Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-04 21:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, nick fury, pete wisdom |
"I take it you're here for tea."
Who: Nick Fury, Pete Wisdom
What: Contact! Informativeness! Snark! Humanity is dumb and these guys know it! Also mention at the end of the Dany incident.
When: Today!
Where: FBI land
Rating: PG13 for language. I give up trying to filter these people. *throws up hands*
Status: Complete!
After a night of working on an alcoholic coma, with random intervals of puking and coughing a lot of gunk out of his lungs, Pete crawled toward the door of his newly obtained studio apartment. It already has a half-eaten sausage pizza in it's box in the corner of the room - Pete doesn't bother with the fridge anymore, obviously - and he'd stolen a lawnchair from the pool to sleep on. Of course, he slept on the floor, anyway.
Did he bother to brush his teeth? Hells no. It was a wonder he didn't pee over the railing into the pool. He had at least managed to go to the loo like a normal human being, right before he stuck his face under the sink faucet for a few, token seconds. AMAZING. Some part of him still remotely cares about personal hygiene. And he figures he'll cover up any puke breath with: 1.) more liquor & 2.) copious amounts of cigarettes.
Besides, he has altoids. Maybe he’ll use one at some point. Or maybe not, just to be an ass and knock everyone over with alcoholic morning breath. Pete uses his outer crust is a defense mechanism.
Off he went to his car, bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf, and scowling furiously as he noticed one of the windows had been broken into. After grunting and lighting a cigarette, he got in, not even bothering to move the shattered squares of glass as he sat down with a annoying crunching noise on the seat. His coat, jacket, and trousers were the only thing keeping him from experiencing shredded butt cheeks.
Off he drove, unceremoniously hitting one garbage dumpster and a kid's bike (kid was not on it, so it was fair game), before he turned onto the road to make his way to the FBI office, and to speak to Nick (motha fuckin') Fury.
It was a miracle he made it there, with all his limbs intact. But made it there, Pete did. And into the building he went, flashing his Interpol credentials and making sure his handguns were all right to be in his possession (he had his permits), and going through all the usual hoops which were lit on fire, so he could meet with Fury like he was supposed to do. Stupid job qualifications.
Fury had had an interesting week, and it was getting even more interesting when he got the message that he had a visitor. An Interpol one. Oh. Nice. THAT guy. He pasted a obviously fake smile on his face as he came out to meet the guy himself, holding out a hand to shake, again because he could, and because in front of everyone made this kind of display even better. "So." he said, eye narrowing a little. "I take it you're here for tea."
"Only if tea contains alcohol," Pete dryly intoned, rubbing the back of a hand under his nose and then giving Nick Fury a firm, solid handshake. He didn't wipe the back of that hand off on his scarf, until after the handshake was over. "I have so many bloody Interpol notices on Jack Harper and Armachan, that I'm up t'me bleedin' eyeballs with them. That's red, blue, green, and orange...maybe purple. I'm relatively sure the United fucking Nations will issue a special notice at some point or another, if they get a bug up their bums. I was told t'contact you directly. To keep you informed of his overseas dealings, so we can nail the bastard. Of course, your lot will get first go at a piece of him, but there's at least two other countries that want to sink their teeth into his nasty arse. Oh, and here."
Pete dug into his pockets and took out at least eight separate ziplock baggies with pieces of dry wall in them, he shoved them into Mr. Fury's hands.
"There. Might want to take those to your labs, see if there's trace chemicals. I abused the privilege of the red notice and got them out of various places Harper's business has vacated, rather suddenly I might add. We want to make sure there's no explosives or chemical warfare involved, especially not if it's being funneled o'er seas. Enjoy. Bet your lab monkeys will be flinging their shite with joy at one 'nother, if they find anything."
"We'll leave you SOMETHING to play with when we've had our fun." Fury knew how this worked, much as it pained him to do it sometimes. "Probably." he added, with a little smirk. "May be a little rough around the edges once we've gotten what we want, but they shouldn't care too much, right? Ooh presents." He accepted the baggies and nodded at them. "Those are going to be useful. We've had a vacant warehouse we went over, smacks of his involvement. Anything we can compare and contrast? Useful. I'm sure they're going to have fun."
"As long as they're given something to gnaw on, those governments will be pleased. Even seizing assets would probably be enough for them, given the shite state of everyone's economies lately," Pete confessed. He put a cigarette between his lips and stopped just short of lighting it. "There's likely other samples from locations in Asia, Middle East, and the likes. If you score a hit off those, then contact me and I'll put you in touch with the countries involved. I'll also phone Fat Bastard and let him know that I've made contact. That way cybercrime will give you a huge fat file dump on what they've been tracking, as far as some of the overseas money laundering has gone. Coming up dead ends all 'round, though. He's covering his tracks. Armachan's dead and buried now, by the looks of it."
He finally lit the cigarette and gave a woman passing by a squinty-eyed glare. It was of the sort that he might be tempted to spit it out in her face if she came toward him.
"That figures." Fury nodded to the last bit. "Getting smarter, isn't he? Well, we'll just have to get smarter." As for assets. Hmm. There was a thought. "Probably bail us all out of the recession by the time we're done." he said, thinking out loud. "I can think of places that could use it. Shit, Europe in and of itself."
