2019-11-24 - The Rogue's Table


A gathering of rogues become something more.

Log Info:

Storyteller: {$storyteller}
Date: November 24th, 2019
Location: Safehouse, NYC

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They didn't have a name. One was tossed out at their last 'meeting' and hung heavy in the air. They needed a name, but for now, at least they had a place to meet. This time, it wasn't public. It wasn't at some seedy bar with droning rock on a busted jukebox. Nor did it smell heavily of smoke, piss, and beer (granted, it did have a slight beer aroma). This place was…oddly homey, though spartan, and in some long-forgotten apartment complex on the south end of the city.

A room was given, number and floor. That was enough to send out to those parties interested in attending. The room is spacious, but a studio apartment with maybe two 'rooms' - a bedroom and bathroom respectively. The rest was open space with a few funishings still covered in plastic. A TV is playing, old and boxy with a glitching picture sometimes rolling up the screen. The movie for tonights white noise enjoyment is some mob flick about a G-man attempting to bring down Capone.

Sitting on the kitchen island is a girl of pale skin and dark hair. Her attire is suitable for her profession, armored and black, with her glimmering blue parka resting to the side. Goggles up and eyes exposed, she watches across the room attentively.

Mick wasn't one for creative names, any he'd even considered had been shot down for good reason pretty quick. Still, the man was here, wrapped in his coat and leaning against the island nearby. Serious meetings or not, it didn't stop the fact that the man currently had a beer in one hand that had been pulled from the fridge. What's the point of a safe house if you didn't keep it stocked?

Leaning near his partner, the big brute was just sort of…waiting, lingering for more wordy people to chime in on the ideas side of things. He'd always been more of an 'actions' sort of guy anyway.

A multi-wrapping's worth of black scarf, tassled and visually well-loved, keeps the worst of the chill of November air from his face as he travels to the safe house designated. Ambrose scales the fire stairs leading up to the window and whether or not he's seen upon entry, he's into the open living room with very little sound. Sliding the window closed again, the thief plucks down the scarf from around his face to reveal five o'clock shadow and a slant of a grin, teeth pale. Ambient light in the room flickers through his pupils in nightshine red as he strolls towards Lena and Mick at a leisurely, confident pace with hands in the pocket of his dark field jacket. It's eerie how those combat boots make so little sound.

"Lieutenant Atherton, present and accounted for," he drawls in his crisp British accent.

Ford was still getting used to the idea of working with other criminals. He had not really considered himself a career criminal, this was always meant to be a temporary support system until he got a better job with another garage. But as things plodded on, his impatience was getting the better of him. He needed more, now. And his legitimate prospects were getting slimmer. So… when Lena sent out the address, he responded.

Shortly after Ambrose arrived, Ford wasn't too far behind, hands in his pockets, and his disguise for today, something simple. He'd altered his hair and face a little bit - he opted for cheesy bright blonde, and thinned his face, and changed his eyes from green to a deep brown. "Little formal for a meeting of riffraff and street rats, wouldn't you say, Lieutenant." Ford quipped, following in behind and nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. "Couldn't stay away, eh, gorgeous? What's up?"

Lena Snart muses a smirk toward Ambrose. "Good evening, Pretty." And to Ford, she furrows her brows without saying a word. "Well, you're here. I suppose that's good. I talked with Mick here about everything we gabbed about at the bar. If we still want to do something with this…union of shadowy types, we can. I also like the suggestion of pulling off some job to see how we work together. Nothing worse than being out there and people not following the plan." A glance to Mick, she thumbs his way. "This is my partner, Mick Rory. We've been at this for awhile, but he likes the idea of being a better class of criminal. He's fire and muscle, my favorite brute."

"We should consider what we're good at and go from there. Then we should consider what we're looking for as far as a score goes. What we need individually, to make this group worth having."

