Summary:Just another night at Sister Margaret's… Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The god of mischief tends to be at least marginally aware of where there might be n'er-do-wells in a group, people that might help out a sneaky fellow down on his luck..and in this case, on the run from a couple pantheons at once. Tricky. So, this is where he's ended up. No shining gold here, he's dressed in a black and dark green jacket, hood pulled up, with his long legs crammed into some leather pants that go with his scuffed boots. He's too tall to seem like a pushover, but he's definitely going for a low profile at the moment. Black hair is in a ponytail at the back of his neck, unseen.
Loki comes into the seedy place and sits where he can observe.
A large, burly man slams his hand into the side of a pool table and shouts at his opponent about cheating. The two are at each other's throats soon enough, using fists and colored balls alike.
"Jesus Christ," Wade mutters, before turning around from where he's seated at the bar. "How the hell can you cheat at eight ball, ya dumb fucks!?" He spins back around and grabs the bartender's attention, smirking ruefully. "Put me up for Charlie on the Dead Pool, buck fifty."
Wade is wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, also going for low profile today; the hood is worn mostly to prevent everyone from suffering the horrible disfigurement that is his face.
Jesus Christ. Ok…good, not the Egyptian or Chinese pantheon to worry about. There's a little grin at the fighting over cheating…if he really WERE a god, that would probably fuel his power stores or something. As is, it just amuses his nature and chills his cold heart. Loki eyes Wade, taps his pale fingers on the gross table in front of him, then stands to make his way nearer. Ugly has his curiosity. "Where are you on the list?" The voice is silk and slippery.
Betty Brant knew how to get about in the city. To chase a rumor, to find a place she needed to go. Tonight, it all lead here. She lingers at first, questioning herself and what brought here here. At length, she sighs and enters, gliding her way toward the bar and requesting a drink. Warm eyes flit about, trying to pick out faces in the off chance she finds someone that recognises her. "Hey, honey," she smiles to the tender. "Whiskey sour if you can. If not, just whiskey is fine." Brushing her golden-bronze hair back, she looks around once more, attempting to calm her nerves.
Chuck Wagon (the smaller guy with a horrible street name) hates being called Charlie, but fortunately, he's too busy getting his ass beat by the massive dude who simply goes by 'Meat'. Look, mercenaries aren't paid to have good and clever names, they're paid to work.
Its fortunate that Betty entered in the midst of a fight, otherwise she'd likely be attracting the wrong kind of attention from the wrong people. "Yeah, I got you," the bartender says, eyeing the woman skeptically before getting on with her drink order.
As for Wade, he doesn't yet look at Loki. "Ooooh, you don't wanna bet on me," he says, before finally turning to look at the man. His mouth ajar, one eyebrow (well, a hairless, bulbous eye bulge) rises, and he looks the man up and down. "Since when is Nine Inch Nails in town?" The scarred man is smirking, mostly with his eyes. "Let me guess." A pair of hands come up, making a picture frame. "Bass player."
"I like you already." Comes the steady reply from Loki. "I cannot place a wager on you if I don't know who you are…nor could I…claim your services." Loki makes that sound uncomfortable, the tone in which he says it. "I am a bass player on the run…you see. Some people think I killed another band's manager."
Loki glances towards Betty and stands a little straighter, more alert, perhaps expecting trouble based on her attractiveness level, relative to the array of monster-people in front of him.
"Thanks, honey." She smiles to the tender, glancing over her shoulder at the beat-down rolling across tables and the floor. At least it doesn't phase her. Rolling her shoulders she corrects her posture, her gaze rolling up to settle on the listings of the 'pool. If someone thought she was pretty, sure, she wasn't bad to look at, and at least her attire wasn't her normal fair for here. She toned it down; denim, a nice shirt, jacket, heels. She didn't belong, but she wasn't that sore of a thumb.
"Hey," he asks the tender after taking a smooth sip from her tumbler. "Who's the best person around here to ask about information?"
"Tone it down on the creep factor, Uncle Wiggly," Wade says, referencing a truly creepy old board game. "You know, there's a way this works. Usually your request comes through here on a gold card. Clients don't come to Sister Margaret's. Not from around here, are ya?"
Meanwhile, the bartender eyes Betty with an expression of irritation. "Nobody," he says, then casts a worried look Wade's way. "Definitely nobody in this room right now."
