Literally Pirateninja (shadowcat) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-22 20:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, kitty pryde (shadowcat), pete wisdom |
There's no point in senselessly dying. Don't pull a Tasha Yar!
Who: Pryde & Wisdom
What: Random encounters, gunshots, high speed chases. Your typical Friday evening.
When: Friday evening.
Where: Some place
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13 for language and angst
The taxi cab dropped Pete off around some of Armachan's old holdings, some now abandoned buildings, the sort that Caroline probably worked in. It was of the sort of nondescript business park construction that could house anything from alarm monitoring companies, management offices for exporters, or employee drug testing. It could probably house far, far worse and so close to a busy roadway and other shopping areas, but Pete didn't want to entertain further thoughts of it holding alien crossbreed babies or things of that sort. After last night with Domino, it had kind of left his brain a little mushy, and the last thing he needed to think of was that sort of breeding program.
It was bad enough that Harper was somehow involved in making smart arse teenagers into even bigger smart arses. People really needed to stop stealing his oxygen by making more kids. It was going to get very difficult to light his cigarettes, if that happened.
The buildings were probably only a small slice of what Armachan had been using, but any lead was a good lead. Even the abandoned ones. Now the big question, which he was posing to himself, was how to get onto the grounds, without looking suspicious. That wasn't easy to do, considering that he was wearing a trenchcoat in southern California in June, wasn't sweating a single drop, had last night's pink tinged white shirt on under his suit jacket, and his tie was hanging loose and askew.
He didn't even want to get into the fact that there was a bare minimum of ten batman logo bandaids on one elbow and the palm of his left hand was covered entirely in gauze that was already showing some pink through it. Not to mention he was smoking witht hat hand and he looked like he'd been punched in the head repeatedly, by an entire biker gang that resembled clowns.
No, he hadn't, but it was the thought that counted, and how he felt, as he surveyed his surroundings. Soooo, Pete is on the sidewalk, contemplating things.
Alien crossbreed babies, human trafficking, really it could be anything of the above. Except the second thing, as Zuko was determined to keep his crime syndicate out of the human trafficking business. Which is neither here nor there, he just wants to make that clear. Illusive Man? Not above that. For that matter neither was Zuko's father, but he was also diametrically opposed to the Fire Nation. Gang War? Was brewing.
Kitty, meanwhile, was on her bike, trying to clear her head. Getting her new computer system networked was proving difficult, but she hadn't given up. There were other problems consuming her, as well, mostly having to do with sun devouring super beings.
But Jean was a nice woman. She'll get through it. Hopefully the ice cream helped.
It was purely by random coincidence she was driving through this neighborhood - there was a computer parts store in one of the business parks, that specialized in unusual requests and hard to find parts. It was there she was headed, to fix up her super computer. And that was how she zoomed past Pete in a woosh of curly hair.
A whoosh of curly hair that Pete only glanced at, then did a double take, nearly fumbling and losing his precious cigarette. But no, it probably couldn't be. Wishful thinking. That or a masochistic brain, torturing himself, with visions of Kitty Prydes, everywhere. That would figure and it's not like he got a good look at a face or anything, since that crazy crotchrocket was in motion. He chalked it up to being one day closer to having a bullet move into his skull, or so he believes.
With that in mind, Pete took one step onto the property, determined to nose around. The parking lot was mostly empty, only a car or two there, which was a pretty good indication that the site was really no longer in use, like the tips and leads were telling him. Even so, he had warrants, and he had to check, so there he goes.
The bike swerved, then turned around and shot up, straight for him, like some hell-bent vehicle of death's fury. It avoided him and came to a stop a few feet away.
Kitty pulled off her helm, and stared right at him.
The bike and it's rider were glared at, the moment he heard it swerving. It was when it came to a halt and the helm came off, that Pete almost inhaled his cigarette. Luckily the filter only went halfway in past his lips and he coughed, sending it flying off into the parking lot, instead.
That looked suave, Wisdom. Good going, dumb arse.
That thought was why, even in his disheveled state and despite what just happened, Pete very casually crossed his arms over his chest, tipped his chin so his nose was tilted upward ever so slightly, and he sounded utterly conversational. Or tried to, at least.
