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The backroom at Farrell's was set up as such as it housed what was needed to be housed. There was a large expanse of space; shelves stocking the best stuff that the bar could afford, a walk in freeze that houses food and meat so it could not be spoiled. That space also affords a little room off to the side, under lock and key. Surely nothing shady was going down within this part of the room, for itself was left ajar. During the prohibition era, where liquor was outlawed, this room was created for the finer things in life. Whether there were good time whores or mobsters just looking for a place to hang their hats and shoot cards at one another as well as the shit, you'd find it here in this small room.
This small room that carried the memories of spilled booze, blood, probably broken glass and the scent of cuban cigars. Where the rickety table had carvings of initials that spelled out various names that came by or thick marks where knives penetrated the wood but it kept standing. Why, even someone tried to at least make the table look nice with a good coat of shine that cemented the markings and various grooves that were put into.
Chairs line the table, well.. two chair and two benches. These were big men that would sit upon them, and possibly are sitting at this current moment. Though the person who sits upon one of the chairs is something out of a magazine that possibly wouldn't be published, if at all.
One of her most favored looks; a tall and shapely black woman with hair that falls upon her shoulders in loose, wavy curls. Her outfit was unremarkable. A simple shirt, a nice skirt. Jacket hung upon the back of her chair as she begins to shuffle the cards. Plates of food were in front of the two men as well as three bottles of the finest burbon that was taken off the shelf in the backroom. Her glass was filled half way. Ice floating within like a serum waiting to be mixed.
"Be kind." She says as she lays the cards out in front of her. This is how she thinks. Solitare. "There was a week when I went off the grid sometime in 1955.." She looks up towards the bigger man, a slight grin upon her face. "The man that we are to meet is an old connect and consort of mine. And he is not of this place. If we are to do what needs to be done…" She flips a card, then frowns. "…kindness. First and foremost." Another card flipped, and then another. And a peek at one to cheat. "Do be on your best behaviour and no lip. I understand that you two are impenetrable but there are ways."
*
Cain has a cigar of his own, although it looks like a cigarette in his giant jaws, taking a drag on it and exhaling a plume of smoke, "Nuts,' he says. He takes a long sip of his booze and sits back int eh chair - even reinforced, it was barely big enough for him and only holding his weight by the slimmest of margins.
"Old contact, huh? Does that mean old boyfriend? And whadda we need help for anyway? We're doin' pretty awrighit as it is," he says.
They only had a thirty-three percent building destruction rate at this point, after all. That's practically civilized."
*
Fred was always wary of seating, there was little worse for a self-loathing large man then to be spilled out onto the floor because a chair had failed to support his burden. He was glad for the bench's thick, sturdy legs and stocky seating. It didn't even complain of him when he shifted, not even so much as a creak. For it's discretion, it will be reincarnated as a pew in the next life.
The shorter of the pair of behemoths worked away at a pork chop, carving off a morsal and then popping it into his mouth at the end of a fork. "So, what, he a charity case?" Fred wondered after he swallowed, picking up one of the bottles and pouring his measure into a glass, "Some sensative ass hippy or somthin' you found in a commune?" Commune was a big word for Fred, he had heard it on the news just a few hours ago.
*
The back door opens. Which is strange, because it had been locked from inside. Someone on the other end must have a key… or be good with a bumplock masterkey. It swings open, revealing a stocky fellow in a worn surplus trenchcoat and scuffed combat boots. He'd look homeless with his scruff and stringy, chin-length hair— but a .357 magnum is tucked into his beltline, and there's a glimpse of a .45 on his belt holster, too. He's someone who's ready for a fight, and the look he gives Fred and Cain respectively is flat, cold, and utterly lacking in human emotion. A predator sizing up the leap.
He looks at Raven. "Your sister threw me out. I need a place to sleep," he tells her— but something in his dry tone suggests he's asking an entirely different question.
*
The current game was scrapped in favor of reshuffling the cards to better fit her odds. Playing against herself, even Raven cheats. So it was no big deal why she does what she does. In this game, no one gets harmed.
