Wednesday December 17th 2008
Who: Fisher and Spooky What: Meeting with the past Where: Random hallway When: Midday Rating: PG 13
Spooky was living the high life. No one seemed to suspect him of anything. Well, there was Blue, but she didn't care or mind. In fact she liked him even. It was weird, but hey, he was getting a bit of a soft spot for her. Which was bad considering if he needed to just up and leave. Not really wanting to think about that as he walked across campus, he continued his trek to his apartment from the entrance. He'd gone for coffee the old fashioned way of car since popping in and out was spooking people, no pun intended. Thick coat wrapped around him tightly as he nursed his beloved hot beverage, he was having a good day. There weren't as many teenagers screaming 'kidnap' in the halls to wake him up at stupid hours and he was thinking of going some place for Christmas. Some place warm. Maybe Hawaii. . .
All that went out the window though, when he saw someone he hadn't seen in years. It felt like the air had been sucked out of him. Spooky nearly stumbled when he saw the older Major brother walking towards him. This was bad, so very bad.
The world was a mess and Fisher was tangled up in it like a dolphin in a net. He didn't know how he got caught into things, but he always seemed to. And he wasn't the kind of person to handle distress well. He wished he could drink something, something very hard and very potent, but he was trying not to fall off the bandwagon this time. He needed to keep his shit together.
Wandering around, he was lost in his own head, barely noticing the person who was stopping in his tracks right in front of him. "Hey," Fisher said absently, glancing up a bit as he passed. And then he, too, stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at the guy standing there. "You..." he began, brain racking trying to put a name to a face. And then it hit him. "Oh shit," he said softly.
--- "Oh shit," Spooky said when the other realized who he was. This wasn't something he'd planned for. If the other went screaming or tried to tell someone who he was, he was fucked ten ways to Sunday. So he panicked slightly. Grabbing the other man's arm, he teleported them to his apartment. Setting his coffee down quickly, he made sure to be between the door and the other in case he ran. "Fisher, been a while," he said, his as he kept his eyes on the other, too much like a street urchin to turn his back on someone.
--- The last thing Fisher had ever expected was to be teleported out of the hallway and into this dude's apartment. Jumping as they landed, looking about frantically, Fisher's treet instincts kicked in. Look around, find something that could be used as a weapon, a way to escape, analyze the potential threat. So far, there wasn't much in here that looked dengerous, just a basic apartment with weird art all over. But Spooky wasn't just some guy. Fisher remembered him more clearly now, in the dark corners of the dealer's houses, a smirk on the streets as he passed Fisher and the other junkies... a great big slap in the face from the past.
"What are you doing here," he asked slowly, every muscle in his body tensed.
--- "I'm not on the streets and I don't have to deal or sell my dick," Spooky said like it explained all. "Gotta love people who don't watch their mail boxes," he said with a short chuckle. He didn't trust Fisher. Plain and simple. The other had only been an aquaintance, someone in passing. No friends though. When you were on the street you made connections, not friends. "Name's Kyle Porter now and I'm the art teacher." He had no idea that Fisher was a super. Of course he never bothered to look into it other than hearing him yell about dead people sometimes, writing it off as drugs. "Didn't think those dead people were real," he said, hoping that the other would be talked down a bit. Spooky really didn't want to have to run because of this guy.
--- Fisher didn't trust him either. There had always been something shifty about him, even for a dealer. Setting his jaw, Fisher crossed his arms over his chest, looking Spooky up and down, trying to read him. No... he couldn't be trusted. This guy looked nervous, like he was worried Fisher would fuck him. And he could. He could turn this douchebag in, probably send him to jail.
"What did you do to me?" he asked, almost a demand. "Just then, how did we get here?"
--- "I didn't do shit to you," Spooky said. "I just bounced us back to my place for some private conversation." Fisher could easily send Spooky to prison with what he knew about the other man. That's why it was so nerve wrecking to have the other know he was here. "I'm a teleporter, gifted human or whatever bullshit label they give you here," he said, moving to lean back against the door. He wasn't planning on hurting Fisher, let alone anything else, but he wasn't above threats and backing them up. Spooky was not the average dealer, he was a Jack of All Trades in crimes. That's what made him so dangerous. That's what Fisher had picked up on.
--- The fact that Spooky was right in front of the door was making Fisher edgy, though he did his best not to show it. He didn't have a way out, and he knew that he probably couldn't take this guy in a fight. All he had was leverage, and that wasn't much good if he was stuck in this room. "So you're... you're pretending to be the art teacher?" Well that kind of made sense... it sure beat living on the streets, as they both knew. "You didn't... I mean you didn't kill the real guy, did you?"
--- "No, that would have been too messy and I don't like getting my hands too dirty," Spooky said rolling his eyes. "He's alive and well in Boston, just doesn't know I'm moochin' off his name. It beats running from the cops and pimping mine or some girl's ass for a few more nights in a motel," he said, looking back at Fisher. Though he did miss the attention he got from doing his street performances, but he wasn't about to say anything about that. "You'd take the chance to get off the streets, wouldn't you?"
--- Studying Spooky carefully, Fisher considered him a moment. He was good at reading people, and from what he could tell, Spooky wasn't posing a threat to him. Not really. Actually, he looked kind of scared. Which seemed ridiculous, because as far as Fisher knew, no one had ever really been threatened by him in his entire life. "Yeah," he admitted after a moment, pushing stray strands of hair off his forehead. "I would." He hadn't gotten a choice in getting off the streets, but if he'd found this opportunity, he probably would've taken it. Except Fisher was a hardcore junkie and Spooky was a dealer.