"...'ullo, Pryde. Lovely day t'fall off one of those death rockets an' maim yourself, ain't it."
"Lovely day to be poking around," Kitty retorted, though it lacked the usual bite, like she was distracted. Her mind was still pulled every which way. "You're better than this, there are at least three cameras pointed right here. Don't you know how to sneak any more?"
With a squint, Pete reached into a inside pocket on his trenchcoat, drew out several multi-colored, printed notices, held them up and moved them around for the cameras. All while staring at her. And while arching one eyebrow up, combatively, like if she had any further questions, she could stuff it.
Just in case that look wasn't clear enough, he verbally cemented it with, "Must you continue t'be a smart arse and nag on me, four years after the fact?"
"I'm a smart ass, you're smoker who eats like a ravening hyena. It's in our natures." Also, warrants? She might be proud of him.
Oh no, Interpol and Police Officers never get warrants. Whatever would they do with those things? That was sort of the stare she was getting as he shoved the wad of papers into the pocket they lived in, and that they probably would rot in, at this rate.
"I don't eat like a raving hyena," he dutifully corrected her. "It was a starving jackal. Get your bloody facts straight, would you? Besides that, wot're you doing here? Nosing about also?"
It wouldn't surprise him. She was pretty nosy. And he was trying not to stare too much, by looking around a lot, and occupying himself with lighting another cigarette. Windswept helmet-hair Kitty was really rather fetching.
"I need computer parts for a project. There's a store near here that stocks the strange and unusual." Nothing alien, but she just needed something she could jerry rig. The computer had been helpful in telling her what she needed.
"These buildings have been pretty empty for awhile. Have fun nosing about."
She wheeled closer to him, close enough to touch, which she did as she was about to say something. This saved his life, and probably hers. There was a flash of a muzzle and her powers kicked in instinctively, phasing them both as a bullet passed harmlessly through the pleasure center of his brain.
It did, even as Pete had been about to ask her what she thought she was doing, and to pull or turn away. He heard it only a fraction of a second before he felt it. This was a good thing, as he was quite fond too of the pleasure centers of his brain. The rest of his brain could get bent, and for all extensive purposes, it felt odd because he could feel the ghost of something moving through his head. That was a profoundly off putting sensation, and he stared at her with wide eyes, before looking in the direction that the shot had come from.
"Bloody snipers. Go," he said, reaching in to pull out his gun and get a fix on who was sniping at him. He had already started to move off behind one of the cars in the lot, waving his injured hand at her like she needed to vacate, as soon as possible. "Call for a dispatch, would you?"
If he got another hole in his coat from a bullet, he was going to be very angry. He didn't know how to mend those up. Holes in himself were perfectly acceptable. If he lived, he'd be giving her a good staring at like 'wot the feck?' later on.
It did not occur to him, either, to get ON the bike, because Peter Winston Wisdom does not do motorcycles. He does helecopters, cars, trucks, bicycles in low speed chases, and the occasional tank. But he was not a huge fan of planes, self-flight vehicles, or motorcycles. Nope.
It occurred to Kitty, because she grabbed him by the back of the jacket and pulled him closer, "Get on the bike you fucking git!" She tried to get him onto the motorcycle, as more bullets started flying in their direction. There really was no reason to stay here. They were being shot at from three directions, which probably meant they were going to be herded, but there wasn't much choice. She didn't trust her powers enough to gamble right now.
"Don't call me a fucking git, you nagging cow," Pete was trying to say, as a bullet zinged right through the back of his coat collar, causing him to flinch a little. If he could just get a good defensive position, he could have a lovely shoot out with the bastards, maybe get himself shot up in the process, raise suspicions, go to the morgue, they counted holes, and that was the end of that story.
He didn't have the strength to fight her off or to go running as fast he he thought he could, and he was eyeing her bike like it was made of hell and she was satan with big brown moo cow eyes. He almost bounced in place on his heels, and gave her a split second cranky but pleading stare, like please do not make him sit on the bike. He could totally do this solo. He had this. He was used to working alone. Couldn't she take her touchy feely hands and her invasions of his personal space somewhere else and let him get filled with bullets, like he was meant to do?