Ambrose Mick had met, at least in passing. It had been an interesting encounter, but he knew the face. Ford on the other hand, shifted or not, wasn't anyone the man knew. His greeting of Lena, it earns a scoff and a slight lean forward. "Always one," he comments aloud before making to straighten up. "Hands to yourself surfer boy," he comments before taking an uncomfortably long drain of his beer and setting the bottle aside. Not a man of subtlety or complex greetings, clealy.

"Manners are always to be lauded," the master-thief notes nonchalantly as he finds his way to the back of the couch. Here he sits, one leg extended and the other picked up to rest sole of boot against one of the frame's wooden slats.

He smiles coolly at Mick as he loosely folds his arms, appearing content as a cat in the cream being present in such company. The smile deepens as he curls tongue up to suckle at his canine tooth visibly, a thoughtful tic.

"Master Rory, a pleasure to properly meet you." Or is it? At least Ambrose's tone is pleasantly neutral. "Master Bennett, a pleasure to see you again." Same tone. "And of course, Miss Lena." A nod to her. "Whatever we choose to test our mettle, know that I have a goodly number of years to my name in this field and a…rather supernatural ability to convince anyone that my ideas are…very good ideas. Consider me your 'people person'. I have convinced Interpol that I exist only questionably at best."

Lena knows this all too well from the first time they met.

Ford smirked at Mick's comment, folding his arms over his chest and shifting to one side. "Worried about competition, big guy?" Ford asked, stepping back and leaning against the wall. He listened to Lena, tilting his head and nodding. "Not a bad idea. Something to make sure we can actually do things together like some kind of team. In which case, probably a good idea we make it simple. Relatively low stakes."

Ford hummed as he glanced at his compatriots. So far, fairly well rounded. "So, the muscle, the face man, the brains… but enough about me." Ford mused, chuckling and leaning to the other side. "Whatever we're after? I just want a good pay out. That's all I'm really after. Glory and fame is how you get vigilante whackjobs after you. As for what I can do… let's just say I'm a great quick change artist."

Lena Snart reaches out and gently brushes her hand down Mick's broad back. Pulling up her thickly-soled, booted legs, she folds them under, turning into a dark lotus with dual cold-guns, both of different makes and design. She listens to Mick, to Ambrose, to Ford, nodding in kind to each. "And Kent? What's his forte?" The girl questions calmly. "I am the planner, or at least was when it came to just Mick and myself. I study, I plan, I count it out. Though, I have rules about that, too. One - Make a plan. Two - Stick to the plan. Three - Expect the plan to go off the rails and…Four - Forget the plan."

Smirking, she thins her lips and allows the dark color touching them to respread itself naturally. "Low stakes is fine. Easy enough, it just have to have some purpose of want and need. No shaking down people that need it more than we do." A pause, "I do love ripping off white-collar fools, though."

Mick isn't really all that quick to start describing his skillset…but then Lena had about covered it. Of course, he had more tricks up his sleeve than just brawn and burning things…but some of them may well not be all that unique to him. Folding his arms over his chest with a little 'sniff' to Ford's own comment, the brute shrugs his shoulders before looking between the others. "No offence," he begins, with a tone that might not suggest offence was that much of a concerns, "But starting small with the 'new guys' might not be a bad idea. Seen enough idiots get themselves dead."

"I cannot speak to Kent's presence during our escapade, but he is not to be trifled with. I may claim an ability to convince anyone to look away from our work, but I have seen him convince an entire theatre's audience that the building was on fire without a wisp of smoke present and without a word spoken. He is a mentalist of high calibre with a preference for fear," the Jackal explains quietly, a glitter of warning within his regard.

Ambrose looks between all present. "Might I suggest taking advantage of a holiday gala, perhaps, if we are looking to abscond with hard-goods. I will be exchanging my cut for monetary funds to be donated to a charity of my choosing. I have been informed that I have a Karmic imbalance to level." Out comes a wicked-looking trench knife from somewhere on his body and he begins working a piece of grit out from beneath his thumbnail.

