Bringing Joy Wherever He Goes

June 24, 2017:

Deathstroke drops in on the Gotham Arms to have a chat with Doctor Moone. Taskmaster and Ravager cameo.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Gotham Arms Apartments a stationary location. Not one that Regan, Rose or Harley Quinn have been incredibly quiet about. Not to those who know how to look at least. Taskmaster comes and goes, Poison Ivy has erected the mose amazing garden this side of Gotham on the roof and on hanging gardens around the structure and they've already been assaulted by the 'League of Losers' although, that has largely been covered up despite the bragging from those idiots who -lost- as is their fate.
The most incognito member of the 'off duty slumsquad' is June Moone, the archaelogist and most powerful member of the team. Amanda Waller's secret weapon.

It's Gotham, its dark, its always dark but it is a late night. Taskmaster is in full battle regalia as he had a job earlier and striding through the halls of the apartment's upper floor, the 6th floor, bought out and claimed by 'SKWAD' a name pegged by Harleen due to joint tattoos. That is the room the skully merc just departed, a talk was required after the jester-ettes most recent breakdown-of-sorts. The hyenas secured safely behind a very heavy door.

*

Deathstroke stares at Taskmaster from the darker end of the hall and shakes his head, "Not even going to try to hide your presence here?" it sounds like a question but it really isn't one. He… doesn't look like himself. A slightly pot bellied man of middle years, brown hair, slumped shoulders, receding hairline. Slade's hidden his massive build behind a dockworker's clothing and a worn salt stained knit cap that's pushed back just far enough to show the missing hair line. And he has two eyes. Muddy brown, all in all, an utterly unremarkable man. "Your tradecraft is atrocious."

*

June is currently in her room. She hears voices from out in the hall, and comes to the door, opening it. She frowns, seeing Deathstroke, and looks down towards Taskmaster. "Friend?"

*

The absolute fastest quickdraw snap up without superhuman reflexes just occurs. A 45. aimed dead center of Deathstroke's tubby disguised chest. "Hah, someone has to play clean up for these amateurs. I'm covering our asses on and off the job." The weapon twirls and re-holsters. "Best be you, Old Timer or someone is about to find a size thirteen lodged up their dirty pipe."

A sidelong look at June as she opens her door, "One sec, Doc and we'll see."

Signs all largely point to the OBVIOUS but better safe than sorry in their line of work. "Johnny Cash… mint, Sailor Jerry spiced rum… " Taskmaster is mumbling to himself, waiting for that memory spike as he tries to force it, "Operation Mongoose. Kabulstan. How many bullets did we soak collectively?"

*

Deathstroke does /not/ have atrocious tradecraft, and so his disguise is shockingly good. Still, he can't help but feel the tug at the corner of his lips, closest thing he gets to a smile, at the familiar sound of Task's memory games, "Eleven," he says, "if you count that .32 the taxi driver put in Wintergreen's backside during the get away." he says calmly, "Which I generally don't." Wintergreen, were he still around, would likely disagree. "Dr. Moon." the dock worker says in greeting, "A pleasure to actually meet you and not your counterpart." dock workers aren't usually this polite.

*

June nods to the dock worker. "And a pleasure to meet you too, I'd assume. Do we have a name for this meeting, since you have mine?" She considers him carefully.

*

"Right, I… remember some of that now. May as well drop the disguise." Taskmaster says, "This building is for the most part secure, as long as it's not attacked again." He doesn't live here. Just sleeps on the couch sometimes. "You've already met, sort of. He is a co-worker." No name reveal, the skullfaced and armored merc strides past Slade towards the rec room. "Set up a training room here, Doc and Lady Mastermind are currently in the school of Taskmaster's hard knocks. Make yourself comfortable, everyone else does." Not that it matters or its his place to say, originally this was Rose or Regans or both? He doesn't honestly remember he just knows its now inhabited by the Sirens Inc.

*

Deathstroke snorts, "It's Gotham." he says as he straightens to his full height, his shoulders squareing up and the 'disguise' made mostly out of body language, is shed like a skin. "It's His territory, you know better then that." Batman means very little is secure in Gotham for very long, at least, if you make mistakes. Like housing anyone associated with the Joker. "Deathstroke." he offers to June, giving her a respectful nod, "I'm the fast one in the armor with the sword who's size leads one to make jokes about over compensation. Orange and black?"

*

June looks over, considering him. "I remember you. From the operation we did." Well, the one she mostly tagged-along on. "You two just have all the testosterone, don't you?"

*

"Hasn't shown up yet has he?" Taskmaster counters, "I've already tango'd with his kids, just not the daddy. Deathstroke afraid of a freak who dresses up like a flying rat? Cute."

"I'm do for an upgrade anyways." If such a thing is possible given his collected skillset already.

"If he shows or they show, they'll likely find the girls here and not me, I don't think even the vampire Bat and his army of rodents want to piss off some of these women."

Taskmaster isn't being blaise about it more to than he wants the Gotham vigilantes to show up and come at the team here, hes only gotten to loosely skirmish with the current Batgirl(s) and Nightwing, had a nice dance with Cass and has never seen the Bat or his others. They're still mythical boogeymen to him.

