ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ (wisdoms) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-10-14 08:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, agent washington, pete wisdom |
Who: Wisdom & Wash
What: Running into each other while Pete's working, and then a business proposition
When: Wednesday night
Where: A shady-ass bar
Rating/Warnings: Mediumish; There's violence and gunshots and stuff
Status: Complete
It was one of those types of bars. The kind where you could easily follow a checklist and confirm that, yes, not only would you have to ensure all your shots (tetanus especially) were up to date before you sat down, but also that this was indeed something called ‘dive’ and they were serious fucking business about it. No windows (or the few that were there were so grime-coated it didn’t matter anyway), faint but pungent aroma of stale beer with a side of vomit and urine, sawdust (from what?) on the floor, frequent fights, no stall doors in the shitter, taps have been cleaned approximately never. So in other words, the type of bar that Pete Wisdom used to frequent regularly. For fun. Tonight it was work-related, however, and he had to admit this particular spot on the career wheel didn’t hold the same intrigue for him as it did before. Mostly because, with impending fatherhood on the horizon, that had shifted his perspective entirely. He simply couldn’t be out chasing after scum and bringing them in to be crushed by the swift hammer of justice (or riddled with bullets, depending) - not anymore. The contracts that popped up here and there were lucrative, certainly, but it simply wasn’t cutting it. Wisdom needed something more stable. More cushy. He needed to focus solely on his job at the Agency, and he also needed a protégé is what he did, someone to give these contracts to so they didn’t go to waste - and eventually he’d fade out of the picture entirely - but Vakarian had already flown the coop on bounty hunting too, Bond was long since gone away from this cesspool of a county, and while he'd likely end up giving some to Hawke there were others whom he really wouldn’t trust to wield a gun and not shoot themselves in the face if he were being honest. Alas. Another night, another drug lord brought in. He was simply waiting for the right moment to interrupt the party in the back, sitting at the bar and attempting to get down the place’s sorry excuse for whiskey. Oodles of fun, he was sure. Or not. Wash wasn’t allowed in his favorite bar anymore. Turns out trying to decapitate someone using a skateboard deck was an excellent way to get blacklisted from just not one bar, but practically every respectable bar in the county. Now the only options for him were shit holes like this place. Not that it mattered. The dive’s atmosphere reflected Wash’s mood perfectly. Wash was drinking, two shots of whiskey had been chased by beers down his throat already, but that didn’t seem to hamper the marine in him any. He had chosen a seat at the end of the bar where he could see most of the place without having to turn his head and what he couldn’t see (god damn pillar in the middle of the goddamn room!) he could see in the reflection of the old cracked and delaminating mirror behind the bar itself. The wall with an ancient jukebox that only seemed able to play one song was immediately behind him and that was all. This place looked rough and its clientele looked rougher. Wash avoided eye contact with everyone in the place, but was also keeping an eye on them. There was a vibe in the air of drunken debauchery, but also of dangerous tension, as if at any moment a fight would break out and consume the entire place. Wash was armed, of course. There were fucking psycho XO’s out there looking for blood! She may not have been out for his blood, but that wasn’t the point. The gun wasn’t really for protection. Wash was no vigilante, however. Killing the bitch was Leli’s business. It was her right. When you played outside the law, you had to expect that kind of thing. He was working on his third beer, hooded steel grey eyes sweeping the bar before settling on the man seated a couple of seats from him. There was something about him, though Wash couldn’t say exactly what, that told him he was of interest. The skip Wisdom was tracking tonight was here, he’d already done the research and knew the schedule well enough to be able to know that as a solid fact, it was just a matter of finding the right moment to strike and bring him in. So he bided his time, which was a large chunk of what bounty hunting in the States actually was. Sometimes a skeezy bar or bowling alley led to no leads at all, which was bullshit, but it happened. This, however? This was gold. He side-eyed the fellow who seemed to be watching him just then, since Wisdom was always hyper-aware of a pair of wolf eyes on him, or whatever the case may be. The guy seemed familiar though - from the network, perhaps? The next shot of whiskey went down his throat, he shuddered, and offered a, “Might want to take cover, mate, it’s about to get ugly in here.” Case in point. The drug lord who was the mark came stumbling out of the loo, wiping at his nose (if he had any sensation in nostrils left at this point, Wisdom would be impressed), and then Pete was up - he’d had his jacket on the counter, gun concealed beneath, but first he planned to start a little calamity for cover. Nothing was a better shield than a chaotic barfight. Someone threw a drink. It was probably him, but it didn’t really mattered. That action pissed someone off, who pissed someone else off, and down the domino chain they went. The bar became a mess of drunk fuckers trying