In fact, he ducked and told her, "I got this. I do. Just go?"
That was when he held one hand out, and aimlessly shot toward where some of the bullets were coming from, at them. Like that accentuated his point.
"You don't got this, you're outnumbered, there's no point in senselessly dying. Don't pull a Tasha Yar!" And with that, Kitty yanked, hard, trying to get him to stumble onto the bike so she could start driving. She didn't care if he was used to working alone, he needed to get his ass on this bike and he needed to hang on for dear life.
"That was one o' the worst character write off's e'er and you bloody well know it!" he protested, regarding Tasha Yar, and he knew damn well she was doing that just to get on his last nerves. Perfectly good character with potential for storylines down the road and they shitcanned her, the bastards! Even so, he was yanked pretty easily toward the back of the bike, and with a huffing sigh of protest, he sat down behind her, tucking the bottom of his coat under his butt so it wasn't in danger of getting caught up in the rear tire or anything. He hated motorbikes. He loathed them. He didn't like anything that gave him the sensation of having air hitting his face and bugs ending up between his teeth, or falling off and ending up with one's bleeding torn up right ankle pressed against their left ear or the likes.
"Fine, fine! I'm on! Go on then!" He was only doing it so she wasn't shot up. The longer she was sitting there trying to outstubborn him, the more danger she was in. He wrapped both arms around her waist and scrunched up one eye like he was preparing to be bitchslapped by wind.
Oh, nevermind the bullets. Those were completely normal. It was the eyeburn from the zoom that he was expecting, of course. And another bullet harmlessly knicked the bulge of his coat under his bum, enough that he asked while wincing, "Where'd they hire these bastards from? The Death Star?"
Kitty gunned it, the bike popping onto its back wheel for nearly thirty seconds as they sped away. It quickly became apparent this was no ordinary motorcycle. It was too quiet, too fast, and lacked almost any vibration. It was also quickly apparent they were being followed. Kitty shifted gears and swung onto a side street, speeding down it at breakneck speed.
"Oh god, oh god...oh god..." Pete was saying at the ultra fast and ultra quiet of her motorcycle and he was deciding that this is precisely how he did not want to die, on the back of this damned contraption, her death rocket on two wheels. He also coughed as a bug went down his throat before he could say 'oh god' again. Maybe it was more of a retching, but that was quickly shrugged off, because bugs were just another protein source anyway. He'd eaten them in other countries, but usually they had things like spices and rice with them. That particular one, just then, had gone down sort of bitter. He hoped it wasn't a bee. If it was a bee, he was going to be very angry and he was going to take it out on the bad guys who were...uhh....
Pete looked back over his shoulder with his one open eye, and glared at their pursuers. He still kept his injured arm very tightly around Kitty's waist, but he was armed, and at least he could play chicken with them from the back of the bike, with bullets. Because everything's more fun, with bullets.
Pete drew out his gun and popped a few shots off at their pursuers, while giving Kitty a warning yelling at, "You know we're being followed, right?! Do you have a bright plan, like ninjas or ghosts or ghost ninjas?!"
All of which, at this point, were very viable plans according to Pete's thinking.
"No, no and no!" Kitty swerved down another street, her body refusing to respond to her commands to phase them. In an effort to dodge bullets, she started to sway back and forth on the road, while increasing their velocity to about four times the legal limit. It was a narrow road, with cars parked all around them, and Kitty was otherwise silent as she concentrated on not getting them killed. She pulled into another corner, which turned out to be a dead end.
There were really only two options. She could phase them through the wall, or she could launch them over it.
Still unsure of her powers, she chose option B. Besides, she needed to test Scotty's work on the suspension.
Pete had just fired off a couple of shots and only had enough time to put the safety on and cling on for dear life as soon as he looked forward and saw what she was going to do. His eyes literally bugged out for two seconds before he squeezed them shut and prepared for them to utterly completely bite it.
There wasn't even time for him to light one last cigarette. That was another thing Pete was telling himself he hated about motorcycles, just before he died on the back of one: you can't smoke while swiftly riding around on them.
Right now, he really could've used one, because there was a whole lot of 'ohhh fuckedyfuckfuuuckfuckeryfuck' from the bike's backseat occupant.
