2019-08-10 - A Job Offer


Able and Amanda meet under purposeful dire circumstances.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sat Aug 10 18:15:17 2019
Location: The Disaster Zone

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Theme Song




It wasn't a call of reluctance. So many years have passed that one could actually get over hurt feelings if there ever really were any. But the call was now put out. Waller, remaining in her business suit at the checkpoint in the large black van, checks the watch upon her wrist as she opens her purse. A set of bobby-pins were drawn out, her thick, coiled hair soon pulled and tugged into a bun, bobby pins placed, more retrieved, more placed to keep her hair in tact and out of the way.

The coat of the pants suit that she wore was soon tugged off, revealing a holster set that houses two pistols at her side. The strap on them tight for a secure fit, probably not regulation, but since when did Amanda care when it came to regulations? Especially when it wasn't set herself.

The driver looks back towards Amanda then nods. "It's almost time. You sure about this?"

"Don't worry." She says cooly. "I need the exercise." As in, she was going to walk right through the Disaster Zone, straight to Turtle Bay.

"Just ensure that the protocols are in place if I'm not there in two days."

"Yes Ma'am." The driver says, then turns around.

"Your knife."

"Excuse me?" He asks.

"Give me your knife."

The man reaches into his coat, retrieving a small switchblade, which was flicked open for Amanda with a quiet click, then handed over. Once Amanda takes the blade, she examines it then flicks it closed, then sticks it into her pants pocket.

"See you in a bit. Close channels. Don't need that person listening to what the fuck we say."

And with that, she exits the car.

It's been a while, it's true. With their history, these things happen. Still, Able has always leaned toward looking at life logically. He likes things that are quantifiable. Reactions to an action. Unless he's angry, at which point he becomes the action to react to. No anger today; he's curious, even intrigued by this unexpected summons.

There was brief scuffle on his way to the requested location. He appears none the worse for wear after encountering a group of squatters who thought him an easy target. A bit of dust on his otherwise flawless suit, tie just barely loosened, and a long, diagonal scratch that runs from his jawline toward his throat. Unnoticed, it's wept a single drop of blood that seems doggedly determined not to fall into his starched collar.

The scuffle must have been recent, as he's still wiping down his own blade. It's a WWI-era design complete with knuckledusters and a pommel spike, but looks like it was forged yesterday. Once it's clean, he tucks it into a sheath behind his hip and lets the tail of his jacket fall over it. Then he pulls a bulky revolver from a shoulder holster and starts methodically reloading empty chambers with shells that are longer than the width of his hand. While he works, he hums a quiet, cheerful tune under his breath.

Her equipment was already checked in the car. A cigar was taken from her pocket as well as a lighter, which was soon light and dragged upon, not inhaled. It was one of those thinly rolled ones, ones that put out the fragrance of tobacco and whiskey, it taken from her lips and pinchined in between fingers to wave in front of herself so that the smoke could gather upon her clothes. Not that she wore perfume, but this would be a scent she would put out in the Disaster Zone so that anyone, or anything with the sense could come and find her.

"You're late." Amanda says, popping the cigar back into her mouth, taking another drag, pulling the cigar out to waft in front of her. "Punctual as you used to tell your people you surely aren't showing it now." Amanda would be amused, if she actually were to look at his current state of dress, but she didn't. There were times when she couldn't stand to look at him, and others when she did. Right now? It was no telling. She was attempting to steel herself, in inappropriate attire and all.

The ghost of a smile tugs at Able's thin lips as he snaps his revolver's cylinder back into place. The smell of smoke. A familiar voice. It brings back memories.

Once the weapon is stowed beneath his coat he finally glances up. He's often dry, even sardonic, even though today his blue eyes are alight with amusement and interest. "Amanda," he says by way of greeting. There's a slow, deliberate nod, almost an abbreviated bow. "I was detained. A thousand apologies, but you could've picked a spot that was a bit more… cosmopolitan. I know how much you love your cloak and dagger, but the riffraff here can be awfully persistent."

A pause as he takes a step closer. "You look good. Been staying busy, I trust?"

"John." Able really didn't have a name. But any variation of what she called him was a clue to what her mood will be. Right now? It's cordial. She was here to relieve some stress and go over a few things while having someone, while somewhat trusted, watch her back. Still, there wasn't a smile, just a gaze over the fields in the Disaster Zone, attempting to discern a few movements from afar, neither friendly or foe.

"I picked the spot where I needed to be." As he steps closer, she turns to face him, gesturing out towards the damaged lands. "And also, staying busy as I need to be. You've never changed, but that's par for the course." She smirks, then glances off into the distance again. "No cloak and dagger today. Today is leg day." That smirk still remains, as her head tilts. "Shall we?"

'John' holds his now-empty hands low at his sides with his palms facing Waller. It's a gesture of surrender, but there's a hint of mocking to it when it's paired with his tiny smile. "Perfection never changes. Lead the way."

