Who: 4/5 of The Wilson Clan (Janet, Zinnia, Teddy, and Gabe) What: Reuniting. Where: An apartment in North Seattle When: Saturday night. Warnings: Potentially some violence, references to violence/torture/sexuality/insanity, and Zin’s nightmares. Guaranteed angst and awkward.
Saturday had been cleared for the sake of plans. After the meeting with Quinnz (not Angel, Quinnz) he couldn’t procrastinate further. Plans had to be put in place, precautions made. He trusted Teddy less than a random civilian – at least if he’d plucked someone off the streets and recounted what had happened to him over the last few years, he could guess at how he’d react. Teddy and their brother were the only people he was unsure of.
He called up the few clowns he had that weren’t on an immediate hit list – the ones he’d known since early days in Vegas and had an ounce more of respect then his common thugs. There were a few, however surprising – he needed them for situations like this. His back-up apartment, where he’d stayed a few times over the last four years, before moving into Hamartia was cleaned and scouted out. Dinner at seven wasn’t supposed to be a grand affair, but things needed to be ready should it become a bloody banquet. (The chuckle when said over the phone only half meant). He might have assured Zinnia that his plans weren’t to kill his brother, but he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. Loyalty from their youth would only go so far – especially when Teddy had gone and ruined that on his end. The fact of the matter was, for the first time in years, he had no plan and no idea how to proceed. A foreign feeling arose because of this. His hands shook, his head pounded. If he’d been less busy he might have tried to categorize it and understand it – instead, he could only focus on his plans for Seattle’s future and keeping his identity (which ensured such) under wraps. At another time, he’d realize that it was the loss of control that disturbed him – he could only accept it and move on.
He dropped by the apartment earlier, hitting a grocery store far away from any of the complexes. He picked up supplies, left them in the refrigerator before laying out his attempt at a plan for his clowns. A phone call was to be put for a regular limo service – no one he knew personally, the same service all the elite of the city used. A typical transaction and trip should have Janet and Teddy picked up and brought to the apartment building, before being led upstairs by an unmasked clown. From there, unless he called for back-up he was pointedly to be left alone. As far as they were to know this was a regular recruitment process – if the answer was no, bodies might pile up. Little Wilson being recognized might be an issue, but one he had to deal with.
That settled, he returned to his apartment – removing any traces and stench of greasepaint and machinery. He worried over clothes enough to suit LW, grabbing jeans and a dark green sweater. Not too overbearing, still marginally ‘sane’. His hair was attempted to be combed back before the tangles moved back into place again, unruly as ever. Far from the crew cut he’d insisted on in his youth. How was he supposed to resemble a man who was dead? A hand rubbed at his scars before grabbing his jacket and knife (tucked into a pocket, as a reassurance). He swung downstairs, grabbed Zin and complimented her on how she looked as was his slight role before ushering her to the limo waiting, driven by his own drivers. He refused to lay out a game plan, which she seemed to accept – she was better than the rest at understanding how and why he did what he did. Easily the best.
Four flights were climbed once they got to the building before heading down to an apartment at the edge of the hall. Lights were turned on, revealing a painfully ordinary set of rooms – two bedrooms, a full bathroom, with necessary amenities. He took coats and put them in the closet before rolling up his sleeves in the kitchen. At Zin’s questioning look, he explained that he didn’t want to risk a caterer nor pizza. Frozen chicken strips were placed on a cookie sheet, pasta put to boil, and tomato sauce heated. It gave him something to do as the clock on the wall ticked, beyond pacing and simply deciding to not risk it and kill Teddy once he arrived. His promises meant nothing after all.
When the knock on the door finally came, he stilled. Pasta and sauce had been put into the same pot, table set, and fidgeting had yet to go down. He didn’t look at Zinnia, hands clenching before shutting off the stove. Another knock and he rolled his shoulders and moved forward. His sleeves were still up and over his elbows, his whole look more messy then normal but the scars ruined that one, didn’t it? He didn’t dare smile, expression bitter even as he rubbed at the fucking scars. A third knock came before he steeled himself for it.