Petulance and A$$holery - A Wilson Story

January 30, 2017:

Ravager is moving back towards Gotham, and meets up with (not Her) Dad, again.
… It will only end in tears.

Interstate 95 - Highway

Running between Gotham City and New York City is Interstate 95, a heavily
traveled route which passes by several major urban areas, including Trenton
and Philadelphia. Despite the congestion, travel between the Big Apple all
the way down to the Big Apricot typically involves passing around or through
Gotham.

Because of this the roads themselves have seen better days, with the endless
use and exposure to the elements it's not easy for construction crews to get
involved for making repairs. Motorists shouldn't expect a very smooth or
pretty trip, though it will probably still be a quicker trip than
experimenting with the alternatives.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

"I hate this fucking town." Slade mutters to himself as he stares across the street at a jewelry shop who's steel bars have been ripped free of the windows by what he assumes is a stolen truck, who's window is smashed in, and who's insides are being ransacked by a half dozen hoods who don't even bother to wear masks when instead they can just pull a bandana up over their features. He sighs heavily and turns his back to the crime, just like everyone else on the street, and goes about his business, walking away. A few stop to spectate and laugh, but no one helps. "Unfuckingprofessional." he sneers, shaking his head. If he didn't need to pick up those tools for Peabody he wouldn't have soiled his clothes with the foul air of this shithole.

His clothes! Slade looks down at his nice but understated clothes and sighs, "Gonna have to burn them all now." he laments.

The light glow of a cigarette illuminates features darkened by a half-mask. Phantom of the Opera-esque in the embrace of a pale white eye, offsetting the blue of the other that watches the crime and then Slade, his mutterings a thing that has her looking down where the butt of the cig is dropped to be crushed beneath the heavy soles of boots.

"Then why not make the burning worth it?" Spoken on words that come with small plumes of smoke and breath on frigid air, matching the pale/silver hue of hair that now sweeps over shoulders in random unkempt wisps. "What better excuse then to say it is to avoid Herpaghonnasyphilaids?"

Her voice is neutral, but when she moves from her lean-to and the trench coat shifts that attire of black, red, and silver scale-maille shows in every pass. Ravager knows him, but not him. That was made clear over a year ago and cost her more issues, but she is over it….

Kind of.

Slade never appears to be shocked by anything she does, this evening is apparently no exception. "Smoking is for idiots." he says flatly as he walks past her, his body language informing her he simply assumes she'll fall into line with him "A fact proven by quips you seem to think are humorous." he adds after a few steps. He doesn't appear to more then once over her, a single pass with his single eye, but it's enough, "The get up isn't in keeping with the family," he notes, "but is almost acceptable. Get rid of that ridiculous collar, add a gorget protector to your pauldron, and if you're going to wear a mask for the love of god at least make it an armored helm otherwise you're almost as bad at those morons." he jerks a thumb at the jewelry store behind them.

He started out with a clear couple of insults, followed by something dangerously close to a compliment, followed by more insults. He ends with another almost compliment. "Colors are nice though. A bit to much like your uncles, but they'll get the job done. Build a brand." or a reputation, and everyone knows how seriously he takes a thing like a good rep.

"If the genetics fit." Falling in line was a thing of the past. Was it even her past? But who gives a flying fuck at this point, genetics fit and she does at least turn to face him as he passes and she turns the collar of the trenchoat down, revealing nevermore of its existence. It was cold, so she flipped it, yeah not fashionable. But again, who cared? This just set more of those longer pale locks to sweep back in the chill winter breeze on the cusp of Gotham's streets to which she was returning.

"Armored? This is reinforcement enough for what I need. If I take a bullet to the brain it's a done deal anyway. But I'd have to be more of an idiot to let that happen." Pausing as he speaks of a brand, Ravager smiles, again her gaze passing towards the "thugs".

"Too easy, then, hm?" Asked with a tilt of head back towards them.

"I like my color scheme…"

Slade snorts, "Armored helm can save you from passing out from a graze, passing out will get you killed on a follow up shot." he says simply. "Research and invest in something. I suggest promethium once you can afford it, until then, padded graphene on a thin layer of the Stark Tech gold-titanium alloy will suffice." because people who are normal can just, you know, buy that sort of thing. Just. At like Home Depot. Maybe Wal-Mart has one on special.

"If you're good at something, never do it for free." he says simply, "Whoever funds the Bat," meaningful pause, "could put me on retainer for one half of his annual budget. I could sweep this town clean in three months. Until then-" he shrugs. Thugs stealing jewelry simply aren't his problem.
"DeFarge liked those colors too. My Rose put a knife in his eye for trying to kill her. Your choice says something about you, and right now it says you're trying to follow one of the Wades. It's not a flattering commentary. But if you like them then make them your own." This is also not his problem.

"And I took a knife in the eye from my own brother when he tried to kill you and use a child as leverage. Instead I almost killed you, but did kill him with you, to end it." A shrug, but it is more a motion to roll the tension off her shoulders, loosing the rest of the coat from her a bit, the thugs ignored now as that gaze narrows upon Slade. Her father figure of some-broken-sort, anew.

"I don't do what I do for free. Your Rose is gone and here I sit while my Slade is gone. So we are at an impasse of sorts. Nut up and face me, accept the shit-lot we both have been dealt. I did not ask for your insults, nor have I earned them. You want to lash me with your regrets? Let me at least earn those lashings or prove that you are wrong." A rise of indignant chin and her throat works over, swallowing back other things.

