake’s gaze dropped to his wrists for a long moment before shifting elsewhere. First things first. “He’s a threat,” he said in affirmation, rubbing his sore ribs with a tight grimace. Being punched was bad enough, but the kick made it that much worse and the asshole knew where the best spots were. “Don’t know how much of one yet. He said he and Julian were the same, that they both had friends but Warren’s were all gone.” Most of the conversation had been, in his opinion, completely pointless. “The guy didn’t say much else that was useful, but I think he’s got a few screws loose. He was talking to someone else, someone who wasn’t there.”
That wasn’t what bothered him most, though, and he frowned afterward. “I don’t know how the hell he and Julian know each other, but I’m willing to bet it’s nothing good. See, I know how to fight, but Warren... he fights like someone with professional training. And Julian, when he took your gun, that was no rookie move either.”
Reluctantly, Eli nodded. “I know. I suspect military. Perhaps Warren went AWOL or harmed his platoon. It would explain Julian’s fear. I am perfectly aware that whatever happened, it wasn’t good. I know we meant to concentrate on the Siren, but I think we should spend some of our energies on finding this man, Drake. I’ve a feeling about him, about what their purpose was in Musings, and I suspect he isn’t someone we want hanging about the city.” He sighed, rubbed his forehead. “I know his crimes aren’t ability based, which means he isn’t the sort of thing we normally pursue, but I want to, regardless.”
Military didn’t sound too far off, and it could even explain why Warren talked to the air and Julian’s obvious issues. Drake didn’t mention that they were overburdened and understaffed as it was, or that he didn’t trust any of the new recruits to go after the Siren on their own. He could handle that in his spare time; he had too much of it anyway. “So say we go after Warren and we find him. Hamartia’s a good place to start. What then? You wouldn’t like what I’d do,” he added with a humorless smirk. “And what about Julian? How do you know he’s not just as dangerous?”
“Julian has been living and working in Reliquary for months. He’s safe when he isn’t threatened by a man that we acknowledge is dangerous,” Eli argued. He suspected Drake’s solution for Warren was a permanent one, and Eli didn’t like permanent solutions if he could help it. “We need to overpower him, and then we turn him in.” He sounded unsure, even as he said it, remembering the Night Terror getting off on bail so easily. “An asylum, perhaps? I can call in some favors and see what’s available?” He sighed. “Let’s catch him first, and we’ll worry about what we do with him after.” He paused, then. “I am sorry about this evening. I am aware it would have been fine had I come instead of... not-me.”
Drake wasn’t in any mood to argue, but he wasn’t convinced that Julian was the innocent little victim Eli seemed to believe he was. He was more than capable of doing a little digging on his own, though, so he didn’t press the issue. “Right. We’ll try this your way, Eli, but if the asylum angle doesn’t work out and the law fails like it usually does then we give my way a shot. Or at least some consideration.” Eli wouldn’t even have to be involved. If everything went smoothly Warren would cease to be a problem in a few minutes, and if he’d been able to find Night Terror he would’ve applied the same approach to him. At the very least Drake could keep him locked up somewhere secure until they figured something else out. “You’re damn right it would have. At least you know to stay back when I tell you to. Who was he?”
“Someone who thought they were protecting me,” Eli explained, and the sharp clenching of his jaw was the only true indication of his anger. “I better go find him. You’ll let me know what our next step is, once you’ve decided?” he asked, knowing the answer would be yes, already moving toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you, Drake.”
The lack of a name was slightly frustrating, but there were ways around that. “Tell your wannabe hero he’s an idiot,” he said bluntly, his own anger mollified by the knowledge that Eli shared his sentiments. “I’ll let you know, but you know what my answer’ll be.” He shrugged, unaccustomed to thanks in any form. “Anytime. Go find your not-self.” He lingered after Eli was gone, only to test the pain in his ribs and study what were sure to be dark bruises in the morning before leaving himself. He needed a beer or two after all this.