Summary:Slade Wilson drops in on Rose, unexpectedly. It's the famly-renunion that Rose never wanted. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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Somehow, Rose Wilson has made her way up to the rooftop of the Manhattan Hotel. And, furthermore, she has managed to smuggle a beach chair up here. Presently, the platinum haired teenage girl is relaxing on this beach chair. An open button up shirt is worn, beneath which a lace top is revealed, and a tight pair of jeans. Her feet are bare, but there's a pair of high heeled boots off to the side.
She's staring up at the moon, her silouette slightly recognizable by the sheer lights around Times Square. And, she appears to be smoking - the distinct smell of pot weaving it's way up through the air and at her side are few empty bottles of liquor, a twenty-four pack of beer, a few full bottles of liquor, and through her phone someone is playing some hard rock tunes, and a female singer singing about 'A New Pony'. The Dead Weather's cover of the Bob Dylan song.
At her other side? A pistol. A pair of hilts without blades. A pistol. And, a backpack, full.
Noh-Varr is just flying from point A to point B. After all, when you can fly, why call Lyft? Except maybe when you've had too much to drink. Friends don't let friends fly drunk. He'd need to drink a lot though to get to that point. Anyway, as he passes over Times Square, he spots someone on top of the hotel and swoops down for a closer look. Despite what some say, swooping is not necessarily bad. A closer look reveals a somewhat familiar face and he comes in for a landing. "You carry the beach chair?" He's in jeans and a tee-shirt, his Nega-Bands visible as is the fingerless gauntlet on his right hand.
Rose squints as the figure lands. The recognition is immediate, and she relaxes, "Noh-Varr. Kree Warrior. SWORD Agent." She sucks in a rather large drag from the joint, watching him with her singular eye, then holds the smoke for a long moment before slowly blowing it out in relaxed fashion. "Nah. Borrowed it. Some loser downstairs forgot it at the pool when he went to thejohn." She shrugs. "Come to do a strip search and make sure I didn't take any alien tech with me?"
Her tone doesn't carry any rancor, and it's hard to tell if she's being sarcastic, or flirtacious.
"Don't really care if you did." Noh-Varr answers. "I'm not customs. Though if you did and it explodes in your pocket, I get to say I told you so. Not that I told you so in the first place so maybe I don't get to say that." Walking over to the edge, he glances down then around. "Nice view."
Noh-Varr's statement gets a chuff of the barest amusement from Rose. "Unlikely." Of her having an alien weapon exlode in her pants.
"You can say anything you damn well want, it's a free country." And, clearly Rose has no qualms about taking her own advice. Ever. A brief shrug. "Came up here so nobody would bother me." But, the self-same girl who clearly says whatever is on her mind isn't asking Noh-Varr to leave. At least, not yet.
In fact …, "Want a drink? Got whiskey. Or beer. Sorry. No pansy-ass drinks."
"If it's good whiskey." Turning away from the edge, Noh-Varr walks back to the chair. "I like pansy ass drinks. They taste good. And since none of your alcohol has much effect on me, taste is the only point to it unless I drink a whole lot. A /whole/ lot. So what's with the bladeless hilts? Energy blades?"
The singular eye of the casually dressed girl narrows thoughtfully on Noh-Varr. She makes an affirmative sound that's not quite a grunt, but certainly not a word as she leans to snatch a bottle of the proposed whiskey and it's tossed lazily in Noh-Varr's direction. When the label can be read, it's a bottle of Glenlivet.
"Yeah. It takes a lot," she agrees, as if she really understood some of what Noh-Varr was getting at. A last toke on the joint is taken, and then she chases it with a few swigs from the whiskey bottle.
"Figured you'd still be pushing paperwork, after all that crap. Give you another bottle of that if you get my ride out of jail," she offers, casually, clearly referring to the skimmer that she is still very jaded about SHIELD confinscating.
Noh-Varr catches the bottle, opens it and takes a swig. "Scotch." he notes then takes another swig, holding the bottle by the neck. "I made my report and that was that. There wasn't much I could tell them so it was short. Woke up in a cell, broke out, killed aliens, escaped, killed more aliens, SHIELD showed up. The rest is up to the science guys. Who almost certainly have dismantled everything by now."
"Idiots. Waste of a damn cool vehicle," Rose laments, bitterly, from her vantage on the beach chair on the roof. "Not that any of them could drive it. Was a bitch to control. Those assholes were strong. Not very good in battle, though. Their entire strategy was a poor combination of wait out their enemy and overcome with brute strength. If you can even call that a strategy." She snorts, deresively.
"But, I can't complain. If they'd had any real military experience, we likely would've had our asses handed to us by their numbers," she admits, honestly.
"It would have made it more difficult to win." Noh-Varr allows but isn't ready to concede defeat to the hypothetical. "We'd just have needed to really fight. But they probably weren't used to anyone who can fight back and just kidnapped them while they were sleeping and helpless. Cowards, all of them." He punctuates his condemnation with a large swig.
A sentiment Rose can agree with, and she nods her head. And, after a few moments she states something that everything Noh-Varr (or, for that matter, anyone else in that group) had done had not given her cause or reason, in her mind, to state. "Rose," she tells Noh-Varr, simply, matter-of-factly. But her last name is not shared. The statement of her name, synonomous with a flower of the same name (but just as thorny) might cause a moment's span of confusion.
"You know any of those others?" Meaning, those who could fight.
|ROLL| Maximus +rolls 1d20 for: 14
Speaking of a moment's span of confusion, there's another person up here. He seems to be wearing pajamas. His feet are bare, silky pants blow about in the wind up here, and a white robe with some black trim on it is loose. Its really only accomplishing protecting his arms, since his chest is bare. Black curls whip around too, and his grey eyes have a mercurial quality, like he might be a brilliant artist…or he might be on drugs. Its hard to tell. He puts his hands on his hips, and eyes the two people. "Huh…I didn't know this was up here."