"This is mild, Doc. Wait until we're having actual fun."

*

Deathstroke raises a hand and wobbles it slightly, "I have the testosterone, he has the inferiority complex." he ignores Taskmaster's commentary about Batman and walks over to June, "Actually, I came here for you, not the little boy." he jerks a thumb at Taskmaster.

*

That gets a blink. "Errr…what is it you want me to do? I'm singularly unqualified for 90 percent of the things you do." June replies.

*

"I have the youth and all the skills you wish you had the time to learn." Taskmaster counters, not that the 'youth' thing holds much salt against Deathstroke, "The little boy dig is low. That one I may have to take offense to." The hallway does cut off several directions, training room, rec room attached to dining hall and kitchen.

*

Deathstroke nods his head towards the kitchen, "We're going to need a table for this." he says, motioning for June to lead the way while shooting a look Taskmaster's direction, "Don't flaunt your youth if you don't want to be called out on it." he says simply, "You use to many old man jokes. They were tired a decade ago, they've not grown fresher with age."

*

June looks surprised. "Err…all right?" She moves to lead the way into what passes for an apartment for her. "Sure." She'll nod at the table, and indicates the chairs near it. "Coffee?" she offers to both of them.

*

"I have?" Taskmaster actually sounds dubious. "I am pretty sure I can count the amount of times I've knocked your age." No he can't. He's got goldfish memory. A shake of his head and he steps aside in the kitchen to grab a bottle from the cupboard, Jack being poured in to three glasses and set down with a 'klank' of glass on tabletop. "Coffee? At this hour?"

*

Deathstroke takes a seat at the table, reaching up to poll off the knit cap and wig that were part of his disguise, and setting them aside, "Black." he says with a tone of gratitude as he pulls a package from behind himself where it was hidden by the coat he was wearing. He opens it and begins to lay things out on the table carefully. When June returns she'll see some beautifully preserved Greecian tablets, the sort one doesn't see outside of a mueseum, and rarely even in them. Not the clay sort, the stone sort, complete with intricate carvings. They appear to be Helenistic in style, but the writing is older then the art, the form of Greek predating Alexander. "I want you to take a look at these." He's literally not here for the Enchantress. Here's here for Dr. Moon. And to think, she thought she wasn't useful.

*

"I don't assume that any of you keeps regular hours." June explains to Taskmaster, and she moves to get three cups down, before coming over. She looks at the tablets. "Good god. Where did you get these?" She doesn't touch them, but instead immediately takes out her smartphone, and starts to take pictures. "Pre-Greek. Possibly Etruscan? They're gorgeous."

*

Taskmaster defaults to observation mode, those two other glasses of whiskey left sitting half filld, if neither June nor Slade get to them he will at some point. "For certain things it is appropriate. The rest… " A bunch of shoulders in a shrug.

*

Deathstroke takes the coffee and the Jack and then pours the later into the former, Irish coffee children. Old soldier's drink if ever there was one. Old old soldiers drink. He takes a hit of the coffee, sipping it through his teeth and watching the Dr, "You don't want to know." he says simply, "I'm not the student of history you are, but they seem off. The relief carvings. They didn't do that in Greece, did they? I thought that was a Roman thing, putting sculpture on their tabelets and decrees, the Greeks were big on simple symbols or a single face or something?" he moves one to the side with a fingertip and points to a second, "And correct me if I'm wrong, but that man appears to be fighting a monster or a demon. With a marble column." he glances at her, "Or am I not seeing that right?" frankly, how he can see that at all is up to question. The carving is worn down to nearly nothing more then smudges and indentions. He seems to want something from her, but he's not saying it aloud.

*

"They are." June looks over. "I'd need to get them into a proper lab to tell more. I believe it's a telling of Hercules' tale, but it's…modified. The language is older, the style later." June considers. "What do you want to know about them?"

*

Deathstroke eyes the tablets and then the Dr, "Two things. If you can get them for me, the tablets are yours, do with them what you like. One, tell me the complete story." he points at the script who's majority is so faded it's almost indecipherable as script at all, more like wavey lines. It will take serious labs with serious tools to peel back the millenia to make it ledgible again, "Two, find out what that," he points in the general area of the monster Herculese seems to be fighting, "is."

*

June considers. "I'll need access to a lab." She tells Deathstroke. "I can do the research easily enough, but I'll need some tools that aren't exactly man-portable. Something university-level or better." The kind of things an archaeologist's salary doesn't cover.

*

"Which is nothing we have here." Taskmaster adds, the glass pushed up underneath this skullplate again. No coffee for him. He plans on sleep eventually in his own safehouse. Somewhere hes not required to have an eye open. That means definitely not here.

*

Deathstroke turns to eye Taskmaster, then back to the woman, "What sort of equipment, and how long would you need it for?" his tone suggests he's having Ideas.

"Carbon-dating equipment. High-powered microscopes." June replies. "As for how long…sort of depends on what I find. Not less than a day. Probably not more than four or five."

