2020-05-10 - Chalking Up a Deal


Debts with Chalk are settled and a potential new deal is offered.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sun May 10 20:04:43 2020
Location: Sister Margaret's

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Theme Song



It is a sort of a grey day in the Big Apple, a little cloudy, a little damp, a little cool - low sixties. It is just after one PM, and Sister Margaret's is just /hopping/ on this fine Mother's Day. Many of the regulars are around, and one fellow seeking a quiet place with shitty nachos, and cheap beer. Well, likely more than one, and the place isn't really all /that/ busy, even mercs and scumbags have mothers and it *is* Mother's Day.

Chalk apparently is not one of those people.

Dressed today in linen windbreaker of dull grey, and a New York Mets baseball cap, he sits in a corner booth wearing round shades with wine colored mirrored lenses. Track shoes and black khakis, the jacket is worn unbuttoned to reveal a black t-shirt with the Superman 'S' glyph on it - literally a symbol for 'Hope'.

His nachos are about half demolished, and he has about half the pitcher of draft left as he reads something on his phone.


As much as the world changes some elements remain the same.

The warmer weather is starting to allow for alternate travel accomodations even for those who are thermally challenged of late. Domino's feeling mobile. Alive. And above all, -free.- The usual layers to keep her core temp up are overlaid with an oldschool black leather biker jacket. The dull grey sky isn't enough to stop the albino from wearing indigo tinted eye shields, or from having a ghost of a sneer on her face.

Upon stepping inside Margaret's her first destination is to one of the tables, gloved hands falling upon the surface as she leans toward the lone occupant. A brief conversation follows, one resulting in a subtle dip of the other man's head in Chalk's direction. Dom glances over a shoulder then bumps fists with the table-sitter before straightening and walking up to the hangout's -other- resident albino.

Without warning Chalk has company dropping into a chair across from him. Road leather creaks as she leans forward with arms resting against the table, staring at the other pale figure for a moment before her glasses are hooked with one fingertip and pulled down to the edge of her nose.

With pale blue eyes now staring Chalk down without interruption, she pointedly asks "Why'd you do it?"


"Because they were out of hot pockets." Chalk doesn't even look up from what he's doing as he apparently discusses his lunch and not at all the question that was posed him. Still, there's a quiet tension to the man that ratchets right the hell up when Domino entered the room, and then up a couple more notches when she plops her white butt into the seat opposite him.

After a few moments of that intense stare he sighs, and looks faintly up, leaving his shades where they are but peering over them so his pink eyes can meet Domino's light blue sheened a bit with silver.

"I owed you." There's more to this. "Far as I'm concerned we are /square/, Thurman." Head tilting to one side, he asks. "Or are you here to shoot me?"

Fair question!


"I'd say you chose wisely but it's really kind of a toss-up. Sometimes literally."

Neena can be patient when she wants to be (though not necessarily when she HAS to be.) If Chalk wants to wallow for a while then she'll give him the space to do so. She's done her fair share of it lately, too.

When eye contact is established he'll see an inquisitive assassin sitting there with both brows raised and that look of idle amusement refusing to dive for cover.

The question brings an abrupt sound of amusement from her, the smirk spreading into a toothy grin. "What, -here?- Come on, Chalk. You know the rules of engagement. I would have capped you at the door from three blocks out. -After- you've had some drinks if I was feeling nice."

"Between you and me…" she pauses while fully removing the shades and slipping them atop of her head, "I came by to drop a thank you bomb. What you did was damn solid. I've even kept your cover. To RESCUE you're nothing more than an informant. Lucky you."


"Yeah, still, hard to mess up a hot pocket, so there's that."

Chalk? Patience itself. He probably could have made a decent sniper had he trained in it, that takes a metric f-ton of patience. Pink eyes study the assassin across the table, and then he removes his own shades just after she does hers, his folded up and set lenses up on the table off to the side, resting on top of his faced down phone.

"Ah, of course. Professionalism." He gets that. Fact is - snipers DO in fact operate that way. "Excuse me." He gets up, takes his pitcher to the bar to get it topped off and returns with a second glass, also full that he puts down in front of Neena, before he settles back into his seat.

"Those people…" He continues as if there was no break in the conversation. "…crossed a line. I'm a bastard, I'm not a *fucking* bastard, you know?"


Professionalism. Dom suggests "I have a little of it now and then."

More patience is exercised while Chalk goes for a refill..and a second glass! "Earning brownie points today" she teases while taking the offered glass and going straight for a hearty drink.

