Summary:Deadpool is hired for a mob assassination job by an unlikely patron, while Hellboy and Bombshell weigh in on the situation. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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"Oh, come on!" Wade Wilson is standing at the Ms. Pac-Man game, wearing blue jeans, old sneakers and a pretty basic maroon shirt. He just got hosed by a ghost, and bangs the edge of the game in angst. "What dipshit changed the dipswitches back to dingus mode?" He walks away from the game, clearly irritated, and is headed for the bar and, of course, more whiskey.
Betty Brant was there this time, sitting, waiting. If at first you don't succeed and all that. Sipping from her tumbler, she glances at Wade side-long, looking him up and down before staring off toward the display of what the bar had to offer by way of hard liquor. "How was your trip?" She asks smoothly, her own attire more fitting with the location, but still not exactly fitting in well. This wasn't her haunt, after all.
Hellboy steps in the front door and gets noticed because he's friggin' Hellboy. He's a seven foot tall demon in a big coat. Even in a place like this, he stands out. He looks around the place, as if momentarily making sure he's not about to be struck by any lightning. "Yup, all nice an' desecrated, I'm fine." he mutters.
He lumbers to the bar and sets his massive right hand down atop it, rubbing the other palm over his fae for a moment, "Something with rum. Send me to the islands, sucker."
Amy Allen has been here a couple times, trying to become a familiar face. Work can be hard to come by, and she's not above doing a little merc work when needed. She steps into what has to be the dingiest bar in the city and looks around. She's wearing simple jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket over the t shirt, and a beanie pulled down to cover as much of her chrome skin as possible. Though it's not possible to completely cover it. Her gaze moves to the big red… demon? and lingers there a moment, two slow blinks before there's a faint snort from her. "Takes all sorts." She makes her way towards the bar, calling for something stiff and cheap.
Recognizing Betty from last night, Wade saunters over to her and sits down, invited or not. "You have… no idea. That dude totally dosed me, and if he's got more of it, then he's totally gonna crash on my couch."
Hellboy most certainly grabs his attention, though. Like a child with ADHD, Wade turns his disgusting face toward the demon, eyes wide as if he just stumbled upon a late Christmas. "Look, look, look," he says, patting Betty's arm rapidly and nodding with his face toward the massive dude.
"Well, at least he gets a place to sleep." She smiles, even if she has zero idea what that means for the pair of tricksters. At his patting, she blinks and turns her head, sizing up the red boy with wide eyes. A shake of her head, she clears her throat, providing Hellboy a tender smile of greeting. The same would shift to Amy in kind all before Brant returns to her drink. "So," she murmurs, eyeing Pool. "If I can't get information here, is there a process for hiring someone, perhaps?"
Hellboy slowly hefts his massive right hand in the air and several of the fingers flex as the middle one remains firmly aloft and pointed in Wade's direction, "I can hear you, numbnuts. Just lemme know if that stain is botherin' ya, dollface," he adds to Betty.
He gets his drink, complete with little purple umbrella. He draws out said parasol, gives it a little shake and then downs the drink, crunching on the ice cubes at the finish. "I ain't sure if I'm a sort. Maybe I'm a kind? I dunno. There's just one o' me. Lucky that. World can handle so much of these kind of good looks."
Amy Allen catches sight of Wade from down the bar, and she blinks only once. The reaction is there to see if someone catches it, but she does blink before she lets her eyes wander just past his shoulder to Betty, and then back to Hellboy, her head having to tilt well back to look all the way up at him. Her own drink when delivered is sipped from, not downed. She takes a few steps back to look up at the big red man, then shakes her head and huhs before stepping around him, returning Betty's smile. "Who broke Ms Pacman?" She asks with a grumble in her voice, looking at the fritzed out screen.
Did he just… he totally did. Wade doesn't seem insulted in the slightest. No, to the contrary, he seems elated. "He's gonna be my new best friend," he tells Betty, before returning his attention to the woman.
"You can hire me," he tells her, matter-of-fact. "I always deliver on my promises." A pause. "Unless it involves anime girls. I don't mess with… look, nevermind. Tell me what kind of information you're looking for, and make a reasonable offer of payment, and I'm your guy." Without missing a beat, he calls out to Amy, "It was broken the moment some asshat decided to put it on 'slow mode'." Back to Betty, he rolls his eyes. "Everyone knows that game sucks unless Ms. Pac-Man is on fast mode." He then gestures for the bartender to refill his whiskey.