"You can say that, Cain." She addresses him first. "Though more of a fling and a quick job than something that could have been sustainable." The cards were lightly thumped upon the table as she rights them again, shuffling with a curve of her fingers and a tight smile given. "He's no charity case. -We- are the charity cases. Whilst you two may use your bodies to fend off our would be oppressors, I would appreciate another way to get the job done. Not to mention, self made exit plans will be a bit too loud for the things I will have us do. We need discretion."
Her eyes lift towards Fred, a certain amount of glee in her features. "He is a ghost. A whisper. And chances are.. we may never see him again after this. At least.. not in the way that we expect."
Her eyes alight upon the door as the man who entered speaks. The cards were put down, stacked and faced downward. To the reply?
"I've but only a room and a couch." Lamest. Code phrase. Ever.
*
Cain sighs, "Her sister? How many families do you have, woman?" he asks Raven, nudging Fred with an elbow, "Seriously, I thought this dame was like ten for years, turns out she was thirty and just playin' dress-up. Now she's got extra siblings poppin' outta the woodwork. I'm gonna find out she's Richard Nixon any day now," he says.
"I ain't no charity case, I don't need nothin'," he says. "Fred might need some charity. He probably needs someone to donate him some drawers that fit, cause I got a nasty feelin' he ain't wearin' any right now," he says.
When Bucky comes in, Cain holds up his glass of bourbon, "Hey there, pal. Welcome to the party," he says, taking a sip and spearing a fork into a another entire steak.
*
Fred didn't much like the idea of being thought of as charity case, he made this clear when he said, "Don't like bein' no damn charity case." Being picked first in dodgeball out of pitty is worse than being last. He bolts his bourbon, draining the tumbler with a toss of his head and a 'Agh!' of enjoyment before he moves back to the fork and knife… that was until some homeless dude strolled in through a door he coulda sworn was locked just a minute ago.
His hands plant on the table over top of his utensils, about to press himself to his feet when… Sister?
His features screw into a look of confusion, lips pouting, one brow arching high up towards his hairline. It don't get no plainer after that, Cain saying something about ten year olds, thirty-somethings… "Y'all confusin' as hell." he relented as he lowered his backside back into the bench. "You mind the state of yer own gat damn britches, Cain. I got mine just how I like'm and that's all you need to fuckin' know!" he asserted.$E$E"An' close that damn door-!" he asserts with a brandished fork, halting in his sentiment to regard Raven, "'lest your sister got someone else to send our way."
*
The raggedy fellow walks around the room, examining the walls closely. He inspects the two outlets, then moves to remove the vent panel and shoves a spare cushion from a chair into it. He moves to the overhead light, pulling it close to examine it— then to the windows, making sure the high, narrow ports are dusted and grimed to the point of being opaque.
Finally convinced there are no bugs or sabateurs in the woodwork, he turns to face her, at the fourth point of the little square their card game makes. His hands rest in his pocket, and he's slouching a little, but— he's got that strange self-possession that's almost zombie like save for the raw intensity behind his blue eyes.
"What's the mission?" he inquires of the raven-haired woman.
*
If one could face-palm.
The person who would invent that gesture could possibly feel the metaphysical hand reaching up to smack him right in the forehead. Cause that is what Raven does now. The face-palm to end all face-palms that was felt from this year of 1963 to an unbelieved and fabled 2016. Her eyes even close for a second longer as the two jibber jabber about underwear and sisters. Ages and the things. Even while The Winter Soldier makes his moves around the room to inspect and ensure his safety.
The room was bought with five hundred dollars and cleaned up before they took residence there. An extra ten dollars for the food and drink, and to ensure that no one was to come into the back room for the rest of the night. And to forget their faces. That was important.
Raven moves from her chair once the chatter and inspection was done to close the door that would lead to the storage room and main room beyond. It was finally clicked and locked as she gestures towards Cain to get the door as well. And to relock it. There was no needing anyone to walk in because they see a light swing.
"Code phrase. You two haven't done spy work I take it." She mutters, walking back towards her chair to take a flop down which causes the seat to creak and lean slightly. "Acquisition." She states plainly, drawing a card from the top to lay it flat, face down upon the table. "Re-Supply and gear." Another card was laid upon the table, face down. "Sabotage and Infiltration." Another. "Sequestor and Eliminate. Re-supply and gear are a priority."