"It's an ugly business what we do. Sometimes we don't know how deep the shit's gotten until we're neck deep in it. This time we both dodged some bullets but the game's changed some. If you return to old tricks then I'm not going to cover for you, but I don't see that as being a concern." Chalk seems to have found a scrap of conscience, himself!

Pointing to the other albino from around the glass, she adds "Though if you have any intel on this creep's operation I would be -all- too happy to put it to use. I'll stand for a lot of crap but being stuffed in a cage isn't on the list."


Well, the simple fact of the matter is that good as Chalk is, or might be, or might not be — matters exactly squat. A sniper with a high powered rifle and a clear line of fire is going to end him, so…fuck it, he'll just not worry about it. Not like he can do fuck all about about it, right? Only way to win is to not be where they can find you, clearly he's already failed that part.

"Think of it as my sincere thanks for not shooting me dead." He states drily enough to make Tatooine seem like Honolulu.

Eyes of pink are faintly amused, and wait, is there a /hint/ of smirk? Cannot be!

"Look, I'm a scumbag. You know it. I know it. But I /do/ have some scruples. I should have fucking well done more research, but that gig paid well, you know? I scouted out some reject muties, all I had to do was point them out, pure intel. Only it WASN'T. I knew nothing good was going to happen, but -that- shit was way beyond. I have cut all ties with them. I can tell you this much - the head honcho is /not/ in the US of A. I dunno that /anyone/ has seen the real person, only the femmebots, that's it."


To the 'sincere thanks' Neena raises her glass slightly and dips her head in mock salute, not bothered in the slightest.

"Hey. It hits all of us. Sometimes we -can't- dig deeper. Either we trust in the coin or we get lost. For all you knew you could have been recruiting for a Brotherhood two point oh."

The info that the Cyberian is operating somewhere out of the country is mentally noted though at the surface Domino's more focusing on Chalk's inflections and body language. The guy seems bitter but it isn't being directed at her. Good. No hard feelings over a little interrogation between co-workers.

"Well, that narrows it down to the other ninety-three percent of the planet. Good start. Think one of these 'femmebots' could be tacked and hacked or is the shutoff response too quick? There's gotta be some way to ping the fucker. Can't stop the signal, and all."


Chalk taps his glass to hers when she mocks a toast, and then downs about half of his, and tops both beers off from the pitcher. A moment to look at the congealing nachos, and then he pushes the plate aside for now.

"I'm a lot of things, Thurman…I wear many hats, but what I am primarily is an information broker and fixer. I clean up messes, I sell intel. I fucked up royally."

After a moment he sighs. "The way I survive is by being just valuable enough that nobody -really- wants to kill me, you know? I try to avoid the big profile jobs, slow and steady wins the race and all that. Keep off the radar of the big fish, expedite. Sure, I'm not a billionaire, but I can guarandamntee you I don't -have- to work." He looks Neena in the eyes. "The shit show you got invited to breaks /all/ those rules. I don't -dare- go to Mutant Town again, the Hunter WILL end me if I do, and rightly so, prolly."

At the last questions his brow furrows in concentration. "Honestly? No idea. I'm not that tech savvy, honestly. Not on /her/ level, or his, or its." A shrug. "Sorry. Dunno if this means anything - but - when the honcho." He pointedly does not mention the name. "Takes control of something it is like it is gets a turbo boost, works better, you know?"


"Oh quit wallowing," Neena gently rolls her eyes. "If you're seeking redemption your aim is way off."

Again Chalk is given space to say what's on his mind, part of which has one of the spotted merc's brows rising. Emphasis is put on the Cyberian being a -her- before he quickly backtracks. Could he know more than he's letting in on?

A turbo boost… "Fortunately I happen to know of another overclocker who enjoys a good five-gee spar."

More filed away for later. More business for the present.

"So. Here's the sitch" she starts in while lacing fingers together and leaning a bit closer. "Like it or not you're starting to turn into -my- informant, and now that I'm playing halvesies with the white hats I don't have as much time for keeping an ear to the ground like you do. If Hunter's your concern then I can put in a good word on your behalf. Scumbags do have their uses but only if they have enough freedom to operate. You learned, you aborted, you made amends. That's your get out of the morgue free card."


"Nope. Redemption isn't in the cards." Chalk genuinely doesn't seem to care, 'seem' being the operative word. Maybe.