Meat finally sticks it to Chuck Wagon, the smaller man having been slammed violently into the unforgiving cement floor. A horrible crack is heard, and blood begins seeping out from a fatal head wound. Wade spins at the sound, then leaps off the barstool and throws his hands into the air. "OH MY GOD!" he suddenly screams. "YES! Pay up, dick zits! I take cash, coke and top shelf shots!"
"What do you want to know?" Loki asks of Betty with a glance. Then he says to Wade, "You like wagers, hmmm? I do not have time for gold cards, but I do have time for wagers…what will it be? You win…I will give you the toppest shelf shot there is. I win, I crash with you for a week."
"I see." She nods smoothly, sipping from her drink a bit more. The loud crack of bone shattering against a pillow of flesh causes her to tense up, wince and peek toward the display. Wade is celebrating and he's not the only one. Eyeing Loki now, she offers him a smile, but his conversation with Wade causes her to blink smoothly. "Oh, um…I'm sorry. Really, it's fine." Smiling she motions toward Wade. "I think he's trying to ask you out. Win or lose." A shrug, she sips.
. . o O (You know, I really thought he'd be more the cocaine type.)
For a moment or two, Wade is busy gathering up his winnings, while someone comes over to drag Charlie's body into a back room.
Loki's proposal has Wade coming back around, and looking at the fellow with a smirk on his face and a frown in his eyes. "Well, I usually don't go with dudes in leather pants," he tells Betty, before finally looking her way. "Not unless they're assless chaps." A waggle of the eyebumps, before back to Loki he goes. Plopping his rump down on a barstool, the grin finally reaches his eyes. "We usually only bet on the dead pool, or, you know, pool tables. I suck at pool, so, I dunno." Back to Betty he looks. "What do you think? What should we bet on? Also, you are so out of place I almost want to make bets on what might happen to you while you're here, but let's… we can't… there's nothing good that could come out of that, so, yeah let's just…." Back to Loki. "Are you just trying to find a futon to crash on or something?"
"Yes…I am. Somewhere no one would expect…or reasonably find me. This seems…questionable enough that the upstanding sorts that would be looking wouldn't find me here." Loki chuckles softly at Betty. "Do you know him?" He taps his fingers on the bar again. "Make the wager goood…" he winks.
Betty Brant eyes the pair in turn. Nursing from her glass, she shakes her head. "I won't be long then. I'd hate to cause a stir and just wanted some information. You ask dark types about dark types, don't you?" Finishing off her drink, she turns her head toward the tender, asking for another. At least the drinks were good.
"Hmm? No, I don't know him. I've never been here before and I'm guessing you haven't either." Watching Wade and Loki, Betty skips her attention around the bar once more before coming back around to the pair. "I'm not sure what you should bet on, either. Hood there is right, I shouldn't be here." She then cants her head and smirks. "I know. Make a bet on who's prettier."
"Moonwalk." Wade shoots Betty a dirty look, as if that one was a certifiable low blow, before looking back to Loki. "She gets to judge. Best moonwalk wins." Out comes his phone, which is LOADED with credits for the TouchTunes jukebox, and within moments, the bass line from 'Billie Jean' fills the speakeasy, much to the other patrons' chagrin.
Loki makes a humming sound. "I…am…unfamiliar. Perhaps if you do it, I will catch on." Loki watches Wade carefully, a subtle smile on his face, rather agreeable for someone who is trying to win.
Well, he was, strictly speaking, never a mercenary. Never on the open market - always in the service of one state or another. But he was a ghost story for intel and military types for so long….and even before that he had some notoriety as Cap's companion. So it's even odds if anyone besides Loki recognizes the brown-haired guy who wanders in. Buck's got a long sleeve t-shirt on, and a glove to hide the metal hand, hair tied back. He doesn't look particularly rough or tough….but he must be in search of someone who is, to show up here.
"I picked pretty. You picked moonwalk, maybe it's a walk off?" She smirks at the idea of it, how silly it was. Shrugging, she accepts her second drink and then turns to face the pair. "Well, get a stage and we'll get this done. Whatever, well, this is." Looking to the side, she finds the face of a man she met, though briefly, the day before. She gives a smile, a light wave, being the only other person that doesn't really mesh well in this place. At least Bucky looked like he could get some work. Back to Pool and Loki Odinson. "Well?"
Crossing over, Wade snatches a nice looking hat off a clean shaven mercenary's head, then replaces the hood covering his face with the hat instead. "Ow!" he cries in a Jackson-esque falsetto, and begins busting a few dance moves. "I'm totally not idolizing a child molester!" he announces to the bar, before spinning around on the ball of his foot and stopping sideways to Loki and Betty, head cocked to look at both.
