Who: Evil Daddy Wilson and his bb girl, Rose When: August 15. 8 PM sharp. After these texts Where: Mesa, NYC. What: Dysfunctional bonding times. As it would seem, Rose can't exactly kill her father in public. So why not a last meal? Rating: R for Ravager; F for FEELZ
She'd known all along it was Slade. No one but Slade sent her text messages from an untraceable number. The upscale restaurant, the demand to 'wear something nice' were pretty big giveaways. Though, there was some part of her that was wishing it wasn't her father. It was useless asking how he got her number because it was Deathstroke. In fact, she was 99.9 per cent certain that he was keeping tabs on her this whole time; even probably knew where she was going and what she was doing. He more than likely knew that she was hunting him and wanted to show his face before she got to him first.
But, of course, Rose showed. She arrived at exactly 8:00 PM, wearing a navy cross-front maxi dress (shockingly enough), a cropped orange leather jacket and silver Puma sandals. She'd spent about an hour trying to figure out whether or not she should bring a weapon and what weapon to bring. In her head, she was trying to go through all of Slade's potential tactics for requesting that she meet him for dinner. She would be foolish to not bring a weapon, but it had to be inconspicuous, for one, and for two, she wasn't entirely sure that Slade was attempting to fight her since this was quite a public location. She couldn't exactly bring her blades and so she settled on a tiny dagger, strapped to a thigh band hidden under her dress. But then again, Wilsons could be known to use anything as a weapon.
The funny thing is, that when she arrived at the restaurant, she knew that Slade would assume correctly that she had brought a weapon. And she was so sure he would bring none she would bet her fucking eye (heh, well if she could) on it. Not because he was her father, no, that wasn't why. No, because he was fucking Deathstroke and anyone who didn't have complete shit for brains knew that didn't even need a weapon to kill you.
Why was she even doing this? She had asked herself that over and over and over again. Even right down to the moment she walked into the restaurant. Why bother listening to what Slade might have to say? He was a dead man and these were his last words, she had reconciled.
Her father was already sitting at the table when the hostess brought her over. She put her hand on the chair, pulling it out before the hostess could do so.