A nod. "Yeah. Word is that your white hats had them a serious IT department." Chalk states with surety that implies he knows more than he's telling. But…that's his thing, intel and info gathering, also he could be bluffing. The guy is a turd, but he's a slick turd.

His brow furrows as Neena claims him. Still, being able to get around in Mutant Town, that could be useful. It is a GREAT place to drop off the grid. He studies Neena with a jaundiced eye, and then looks down. "You got that kind of pull? The Hunter has a reputation for 'final solutions'."


"She's not the only one who does" Domino flatly replies. As it stands she's already expecting to have to throw down with the bigger feline-inspired lady sooner or later after Neena's own hunting excurisions within Mutant Town's borders. What's one more detail? The worse the odds the better her game!

"I'm not making promises here but I haven't yet made her 'shoot on sight' list. Dollars to donuts I'm the best chance you've got." Quite possibly his ONLY chance.

"The deal is, if I get you back in then you keep me up to date on anything you uncover in the area. Up front, free of hassle. While I enjoyed our last moment together I don't want to make a habit of cutting it out of you." It tends to make a mess. "Just know that you'll have two angry cats clawing at your door if you fuck up again so get in the habit of doing your homework before committing to the check. Fair?"


"No, no she is not." Chalk readily agrees. It isn't like he hasn't done a deep dive on miss Neena 'Domino' Thurman in the last few weeks after all. "I really liked your style in the Bosnian job of 2012, very chic. Rigging the guy's gun to blow up in his face like that, classic." See? A compliment and a subtle mention that he has been keeping an eye out, and knows things. Sort of a warning, but the kind that's also another type of compliment in the doing.


He listens intently about the situation, and the deal, and then grimaces at the reminder of their last 'talk' in Mutant Town. "Not a fan of pointed conversations, thanks." He mulls it over. "No deal." He says firmly. "That is - no deal *until* you give some kind of proof of good faith with the Hunter. You're both scary snipers, I get it. You can end me any time you please. I get that too, but I want SOME assurance before I sell my soul…again. Capeesh?"


"Y'know — I've been meaning to ask how it is that you know my name" Neena chimes in just as casually..as..can..be. "Let me put this idea on the table for you. If you know things that you're not supposed to then other people..meaner people..can -extract- such information from you in ways which make a karambit in a nerve cluster seem like foreplay. That is if I don't happen to extend some of that 'professionalism' your way beforehand for digging into my business" she warns. "Some intel is meant to stay buried."

To the matter of their deal a humorless smirk returns to black stained lips. "Of course. I couldn't well expect you to hold up your end of the deal if you're just going to get your skull pierced by a Soviet Smacker. First round's on me."

First round of WHAT, though?

"I'll have some words" and maybe exchange a bit of live fire "with Kitty Prime then get back to you."


A hint of smug. "I'm an information broker, Thurman. I know a lot of things I'm not supposed to know, that's pretty much the point." And then at the very much not-so-veiled threat, the smug fades and his eyes look a little harder. "Look, see, I know you can kill me any time you please. However, if you're going to do it, then get it over with. Otherwise I think I've earned a modicum of respect at the very least, I'm a professional too. I'm /damn/ good at what I do, and you know this or you wouldn't be courting this deal, so…either put up, or back the fuck off on the threats. Clear?"

Ooh, he DOES have a pair after all! That's probably reassuring.

"As long as it isn't nine-mil." He mutters and then nods. "Fair enough." After a moment of thought, he digs out a plain white business card - it is blank, and then takes out a fountain pen, yes - an honest to god fountain pen, even a brand many would recognize, Mont Blanc, and jots down a number. "One of my cels." He makes the thumb up, pinky extended, three middle fingers folded gesture next to his ear. "Call me."


Domino leans back and stretches without a care in the world, smirking anew as Chalk finally stands his ground with her. "There it is. I was starting to wonder."

The guy -is- good at what he does. Better than she had anticipated. Now that she knows what the score is their relationship is easily approaching the 'keep your enemies closer' side of the expression.

"Alright" she offers while reaching for her beer. "Professionalism it is."

Now SHE'S the one looking smug, like this is all some big joke rapidly approaching a punchline.

The last of the beer in her glass disappears, the empty vessel abandoned in favor of the card. Professional, indeed. Now she's left wondering who he stole that pen from. Maybe it showed up in Slant's inventory one day?

With the card pinched between an index and middle finger she uses it to flick a salute in Chalk's direction while standing.


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