Dick Move

February 12, 2016:

Kwabena is drinking alone when an old friend texts him. They catch up, and she tells him off.

Krank's Cellar, Hells Kitchen, NYC


NPCs: Krank the bartender

Mentions: Black Adam and Rant


Mood Music: Heart Shaped Box by Nirvana

Fade In…

Krank's Cellar is a divey, dirty watering hole in a Hell's Kitchen basement. It's not entirely operating under legal standards, mainly considering the styrofoam cups filled with water that patrons ash their cigarettes into. Because fuck smoking bans, it's 9 degrees outside.

Some time ago, Kwabena answered a text from an old friend. The message brought a smirk to his face, and following a bit of SMS banter that might be flirting, or perhaps just friendly wit, an address was sent to Darcy's phone.

Kwabena has made himself space at a booth. A glass of whiskey is in front of him, seated next to a can of Tecate; both of which are mirrored in the empty space across from him, currently unattended.


Not that said said would be empty for long as Darcy shoves her way into the bar dressed not at all in work clothes. Because fuck work clothes. Scuffed up Doc Martins on her feet, tight green wool leggings under a brown sweater dress over which she's got a big down jacket and scarves and gloves and a knit hat and Darcy flings herself and her purse into the booth across from Kwabena as she starts yanking off layers.

"Fuck me, it's cold outside."


Speaking of layers; there's a black leather riding jacket hung from the edge of the booth, a grey ribbed sweater balled up on the table, a knit beanie and fingerless gloves next to it. Kwabena has stripped down to his black t-shirt, jeans, and chunky black boots. It's fairly warm inside Krank's, thanks to the phenomenon of New York City and underground proximity to an old boiler room.

Kwabena's been working out. That, or the shirt's too small.

"I don't get a kiss first?" the Ghanaian quips, then reaches over and slides the shot of whiskey toward Darcy's end of the table. "Here, dis'll catch you up." To the warmth in the bar, or to Kwabena's four count? Hard to say. He forms a smirk and lifts his shot glass to ready a toast.


Stripped down tot he leggings and the tshirt dress she had under the sweater dress, Darcy collects the shot glass. She sort of stands so she can lean over the table to plant a kiss on Kwa's cheek- "Aw! There you go, ya big baby." -before she's lifting her shotglass in a toast.

"To catching up," she intones seriously. And then takes the shot. And then reaches for the chaser.


Kwabena touches his cheek, eyes glimmering with mirth. "I can die happy," is the riposte, before he mimics her gesture with shot and chaser.

"How ya been, Sass?" he asks. "Rising de paygrades in spite of May's unpleasantries? Blowing up experiments at R&D? Chasing boys around I need to be jealous of?" He casts a glance aside, capturing the bartender's attention with two nods toward his table, before reaching for a pack of menthols and beat up zippo nearby. His demeanor is different, more subdued than normal.


"Oh my fucking god, work ate my face. Hell yes, I'm a bad ass. Hell yes, I'm a dumbass. and some girls too, because why limit yourself?" Darcy says after a healthy swig from her chaser. "And you? How's Jesushood?" Because… dying and rising again and shit. Can Kwa walk on water? Maybe Darcy should as- "Walked on water yet?" Filters. Darcy has none.


Chasing girls too? Kwabena reaches over to clink his beer against hers. Sure, it's not his personal style, but he's all about people having the freedoms they deserve.

"Jesushood?" He snorts. "I think Judas just rolled ovah in his grave. Took a holiday from work. Was nice, while it lasted." He taps the cigarette, pinches it between pearly whites, and clicks the zippo to light it in time with the arrival of two more shots.

"Sweetheart, why walk on watah when you can turn into watah?" He's not going to demonstrate, because most people find that particular use of his matter shifting ability particularly gross. If asked, though…


Darcy is pleased to clink the beers, because she's easy. She takes another pull of her beer, smirking at Kwa. "Well, glad you're back. Fucking boring as hell some days." She pauses to snicker, eyes mischevious. She reaches for the next shot and holds it up for him to toast a thing.


"Oh come on, I'm really that fun?" Kwabena's smirk grows wider still. His definition of 'fun' is certainly a unique one, but when she offers him the chance to propose a toast, his demeanor sobers yet again. The cigarette comes away from his mouth, shot glass raised.

"To staying dead."


Kwabena downs the shot, then gestures for Darcy to do the same. "Come on, gorgeous. You gotta drink if you want de explanation."