to kill each other. Mate? Wash raised a brow. He couldn’t say he knew many people with English accents, so why was there something inherently familiar about this guy? It could have been the two and a half bottles of beer and two shots of whiskey, but Wash was intrigued. He didn’t look for cover. Instead he watched the man get up from the bar and make his way towards the mook who had just emerged from the men’s room. That sense of danger in the air intensified the moment the man had gotten up from the bar stool. Wash’s eyes narrowed. As the Englishman crossed the room, Wash slowly scooted back on his stool until he had subtly gotten off of it. His hand reached back to his sidearm holstered just behind his hip, but he didn’t draw it. His hand just hovered over it, as though he were reaching for his wallet, but had stopped in thought. Wash waited, watching and coiled at the ready. Instead of going directly to the mook, the Englishman veered off and accidentally bumped into a tall, leather-clad, heavily tattooed man with enough force to knock the man’s drink down the front of him. And it all went downhill from there. Like the proverbial spark in a powderkeg, the entire place erupted. A gun would have been useful to diffuse the situation before it started, but now that chaos had overtaken the bar and it was impossible to tell who was friend and who was foe (not that there were any true friends in this place), gunplay was decidedly not a good idea. Something told Wash he needed to cover the Englishman’s six and Wash had learned to trust his instincts in combat. He started making his way towards where the man was, expertly weaving in and around fighting bar patrons and avoiding errant elbows, fists and make-shift (and real) weapons, only throwing a punch to avoid getting hit himself all the while keeping a steady watch on the Englishman and his movements. It was clear the man was no stranger to a good brawl. Somehow he managed to make it to his mark. “Hey!” He shouted to be heard above the din as he approached, more so to alert the Englishman he was there and not accidentally get clocked in the jaw for his efforts. “What the hell are you doing?!” Back in the day, Wisdom would actually start bar brawls like these for fun - but that was when he was around Neena, a lady powderkeg herself codenamed Domino with a penchant for impressive agility, acrobatics, and perhaps even invoking a bit of good luck. She was dangerous, but then again, so was he - the roller coaster that was his life brought calm periods and less calm ones, but that period of time in between Lina’s death and return had been a bloodbath, and left a mark on his psyche. Things were changing now, however, they’d been changing - so, all he kept thinking as hell and pandemonium broke loose was that he really needed to stick with his gig at the Agency. “Working,” he responded smoothly, in his smoke-coated, casual way. A drink was picked up - stolen from someone else, clearly - and he downed it before tossing the glass, where it shattered. As for the mark, he was down, bang, shot in the kneecap. Nothing fatal, mostly meant to disarm and incapacitate. “What the hell are you doing?” Wisdom returned, stooping to grab his prize with invisible dollar signs around his head, then glanced back up. “You move pretty well there, mate. Not your first bar brawl, I take it? Here, help me get him outside. He’s a repeat offender, has got a few felony drug charges on him plus he’s a pimp, literally - and has jumped bail.” Outside avoiding getting knocked out by one of these nutbars who’d apparently been itching for an excuse to throwdown, Wash had no flipping clue what he was doing. It was a feeling he’d had a lot in the last year. Jesus Christ, in a week it’d have been a year since the entire course of his life had changed thanks to one wrong yank of a steering wheel. He’d wandered aimlessly in that time trying to cling to an old life that didn’t want him anymore. He had just managed to start building a new life, a far cry from his own, but his. he had a woman he cared about, good friends he could count on, jobs that gave him enough money that he really didn’t need the government’s pity pension. Despite the absurdity and confusion he went through when he slept, he thought he’d done pretty good for himself. However, over the course of the previous week he felt that life be ripped away from him. It hadn’t just been the attempt on Gale’s life and what had resulted from it. That had only been the straw, so to speak. Before that, Wash had started to feel his grip slipping. If he really wanted to think about it, it had started when he started dreaming he was the Alpha. But he really didn’t want to think about it. Especially not now. “Covering your limey ass!” Wash snapped back even though it was clear the Englishman knew his way around a fight and apparently was cocky enough to down a drink before using the glass as a weapon. “Fuck if I know why!” His train of thought was momentarily interrupted just long enough to jerk to the side and avoid a jagged bottleneck that had been wildly thrust in his direction. He grabbed the wielder by the arm and twisted it around just enough to make the idiot drop the weapon. Then Wash shoved him away. “Jesus Christ, all I wanted to do was get drunk,” he continued as he reached down to help the Englishman pull his dazed and confused quarry to his feet and start out the back with with the two of them, “but noooo, someone had to go and start a goddamn brawl and ruin my night!” Repeat offender, felony drug charges, pimping? Wash grunted. “What are you, some kind of caped crusader?” Limey? Who the fuck actually called someone that anymore, who