ArchivedLogs:Hookers and Blowing Shit Up

Hookers and Blowing Shit Up
Dramatis Personae Ion, Wade	2013-10-29 '
Location <NYC> Down Under - Morningside Heights
Gritty, grimy, with food of questionable origin and unquestionable greasiness, Down Under is nevertheless a place to drink. That is about all that can be said for it -- that and it is a place to drink if you are short on cash. As such, it is frequently frequented by college students and those looking simply to get Very Drunk. For those none too concerned about the quality of their booze, this is the place to go. It's light out still which makes it kind of a little too early to be drunk o'clock just quite yet; but the sun is /starting/ to set and it's just past five. So long as work is out for some people that's totally fair game on drinking time, and as such Down Under is -- -- actually not all /that/ frequented just yet. A group of college-aged youths in a corner booth with a large pitcher of beer and a tray of greasy wings, an old man in a cowboy hat slumped against the bar staring listlessly at the current sportsball game playing on the TV, a young woman in Columbia sweatshirt and glasses who appears to /actually/ be studying at a table, biology textbook in front of her and a half-eaten burger at one hand. With all the city noises outside it's not /overly/ noteworthy when the throaty growl of motorcycle roars up in front of the building, a gleaming black-and-chrome Harley with the vanity plate WIRED pulling up to park outside. The young man who disembarks isn't all that noteworthy either, ropy and scarred and dressed in heavy black boots, heavy black jeans. His black leather vest has been heavily decorated, a large back patch with a kind of inhuman skull and crossbones -- fanged teeth, a crown of thorns, though on this particular skull the crossbones have been replaced by jagged crossed lightning bolts; above the skull it reads MUTANT MONGRELS in large text. Ion enters with a lax kind of amble, dropping himself into a stool at the bar to order a pint of -- "-- whatever's cheapest." Wade Winston Wilson is already here. He's sitting on a barstool with a mug of what is probably the cheapest thing there. Why drink cheap beer when you're filthy rich? Because you can. He's spun around in the stool a few times, before promptly stopping at the entrance of the biker. His eyebrows rise, then he raises a mug to the man. "Mutant biker gang! Now //that// is cool. Do you have a guy with cyclekinesis? Or someone who goes by Hell's Angel? I need to know how this works." When it comes to his tone, it's difficult to tell if he's dumb, teasing, provoking, or just generally being jovial. But at the very least, he's smiling. "Get over here, I'll buy you a drink!" Ion's eyebrows lift right up beneath his floppy dark hair at this greeting, but the raise of eyebrows comes together with a wide bright grin. He slides off his stool, moving down the bar to take up a stool one seat away from Wade. "It is /pretty/ excellent," he agrees, cheerful tone colored with a generous helping of Latino accenting. "It works straightforward. Be a freak. Look out for our own. Why, do you ride?" His dark eyes are skipping over Wade with a keen alertness that belies his cheerful smile -- tone warm but his gaze a little wary, posture not settled down quiet as languidly as before. "No cyclekinesis. Do have a brother who can shape metal. Helps with --" His fingers flick over his shoulder, towards the bike parked outside, "Customization. I'm drinking shitty beer, if I knew you were buying, I would --" For a moment he considers this before admitting, "Probably still be drinking shitty beer." "I've driven a lotta things. Used to be in the army! I've my share of motorcycle chases. Ah... the days of popping a wheelie through landmines..." Wade seems to remember fondly, turning back to the bar and leaning over his mug, slamming a hundred down. "If we don't use up this hundred, then keep the change! That's my no spit in my beer cash." he informs generally anyone who happens to be listening, and looks back over to Ion. "You seem a little young to be a hardened biker. Take any bullets yet?" "No landmines," Ion admits with another slight lift of brows as he looks at the bill Wade produces. "But it's hard to walk this city long with mutant on your back and not find yourself at the wrong end of a gun barrel now and then." His smile at this is crooked, his tone still largely amused. "And around this city, hardened is not hard to come by, yeah?" He glances from Wade back down to the cash. "Army did well by you?" "I was Special Forces for a while, and did a little private work. I Rambo'd it up. I could tell you //stories//." Wade moves to drape an arm around Ion's shoulders, like a drunk man who isn't actually drunk. "Ever fought an Arabian assassin princess? I've only met one, but once you've met one, you don't wanna do it again. They can kill you with silk." The drape of arm around Ion's shoulders comes with a sudden small jolt of static electricity that snaps harmlessly across from Ion to Wade. "Princess? I can't say that I have. But I mean, if you have to go. Might as well go in the arms of a beautiful woman." He tips his head to the side, looking at Wade's hand draped across his shoulders with a crooked curl of smile. "Even if those arms are choking the life from you. You finished with your Rambo days now? Though the city lately -- it's halfway to a warzone some nights itself." "I'm semi-retired. I disappear sometimes to do a job. But New York's great! I get to lay back, watch the Golden Girls, and occasionally someone points a gun at me and I get to break their hand. What's not to like?" Wade holds up a finger, as if remembering something. "Wade Winston Wilson. And more accurately, if you were fighting the Arabian Assassin Princess, she'd kill you with her silk scarf. She's a master of suffocation and limb dislocation." "New York is --" Ion considers this a moment, fingers drumming against the bar top. "Certainly never boring. Don't think we have so