"I'm on board with that. Something small to test the waters. After that, we move onto something bigger." Ford agreed with the plan being set forth. "And… I'm on board with that too. Plenty of folks in this city who don't need us weighing them down and breaking their stuff. My very first car I ever got, she wasn't pretty, but she was mine… hadn't had it for more than a week, and some masked mutant decided that it would be the perfect club against the big bad he was fighting. And I've lost count how many cars I've fixed with a similar story." Ford's smile dissapated a little with that story. He didn't have too many good interactions with this city's so-called "heroes".

Ford's arms uncrossed and his hands were stuffed into his pants pockets, looking up at the ceiling at Ambrose's suggestion. "Not a shabby idea, actually. I imagine they'd have plenty of guests who are already looking to make 'donations' to some stupid cause. Perhaps we can… redirect a few of those well-intentioned funds. My cut is going to right into paying bills. Sadly, the day job just isn't covering it like I would want."

"I think we pick a job before talking cuts. Not a bad one to do, though, Pretty, but I do hate dressing up. Though, a few higher-ups that go to these things leave their houses empty, too. We can work against the crowd or against tech. Either way, we can get a good slice and slip away - that's the goal." Rolling her shoulders, she glances to Mick and then at the pair in the space before her.

"If you need help with bills, I can offer some assistance. Goldie is doing better so I don't have to worry about her so much." Slipping from the counter top, she moves to the fridge and waves her gloved hand. "Anyone want a drink?"

"Steal from the rich and give to the 'us'? I can get behind that. It's kinda our thing now." A little shift where he stands, the man nods back at Lena before shrugging his shoulders. If she's up for it, he's pretty likely to follow. Still, houses or heists, either could do the trick pretty well to earn them a quick payday. "Both break if you hit 'em hard enough."

"That is unfortunate. My condolences for your losses," the master-thief murmurs to Ford about his cars. "I own a motorcycle. It would be a shame to lose it." He grimaces at the bit of grit just beyond the tip of his knife and focuses harder upon it, only glancing up at hearing of drinks.

"Anything alcoholic will suit." Light gleams off the trench knife as he points it towards Ford and then towards Mick briefly.

"A simple house entry merits consideration, I agree. Miss Lena does detest her dresses." The young woman gets a sharp, conspiratorial grin briefly before Ambrose returns to flicking under his nails with the knife with edge honed as sharp as regret.

"Much as I would appreciate it, I'd rather owe as few favors as possible." Ford replied, shifting his weight. "No, no, we're stealing from the rich and giving to the poor! It's just… we also happen to be the poor." Ford corrected, raising a finger in Mick's direction with a smirk. "Whatever we pick, we need a target that stacks the deck in our favor. I'm a handy wrench and a solid driver, so bonus points if we target something with automotives. Come to think of it…"

Ford glanced back at Ambrose's comment on his motorcycle. "It would be… I'd like to see it sometime." It was always such a nice surprise to find someone with a similar love of vehicles. Lena's offer of a drink makes Ford lift his hand and wag it slightly. "Nothing for me. It would have to be some pretty hard stuff anyways… if we're looking at locales, uptown might be the best place to start. Most of those residences near places like Stark Industries or Wayne Enterprises are pretty upscale. Maybe a step down from there? Maybe one of them will be hosting some sort of holiday party that we can take advantage of. While the fat cats play, we make our pay, something like that?"

"You wouldn't owe me anything. Call it looking out for my own. I might leave you to get shot someday, but I can at least help you not get overdue stamped on your debts." She smirks, setting a fresh glass bottle by Mick. "Here, baby." Turning, she gets Ambrose a harder drink as well as herself. Tumbler handing out in the Bane's direction, she looks back toward Ford. "Mick's a bit of a gearhead himself. You guys should have a 'boys' night' or whatever."

A nod and then another. "Alright, some party will be held at a house we could hit. Two in one. A place where they get to dress up, get hammered and dance. Badly." Back upon the counter top, she sips from her glass. "I can do some research before we hit."