wasn’t from the 1700s? Wisdom snorted, partly amused, but partly over this shit - and while it was tempting to slice and dice his way through the crowd with knives from his fingers, hot as the surface of the sun, he simply went for an exit the old-fashioned way. That is, picking up a barstool and whacking whomever was in his way across the face with it - the whole escape involved a lot of ducking and bobbing and weaving, difficult to do when schlepping along dead weight that was the mark, but he managed. He managed with a Yank in tow, even, extra impressive. “We all wanted to get drunk tonight, but don’t worry, there’s always tomorrow,” he spoke in a gravelly rumble as he and his new friend slipped out the back. The car he’d driven here was hidden a ways away, but hauling a seemingly drunk and injured prize to the backseat was no problem. Speaking of... “Man, fuck you,” spat the high-as-a-kite douchebag, who was promptly knocked unconscious with a blow to the temple. There, lights out. Moving along. “And do I look like a bloody caped crusader?” Not in his fancy suit, thank you. “I’m a bounty hunter. Or was. About to retire, rather. What about you, you looked like you were itching for a fight. I probably did you a favour.” And wasn’t that sweet of him? Wash covered their rear as he and the Englishman dragged their new buddy out the back of the bar. His pistol was still secured in its holster while Wash had opted to use a discarded pool cue to thwack unwanted followers away from their path. Fortunately for the two of them (and unfortunately for the Englishman’s mark) the fight taking place inside the bar was far more interesting than the three men attempting to leave. Once outside in the fresh cool night air and away from the din and chaos sealed inside the bar, Wash tossed the cue away and turned his full attention back to the Englishman. “Bounty hunter,” he repeated. Well didn’t that just fucking figure. Man, he certainly attracted some of Orange County’s finest didn’t he? Or maybe you’re attracted to them, ever think of that? Wash shook his head. Whatever buzz the whiskey and beer had given him earlier was long gone at this point. “Some favor,” he grunted. “This is another bar I probably can never come back to now.” At least the brawl inside hadn’t been his fault this time. “No, man, I was just looking to get wasted tonight, that’s all. Had one fucking hell of a week.” It was a bold faced lie, of course. He could have easily found another bar and another round of whiskey chasers to numb him enough to keep dark thoughts from over taking his mind. Instead he remained standing outside the bar with a bounty hunter just barely winded and basking in the effects of adrenalin. Hell, he’d enjoyed it. Much better than alcohol. “About to retire, huh?” He asked with a raised brow. “So, what this is your last hurrah?” He laughed. “It’s almost always a hell of a week, when you live in Orange County.” Wisdom smirked at that, like he was amused at some private joke. Really, he sort of was - because that cluster of people who frequented the network he did (without posting much, mostly he just liked to look at which trainwrecks were careening off the tracks that day) all had one thing in common: Their lives were strange, and not really easy by any stretch of the imagination. The unconscious target went into the car, doors locked - he’d be out for some time, and here was where Wisdom usually lit a cigarette but since he quit awhile back, there was nothing in his jacket pockets. Drat. Just gum, really. “Something of a last hurrah, I suppose,” he went on, fingers pushing through black hair that remained in place and nearly impeccable despite the previous kerfuffle. “It’s not right for me anymore, personally. But it happens sometimes. What about you, what do you do? Besides look for godawful bars to get wasted in.” That was an interesting thing for someone to say about life in the O.C, Wash thought. Sure, it was something he agreed with, but there was really only a certain demographic here in California who would subscribe to such a thought. Wash quirked a brow. “Yeah,” he agreed carefully. “Never a dull moment.” Wash shifted from one booted foot to the other, his hands going into the pockets of his jeans. “Ex-marine,” he answered. “Medically discharged about a year ago. Now I work part time at a ranch for at-risk youth and a plant nursery. You know, there’s something about you,” he said, eyeing the Englishman carefully. “Something familiar. Have we met somewhere?” “Ah, right.” Now it all clicked into place - Wisdom was aware of who exactly he’d run into, someone else who dealt with the dream phenomenon. Or burden, if we’re getting technical - he certainly considered it a burden on his best and worse days, though granted, the Fates had brought him to Lina, and everyone else he loved and cared for in the depths of his tar-blackened heart. “We’ve spoken on the network. I do know the ranch and the plant nursery you’re thinking of.” He extended one rough, weathered paw for a shake. “Pete Wisdom. I also think you know my girlfriend.” Though he’d prefer if they weren’t out blowing up convenience stores or whatever had happened before - Lina telling Pete that she was pregnant meant that he was circling like a protective hawk, and those instincts kicked in hard. But he didn’t mention that part yet, since they’d technically agreed to wait a few more weeks before breaking the news to the masses. “But still. You really aren’t bad in a fight, and under pressure like it just was. Ever consider bounty hunting in your spare time?” Well, now it all made sense, why Wash felt as if he knew the guy and why he’d felt the necessity