Admittedly, Darcy was surprised by the toast and so she's a second slower than she'd like to be in downing it. When she does, it is with a raspy voice that she demands her explanation: "Fucking spill." And then she's swigging. She'll come back to the fun part later.


Kwabena's shot glass is set down heavily. "You been following dis shit in de news about Khandaq?" he asks, giving her a moment to nod, acknowledge, or go on a tirade should she need to.

"Well, it's ruler, Teth Adam, was paht of de op against HYDRA, when I was killed. He caught wind of de memorial dat Summers girl had organized for me, so he came with a healthy donation to my estate."

A pause, to drag from his smoke. "Of course, I was dead, so… lawyah sets up girlfriend as Executrix, she invests it to open dat smooth recovery clinic in Mutant Town. Good move on her paht."

Another pause, so he can drink from his beer. "Problem is… if Uncle Sam finds out I'm alive and well, den dose funds… well, dere would be a big lawsuit, dey'll follow de money trail, which leads right back to Khandaq."


There isn't a tirade. Not yet. She'll keep her political thoughts to herself for another day. Instead, she inclines her chin to acknowledge, while drinking more beer.

"Ok. So assume I'm dumb right now and tell me why this is a bad thing?" Darcy asks, folding her arms on the table and leaning to them.


The cigarette is drawn away, and Kwabena leans forward, resting his arms on the table and closing the distance so he can murmur in a near whisper.

"Darcy, you know how de media in dis country is. It'll be a shit show. Khandaq and Teth Adam - who, I'll add, could crush us all into dust with a wag of his dick - will be drug into an international legal and media circus. De U.N., membah states, SHIELD… it could unravel into a true blue international incident." He leans back, sticking the cigarette back into his mouth. "Unless I stay dead."

The bartender doesn't need a clue this time. Krank wanders over, setting a pair of doubles down in front of each. Truth is, he's too dumb to recognize the demeanor shared by each, he's just trying to get Kwabena laid.


Darcy leans into the near whisper, head tilting faintly. That's what she expected was the issue, but it's usually better to let people say it if they know it. Even him stating that he needs to stay dead is not surprising. Upsetting, but not surprising. The double brought over is glanced at before she looks up at Kwa.

"So? Whacha wanna do bout this shit?"


Theres another silence; Kwabena is leaving his double for now. Chewing on his lip, he considers the question before extinguishing the cigarette in its makeshift styrofoam ashtray.

"Staying dead? Dere're a lot of peopah who know I'm not. I'm good, Dahce, damn good, but I don't know that I'm dat good." He leans back, stretching out his arms and legs with a big sigh. "I'll figure something out. But Melody's already on a plane to Khandaq. She'll tell Teth Adam what's going on." He shakes his head at that, then reaches at last for the shot glass.

"How do you go back to someone who grieved for you? Now she's going dere, risking her goddamned neck for…" Lips press into a thin line. "Well. Fuck it." Up comes the shot glass.


Darcy watched Kwabena take the shot, worrying about things. "She sounds like a stand up gal, risking her neck for you, going out of her way for someone she lost once. And you're staying away from her? Really? Dick move, man. Think about this: She. Lost. You. Once. …at least giver her the chance to say if her heart's inna place to not be scared shitless she's gonna lose you again. That's how you fucking go back." Darcy takes her shot, shaking her head as the first shot hits her system. It's a herald for the rest. She growls in her throat at the burn and the feel, chasing the shot with her beer.

"Fuck man. If it were me? If I loved ya that much, grieved for your ass that bad, which don't get me wrong here, I was sad, had a drink for you and everything… but if I grieved that hard and you came back… without really comgin back? I dunno. Just seems dick. But then. Who am I? Right? Wait till she talks to him, I guess. See what happens?"


Kwabena listens, though his expression seems dulled. Darcy'swords hit home in many ways, but he's not the same man he was before. His soul was shattered, put back together with error intentional, and not even he knows that supernatural forces are still at play in manipulating him.

"It's… you know, I can't even tell you. What it's like." He can't bring himself to admit it, but one thing he can explain about coming back to life… it changes you. For better and for worse.

The other shot comes up, and he chases it with the beer before tossing a $50 onto the table. "Here. Let me get you a cab. I'm too toasted to drive, and my bike's in de shop, anyway." He doesn't actually say it then, but there's no mistaking the look in his eyes, for a moment he just looks at the woman with the unmistakable expression of gratitude.

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