"Here it comes."
Suddenly, Wade Wilson is straight up moonwalking. It's certainly not as smooth as the King of Pop who invented it, but clearly he's practiced before. Maybe more than most people would care to admit. He moonwalks the entire length of the bar, before doing another spin and an air kick. "Heeee hee!" he shouts, then reaches down to grab his crotch and give a good, hard yank. "Bow!"
The hat is removed and tossed Loki's way. "Your turn!" Wade then turns directly to look into your computer screen (off into the distance for those in the room), and winks.
Loki takes the hat, lowers his hood…then spots Bucky. He draws in a deep breath and glides his thumb and first finger along the brim of it. "I must say…I think I am unlikely to beat you at that. Consider it won…and here." From inside his jacket pocket, Loki pulls out a flask that is carved of wood, and stoppered with something that LOOKS like a dragon's tooth…because it is. "Top shelf as agreed." Its Asgardian mead…guaranteed to make a mess of mortals, which is sure to gain him a place to stay!
Wade's exhibition has Bucky going politely pokerfaced….because he has no clue at all what that was about. Loki gets a polite upnod - if he's surprised to see the Asgardian here, it doesn't show. Definitely a gleam of curiosity there, as he wanders up to the bar.
Betty Brant just watches. Sipping from her cup, she drains it easily and sets it down next to its brethren. Another look toward Bucky, another smile, she turns and faces the pair. Loki had decided so Brant can only shrug. Though, for Loki, she frowns and her true colors come out. "Hey," she greets the Trickster, inching closer his way and reaching out to touch his arm. "Are you looking for a place to stay? I mean, I heard you asking him about it, but if you need some help, I can offer it." A pause, a smile, "Are you new to the city?"
Feeling as if he may have just struck gold, Wade saunters over to Loki and snatches the wooden flask away. He eyeballs it for a moment, then studies Loki, and seems to be putting two and two together.
"Thespian," he surmises, and pulls the cork off the top. "There's nothing better than partying with thespians." A finger points Loki's way, and a gleam is in his eye. "I'd tell you about the first time I went to a party in the village, but, I'm still not convinced you aren't a cop or something, soooooo… maybe not."
Not yet taking note of Bucky (he kinda looks as if he just might fit in here after all), Wade walks back to the barstool he'd vacated and sits down, eyes on Betty. "What kind of information you lookin' for, anyway, Rachel McAdams?" He leans a nose over to sniff at the flask, and seems visibly surprised; maybe a wee bit perplexed.
Loki leans in towards Wade and says, quietly, "I'll be back later…" Then he leaves Wade with the flask to do its damage, and heads towards the door of the place. he brushes past Bucky, grins crookedly, but doesn't say anything.
That bemuses Buck - there's recognition in his face. But if Loki's not going to greet him aloud, he's not going to press the issue. Then he glances at the bottle. "What is that?" he asks Wade, curiously. His own order's just a Four Horsemen - it takes a lot of booze to make a dent in that metabolism.
Betty Brant blinks. Loki didn't look her way, nor even answer. Frowning, she looks in Wade's direction. "I guess he is pretty sweet on you after all." Shrugging, she moves her way back to the bartop and reclaims a seat if possible. "Rachel…really? You think I look like her?" She beams, digging for a compact to look herself over with. Squinting, she shakes her head. Nah, she didn't see it.
Then comes the question of information. "Oh, I'm looking for a lead, I suppose. A location of where a group works out of. You're Mercs here so you know how to find people, right?"
"Well, I don't usually go for talk dark and handsome when I'm'a swingin' for a dickin'," Wade answers. "I'm more the twink type." When Betty doubts his call on her celebrity look-a-like, he laughs in a jovial way and puts a hand on her shoulder. "It's almost like in Oceans 12 when Julia Roberts played another person who pretended to be Julia Roberts and… well, spoiler alert."
At this point, Wade looks toward Bucky and shrugs. "I think the PC term is 'hired gun', but, anywho." He twirls the flask's cap in his hand, then grins at Betty. "Info always comes at a price around here."
At long last, Wade lifts the flask and starts to drink.
And drink.
And drink.
"Who're you looking for?" asks the brown-haired guy. "This more a place for 'finding people and then making sure no one else ever finds them again' than tracking down missing persons." Buck's expression is mild, curious. He's getting a few squints of possible recognition from some of the others there, but he doesn't seem to have noticed the scrutiny.