"Precisely," Pete grumbled, cigarette still clenched in his lips, the tip of which was bobbing as he talked around it. "I think that's what everyone's wanting at this point, t'be perfectly honest about the whole fine mess. It's not like any of us will ever see us, but...fuck it...maybe it'll do someone some good and be one less terrorist for the world t'deal with."
"And less heads for us to cut off." Fury nodded his agreement. "Doesn't strike at the whole thing but that'd take an act of God or Gods we don't have on the payroll."
"Mutual cooperation tends t'work best, even if we would probably spit in eachother's eyes rather than work t'gether." Wisdom stared at Fury with eyelids at half-mast, exhaling smoke out of his nostrils, totally silent for a moment. Then he finally corrected things, "Or eye. Wot~ever.
"You could spit in what's under that patch." Fury agreed, shrugging. "If you weren't too busy puking once you saw. I'm pretty good at playing with others when I've got a reason. Seems like you have no problem with sharing the toys either."
"I'll keep that in mind," Pete said about the patch, in the sort of way that made it seem like he was dead serious about spitting in whatever eyehole was there. He'd seen plenty enough of what humanity was capable of, to make him want to puke plenty of times. Someone's gaping eyehole wasn't going to phase him too much. He might go poke poke with his finger a few times right into it, because that's the sort of asshole that Pete was. THEN he'd spit in it. Instead of doing anything like that though, Pete reached into his pocket and took out a business sized card, holding it out to Fury. It had his contact info scribbled on it.
That done, Pete took one last drag on his cigarette, tipped his head forward, and let it drop out of his mouth. It bounced once on the floor before the sole of a shoe was pressed down to put it out.
"Righty-fuckin'-oh. Job needs doing, then I'm going to bloody well do it. No matter the cost and that includes sharing vital information with one another. I think we can at least agree on that."
Oh Fury believed him too, and really, the story wasn't all that interesting or gorey anymore, to anyone outside of new employees, really. As for humanity. Yeah. Every time he thought he'd seen enough, they went out and topped themselves. In this line of work, you didn't really get a lot of room to be wide eyed and happy. He'd appreciate a lack of poking all the same. That would probably still hurt, at least a little. Fury took the card and nodded at the scribbles. "Oh good. They teach you how to write in Interpol." he muttered, tucking it away for safety. "Think I like you."
"I know. It is fucking amazing the fact they teach basic grammar anywhere anymore, isn't it. I was well chuffed the day that I knew I could write ‘kiss my arse’ without help from the instructors," droned Pete, right from one smart ass to another! "I felt a like big boy when they let me go to the loo without having to wipe my bum for me or show me how t'hold it, so I wasn't pissing on my own toes."
Yep. Humanity and real life had a way of turning anyone in public protection into shiny happy sorts.
"That what it takes to graduate over there then?" Fury managed not to snicker right in his face, though he wanted to. Not at him either so much as with him. But...images and all. "Hell of a final exam I'm sure."
That got a half-smirk out of Pete, as he had already prepared for heading out by shoving another cigarette into the corner of his mouth. He couldn't resist a jibe back at the silly Americans.
"Slight improvement over the fact half your citizens are drooling, mostly-hairless monkeys who think that a talking snake convinced a woman to make a man eat an apple, and everyone's arses were booted out of utopia. Wouldn't surprise me at all if they were taught in a farm by their perverted uncle, who also ends up being their baby daddy. If they're lucky, they'll still have all their teeth by the time they turn seventeen. So. I'll call Fat Bastard as soon as I get outside. He's fourty-eight hours overdue for me to give him shite. Contact me if you hear anything, and I'll do the same. Cheers."
"Isn't that the truth?" Fury gave him a little wave. "Well, somebody's got to protect the stupid. Might as well be us."
"True. And we've got the Welshies. So it's not as though we're free and clear of anyone shagging their farm animals" He stopped and thought on that. "Or the Irish, but they'd simply steal the bloody things and run away, laughing their faces off."
"At least until they sent them to Australia." Fury agreed. "In which case, I do fully expect that someday we'd have sheephumans running around the place."
"Perish the thought, while I wonder how they taste. Right then. I have to contact the CIA as well, so I'm off." Pete started to turn, and then stopped abruptly, pointing an index finger at Fury. "One last thing. Tell your agents to keep their eyes open behind their backs. I already had one tart sent by Harper to distract me or worse. If there were any reports about a man holding a gun to a girl's head in a public park, while in a parked vehicle? Maybe sweep that under the rug, would you? I got her to confess she'd been sent by him, but...she was like a fish out of water. Could tell she didn't know a thing about the business end of things. Shame. No need to waste time interrogating someone who was about to piss her knickers anyway."
"True." Fury agreed. "Not like you'd get much else. Well, we'll monitor. I'll let you know if we find anything."
"Cheers, mate. See you about, then." Pete had his phone in his hand as he was walking away and could be heard talking in a snappish, churlish way to the person on the other end, "Right, Fat Bastard, stop eating crisps like the fat bastard you are and give Fury the cybercrime file dump, they're ready for it. Don't start crying. I know I hurt your feelings. I did it on purpose."
And he was gone, leaving behind the aroma of another lit cigarette behind him.