"Speak for yourself," Mick comments as he takes the drink, twisting the bottle top off and then shrugging. "I'm a fantastic dancer." He actually smirks at Lena with that, obviously some -attempt- at humor before he nods his head and glances back at Ford. "I can usually find some wheels to get us in and out of trouble. One of these days, swear I'll manage to grab the batmobile…at least for a little joyride."

Away goes the trench knife in order to take the drink offered to him and, as always, Ambrose is very careful not to touch Lena's fingers. After all, the curse lingering beneath his skin is ever watchful of a chance to bite after life-force. He lifts it to her before sipping at it. By his expression, it will do and there are no complaints to lodge.

"A holiday house party it will be then." Lena receives a curt nod. "I suggest your research include avoiding any ties to those such as Stark or Wayne. I will have no interest brought down upon my household or offspring in any manner." Again, a glimmer of ruddy light flickers through his pupils as he idly glances towards the window, hearing a harmless sound in the alleyway below.

"The motorcycle is a Triumph Thruxton R with quite the kick," he adds towards Ford, now wearing a thin smile. "She is my pride."

"Finally! Some men of culture! A Thruxton, eh? Maaaaan, closest I've seen to an import like that was an old Caldwell P40 some poor sap had. He loved it, though, so I can't fault him. I think he just wanted it so he could boast that his car was 'imported'." Ford finally seemed visably relaxed. For the first time in a long while, he actually felt at ease around others, rather than tensely aware of them. He still kept his guard up - given the current company, it was always going to be a wise thing - but it was hilarious that for the longest time, having tried to live legitimate, human life, he felt most like himself among a bunch of criminals.

…and something about that notion quietly made his smile fade. Just a little.

"…let me know the details when you do. Like I said, as a master of the perfect disguise, I can slip in between guest and staff, if needed. Get behind the lines and scope things out behind the scenes, as it were. Heck, might just find the owner himself is walking out with all the goodies we grab." Ford noted, straightening up off the wall. "But, uh… yeah, we'll avoid the Starks and Waynes of the city. Start off smaller."

Lena Snart actually smiles. It's a tiny thing, a sliver really, but pressing a visible dimple into her cheek. Sipping from her glass, she lets the gathering speak and banter, as light as it was for the time being. "If you and Mick are good with gear and tech, maybe you should help us with that. Pretty and I can think and plan and then all come together with where and what we'll be doing. We'll try to make it fluid as possible and I'll see what's on the line at this party."

It sounded fair enough. A swirl of her glass, she rests it up. "Well, if there are no complaints, I'd like to call this meeting of The Rogue's Table a success. To my brothers in crime."

A little sniff, the man shrugs his shoulders. "A break through a safe or…y'know, getting us out of here when things go bad. That's generally my thing. You come up with the plan Lena, I'll just…do my thing." Sometimes, there was a simple pleasure in simply knowing what you can do and doing it well. At least that's what Mick figured…

Ambrose smiles a little more deeply at Ford's comments. "She is a force of nature. Should you see the motorcycle, we are likely to be fleeing from the buttons." His chuckles to follow are darkly amused if curled up behind his teeth. "Excuse me, the brass," he amends before swallowing down half of his drink.

His gaze slides to Lena and he lifts his the remainder of his alcohol. "To the little bird who dares to think larger and more wildly than most I know…and to her cohorts…and our Table of Rogues — may we never receive what we truly deserve," he toasts with a crooked grin showcasing his own devilish dimples. "Do let me know when you require my presence for planning. It is such an alleviation of boredom."

Ford nodded, tapping his foot as he lacked a glass to raise in toasting. "To the Rogue's Table, and the start of a heaping pile of profits. Mick, I take it we can discuss the technical details of the heist once we know where exactly we'll be stealing from? Get your tools ready. I wanna see what your brand choice is. Heavy like you has to favor Wescroft manuals, right?" Ford did, anyways. Gave him a bit more precision when working, let him actually feel the forces in his hands.

Glancing down at his watch, he noted the time before nodding. "And perfect timing. I've got to get home and help another little lady get ready for a different party altogether. I'll keep watch for updates until next time." Ford noted, before turning to head out the door.

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