She reaches beneath the table, dragging out a black case, which was soon slid in the direction of the Winter Soldier. Cain and Fred may be upset, but she'll lay out the plan in its entirety in short order.
*
Cain snorts as he gets up and checks the door, making sure it's secure, "Spy work? Do I look like undercover's exactly my specialty? Anyway, spies are mostly just pussies who ain't got the guts to be real soldiers. I mean, not you, but, like…most spies," he shrugs.
"But I ran my share o' outfits an' I agree, we need to reset and reorganize. Get everybody on the same page. Make sure we have a place where we can scuttle off too without gettin' chased or messed with by busybodies in fancy outfits."
*
"Th'hell he doin'?" Fred voiced his concern beneath his breath, attention following Bucky while he- "Electri- 'the fuck he doin to the AC?" He gawps at the man openly, shifting on his seat to watch him while he prowls. His attention swivels around to aim that question, in a much less verbal manner, squarely at Raven. The fuck is this, the fuck is he?
He gets a answer. A spy? Well, Buck' looked spooky enough for it. Still, Fred offered the answer of, "Me? Oh Yeah, I'm Double-0 7." he answered… He rather liked Dr. No.
And that's about as far as he got before she started laying out five dollar words with every card. Cain got door duty and he… He poured and downed himself another drink.
*
"Personnel, materiel, or information?" Winter inquires, seemingly perfectly understanding Raven's cryptic phrases. He accepts the briefcase and opens it, fumbling a bit with his gloved left hand, and examines the contents without letting the two men get more than a quick glimpse into it. "I can provide material support at the market rates. Weapons are per-item and you reimburse me for all other operational costs as we go."
He looks finally at Fred and Cain, as if seeing them for the first time— and then delivers them the most scathing insult possible, by simply /ignoring/ their muttered barbs to look at Raven.
"Why the amateurs?"
*
"Exactly." Raven mutters towards Cain. He was getting it, even though he wasn't fully involved in her personal vendetta/operation. Though, him being here says otherwise, which is what she'd have to take in consideration. "Working alone has it's benefits, but now that I have you two to account for.. well. Yes. Organization. Fresh start."
While Fred watches Winter, Raven herself doesn't mind what he was doing. She does chuckle at his reference, mostly in understanding. Little did they know, she may or may not have met the man who had written the books in passing. He was a 'spy' himself. "Information. And I need a few good assets that you trust to squeeze into the local PD here in Hell's Kitchen. Eyes on the inside."
What was in the briefcase would be for Winter's eyes only, but a quick glimpse would show pictures of certan members of the Maggia, not to mention cash that lined the background. Most notably was a picture that stood out, one of Daredevil, crudely drawn but a quick sketch to add to the cache of items within. It was clear, since his picture was at the top, that -his- information would be required first and foremose.
As for Cain and Fred?
"Juggernaut is no amateur. His name moves through military circles for jobs that .. were untouchable by the normal rabble you'd find. Fred is a special case. This beautiful bodacious bouyant bountiful beast has a certain set of skills and ability that so far I have seen run unmatched by anyone in our previous employ. Bullets mean nothing for him. In which I need another favor, which I will pay in full in due time that will not include the re-imbursement that you require."
While the look she gives Fred is almost insufferable, there was a little squint. "He needs a special grade of linen. I don't know what but.."
*
Cain narrows his eyes, "Raven, you better get your little boytoy in line or Fred an' me may have to show him the amateur way we rip his limbs off and stuff 'em down his pretty boy throat," he says. "I bet that fancy arm o' his makes a nice toothpick."
Cain rolls his neck, vertebrae popping like gunshots as he pushes away from the wall. He isn't exactly low on temper - being full of primordial chaos god will do that to you. Raven's words soothe him a bit, though, as she speaks highly of their acumen. "That's why we have teams, pal. Cause not everybody has the same set of skills. Some of us are indestructible destruction machines. Some are shapeshifting master spies. Some are…I dunno, whatever it is you're good at."
*
Fred might have heard the word amateurs before. He never bothered looking it up in a dictionary but the context was never flattering. Man hadn't called him fat, but never the less, he felt slighted. His brows furrowed and his nostrils flared. The soft definition of his jaw tightened and he seemed as if he was just about to go through the act of congress it would take him to get up and off of that bench once more… but then Raven buttered him up like the biggest damn roll you'd ever find in New York.
