Talon: Mercenary Meets Mercenary

April 13, 2016:

Lunair arranges a meeting between Star-Lord and Deathstroke. A deal is stroke and information exchanged.

Some abandoned lot

It's an abandoned lot in the wharehouse district. Where do you think mercenaries got meet and make deals? Starbucks?


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Lux


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's a rare day when Peter actually gets a call on his phone that isn't a telemarketer. Usually, he'd simply hang up, it wasn't until he realized it was Luanir's voice that he actually decided to listen. Something about meeting someone about work. Or the possibility of it. A sorta meet n'greet kinda thing. Well, that always gets the spacer's attention, who is always in the market to expand his name on Earth. Since here it means shit. And bragging about said name off-world doesn't really amount to a whole lot. Like pissing in black pants, warm fuzzies, but nothing to show for it.

So, he's standing at the meeting place(wherever that is, the player is being purposefully vague here)where he was told to hang out. And hang out he does, red trenchcoat and all, which of course is used to conceal the element blasters at his thighs. There's at his phone, checking the time. Right place, right time. Neutral ground, as it were. Can't do much more than that beyond blend in with the scenery.

Lunair will call Peter for just that! Lunair has brought them decent drinks and a meal. But Lunair has also told HER boss, Deathstroke (Not just any Deathstroke. THE Deathstroke. A really big one). She will list off the meeting place, and arrive with said Deathstroke. Cautiously. The place is surveyed first, perhaps inspected for traps, snipers, pedophilic vampires who hang out around high schools, and various other dangers.

Peabody uses a pair of small scissors to snip the thread and he stares down at Slade's bare back, "What the hell were you fighting down there?" he asks, eyeing the wicked wound that took seventy-four stitches to close, "I don't know." Slade says honestly, winceing slightly as he shrugs his way back into a to tight shirt and begins tucking it into the tight undersuit he wears. He turns to eye Peabody, showing another of the stitched wounds, a slice along his cheek that cut all the way up to near his missing eye, "They fought like Amazons." Peabody blinks, "Please tell you you never picked a fight with Wonder Woman." Slade merely stares back at the black man and offers a tiny smirk in return. Peabody just shakes his head, "Jesus boss." he mutters before beginning to clean up the medical debris. "I need to get back out there, we're getting close and I want to keep the heat on." he starts to clip the armor onto the padded suit that clings to his skin, gearing back up to go out once more. Lunair's coms call has him blinking, "The space nudist?" he says into the coms for a moment, "I…" he shoots Peabody a look who just shrugs and keeps cleaning up, "can make the time. Give me the coordinates."

The engine of the super bike makes a high pitched whine as it winds it's way up to the empty lot on the outskirts of the city and finally comes to a gravel crunching stop a dozen yards from the man in the red coat. "Why is it always red?" he asks no one inparticular as the bike's engine dies and he dismounts. A glance around and then he's headed Peter's way. The man is clearly not one for warm fuzzies of any kind if the amount of fire power openly visible on his person is any indication, heavy armor helps speed that impression along.

The abandoned building that Peter was leaning against he pushes off against when the bike rolls up. Haven't seen a single vehicle pass by and this right time. The spacer is not new to this kind of clandestine meeting, the kind where you meet in a vacant space, talking business, or a contract, or whatever the person happens to need. And in usual fashion, as he walks, he extends his arms just slightly, spreading his fingers, palms forward, a visual sign that he's not armed. Opening his coat, he unclips his holster belt, both blasters still in their holsters and gripped by the hand. No, he's not here to start shit.

"Luna. Thanks for the call", he offers the woman with Slade. Though while he says that greeting, the eyes don't leave the physical presence that is Deathstroke. There's a private chuckle he has in his head. Either he would get along swimmingly with Yondu or they'd already be shooting at each other. Either way, it's not Star-Lord's first rodeo. "Your boss?" he then asks Lunair, sparing a glance then back to Slade. "Peter Quill." he introduces.

"Hi. No problem!" She nods. Lunair smiles politely. She waves at the Deathstroke. "Thank you for coming, both of you." She settles quiet, to be polite.

