Summary:After a poor night of thieving, Snart talks Rory into the idea of forming a criminal group all their own. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
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Lena Snart was not having a good night. She was out, doing a job, leaving behind the hot-head in their hideaway of choice for the evening. It should have been easy, a snatch -and-grab from a small caravan. She was excited about it, a willing drive and want to test out some new weaponry. There was good about the night, and then there was the bad. Eventually, she makes it home.
The door opens and she limps in, panting from the stress of her trip, hand down and almost mutilated Jadis by her side. Flecks of blood were across her pale, sweaty face and a scowl rests on her dark lips.
"Y'need to stop doing that." The voice comes from the couch, disappoving and gruff. Certainly the former was likely less expected than the latter. Mick stands, scratching at his chin with a grow. "Pullin' jobs and stuff without me. Makes a guy feel…unwanted." The hulking figure moves forwards, but there was no angry looming or accusation, instead his arm reaches out to steady her and draw Lena in as he continues. "Plus you keep running into heroes, getting outnumbered and getting your ass kicked."
Sympathy, thy name is Mr Rory. "C'mon. I'll make you a snack and you can tell me who we're punching."
"You were busy." She explains evenly. "You know I don't like bugging you when you're in a good writing flow." There's a frown at his comment. "You're not unwanted." Leaning into him freely, only showing such weakness to him (and even that was rare), she stumbles over and sighs, finally getting off of her feet. "Tell me about it. This time it was some…guy. I don't know what he was. Russian, could teleport, I think? Heat was rolling off him like it does you, just naturally." She then glares at her gun, reaching up and slipping her visor off. "Fucked up, Jadis. Look at her…" Indeed, it was as if someone ripped her apart on a basic construction level. "I think I broke his nose, though." She shrugs.
"There was a cat lady there, too. Literal lady that was also a cat." A swallow, she sighs. "The grenades worked. Ice gun did, too, but I feel like they're off. I had it easy. These guys in black attacked the same truck. Killed two, but only one on purpose." A slump, even a pout. "I have to tell my John I didn't get his stuff. I keep fucking up I'm going to lose my cred."
"If I have to go killing someone or busting you out of prison? That's going to take me out of it more…besides…I'm kinda taking a break. Writer's block." A shrug, the large man just makes to take the wreckage of the gun and carry it over to their workbench…well, it had been a coffee table, but it served the same purpose. "We'll fix her later," he instructs, setting the gun down and then turning back to listen to the story. "So…cat lady, a fire gu and…so dudes in black?"
The questions were counted off on his fingers, but that last question has a frown returning. "OUR cred," he interjects. "Who've you taken this job for?"
"John, you know how they are. No names with deep pockets. Checked out with others so…I took it. Was hoping to give it to…" She stalls out and sighs. Closing her eyes, she wasn't herself lately. She wasn't thinking like the Snart she was. Her head leans back as she slumps there, still in her armor and winter getup.
"I've been thinking. Maybe…maybe we should make a group of scum like us. The threat out there is getting bigger. Powerful. Dealing with the Speedster was one thing, but this?"
"I thought we didn't do teams?" the man frowns, dropping next to the woman and lazily toying with her hair while one heavy arm slinks around her shoulders. "Egos, gimmicks and crazy people…wasn't that the whole thing?"
A nod comes however, accompanied by a little growl. "Yeah. That guy might have been hard to hit, but at least when we -did- hit him, it hurt. People in tights just walking through bullets and napalm is…cheating."
"We don't. I also thought I didn't trust anyone but you." A pause, she turns her head to face him directly. "That's actually still very true. I've just been…making friends, I think. I don't know how to feel about it. I hate it, honestly, and I like it." Still frowning, she shifts just enough to lean into the bruiser, nestling up against his side.
"I know, but I've started looking at things differently. If you get iced, I couldn't keep going. Lisa's back in my life so I have to think about her." Beat. "Those supes out there just aren't…as good as we are, as peerless as we are, maybe having the option of backup isn't so bad." A look up, her gloved fingers lightly brush across his jaw. "Think of what we can do with that extra hit of power. The jobs we can take, the scores we can get. We could rule this city's underworld. Bring it a better class of criminal."
"Friends?" There's a pause, a little smirk. "The hot fish one?" he raises an eyebrow, indeed giving a little grin that he almost certainly figures he'll get punched for. That being said, his arm does tighten around her, a light grumble coming from his throat at the mention of the smaller Snart.
"Kid's a walking trouble magnet. Don't forget to keep an eye on yourself when you're watching out for her. Still, a better class of criminal…?" He grins, tilting his head. "I like that…"
"Yeah, her. And a hot guy from the desert. Has this whole…Prince of Persia thing going." She explains. "The one I punched during out gem heist? Him." As he pulls her in, she settles up, careful of her busted ankle. "I know," she laments regarding Lisa. "But I have you to look after me, right?" Smiling, she nods. "That's right. We'll have a code, do things as they should be done. The supes have powers, organisations, groups - it's our turn."
"A league of our own?" Mick muses, smirking a little as if he found the reference far more intelligent than it actually was. Those beefy fingers stroke through her hair, half-combing the tresses while he nods. "Yeah, you've got me here. You've always got me to look out for you."
The idea was rolling in her head, set and steady. She slumps against his grip, looking out at nothing in particular, her head on his shoulder. At length, she speaks, "I can't go back to prison, Mick. Never. Something about it just…makes me afraid." Then she swallows. "I hate being afraid."
He nods, quiet in his acceptance. Weakness wasn't something either of them showed with others, it was truely just a reflection for themselves and each other in the privacy of their space. "No prison will hold us Lena. If it even manages to catch us long enough to put us behind walls? I'll bust 'em down myself."
Lena Snart looks up in his direction once more. There's a searching, calm and gentle. Before long, she's slipping up and into the man's lap, cradling his face and pressing her lips against his own. One palm cups the back of his skull as the other arm wraps around his broad shoulders.