"Shouldn't take long."

Well. That brings him up short. For a moment Slade seems to process this new information before saying a single word, "Grant." Slade doesn't do emotion, so when there's even a hint of it in his voice it seems to carry exponentially more weight to it. There's enough in that single name to crumple a building. He glances at her for confirmation but somewhere deep down he knows he's right. In every dimension he must be destined to fail his eldest. Something in Rose's face is all he needs and he turns back and continues walking. Of course it was Grant. It's always Grant.

He doesn't respond to her for a long moment, walking along in silence and leaving the robbed store in the distance. Finally he decides to speak up, right around the time when one would start to assume he'd given up on the conversation altogether, "These aren't insults, they're judgements. Offense cannot be given, only taken. If you take offense at my words, then clearly your skin is not thick enough, carries to few scars. There's a sticks and stones thing that comes to mind here." he pauses as he rounds a corner and spots a couple of kids in green and white colors trying to break into his orange and black Aventador. His eye narrows and he continues to advance on them, "You /did/ ask for my judgements and you earned them as well. You came to find me, dressed like that, because you wanted to either show off or get my opinion. You were seeking approval. When you did not get it, you became petulant. You have my honest judgement, your costume will serve it's most base function, it will create for you a brand, a name. Beyond that it is slightly childish, owes more to fashion then function, and is colored strictly to annoy me." he shoots her a look, "You are a passable fighter, but your strategies have never been your strong suit. You're as subtle as Superman." and then he's in front of the car and he's apparently done talking to her for the moment.

"Boys." Ut-oh. Deathstroke Voice has just made an appearance.

A pause behind him, watching his body language as he comes to his own realizations and utters her brothers name. Let's not mention she ran into Jericho briefly here, as well…

"I did no such thing. I dress this way because they are pieces of who I was and am becoming. The colors… I like them? You got issue?" A low snort. "I am petulant, and I never sought to be subtle unless it calls for it…" Superman? It brought memories back of Superboy, and how she handled that.

"Your opinion only counts once you have accepted me." Her being here and lingering is enough to show she is willing to do her part once more. Last try. She can't take much more.

If Ravager is anything, she is quick to move, and yep. Prove him right about her Super-Subtlety (lacking).

The refined blades of an old Kherubim science and forgery are drawn in a low hiss.

The two men trying to get into the ride pause at the tone of voice, and then stare at the girl with the swords, freezing in place. "Be somewhere else." the white haired man with the white eye patch says coldly. The two consider it for a moment, then turn and run. This is Gotham, people with unique looks or carrying antiquated weapons are not to be fucked with. Basic rule of survival in this town. No one dresses like Rose in Gotham unless they're sure they can do it convincingly… or they're crazy. Neither is good for continued breathing.
Slade watches them go and then walks over to the door of the Lambo, checking it. "Scratched." he sighs in annoyance before letting it go. Not worth making a thing out of it. He'll have it repaired in a proper city, like New York. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket while pressing his hand to the driver's side window, there's a flash of light as the window scans his palmprint and the key's signal allows the door to be unlocked with a click.
"You said it yourself," he says looking up and this time directly at her, holding her with his gaze, "I'm the only father you have left. My opinion counts because he's not here to give his." he looks her up and down once more, "And if he were, can you honestly tell me he'd have said anything different about you dressing up in /their/ colors?" Deadpool and the original Ravager, two men who've likely been the biggest pains in Slade's ass while never actually being a threat. Flies in his ointment so to speak. He doesn't bother waiting for an answer, hearing what she said of Grant makes him believe the Slade from her world is not so unlike him here.
"Your draw is needlessly noisy and slow. Work on your drills tonight, test the sheaths's lips, they may be to loose, cause you to rattle on the pull. Day after tomorrow I'll find you and see how you've progressed. I expect you to draw in silence." which is his way of… what? Setting up quality family time?

Puts the swords back with a twist of wrists, pausing as the points touch down on the lips, a light *tap* to test and her upper lip curls to flash a glimpse of teeth. Well, fuck him for being right… This once!

"It only counts if you make it." A low utterance as the swords slide into the sheathes along her back, watching the palm scan and taking that trick in for when she gets her own car. She prefers her Tomahawk although it is not feasible in this weather. She already had to recover from frostbite of Antarctic proportions.

"My colors will change when the time comes." … to be a Wilson again. Here she never had reason to. "I insist on keeping my mask and the maille. I like them." Stipulations? Yes. Petulant, afterall.

"Tell Peabody… I miss him." A salute of sorts (yes, another thing she needs to work on unless it was on purpose??), and Ravager goes back the way she came, heading down the Highway into Gotham.

Slade opens the door of the car and pauses, "When they do don't expect my judgements to change." which is to say if she wants to put them on again, she'd better earn the fuck out of them. Slade doesn't do 'easy' on his kids. Ever. "Do as you like but know a stupid decision made because you 'like' something doesn't make the decision any less stupid. A fact I will remind you of."

When she mentions Peabody his expression darkens and he shakes his head, "You have his contact information, if you want to chat, then chat. I am not your personal mail carrier." and he climbs inside the car, frowning. Peabody has been talking to Rose. And didn't tell him. Or did she mean her Peabody? Doesn't matter. He'll have to ask the little shit when he gets back to the Resolve. He has questions.

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