Betty Brant chuckles and shakes her head. "No, it's alright. I think I'm getting use to him." Glass up, she toasts Hellboy and takes another sip. She, like Amy, was nursing the drink instead of slamming it back. "Hey, seems you got a new friend." She muses Hellboy's way. A glance to Wade she parts her lips, going to speak before talk of Ms. Pac-Man begins. Smirking, she sighs and continues drinking.
"Y'know, I'm not sure how I want to go about this. Makes you a coward not to handle your own issues, doesn't it?" Glancing to the trio sharing the bar space, she finds herself staring at the amber liquid of her glass. "One more payment, though…You guys don't run on interest or anything, do you?"
"And here I forgot my party hat," Hellboy mutters. "I was always more of a Donkey Kong guy myself, but I sympathized too much with the monkey. You ever dealt with an Italian plumber from the Bronx? It'll make you think about kidnappin' a princess, I promise ya," he says.
"And it depends on the issue. Not that I'm for hire. I'm what they call under contract. Exclusive. Civil service, pretty swanky. Good dental benefits," he says, smiling wide and showing off a set of white chompers with overprominent canines."
"It was… you… did you?" Amy's silver eyes narrow slowly at Wade. "Did you break Ms Pacman?" Her head tips to the side, those narrowed eyes focusing on him for the moment, as if he's committed some grevious sin in the breaking of the game. "Doesn't make you a coward. Means you know your limits. Nothing wrong with knowing your limits." Amy remarks, ambling in Betty's direction since she can't go munch some ghosts and dots. She tips her glass up to take a slow sip from whatever she's drinking. It's amber colored, which could be a few different things. There's a bewildered look from her at Hellboy's commentary on plumbers and princesses. "I don't think… I… yeah I definitely want to know where this story comes from. For sure." She motions to the barkeep to get Hellboy a drink. Cuz that's how you buy stories. With drinks.
"I'm not the one who reset the dipswitches," Wade tells Amy, as if this one simple fact exonerates him from any blame for the game's current condition. "She's right on target there," he says, turning back to Betty. "Interest? No, that's like… Scarface, loan shark kind of shit. Do I look like Terry Fucking Benedict?"
Hellboy gathers his attention again, and there's a sly grin on his face as he truly appreciates the big red man's sense of humor. "God, I wish I had dental," he remarks, before looking back to Betty. "It's pretty simple, really. You give me the low down on what kind of information you're looking for, you name a price. I either agree…" he shrugs. "Or I don't. At this point we haggle." He offers a hand. "Wade Wilson."
The name might carry some weight for those in the right circles; it's not as if Wade goes to extra effort at concealing the fact that he's Deadpool, the Merc with a Mouth, rumored to be un-killable.
Betty Brant sits back and listens to those around her, sans the Pac-Man conversation (regardless of how true it was). "I suppose so. I mean, you're right." She agrees and nods. "Guess I never liked limits." Smirking, she shrugs and then offers a hand to Wade. "Betty Brant. It's a pleasure to meet you. I think." She smirks, eyeing the other two and offer them a hand shake as well should they want one.
"I'm sorry, you've…gone straight Mario?" She eyes Hellboy, then Amy, and back again. Another drink, she sits back slightly and speaks up. "Once upon a time it was because of a guy named Blackie Gaxton. Is he still head of his lil unit? I'm not sure. It doesn't matter, he owns my brother and because of that, my mother and myself by extension." Pause, "I guess I should start by finding out what they're all about. Maybe save a few other families in the process."
Hellboy reaches into his coat and draws out a long cigar, a Cuban. There's a story in that, too, involving Fidel Castro, sea devils and the wreck of the U.S.S. Bravura. It's a really good story. It is not that one that has been invoked.
"1984. Ghostbusters made everyone and their mama check their fridges lookin' for portals to hell. And hey, to be fair, they found a few. At this tenement in the Bronx, I got called in to check in a report from this mook named Lucio Fabrizzi. Hairy, sweaty guy. Mustache smelled like a coney dog. He's the super for this buildin' and he claims he's hearin' things in the pipes. Sample we got shows positive for…hell, I dunno the technical term. Goo. Slime. Bad shit."
"So, in I go. First, he freaks out, starts throwin' holy water at me, all the usual Pope stuff. Yadda yadda, he finally takes me to the basement and I swear to Jack Benny, this fathead is second-guessin' everythin' I do. Like, he don't know nothin'. This is my business, but because he takes hairballs out of drains, I'm supposed to defer to him? Please."