"I figured. I'm already paying a price so why not do it one more time?" Watching him drink, she cants her head to the side, then turning to face Bucky. "Oh, a group, actually. I never knew the name I'm looking for, just a group out of Philly from…ages back. Thugs, honestly." Her brows dip for a moment before she digs for her notepad. Flipping pages she nods at a name. "Gaxton." She clarifies. "Runs shake downs on people and sharking." Her jaw tightens before she clears her throat. "I think I'm starting to get to the point of stopping this. For good."
The entire flask is drained of its contents, at which point Wade seems content. He sets it down, then rests his hand upon the bar. Then… his eyes go wide. It's almost as if he just did the world's longest line of cocaine, followed by a fistful of mushrooms, a shot of morphine, and an entire case of 4-Loko's before they got sued and changed their recipe.
"Oh… my sweet, bloody, resurrected Jesus," he whispers to himself, and seems dizzy. "Where the fuck…" He squints at Bucky, then at Betty. "Axl Rose is fucking Rick James while Courtney Love is tugging them both off, how is that even… possible…?"
He waggles a hand at Bucky, then looks toward Betty as if he might try to kiss her.
Instead, he opens his mouth and belches so loudly that it rattles the bar stools they all sit on.
"No idea what all that meant, but clearly, you're enjoying yourself," Buck says to Wade, drily. "Remind me to hit that guy up for a drink, next time I see him." He must know Loki in one way or another. A sip of his own drink - apparently he intends to nurse that thing.
Betty gets a raised brow. "What d'you mean?" he asks. "You want this guy dead? Behind bars? You a cop?" Like she's going to answer that one directly. His tone's only one of abstracted interest.
"I think all that means is he's the guy that uses references to speak. Y'know, because there isn't much of anything else to say?" Everyone knew those people. Wade just seems to be that person cranked up to 11. Or more. Shifting a bit, she faces Bucky once more.
"Well, maybe it'll help. Someone suggested I 'buy the bank' and I assume that means ending it." She shrugs. "No, I'm not a cop. I've known a few but I really don't think they can fix this."
"I think he's my new best friend," Wade tells Axl Rose- er, Bucky. Axl Rose is gone now, and he was never really fucking Rick James, because Rick James is now Betty Brant. Or was it Betty that was tugging them off, and was he Rick James? Or was Wade tugging Bucky and Betty off?
"Definitely my new best friend," he says. "Listen, ah, blondie. I'm feeling like, super generous and stuff, but that… whatever that was?" He raps the empty flask with a hand. "Really fucked me up, and fast. But you just send me a message. 1-800-DEADPOOL. I'll find these, uh, Paxtons unless he beats me to it. Wait, Paxton, like Bill Paxton?" He snickers drunkenly. "Game over man, it's game over!"
"What exactly is the problem? They hitting you up personally? Threatening you?" Tone still conversational. He cranes his neck to peer at Wade, and then says, almost sotto voce, "I think I understood that reference."
Betty Brant blinks toward Wade. Whatever train he was on, she was on a different one. Probably in another town. Thinning her ruby lips, they fill out naturally before she sits back and takes a breath. "Gaxton." She corrects and then looks toward Bucky. "Both? Long story short, my brother was an idiot. He got in deep with them and couldn't pay them back. They hurt my mom and myself. We moved here and I've been paying them off ever since." Brushing back her hair, she huffs out some irritation. "Anyway, maybe I should deal with it myself. My problem, right? I just…need to find them. Him."
Wade nearly falls off his stool before catching himself. That much Asgardian mead in that short a period of time? Most normal humans would have dropped dead.
"Whoooo I gotta go lie down," he says, "Maybe listen to some Frampton, or… or… why do I want to listen to ancient norse tribal anthems? Is that even a thing?" He flashes a two fingered salute to the pair, before staggering off to a secret door somewhere.
The Soldier's expression gets flatter and flatter. "How precisely were you planning on dealing with them? I assume you're not tracking them down to give them the last payment on the debt?"
Betty Brant watches after Wade, her expression softening with concern. However, when no one else jumps to his aid perhaps this was normal? Well, normalish? A twitch and she sighs, looking towrad Bucky before slipping off her seat and paying for her drinks. Tip included. "I don't know yet." She whispers, eyes up to face Bucky directly. "I've been paying them for almost 15 years. There is no last payment…Sorry, excuse me." Readjusting the strap on her purse, the woman shifts her way out of the bar, being ever so careful to not get blood on her pumps.