many of assassin princesses, though. I suppose even for a beautiful woman I enjoy my limbs in their current configuration." The introduction makes him hold up a fist towards Wade, evidently for KNUCKLETAPPING. "I am called Ion. And there are a good many people around here in need of a little hand breaking now and then, it is true. You have been here for long?" "Off and on, I only recently actually decided to move here permanently. I think I'm gonna mess with the rich people and see if I can get into high society. That should be fun. Wade Wilson: Hellfire Club guy." Wade laughs and fistbumps, then removes his arm from around Ion to raise a hand. "Three burgers with whatever meat and cheese you've got to slap on 'em!" he orders, and then turns his attention back to the biker. "Your gang huge, or you just starting out? I know a mutant biker gang probably has a bunch of Friends of Humanity problems, so if you ever need a guy who knows a guy who sells rocket launchers, I'm your guy." "Hellfire, what is that? Sounds like a party." Ion taps his knuckles to Wade's and drops his hand to the bar afterwards. "There was a bigger chapter out west. Out on this coast we've just been starting out. Run into plenty-heaps trouble even with just a few of us, though." His teeth flash wide in a grin again. "Though we dish it out just as well. One of my brothers, he practically /is/ a rocket launcher. Don't think we ever say no to more arms though. I don't suppose that kind of thing has a business-card?" "It's a fancy rich people club. I've got no idea what goes on inside of it, but I'm gonna find a way to join it. There's no club that can keep Wade Wilson out!" Wade announces with a dramatically raised fist, then shifts his head over to Ion, shaking it. It's still frozen in that fist raising pose. "I do a lot of word of mouth business. This kind of thing is very delicate. No one wants anyone else to know who they are, and everyone goes by code names. So you tell a guy, then he tells a guy, then that guy bangs a hooker, than the hooker tells a guy, etc. Then you get a rocket launcher." "I am skeptical," Ion admits, "how much the hooker is a necessary component of this. I think that might just have been an afterthought. Though I guess it is a fine long-standing /tradition/, yes? Hookers and -- blowing shit up." He reaches for his beer when the bartender places it down, lifting it for a long swig. "For such a delicate business, you don't seem very concerned?" "Of course not. You have no idea who I am and anyone dumb enough to listen thinks this is all bullshit. And if they tell anyone they're gonna think it's bullshit too." Wade easily explains, chugging down his mug of beer before shoving it forward for some more. Though he seems amazingly sober for someone drinking so much. "When you play with the big boys, it's not as delicate as someone selling stuff out of the back of a car. But you'll learn!" "Probably true." Ion allows this with a crooked smile before another gulp of beer. "Learn, what. You are serious about selling me the rockets. I admit that I also mostly was thinking --" He hitches up a shoulder in a quick shrug. "That this is some bullshit. I have heard, a whole large lot of bullshits around that much beer." He glances around the bar thoughtfully, looking back to Wade after. "Sure could have used rocket launchers recently, though. Whole swarm of police, trashing our home. Pretty much standard around here." "You never wanna blow up police. You blow up police while being a mutant and I can name at least ten different secret organizations that will probably make you disappear forever. The trick to police..." Wade starts to chomp down on a burger once his plate is served, pausing to chew... at least for a moment, then he just starts talking with his mouth full. "Is to roll with the punches. Don't be violent unless they're violent first. Remember, their bosses might be the super mutant racists and they don't have a choice! But if they hit you, make a recording, then you can hit them after you've got them on tape hitting you. Fighting police is a delicate thing. But at least you've got American police and not Egyptian or Mexican police." "For someone so worldly you," Ion says with a thin-lipped smile, "are /alarmingly/ naive. Maybe you ain't been here long, vato, but the police can do whatever. The fuck. They want. The police here were /kidnapping/ mutant children, forcing them into cages to fight to the death. Do you want to guess how many jail sentences were passed out when that was found? How many got /fired/? I will give you a hint, it was none. The trick to police," he says with a disgusted shake of his head, "is to make sure there are no witnesses. Because you don't roll with the punches. Their punches kill and if you record them the most you can hope for is a lot of hits on youtube." "Oh yeah, that //is// a good idea. No witnesses. That's actually better than my advice. Go with that." Wade decides in a rather casual snap, as if it were something super obvious he otherwise would have thought of but it simply didn't occur to him. "I never gave mutant rights too much thought. Being a mutant is pretty great if you ask me. But it's probably harder if people actually know you are one." "Hah." Ion's smile returns as quickly as it left. "Harder, pah. I would not trade it for anything." He gets up from his seat, chugging down the beer in one long last swig. "Thanks for the beer, Wade Winston Wilson. I will have to look you up if I am ever in the market for blowing up of things." "I'm always in the market for an explosion! Just don't explode one of my arms. I hate it when I have to go all baby arms for a few days." Wade raises a hand and waves him off with a friendly smile. "I'll see you around! I'm not hard to find. And I can definitely find you when I get bored." "That doesn't sound ominous at all." Ion flashes Wade a last crooked grin and then ambles his way back out the door. His bike roars to life a moment later, the sound soon fading off into the general din of city noise.