Better than a Craigslist Ad

December 06, 2015:

Red Hood pays Captain Cold a visit with an offer to consider…

//New York City Docks //


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It used to be a mobster's warehouse.

Nestled somewhere in New York, near the docks.

The exterior is nothing special - just one more building amongst many others of similar appearance - but there are security cameras strategically placed around it, and the odd guard. Overall, security is… modest - nothing fancy - but cleverly done.

Inside the warehouse, however, either the former owner or Cold himself has turned it into a half-decent base. There is plenty of room for storage, but entire sections have been refitted for living quarters. From the looks of things…

Cold takes care of his own.

Various members of the Rogues go about their business, while the man himself watches news reports on a flatscreen TV, his bare arms folded across his chest, a frown on his face. He does not look happy.

At least the Warehouse isn't just empty and cold and dank. At least there are some comforts. That much, at least, impresses Red Hood even as he easily evades security cameras and guards to make his way to where the Boss is watching television. He stands behind the chair for a moment before he offers, "Pretty crappy world we're in, isn't it?"

Immediately after, there's the sound of a gun being cocked, "Reach for your ice thingy or call your guys and you get a bullet in you. I'm here to talk. You good for that?"

Cold's head comes up when he hears the voice behind him.

His Rogues don't need prompting, although it does take them a second to get over their surprise before they start aiming rifles at the intruder…. not that it does them much good. No one fires.


Slowly, very slowly, Snart raises his hands above his head - no sign of the cold-gun nearby - and turns around. With a frown of simple curiosity on his brow, he studies the newcomer - chin raised, expression speculative - until he finally opens his mouth to reply:

"'Ice thingy?'" he asks, his tone heavy with sardonic humour.

Red Hood shrugs, "Well, does one call something that shoots ice a 'gun'? Or should it have a different name entirely?" He then tilts his head towards some of the Rogues, "Call them off. Even if they shoot me, you'll already be dead. Capisce? I don't want to talk to -them-, I just want to talk to -you-."

The air immediately around Cold starts to drop in temperature - to less than a foot away from him - without the assistance of any cold gun. In seconds, he is surrounded in his 'cold field', while standing there with his arms raised, staring impassively back at the Hood.

Of course, if the Hood had wanted him dead… he could have done that already, so: "Fellas…" he tells his crew. "Take a smoke break - but outdoors." He smirks quietly at Red Hood.

"Smoking kills, you know."

Then he waits for the intruder to tell him why he is here.

Red Hood doesn't seem to be bothered by the change in temperature even though his breath plumes as it comes through the mask. Once the Rogues are gone and he's sure that no one is listening in, he lowers his gun. He still watches the other, however, and the gun isn't holstered or let go. "That was a pretty impressive thing you did at the docks. Why?" He tilts his head again as if to glance about the Warehouse, "What's your M.O.?"

The smirk on Snart's face gradually turns into a look of incredulity, and then a smile. He lowers his hands carefully to his sides, and motions around the room.

"I'm thinking, if either of us wanted the other dead - there'd be a mess on my floor. So… You have your private interview, Red Hood - or may I call you 'Red'?"

He pauses, not expecting an answer right away.

"I don't like slave-trading," he replies in answer to Red's question. "It's ugly, messy, expensive - and scares away more profitable clientele." His lip curls in a sign of contempt, however muted.

"Why? You were there too."

"I've been called worse," Red Hood offers with even a bit of amusement in his voice. The answer seems to be enough as he seems to relax and lean against the chair that Snart was sitting in just a few moments ago. "I was there, yeah. For pretty much the same reasons, actually. Which was what I was kind of hoping."

He makes a show of looking around before he gives a brief gesture to indicate the place as a whole, "Who bankrolls this?"

"My turn."

Snart takes a backward step from Hood, turns, and walks to a bar several feet away from the chair in which the Red Hood sits. His cold-field fades away for now - it wouldn't do to freeze the drinks while pouring them - and pour, he does:

A pair of bourbons.