Deathstroke does not offer to disarm… frankly it would take awhile and he's had a rough couple of weeks. "Deathstroke the Terminator." he offers by way of return name, "It's a mouthful but a good brand is hard to come by once you've got it." he shoots a glance down Lunair's direction then back over to Peter, "She vouches for you, so why am I here?" his voice is altered somehow by the faceless deathshead helmet he wears, making it appear more menacing then it likely is without the helmet. Some people take their ID's secretcy very seriously.

"You're not Thanos the Mad Titan, so you can call yourself whatever you please." Peter replies casually. Less fun-loving Peter and more mercenary Star-Lord. "You have a problem with Daemonites. Well, this planet does anyways. I'm offering the possiblity for gain more information on that end. Ever heard of the Shi'ar? Well no, that's not really important right now. What's important is that they're big players in the galatic big picture. Large government, kinda xenophoic, yadda yadda yadda. Anyways, they like keeping tabs on just about any other race worth keeping tabs on, and there's a chance, I'd say a decent chance that if I can get my hands on a Shi'ar ship that crashed here about thirty years ago or so, I'm willing to share that information. That's the big sell." A shrug then. "I'm also offering my services as another gun to…whatever it is that you do. Lockpicking. Pilot. MacGuyver wannabe."

Lunair sets out a couple of things. Mostly a beverage and a snack or two. She is a polite broker, not a player here.

Stoic silence seems to be the big man's thing, and he lets it hang for a moment before speaking up, "I know of the Shi'ar." which is /technically/ true, he's read a few briefings on them and their odd interactions with various people on the planet havn't gone entirely unnoticed by the sorts of people who can retask satelites at whim. But it's not exactly a whole truth either, briefings aren't super helpful most of the time. "There is an alien ship that you need assistence in accessing, you're offering to pay me with intel on another alien race you believe I have interest in, and in exchange I help you crack open your target." he says flatly. "Of course, this begs the question what will you pay me with when it turns out the ship has no intelligence I can use? My last reports on you involved you arriving here sans pants, and presumably, wallet."

"You heard about that." Peter tilts his head, looking at Lunair. Thanks, buddy. "Yeah…that's…alright, yeah, that actually happened. The short version is that my ship was stolen and I was dumped on Terra to be taught a 'lesson'. Not my best moment, I'm aware." No, no point is bothering tyring to make that one sound nice. "I would say I didn't need to offer the information, but something is telling me that you already knew about the ship before meeting me now. So, in lieu of that…" He debates. "I have some relics that may or may not be of value on Earth. Priceless beyond it. I'd offer some of the tech I have with me, but you look like the kind of person that has something like it. If the information isn't there, well, you got me over a barrell. I could say I work off the debt personally, even though I'm not a fan of indentured servitude. Then again, as it stands with me currently, I don't have much better as it is. I can offer knowledge on just about anything seedy that's going on in the galaxy. I can offer access to the Shi'ar information network, and they have fingers in everyone's pies. So even if there's not information you're looking for, there still might be something that you would find useful. There's also the ship itself. I can probably get it flying again, given enough time. And if we're lucky? There could be some decent equipment inside it that's up for grabs."

Lunair holds her hands up. "It would sow far too much ill will to lie about how you got here," She points out. "Not a good way to start thing off." She's pretty good at introducing people, and lies are rarely a good way to do it.

Deathstroke tilts his head slightly to the side as he listens to the options, seeming to weigh them. "You will owe me." he says simply, "I don't require indentured servitude, wouldn't want if it you were the sort to stand by your word, but you will owe me. A favor, to be named later, without limitations or time constraints. At some point I will ask you to do something, call in that favor, you will do it. We will be square. In return," he shoots a look towards Lunairs Tea And Crumpet Stand that seems to be appearing out of nowhere, as she is want to do, "I help you open your tin can. If you're luckily it'll have intel I didn't already possess and this whole thing will be worth while for us all. Is that Chai?" the last question is aimed at Lunair, not Peter, clearly.

Peter's lips thin out into a line, considering that. The man is a rogue, the idea of oweing anyone /anything/ seems to not sit well with him. However, beggars cannot be chosers. Not when he has no ship, no crew, no money. Desperation tends to trump pride in certain situations. And he's been running into that particular situation a lot lately. It'd be really nice to get to a point where he didn't have to really worry about that. Another moment. "Done." is the one word answer on that end. "That's the hope, anyhow. Look, I don't know what kind of operation you run. Neither Luna or Lux has said anything about it. However, my options for finding the particular work that I'm good at doing is limited. And I'm neither a SHEILD or Avengers type. Good deeds are great, but I like a paycheck. So, pending this all goes well, I am looking for work."