Noh-Varr nods at the name. He gave his own then so doesn't bother again. "Not one. Which is a shame since many were quite attractive. The one named Peter is very cute and has a very nice body. Do you know any of them? Though I'd be surprised if anyone knew anyone else. The aliens probably took everyone from different locations." Looking over at Max, he asks Rose "Did you bring someone with you? I didn't. Who are you?" he asks Max.
"Not a damn one," admits Rose, to Noh-Varr, casually. Maximus' appearance has her sitting up in the beach chair she'd purloined from some fool who'd left it alone in the pool area for less than five minutes while she was walking by. And don't ask how she got several bottles of hard liquor, and a 24 pack of beer up here.
She pulls her backpack close, sits - in what Noh-Varr will reocognize as a subtle position of 'readiness' to respond to a threat.
She watches Maximus, but, doesn't admit to recognizing him. She was in costume, the one time they'd met in a garden. "Should go to Morocco, apparently," Rose says sarcastically, "If I want some peace and quiet, apparently."
Maximus dips down his chin and his eyes shift between the pair. He drops his arms down to his sides. "No no…you are supposed to let /me/ go first. Then, I say…'I know your future'" He wiggles his fingers "…you ask a question you don't get the answer to', THEN you ask who I am." He squints his eyes at Noh-Varr, in particular. An overbroad smile flits across his features. Its much the same effect as someone pretending to smile for a photo, and getting it wrong. "I'll go away if you call me in an order of Chinese food…to the penthouse suite."
"High." is Noh-Var's verdict. "I suggest you call room service." Looking back to Rose, though he shifted position enough to be able to keep an eye on Max, he says "Morocco. That's on Africa right? I still don't know your geography well or the names of all your countries. You have so many of them. You really need a unified world government before you start venturing into space. Who will make treaties for your planet? Or command its defenses if you get attacked?"
"Probably," agrees Rose in regards to Noh-Varr's assessment. The hotel staff, afterall, generally wouldn't let someone too mentally unstable into their domain. She watches Maximus, though, even though she talks to Noh-Varr. Almost as if she didn't trust the man.
"How the hell should I know? I don't get paid nearly enough to care, let alone figure that out. Probably the asshats you work for, though," she tells Noh-Varr. "Isn't that the purpose of SWORD?"
Finally, she turns her singular eye away from Maximus to smirk at Noh-Varr.
"I would, but…I put eight more buttons on the phone in the room…and I don't recall what they do." Maximus makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "You do not seeeeeem to be from here. On Africa? That is a really weird way to say it." He looks to Rose. "Be careful with this one." He points at Noh-Varr. "He might be a crazy person. You have no way of really knowing who you meet up on a roof." Saaaage advice…
Really, it was a rhetorical questions. "Yes." Noh-Varr agrees. "And it's why I joined them. It makes my job of protecting your planet easier. But SWORD doen't stand a chance against a serious attack by the Kree, Skrulls or Shi'ar. Or even one of the smaller races." Who are barely worth mentioning, really. After taking another drink, he adds "It takes the combined resources of an entire world to fight off a global invasion." He could be discussing the weather by his tone. "I am not. I am a Kree warrior. And Africa is a continent on your planet." he then explains to Max. "There are lots of different countries on the continent." The comment about buttons is ignored.
Rose takes two weapon hilts lacking blades that had been set out, and stuffs them into her backpack. And, out of the backpack, she withraws a Glock 22, casually, as if she were about to clean it. "It's because scientists are nosey jerks and have to get up all in anyone else's business until they find out everything. So, ultimately, we'll piss on some space corn flakes, and a war will start. Then SWORD will rally. And, the Avengers will get off their asses. Whoever else will join up. There will be proaganda about doing your civic duty. Then, if the movies are right, we'll wind up on a gorilla planet. Something like that."
The platinum haired girl with one eye looks back to Maximus after she gives Noh-Varr her assessment, part honesty, part snark, of the eventuality. "Yeah," she agrees. "Let alone anywhere else. You want something?"
|ROLL| Maximus +rolls 1d20 for: 10
Maximus swallows when Noh-Varr reveals himself as a Kree Warrior. "Chinese…but…I'll get it." He says to Rose. Then he turns around and runs for the door that leads back down into the hotel.
Noh-Varr has to think a moment then shakes his head. "I don't know of any gorilla planet but I'm not really familiar with your galaxy." Reaching up, he runs a hand over his hair as Max runs off. "What a strange person."
"Magic Tattoo Dogs seem to like him. But, that's another story," Rose says, mildly. "He's weird enough, alright. Pretty well off, though. Or has a friend who is." She grunts, "It's a cheap Hollywood movie reference. Man. You need to get out more," she half-complains to Noh-Varr, and stuffs the gun back into her backpack.
Magic tattoo dogs? He's not going to ask. "You know him then." Something else Noh-Varr's not going to ask. Taking another drink, he offers the bottle back. "I'm late so will let you go back to being alone and drinking. If you run into more aliens, call SWORD. They can give me the message."
"Yeah. There's a orange-skinned one. Fires bolts of energy from her hands. Really odd," Rose half-jests to Noh-Varr, dryly. But she lifts her hand in a farewell wave. "Later, loser."
She leans back onto her beach chair, and grabs another bottle of beer, turning up the music, and watches the very pretty Kree alien boy head off.
"And loud." Noh-Varr agrees then flies off.