"So, I let him look for himself down this abandoned commode and it turns out the hairball is a sentient tumbleweed made of razorwire. Classic infernal nuisance pest. It slices up his face until he's drippin' marinara all of the joint. I do the only thing I can do and burn the thing to shit. I get out the mortar and plaster, slap on a few standard runes, bung up the hole and tell him not to go down there anymore."
"And what thanks do I get? The meatball sues me. Say's it's my fault he'll never settle down with a sweet little mama mia. That I messed up his face. No, brother, you messed up your face when you shoved it in that toilet after I specifically warned ya not."
"Anyways, courts threw it out, 'cause, y'know…top secret demon shit."
He listens to Betty's situation, the little she gives and nods, "Mob crap. Yeah. That's New York for ya."
Amy Allen dips her head as Wade confirms her statements to Betty, though he's still getting side eyed by the silver skinned woman. "The hell is Terry Benedict?" She asks, glancing from him to Betty and back. "Wade Wilson? Why does that name sound familiar?" She asks, peering at the heavily scarred man a little closer, but apparently can't place it because her shoulders bob and her attention shifts. "Limits can be good nice lady who's name I don't know oh now I do. I'm Amy." Changing her sentence mid flow when Betty introduces herself. "Limits can be good. They can be bad, but they can be really good. Knowing what you're capable of, when you're out of your depth. These are good things."
Amy's eyes widen, then narrow in anger as Betty mentions people owning other people. "That sounds like you need some guys made dead. That's what that sounds like. To me at least." There's a touch of a growl to her voice, though her attention wanes a bit as Hellboy starts sharing his tale. She sits, or rather stands, in silence as he relays all of it. "But where was the Princess bit?" She asks with a smirk pulling at her lips. She motions for the tender to give the big red guy another drink. Cuz that was a story and a half. "Ghost busters, portals to hell, Critters and an italian plumber all in one story. Not to mention lawsuits. Good stuff." She lifts her still half full glass in salute.
"Oceans 11?" Wade answers Amy. "Come on, great series."
Now, for his money, Wade Wilson considers Hellboy to be the single best thing to have walked through the doors of Saint Margaret's since, well, Wade Wilson. He's all but staring, completely ignoring the whiskey that was brought to him. "I love Ghostbusters even more now," he says, as if there's nothing else he could possibly say to make that story any cooler.
That's right, Hellboy just silenced Deadpool. At least for a moment.
"One time I smuggled a grenade into a gang bar… in my ass," he says, suddenly feeling the urge to compete. The moment he says it, it seems he realizes how goofy that sounds. He looks to Betty, then to Amy, then swivels around back to his drink. "Anywho…"
The whiskey is downed in a single gulp, and slid over to the bartender for a refill. "Mob shit," he tells Betty, agreeing with Hellboy. "Which is easy. You just gotta point me in the right direction, and you already have. Thing is, you don't go poking around the mob without a cleanup plan." He gestures around the bar with his eyes, then settles back on Betty. "You gotta realize, that's how it works around here. No one's gonna sell you out, because there's honor in this business. Part of that means, cleanup." Lifting his hand, he draws a knife across his own throat, spelling it out for her. "Can you stomach that?, Betty B.?"
Betty Brant stares. Eyes set on Hellboy and nothing else. Where was she? Was this a bar? What year was it? All through it she simply smiles, drinking in his tone of voice until it was all over with. "I…" she huffs. "Christ, you're deliciously 80s and I don't know what to do with myself." Eyes fluttering, she turns and faces the tender. "His next drink, after the one Amy got, is on me." She grins.
Back to business. At Amy's rage she gives a softer smile, apologetic in expression and nodding. "Right. Someone I met a few nights ago suggested I 'buy the bank'. I assume I know what that means given he gave me a gun to protect myself with." Shrugging, she then eyes Wade, her head on a swivel to make sure she was facing everyone conversationally. "I think I'm ok with it, but I'm not sure. That doesn't make me better than them, does it? How does it affect their families? Is it like I Am Legend? Do I become the monster?" Shaking her head, she lowers her gaze. "It's…easier if I keep paying. Tight, sure, but easier. If they're gone then…won't someone just take their place?" Pause. "Does it actually end?"