No ice-cubes - he chills the glasses.

Turning back to Hood, Snart holds out one such glass in a querying manner: a sort of 'Would you like a drink? and can you actually drink through that mask?' gesture.

"You clearly want something. An 'in'? Is this a job application?"

Red Hood takes the offered drink and seems to consider the unspoken question. Can he drink through his mask? -Should- he drink this? He won't take a sip, mask or not, until Snart does.

Paranoid bastards, those Bats. Or ex-Bats in this case.

At the question, he actually gives a laugh, "You're pretty good, you know that? But I'm not looking for a job. Actually, I was wondering if -you- might be interested in one. See, I'm seeking to expand my ventures a bit and could use someone like you." Even though he's certain that there will be contingencies and inevitable betrayals.

Snart smirks, his eyes glinting brightly.

It's about as extravagant as he comes to outright laughter.

Sipping his drink and then nodding to the Red Hood - he understands paranoia all too well - Snart purses his lips in an expression of contemplation.

"You want me to work… for you? I already have a… venture," he remarks while gesticulating a little with his free hand to indicate the warehouse. True, it isn't much - his 'Rogues' are a relatively small band compared to others - but it is not so small that an alliance would be out of the question.

He regards the Hood in a manner that suggests they are both aware of this.

"Is this job opening just for me? Or my crew? Is there a health-plan? Dental?"
The man's eyes narrow. His questions might be frivolous, but his intentions are not. He genuinely wants some answers, intrigued as he is.

The drink is considered for another moment before the hood is actually removed and set on a surface nearby. Thing is, though, he is still wearing a domino mask underneath. It seems to work for others and he was apparently prepared for this situation. Maybe he was a Boy Scout?

"I can tell you're not really the type to work -for- someone," is offered as he finally takes a sip. "I was thinking more on a…job by job basis. Contract work. I'm not looking for employees, but people I can trust to get things done. You seem to be able to get things done without worrying about hurting people's…feelings. I prefer the more direct approach myself."

"You can involve your crew, but the pay remains the same. It's up to you as to how you want to divvy it up with them. Pay is on case by case basis, depending on what's needed. I trust you're joking about the Health and Dental plans."

Cold shrugs his shoulders lightly, tilting his head to one side at the same time, and downs a mouthful of bourbon. Smacking his lips, he walks a few steps to the side in a sort of arc that brings him closer to the Hood - while at the same time, keeping a respectful distance between the two men.

He stops.

"I'll consider your offer," he replies very slowly and deliberately. "If all goes well, I may even extend the same - from time to time. Do you have anything in mind, already?"

And he raises his drink to his lips again -

- only to discover the bourbon has frozen over. Cold glares at the glass in betrayal.

Red Hood's eyes watch as Cold moves. One hand may be holding the glass of bourbon, but the other is hovered near one of his guns. Just in case. Maybe it's also habit.

Cold's response is mulled over in silence for a couple of moments before he offers, "I can agree to that and I'd be interested in collaborating." Again, always aware of 'inevitable betrayal'. "I do have something that would be good to get an extra eye on. I have a venture here in New York and I don't trust some of the contacts I've been given."

He pauses as he also looks to Cold's now-frozen liquor. "Occupational Hazard? That's quite the talent…" seeing that alcohol doesn't freeze easily.

Cold smiles, but doesn't say anything.

Examining the frozen glass in his hand, he motions with it in a 'what can you do?' manner, and starts walking back to the bar. "We all have our gifts," he remarks as he turns - giving Hood's guns a brief glance. "I'm intrigued, so we'll give this… arrangement a try," he says as he puts the glass down on the counter-top, and he pauses just for a second, to grip the edge of the bar with both hands. A light frosting appears on the wooden surface underneath his fingertips. "Contact me when it's time. Until then…" and he turns back to look —

— at an empty chair.

"Watch your back," Snart says into the empty room.

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