*

A sip, a stare. "I imagine you know a guy who might know a guy." Taskmaster says quietly to Deathstroke. Not a question. Tier 1 Assassins have a lot of contacts in all strange walks and occupations. There is always some 'guy'. Just depends on what sort of trouble might sprout and the risk to worth ratios.

*

Deathstroke considers this for a long long moment, "Sivana owes me." he admits, "Karkull too." he seems to think, "If I could get you access to equipment of that calibre, you could get me what I want?" he asks Moon, his tone careful. He shoots Taskmaster a look, "Hate to burn up Sivana's IOU for anything shy of a sure thing…"

*

"I /should/ be able to." June answers. "Archaeology isn't an exact science. Lots of details get lost with history. But short of wrangling in a time traveler, or trying to get the witch to tell you, I'm probably your best bet."

*

"Sivana is wrapped in with an interesting crowd last I heard was circulating. Make it a good IOU." The Society, they tried to recruit him a while back and Taskmaster refused, it was a rough several months. No need to mention that though. Feelers are out, Unternet access is held by both Task and Deathstroke, black poker chips, thats how it starts. Sivana is a carrying member. "Shes a smart bird, she'll figure it out, right, Doc?"

*

Deathstroke seems to think about it, then shakes his head, "I'm not asking Savage for anything first, and Chronos is a delusional fool." he eyes June, "And I don't trust your other half in the least. I'll trust in your desire to keep history whole Doctor, and Sivana's tech." Say what you want to about the little goblin, but he knows his damned science.

*

June nods. "All right. Agreed. Get me access to the tools, and I'll do the research. And the tablets are mine when this is all over." She's simple to bargain with. "I haven't had a chance to do any proper research in a long time."

*

"If it falls through Tinkerer is pricy but we've already used him once." Taskmaster says nothing about the extras included, Vandal Savage and Chronos are different circles, avoided unless paid otherwise. "You getting excited?" The mercenary teases June, his glass now empty. "

*

Deathstroke reaches down and polishes off his coffee in a pair of swallows before setting the mug back down in it's place, "The Tinkerer still owes me for the last job I did for him, Peabody thinks he's holding out trying to sell our agreed upon payment for a better price." he shakes his head, "You'd think a man that smart wouldn't be so stupid. Still. You make a fair point, I could force him into a trade over this." Deathstroke's word carries a shocking amount of weight in their circles, everyone knows he doesn't lie, it means a bad Yelp review from him can ruin a villain's cred for years. He will 1 star a motherfucker. He fights dirty. "Keep them for now, but keep them safe. See what you can dig up without the equipment and I'll let you konw when I secure an appropriate facility." he pauses, "Thank you for this Dr. Moon."

*

"All right. Thank you. I'll do what research I can without the equipment, but it's going to be a little limited. Thanks, for coming to me." She offers with an actual smile.

*

Taskmaster draws the bottle out again, turning it around in his fingers idly, "Tinkerer's ego is bigger than his brain. Thats his problem. He's an easier option than Sivana most days though." The mercenary trails off, a look to June as she smiles and a noise escapes his throat, "Whats this? Deathstroke comes in and brings a smile to someones face. Thats fucked up."

*

Rose is entering, the many locks, mechanisms, and temporary security locks on the door of the 6th level click in and out of place, a rotary of confusion, but whatever…

A bag is over one arm, massive, black and matching the sunglasses lined in gems that frame her face and darken her eyes in a cat's angle.

Lips are a deep red, offset in the dark attire of high waisted cut off jean shorts, a mesh shirt that clings to the pleather(?) brassiere beneath it all and the lining of inkwork that rides down one side from crest to knee and across abdomen.

There is a turn, a latch of the door and the voice of Deathstroke has Rose pausing, a breath and upon pivot she smiles, lowering the glasses to reveal the single gaze of azure and the other patched and scarred at edges.

"No one told me of business…. Unless you brought your swim trunks. Speedo?" A smirk at Slade and the glasses sap back into place to hide the grimace of eyes beneath.
Just chew your gum and exit stage right!

A wave towards June and Task and she is making a bee-line…!

*

Deathstroke nods his head, "I know a few archeologists but frankly, they're all selfish pricks, more grave robbers then real scientists. You're different. I can respect that." he pushes himself to his feet and reaches down to pluck up his wig prosthetic. Fitting it into place with a practiced hand he secures it with the knit cap once more and then plucks up the bottle of Jack. He splashes himself a couple of times with it, letting the smell of whiskey waft from him before handing the bottle back to Taskmaster, "I make people smile all the time," he says in a complete deadpan, "I bring joy where ever I go."

He turns to watch his daughter, her with her one eye and him without his facial scars and with two eyes. His dock worker's disguise is good after all, "Rose." he says by way of greeting. He lets her quip without responce and then make her exit before he turns to the others at the table, "You'll be hearing from me." and then he turns to go. The Wilson Family Reunion goes one of the two ways they always tend to go, either no one says anything of substance (while everyone's conscious anyway), or someone has to clean up two dozen ninjas with a mop. And there ain't no ninja's in the room tonight, so it's silence and chill faux indifference. He heads out by back tracking the path his daughter took to come in.

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