Walking around a bit, he took in the sights of the apartment, making a small noise of thought. Not too bad. It was definitely better than Big Mike's flophouse. "Though, you're still kinda running, ain't ya?" he mused, running his fingers over the back of the couch.
--- "Maybe," Spooky said watching the other man. He was careful, didn't get too close to anyone and didn't keep completely out of sight. The teleporter was in the background. A wall flower that no one noticed. Fisher could change that, expose him, and then he'd either have to run again or face prison time. He highly doubted that the director would just let him off.
The apartment was slightly furnished. Nothing fancy really. Plain furniture with some things Blue put up. It was supposed to make him more of an art teacher.
--- Laughing a little, a breathy little noise, Fisher looked over at Spooky. "I'm not gonna rat you out," he said simply, walking back toward him. "I've got nothing against you, not really. I mean... you probably never did me no favors, but couldn't expect ya to, either." Being around someone from his past, someone from the streets, Fisher spoke more and more like he had in New York. You didn't sound like you had a brain when you were trying to deal and hook, or people thought you were a cop. He'd learned that lesson on the wrong end of a steel-toed boot.
--- "Good," Spooky said, relaxing just a hint. At least he got a verbal response. "If ya do though and they don't catch me, be watchin' your back," he said with a grim smile. His nick name fitted him so well. Just the way he looked when he was conning someone, smooth and mysterious with a hint of danger. Like now, when he was giving Fisher a small threat. If he got ratted out, he'd be after the guy. You didn't rat out each other. Bad for business and life. Made things hard to do and Spooky liked this cushy job. To give it up would be a bitch and a fuckin' big hassel. He would make Fisher pay if he fucked him over like that.
--- If there was one person who would not be creeped out, it was Fisher Majors. The look Spooky gave was noted, and a small, unimpressed smirk was given in return. "You could sure as shit try," he replied coolly, possibly a bluff, but possibly not. Maybe Spooky could hurt him, but if he did, James would probably kill the guy. Unless Lyle killed him first. Just like on the street, you had to know your allies and base your attitude on that. And Fisher knew his allies. Plus, he didn't want Spooky thinking he was an easy mark. Another way to survive- never let 'em see you sweat.
"Of course... you gotta do something for me now," he smirked, crossing his arms, this time cockily. "Silence ain't free, you know."
--- Narrowing his eyes, Spooky kept a steeled gaze on Fisher. He hated being under someone's thumb and this was not where he wanted to be. Maybe he'd hear the other out first, but he tried anything that Spooky didn't like, well. . . They were a quick trip to a tall building. "What?" He grunted, keeping his spot in front of the door, keeping a keen eye on the smaller man.
--- Meeting that gaze, not even flinching, Fisher stepped in front of Spooky, toe to toe. "Don't fuck with these people." His tone was soft, but resolute. "You don't con nobody, and I mean nobody, in this place. No harmless street scams, no picking pockets, no keeping a fucking wallet you find on the ground. You get me?" For a little guy, Fisher could sometimes talk like he was ten feet tall, and right now he was a giant.
--- Spooky wasn't the tallest guy, but he certainly wasn't the smallest either. It was an easy enough request. After all, he'd be stupid to do it before Fisher even told him too. That'd rouse too much suspicion and earn himself a one way ticket to prison. "Funny, thought you would have asked for the last of my stash," he chuckled. "Got a white horse with your name on it if you ever want it," he grinned. Druggies were all the same. No matter how clean or strong they got. If they were made to be left alone in a room with their choice drug, they'd crumble every time.
--- The problem with Spooky's asshole assumption was that it was totally right. Just hearing that Spooky had drugs in here was enough to make him pause, make his resolve waiver. He missed the comfortable numbness of the buzz, how you just didn't give a shit about anything. You couldn't lose anything because you didn't have anything. That moment of intrigue, of weakness, flashed in Fisher's eyes. But he straightened his shoulders, swallowing down the want. "Can I go now?" he asked, bored.
--- "Sure, Fisher," Spooky said, keeping his grin in place as he stepped to the side. "You know where to find me if you ever have a problem," he said, letting that little piece of information seep into Fisher's brain and do the work for him. "Hopefully we won't have to have another one of these talks soon," he said. If Fisher stayed away and shut up, then he'd be a happy camper. If he showed up wanting a hit, he'd be just as happy.
--- "We won't." His voice was venom, angry with Spooky, but with himself too. He didn't want to want the shit, but he couldn't help it. Still, he was going to stay the course, keep himself sober. He would lose everything if he didn't. "You might have to steal your way to a life that isn't total shit, but I earned mine. And I'm gonna keep it that way." Stepping past Spooky, he grabbed the knob and turned, pulling the door open. "Enjoy your sad, stolen, pathetic life. Kyle."
--- "Will do," he chuckled with a small salute, not letting it show how much he already knew about his life. Spooky knew how to play to save face. Act like nothing bothered him. That it was all so stupid and he was so aloof. No one ever really knew Spooky. Blue didn't even know Spooky. Hell Spooky didn't even know himself! He'd become his nickname and Brandon Lures was dead and buried.