Alliteration bounded from her lips and each word was a bucket of water across the flames of his temper. He eased down, resting firmly once more. A object firmly at rest.
"Hell, if the Boss wants you here, you gotta be worth somethin'." Fred finally opined of The Soldier, resting his elbows on the table. Fred suffered well under her gaze. If suffering it could be called. She was the Boss… and every time she tugged that leash in just a way that he didn't realize it was being tugged, he minded it less and less.
*
"I'm discreet," Winter says, without sparing Cain a glance. "And I know who you are. Mercenary for hire. Was working out of Cairo not too long ago."
He focuses back on Raven. "You're trading on favors. You'll owe me one, after this," he tells Raven— a practica bit of bookkeeping.
"I think I know your man here." He taps on the closed briefcase. "I'll spend a few days surveilling him and marking his routine down. I am confident a suitable bait could be found. He fixates on dealing with criminal groups— provoke criminal acts in his area of operation, then set up a tantalizing target. A drug bust, or a weapons sale. He'll almost certainly decide to intervene, and you can either get a direct eye on him or even take him down yourself if you want."
*
"Kindness." Raven states for all of them to hear. Even as that falsely and well manicured finger lifts into the air to wave like a metronome that scolds. Though as it all seems to work out on it's own, the men coming together is something of a marvel. Each of them were quietly appraised, even she sees Cain in a slightly -different- light. Not the abused boy that she snuck sandwiches to. A hand reaches out to lightly pat Fred's forearm, then she withdraws once the eye of Winter was trained on her yet again.
"Just for this one thing." She clarifies. "Separate from the rest of the entire transaction."
Once the issue of Daredevil crops up, Raven makes a note to mention. "We will see, with what you come up with. He may be a valuable asset. Though if he's more trouble than he's worth, Fred will dispose of him properly." She twists her lips, just a touch.
"There's a tenement several blocks from here. Six Alarm Fire." She doesn't explain, she is sure he'll understand what she means. "Method of drop the same as before?"
*
Cain grumbles and returns to his food as he's more or less told to be nice. He can be nice, for her, but he doesn't have much interest in putting a lot of effort into it. He kicks up his feet, takes another sip of his bourbon and just repeats what he said when the Soldier first showed up.
"Nuts."
*
"Twist the head right off the little geek." Fred promises, lifting his hand up, fingers splayed wide and crooked as if gripping something broad. His wrist twists, a pantomime as if he were removing the lid from a jar. If she was talking about that shrimp from the precinct… it'd just be a matter of getting his hands on the jumpy fucker and everybody thought they could dance around Fred Dukes.
*
"Six alarm. Understood," Winter rasps, nodding at the curvy, dark-haired woman. He goes quiet for a moment, considering his response.
"I'll leave information for you tomorrow," he tells Mystique, hands disappearing into his pockets. "Same as before. Let me know what you need and we'll set up a second meeting."
He looks from Fred to Cain. "You two need to stay low and hidden. You're too high profile for this work. He'll know we're trying to set him up if he catches you lurking in the alley," Winter advises them both. He looks back at Raven. "Is that all you need tonight?"
*
Raven couldn't help but picture Fred twisting the head off of .. well, a little geek. It was fully animated too. Little arms flailing and waving and big Fred there with his massive hands, pinching and twisting until.. *POP*!
The thought alone causes Raven to shudder a little, her head shaking as she leans forward to push the briefcase into Winter's direction. Business is officially concluded.
"Very good." She murmurs in response, and while the suggestion was given for Fred and Cain? She had something else in mind for them.
"There need be no worry for them causing a ruckus in Hell's Kitchen. I have a job for them that'll take them away from this part of town for a week or two." With that said, the rest of her top shelf was finished with a grip of a glass, toss back and down again. The cap was replaced upon the bottle and grabbed as she stands up with a stretch that gives a sickening pop. Sickening as in, Raven just realigned her spine like she just wrung it out like a rag.
"This is all I need of for now. We'll touch base soon. But for now.. we have a restaurant to put out of commission."
Though, little does anyone know, Raven wouldn't return any calls or replies. -SOMEONE- went on Hellcation and forgot to alert the crew. Nuts is right.
*