Despite his dapper (if somewhat mussed) appearance and his impeccable (if slightly sarcastic) manners, when they move off it's obvious that he's a man accustomed to trouble. Every inch of landscape is devoured by his inquisitive eyes with extra attention paid to anything resembling a hiding place or ambush point. "Is there anything I need to know?"

Amanda drops the smirk, then cuts a roll of her eyes as she begins to walk. Her entire outfit was not practical; three inch boots that do provide ankle support but not good on the current terrain. A pants suite made of the finest linen, quite possibly Vera Wang or Gucci, but not meant for strenuous exercise or a brisk run. The belt itself was designer and the white blouse she wears is see through enough to see the cami that she wears beneath. So far.

That fabric? Made of silk.

But still she presses forward into the beginnings of the Distaster Zone, retrieving her pistol from it's holster, doing the necessary checks to make sure one bullet was loaded in the chamber.

"In between 2010 and 2014 we were practically on the brink of war. Those people, mutants and the superpowered folk started to come out in the open and it made people who were similiar to myself frightened. The 'greatest' political minds gathered into a room and decided thus; we needed to know more. The registration act began."

Waller stops, hearing a sound off into the distance, then begins to move carefully, gun held and prepared to shoot at a moments notice. She only carried five clips, and this was done with a purpose.

"You could say that there was a world at war, but on my very soil. Civil unrest, crime rates at an all time high all across the board, until the ass end, where shit hit the fan and most of the world leaders were possibly killed on this very spot." It all could be speculation, a story she's telling. Who knows.

She stops short, and looks to the east, five hundred yards ahead there was a scavenger. Possibly some low level sub-human compared to Waller, who didn't deserve a second glance.

"Registration Act disbanded but there was much in fighting. You would think after such a devastation the world would be in a better place. We are still one of the top axis powers here in the world but there is much work to do overseas. And I've been put to the task of assembling a team to ensure that this is what must be done." She pauses. "Correction. Take over. What once was a team of criminals restricted to the Raft, I decided to expand. These mutants and super powered kind are a blood thirsty lot, hiding behind the guise of goodness and justice for all. But put into a position where it's one or the other, or where the good outweigh the few.." She leaves that to open interpretation.

"The Thunderbolts. I know you've heard of the grey."

As little as John/Able cares about the rest of humanity as a general rule, even these facts haven't eluded him. Much of the world is in shambles. As far as he's concerned, that's good for business. He nods along with the explanation until it reaches its terminus.

When Waller is finished he cocks an eyebrow upward and shoots her a sidelong glance. "I'm familiar. You're not an easy woman to keep tabs on, but I've looked in on you from time to time."

The scavenger earns a second glance from the doctor, who has already fallen back into old habits. Mentally cursing himself for not bringing a heavy weapon, he readies his sidearm in case of emergency. "I sense there's more to this meeting than a bit of bodyguard duty while we catch up. There's never a shortage of strapping young fools willing to dive on grenades for the cause."

"I know." Amanda states. "But you only saw the surface." What didn't he see, she wouldn't tell him. Maybe one day..

"Yes, there's more to the meeting. Right now, we're heading to the base that I'm slowly erecting in Turtle Bay. And I'm testing the waters." If you're going to put something somewhere impossible, see if you can get there first. Especially if it comes to feasible evacuation routes, hidden spaces.. besides. This all felt coming come.

Good thing Amanda doesn't suffer from PTSD.

"We make it to the end unscathed, then I'll continue with my plan. And afterwards, I'll offer you a job. I already have the first mission in mind for you and your disposables."

"So you're in search of a shepherd for your wayward flock," Able had suspected as much, but expected a great deal more verbal fencing before getting an answer. "I do miss having access to a proper laboratory."

It's not a confirmation of interest or an acceptance of the implied offer, but he's clearly intrigued by the possibility. A short time passes while they walk and he ponders. "Very well," he concludes. "I'll get you to your destination and hear your proposal, but it'll cost you a civilized dinner when we're finished."

Bold. Most people wouldn't bargain with a woman capable of raining down government-issued fire and brimstone. Then again, he isn't most people. Absently, he dabs away the drops of blood at his throat when it finally begins to trickle down.

"Yes." Amanda admits.

The rest of it, she doesn't say. Not just yet. Her plans always had stipulations; forcing people to do things that they really don't want to do. In Able's case, it would be the lab. He may not appreciate the future that he'll inevitably sign up to.

"I never said that I needed you to get me to my destination." She states. "Didn't I say that it was leg day?"

Right on cue, the further path that they took over the ruins and the rubble leads them into the beginnings of Hell. Rocks begin to tremble and near crumple, falling from their spots and knocking against curved architecture that remained upon the ground. A low rumbling growl could be heard in the distance, as well as the sounds of running. It seemed to be coming from all directions.

Even Amanda with her good sense couldn't tell where it was coming from, which is what makes this all the more thrilling, exciting.

"Suppose I don't need to ask you if you're ready." She says as the sound intensifies. Where someone would panic, call out sit-reps, issue orders.. Amanda is a stalwart figure, still plowing through her path. She herself? She was ready..

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