The motorcycle shot into the air, and over the wall. There was a steep drop on the other side and Kitty's knuckles went white as they descended. She angled for maximum cushion. They hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity, the wind rushing past their faces at an alarming rate.
The bike hit the ground with a jarring impact, but upgraded suspension held fast and they sped down the hill as behind them came the sound of a car braking hard and then hitting a concrete wall.
And Pete swore he just about crapped his pants and that Kitty put his driving to shame. However, she also stuck that landing, which was pretty damn impressive, once he took stock of the fact that he hadn't left his face smeared across the asphalt.
The sound of that car hitting the wall was rather satisfying too, and he was having one of his Kitty Pryde appreciation moments. Of course, he doesn't know about his memories of said appreciation moments, but some things just happen in two different places, and he's not ready or willing to admit it to her or anything.
He was, however, speaking very close to her ear, just loud enough to remind her without yelling loud enough to make her ears bleed, "There's probably another car, so expect they might pull out ahead? Or you can find a safe spot t'drop me off an' then leave, Pryde! I think I can handle it from here!"
That was probably a good idea, but she didn't think they were near any safe spots, whatsoever. She'll drop him off when she was sure he wasn't going to get his brains blown out. There were a series of overpasses coming up, and she made a beeline for them. Once inside, she began a series of confusing turns and twists and jumping from overpass to underpass, until coming to a stop beneath one.
Pete was off the bike in an instant, looking to and fro and making sure that there wasn't anymore of those cars within sight. He didn't see anything, and he had to admit, she was right handy for evading capture. Or was that really a good thing? He wasn't sure. Only that things were...complicated.
Which was probably the reason he silently stared at her in a way that was profoundly appreciative, and still had the sort of reluctance of someone who had probably a million things to say...but found he couldn't say any of them. Nothing was appropriate. One corner of his mouth turned up in a slight self-depreciating smirk, just as he shrugged a shoulder. It was all gone again, in an instant.
"...cheers, Pryde. You know, for..." He pointed his gun at his own head and made a pew noise, then idly waved it around like it was no big deal. That part hadn't phased him. It would've been a good way to go, suddenly, not really aware of things...just not something he would've liked have happen in front of someone like Kitty.
Too messy. People didn't tend to forget that.
Or, at least, he didn't.
He had already began stepping away, like his feet had hit reverse. The gun was held up in the air and waved, in his version of 'goodbye.'
She wouldn't have, that was for certain. So if we ever do off him it has to be in front of her
She watched him, her face expressionless and her eyes..worried. Sad. Distraught. Big doe eyes of tired worry. But she couldn't stop herself from replying, a twinkle in her eyes, "You're welcome, Wisdom. For you know, saving your bony ass."
She lifted her hand, slowly, not waving it, but trying to say the same thing as the gun was saying, to her.Umm? Why would I off my toon? He might want it. I don't.
"Right, well? You've got bony knees, an' elbows, an' fingers, so...s'all fair," he said, trying to sound grouchy or snarky or...something else along those lines. Because he was pretty certain by that point, his outer crust was cracking and he was staring back at her, pretty much the same way. Only without the big doe eyes. More like worried and wary blue eyes of ongoing woe.
If she didn't leave now, he'd say or do something he probably couldn't take back, and that she wouldn't enjoy, and it would make things awkward and complicated. Which was the reason he looked away first and let his arm drop down, the gun twitching in a 'you go that way' gesture.
It was easier telling himself he wasn't going to look at her and maybe wouldn't see her again, anyway. Fate obviously liked to torture him and Romany was probably right. They were cursed. And, for a split second, he even contemplated telling her that he'd had dreams too but...there wasn't any use in that. The dreams he had, were terrible. There was no use in sharing those.
"Just like Dream Nails, almost." Kitty smiled wryly, then started the bike, "Take care. I had fun," Her voice came out a little softer than she intended. A little sadder than she wanted. She wanted to hug him, and tell him it'll be okay, someday, and they could talk to each other without hurting. She didn't. Because she couldn't. It would be a lie. Her smile softened at him, then she adjusted her helmet.
Kitty sped off on her bike, leaving him in a wake of dust and exhaust.