"Meh." Amy responds back to Wade's proclomation on Ocean's 11's greatness. "Over rated." There's a quick grin, showing off silver teeth behind those silver lips. Everything is metal. She's about to say something else, mouth open when Wade says… that. About the grenade. She stops, her mouth closing with a soft metallic click and just stares at the scarred man. "Deadpool. that's where I know your name from. Good god all the stories are true aren't they?" She lifts a hand and rubs it across her face, amidst a not so gentle screech of metal on metal before she lets her hand drop back down to her side, tucking into the pocket on her jacket. Her head dips, nodding at Betty's comment about Hellboy's 80's cred. Yup. "No. It doesn't end. Which makes no real sense. There's always another person to end their operations. They go to prison, more rise up. Where do they all even come from? But no, they don't end. These particular ones can be ended though. With prejudice. It's really about finding the crime guys who don't get overly…. much." Amy waves a hand in the air as she turns with her now empty glass to call for it to be refilled. "Wade is right though."
"The one and only," Wade answers Amy, with a snap of his fingers. "And don't let these clowns convince you that I'm named after the dead pool, they named that shit after me." He glances Amy's way and gives her a wink. Yeah… the stories are probably true, and in this case, they probably aren't exaggerated.
"You think they'll just play nice if you stop paying?" Wade asks Betty. "Fuck 'em." He snap points to Amy then. "You… don't go after the big ones. You take out the ones closest to it, then you hit one or two, you know, middle management kind of chumps, the ones that aren't so easy to replace. And if that doesn't slow 'em down, you take out some kind of asset. You know, burn down some jewelry store, make sure they know that they fucked with the wrong people. At the end of the day, these guys are businessmen, and they'll cut losses."
Betty Brant licks her lips and watches the pair conversing with her. Later, she may look at this as rather odd. Twisted, Shiney, and Red - all sharing drinks with her and just talking. Talking about fixing her issues. Sipping from her glass, she finally downs the rest of it and sets the tumbler aside, pressing it away with the tips of her painted nails. "No, no, I…you're right, I just don't know if I can do it. I feel like I should do it myself, y'know? They hurt my mom. They hurt me. I'm responsible." Sighing, she watches the pair and chews nervously at her lower lip. "What if they're not the end of it? What if my brother is still out there, fucking up and brings it home again?" Brushing back her hair, she clears her throat and adjusts her posture. "I'm sorry. I've never really talked about killing someone so openly before. Not seriously, anyway."
"They won't. Play nice that is." Amy points at Wade as he lays out how to deal with people like that. "Businessmen." She lets out a hard snort and rolls her eyes, the motion visible from the way the shine on them shifts, not from any visible pupil or anything. "He's right though. Make it cost more for them and they'll back off. Generally. Not always true. But the smart ones will." Amy's head turns, taking in the bar full of mercs and killers. "Well, this is definitely the place to pop that cherry then." There's a quick grin from Bombshell before she fishes into her pocket and pulls out a battered phone and curses. "Shit. I have to go. Standing around listening to demons tell stories and Deadpool plan out a hit on the mob." She grins at the group again. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you all around. Betty if you need help? Barkeep has my number. Wade if you want help with the mob guys? I might not even take a share." She winks at him, then makes for the exit.
Wade remains silent as Amy lays out the particulars of the crime, an eyebump cocked and a grin on his face. "I like this one, too," he asides to Betty in reference to Amy, and before she leaves, he'll acknowledge the offer. "You'll be the first one I call, Pinball!"
He glances at your computer screen, though it could easily be misconstrued as words for Betty or Hellboy. "What is it with the metal chicks lately?"
The next shot of whiskey is taken down, and he looks to Betty. "Whatever you do, don't handle it yourself. If you wanna stop paying them? Let the professionals handle it. As for your brother…" The suddenly goofy Wade Wilson is gone. "Sounds like he needs a good scare himself."
Betty lifts her head and waves off Amy. "Thank you." She calls out, voice ringing and genuine. Hand down, she eyes the tender, nodding their way to request another drink. Glancing to Hellboy, she shifts in her seat and turns back around to Wade. Eye to eye, she sighs and nods. "I won't. I can't." A glance around, she chuckles. "Yeah, well…she's right. I know I came here for a reason." Rubbing her temple she accepts her drink, sipping from it and taking a moment of silence.
"I doubt you could find him. Part of me doesn't want him found. Another part wants him strung up." Shrugging, she takes another smooth swig. "If this were you, and you weren't what you are now, who you are now…someone more normal, like me, what would you do?" She asks Wade pointedly.
"Don't ask me to be your moral compass," Wade counters. "I've got my own code of honor, but that ship sailed a long time ago, before Afghanistan." He shrugs. "I'm just not that person. Anything I tell you… it's not gonna be from the perspective you want it to come from."