"Yes, there's chai." Lunair smiles at them. She settles quiet.

Deathstroke is still eyeing the tea stand, "Armory works with me on occasion, Lux…" he shakes his head, "I'm aware of her exsistence but we're not affiliated." his head snaps Peter's direction, "Is she claiming that we are?" something about the tone of the statement suggests he'd be most unhappy to find someone was using his name to open doors without his permission. Oh wait, there's chai. He heads over and picks up a cup, a vent opening in the 'skull teeth' part of his mask that allows him to exhale lightly on fragrent tea, causing the steam to billow up. "If I find you to be incompetent there's a high chance we'll never see one another again, but if you are useful I may have work for you. Generally I work alone but not even I can be in two places at once and I have jobs that require that sort of thing. We'll use this as the first test run, all goes well enough I'll put you to temp work at temp pay rates, that works out," the heavily armored shoulders bob once, "we'll talk something more permanent." he pauses for a moment then adds, "Mr. Quill, I don't suspect you know who I am or the sort of man I am, so I will give you the short and ugly version. Feel free to vet it at your disposal. I am the highest paid killer on the planet, and I am that because I do what others either are unwilling to attempt or incapable of completeing. But I am not a psychopath, I have no delusions of granduer or meglomania, I merely wish to do my work, collect my check, and move on to the next job. I am also a man of my word. Keep that in mind when I tell you that if you have some conviluted scheme to make your bones from offing me in a mission, I promise I will kill you." so… paranoid much? Guy's been at the game for a minute if he's so warm and trusting.

Peter Quill shakes his head casually. "No, she said nothing of your name or what you do. Honestly, I figured she didn't have any affliation and well…I don't ask what she does, it's not any of my business, but really, she and Luna are two of the three friends I got. And the more I'm on Terra, the more seems like everyone knows everyone. Like six degrees of Kevin Bacon or some shit. And really, I never even heard of you until you told me your name today." He may be an excellent liar, but there's zero indication that he is. Perfectly honest on that one. "Then again, I haven't been on this planet in twenty years so, take that for what you will." Listening, over the explanation, he nods. "You ever heard of the Ravagers? Since you know about the Shi'ar, felt to ask. Sometimes mercenaries slash pirates slash bounty hunters slash assholes. Led by a…man named Yondu. Those are the men that trained me. I'm good at what I do. I'm not saying I'm the best, but I've survived plenty of shit that the galaxy as thrown at me." He gives him an odd look. "Trust me, no ship, hardly any allies, and no money? No, I have no reason to go picking a fight with the biggest guy on the block. That's not how I operate. You give a fair shake and I'll do the same. Because in the end, that's all you can really ask for."

Lunair blinks. "Ravagers? Plural?" She looks lost. She thought there was also only one. "Like SPACE Ravagers?" Rose in space? She seems puzzled.

Deathstroke's attention seems to focus down to a single pin prick somewhere just behind Peter's eyes. "The Ravagers." did Peter just drop his daughter's code name on him as some kind of hidden secret threat? Because if that's the case that is the WORST possible way to approach Slade Wilson and, you know, live to explain oneself. Oh. Alien shit. He tilts the tea mug to his lips and sips from it lightly and the feeling of emminant lethal violence seems to pass by in a cool receding breeze. Feels like a close miss, but there's no reason why it should. After a moment's consideration he nods, "Fair enough." he makes a mental note to check into this 'ravagers' nonsense and see who, out there in the galazy, might be using his daughter's name to ill will. He'll not have her brand sullied before it's fully cemented, not by anyone. He doesn't care /what/ planet they hail from… … …how does one go about checking galactic mercenary Yelp? There should be an app for that. He'll ask Peabody. Lunair gets a look that suggests they shouldn't talk about this right now, he's a bit rattled by the name drop as it is.