to cover the man’s backside in a bar fight. He did know him, even if they’d never actually met. It made about as much sense as anything else in Wash’s life at the moment. “Washington - Wash,” he introduced himself even though it was clear that Wisdom knew exactly who he was. He took the offered hand with a firm shake. “Yeah, I know Lina from the net. She’s…” something else really. After what had just happened in the bar, Wash could see perfectly well why she and Wisdom were together. They just fit - two whirlwinds of chaos and magic. “...a firecracker.” Wash smiled faintly. “A pleasure to meet you in person.” Pleasure was probably not the right term, but he’d be lying if Wisdom hadn’t been correct in saying he hadn’t been itching for a fight earlier, any excuse to vent all the pent up anger that had been on a steady rise within him. Wisdom starting a knock-down drag out brawl had afforded Wash the opportunity to focus that anger. “Bounty hunting?” Wash asked as he drew his hand back. The idea had never even been on his radar until about fifteen minutes ago, but he couldn’t say as though the idea didn’t have it’s appeal. He raised a brow, “Why? Are you offering me a job?” Firecracker was one way to put it. Not every couple had their first official date, which happened to be on Valentine’s Day, at an opera house that one of them burned down accidentally because he was still new to his mutant abilities. One of Wisdom’s favourite memories, actually, come to think of it. But back to the task at hand here, which was seeing if he could recruit someone else to take these contracts he didn’t necessarily want to waste. “Perhaps,” he responded, with a gravelly chuckle. “I’ve got plenty of work if you’re interested. Like I said...retirement means I’ve got to start backing off of hits like this.” With a quick glance back at the car with the prize inside, and then back at Wash, he reached into one of his pockets and unearthed a business card. Mostly just contact info, the standard things. Either way, it would not be difficult to get ahold of him. “If you’re willing to try it out, give me a ring. I can find something good to start you off with. In the meantime though, I better get this particular scum back where he belongs.” Wash followed Wisdom’s eyes to the slob in the back seat of the car, then back to Wisdom himself. The man didn’t look much older than Wash himself and judging by the way he handled himself in the bar was good at what he did and was clearly in his prime. He could easily do this for another number of years. It couldn’t have been Lina’s influence. Wash remembered the evening he’d met Lina in person. She had calmly handled her wouldbe muggers as though they hadn’t been a threat to her at all. Wash thought she had actually enjoyed the altercation, even with his interruption like some kind of misguided white knight. He was a little surprised to find that Wisdom and Lina weren’t in business together bagging and tagging badguys together. However, before he realized what he was doing he’d taken Wisdom’s card. “Yeah, I could use the extra money. I’ll give it some thought.” He looked up from the card. “Why are you retiring, anyway? Drug lords and bar fights not your cup of tea anymore?” “God, I hate tea,” Wisdom snorted a laugh, and he was aware that he was probably the only Brit who did. He already got enough shit about it from his fellow Limey friends. “But in this case, no, it’s really not my cup of spiked tea anymore. For reasons I ought to not go into now, but I assure you that it will make sense in a few weeks. I’m just not at liberty to say at the moment.” But he was pleased that he found a potential protégé of sorts. He wouldn’t even have to spend much time going over the ropes - a lot of what he did, in terms of bounty hunting, wasn’t even always legal in terms of the proper licences and things. Yet it paid well, and it cleaned up scum from shady alleyways and corners, and that was the important part. Wash raised a brow in curiosity. Well that was fucking cryptic as hell. “Riiight,” he said with a shrug. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder at the bar behind them. The grime covered windows gave no indication if the fight was continuing inside without them. There were no sirens blaring in the evening air, which only came as a mild surprise. Wash was sure the place was no stranger to brawls. The bartender that had been giving him whiskey shots and beers looked as though he’d handled himself in plenty in the past. Nevermind most of the patrons themselves probably didn’t want police involvement in their lives if the guy in the back of Wisdom’s car was any indication. Whatever was happening inside, Wash had lost his desire to drink the evening away. Another quick glance down at the card in his hands then up at the man in front of him. “I won’t keep you from getting your buddy there back where he belongs.” He flicked the card between his fingers. “Tell Lina I said hi and I’ll be in touch in a couple of days.” If it had been a reputable bar, then the person behind the counter would have long since called the police after chaos erupted. But the ‘business’ was really a front for something even worse, something distinctly illegal - so whether or not the fight was continuing or not, or who ended up knifed to death in a brawl, that really wasn’t Wisdom’s concern. He got what he came for. “Fair enough,” he adjusted his suit jacket, flicking off dirt and debris, just a bit of it. “I’ll be sure to tell her. You have a nice evening. I’m sure we’ll be in touch, then.” One door closes, another opens - funny how these things always seemed to just happen, within the shitstorm of their lives. |