Motioning for the bartender, he asks for two more shots of whiskey. One is slid over toward Betty. His eyes are stuck upon her, and there's something friendly and trustworthy about them. Look hard enough though, and there's also something cold.
"Here's what you do, Betty. You lay out your options, like… like scales. Yeah?" He taps each finger in turn. "You; working girl, trying to make ends meet in the Big Apple. The brother; probably a douchebag, has a problem with gambling or coke or what-the-fuck-ever, and is gonna be a pain in your ass until he either digs his own grave, or someone scares him straight. And the mob; dangerous bullies who do charge interest, daily, and probably won't stop so long as your tail is tucked up between those pretty legs of yours."
Oh, he's not hitting on her. Wade is merely remarking on what the mob is likely to see, and his eyebrows raise in an attempt at convicting her to action.
"So." He reaches for the shot glass, and holds it aloft, a smile coming to his lips and a twinkle to his eye. "What'll it be?"
"I'm not…" She stalls there, glancing down at the shot set before her. Sighing she falls silent, listening, eyes meeting his own and lingering. Her own look is trusting and painfully tired. Reaching for her glass, she picks it up and holds it aloft, shifting in her seat just enough to face him directly and without any twisting.
"I'd like your help, Mr. Wilson. I'm, well, tired of being tired." Glass out, she gives them a tap, allowing that melodic clink to fall flat given the rest of the bar's noise. Tipping it back, she downs the shot and sets the glass down.
Hellboy comes out of the can, slamming the door behind him, "Do not go in there. Seriously. I beg of you. Sulfur can be toxic."
He returns to the bar and slumps down, "So, she payin' you to kill anybody yet?" he asks Deadpool, settling his oversized keister back onto his barstool.
*Clink!*
Wade downs the shot with vigor, and sets the glass down. "She is now," he tells Hellboy. "Probably, you know, more than just one or two, depending on what kind of goons we're dealing with. Oh!" He looks past Betty to Hellboy, grinning excitedly. "I probably get to rough up her asshole brother too!" Back to Betty he turns. "I will promise, though: this time I won't shove a grenade up my ass and pull the pin." Oh, he's gonna be talking about that one for weeks. And it doesn't sound as if he's joking. "You shoulda seen the looks on their faces though!" He laughs aloud, then leans back into his seat with a happy sigh. "Ohhhh, Classic. The getting blown in half part sucked buuuut, whatever. Pain is temporary, Pride is forever."
Betty Brant shakes her head and brushes her hair behind the shell of her ear. She nods toward Hellboy, "Welcome back." She muses, leaving behind everything they had talked about even if no details were laid out quite yet. "Judging by what he said, you're not the only one who blows up ends." A smirk, she looks between the pair and returns to nursing her whiskey. "Ok, I've heard about the grenade, blowing up and…Christ, probably a great deal more now that I'm working with the man." A motion to Hellboy, she smiles. "What about you? Why are you here?"
Hellboy gets another drink, crunching on the ice cubes, "Me? Cause there ain't a lot of bars I can go to in town where nobody will blink too hard at me. The clientele here's kinda scummy, but I always got along with scummy. Real evil is always high class," he says.
He puts a hand up to salute Deadpool, "I wish you luck in your mission, Captain Rectum."
Wade actually snorts at Betty's joke. "Nah, this'll probably be a silencer with hollowpoints kind of deal. Or I might just use swords. Depends on how messy it needs to be. But don't you worry." He nods to Betty. "They're all walking corpses anyway. Doesn't matter if it's you or me or the Toilet Thrasher here who does it. So, don't you go losing any sleep over all this."
Hellboy's salute is greeted with one of his own. "No luck. Just square aim and maximum effort."
"I'll try." She smiles at her drink, finishing it off and setting it aside. "I should get out of here, I think. Enough booze in me for the night and…I have things to think about." A glance Wade's way, "Or not think about." Digging for a pen, she scribbles down a number and hands it to Wade. Stepping back, she smiles at the pair and offers them both a two fingered salute. "Have a wonderful evening, gents. Don't get too crazy, hmm?" Turning heel, Brant starts clicking away from the bar, this time with a bit of ease in her stride.
Hellboy watches Betty walk out and shakes his head, "Dames. I like to make 'em come and I love to watch 'em leave," he says, hitting another drink. "Anyways, be careful there, kid. Any rose that sweet's gonna have a few thorns. Don't get pricked, huh?"