"I thought I told you that one, Luna." Peter says, watching the non-verbal exchange between the two. "To put it into persepctive, when I was ten, they shanghaied me with the intention of etating me because…well, some of Yondu's boys didn't know what Terran tasted like. And for some reason, he thought I'd be more useful as another of his soldiers. In retrospect, I'm glad I didn't end up the main course, but Yondu is still an asshole. Which…is why I stole one of his ships." And he did say the right stuff? No, neither Luna or Audrey said anything about DS, that much he does know. And he asked. They only said they worked with 'people', and that was it. And that can mean anything.

Deathstroke smirks at that, the twist of lips the only thing that can be seen in the vent in his mask, and perhaps the edge of … a beard or something? Hard to tell. "Interesting back story Mr. Quill. Original, I'll give you that." he sips the tea again and lowers the cup, "You have the ships location I assume, I have the resources and skills. We meet up where and when you like, give me time to run recon, make sure there's nothing nasty laying in wait for us, and then we make our move. Try to be quiet if we can, fast and hard if we can't. When it comes to any contact with an enemy force you do as I say, you follow orders without question, in return when it comes to alien," he waves a gauntleted hand absently, "doohickies, we won't touch unless you clear it." the one eye hole bobs once as if happy with that arraingement, "Good?"

"Ah. Sorry, it's a familiar word," Lunair shakes her head. "I'm - it's a good story," She offers quietly. "We're glad you didn't eat up a burger." Yes. And really, Lunair's got some good, strong chai and snacks going. Chai is in some places, traditional with business and chatting. Ne vertheless, Lunair is curious. "Thank you for coming," She offers politely.

"Hey, I don't believe it myself sometimes. You ever meet Yondu, he'll talk about that one with pride. Which…is weird." Peter remarks with a twang of resentment towards his former mentor. "In a show of good faith," he reaches a hand into a pocket, offering a thumb drive. "The scheamtics for the ship. Don't ask where I got them, it involved a microwave, a radio, and computer interface. Shi'ar ships, espeically the recon and observation variety, are known to be highly secure and /highly/ boobytrapped. The Shi'ar do not like their government secrets falling into other hands. VI-controlled turrets, plasma mines, laser defense grids, auditory disarming systems, and some other fun toys. This will give you the layout, where the defenses are. I know how to deactivate them, but it's knowing where they're hiding is tha hard part. These ships can be death traps if you're not careful. Everything you need to know about the ship is here." But to DS's orders, he nods. "Your pointman, got it. And I was going to suggest that. I've delbt with most of these." A smile goes to Luna. "Thanks for bringing me, Lu."

Deathstroke takes the thumb drive and nods his approval, "That almost takes all the fun out of it." he says in a tone that makes one think he's only half kidding. Maybe one quarter. "I'll go through this with a fine tooth comb. Will you need extra kit? A trenchcoat and," he eyes the gunbelt Peter is still holding in his hand with curious questionability, "freeze rays?" he's seen a lot of tech that does feezeing rays in his day, "Whatever, aren't exactly proper kit for this sort of thing. I can't offer you anything unique," he taps a finger on his own armor, "but I've got advanced gear for rent if you want to um… suit up, I believe the phrase is."
"Spartosi element guns." the spacer clarifies. "They do exactly what they sound like. Freeze is just one setting." Peter glances at the guns. "As for a kit. "A proper electrician's kit would be nice, but the set of lockpicks I have is built the for the kind of doors I deal with. But I'll take an inventory of what I have to work with and I'll let you know. And my contact information is on that thumbdrive, though I'm sure Luna has it as well." A look around.

"Alright, I have some prep work to do myself. Let me know when you got a plan all set and by that point, I should be as well." A nod then. "Good talking." Taking a couple steps back, the rockets in his boots fire, throwing the spacer into the air.

Deathstroke nods his agreement and watches the Space Nudist, as Lunair call him, take flight. "Huh." he says, sipping from the tea cup again, "I have to wear a jet pack to get that sort of lift. I need a better tailor." he hands the cup, now empty, to Lunair, "Pack it up, we've got things for Peabody to pour over and check for us and I have another set of coordinates I want to check before we call it a night." he rolls a shoulder which feels stiff from the bullet he took only a day ago that's already almost good as new, save a bit of stiffness. He throws a leg over the bike and fires it up, "We're getting close, I can taste it." he says, his lips twisting into a grin just before the vent in his mask clinks shut, hiding the smile from view. Then he's off, the bike kicking up dust and gravel as it fishtails out back towards the city.

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