1964-11-16 - Whiskey River
Summary: His name is Wisdom. It's meant to be ironic.
Related: None
Theme Song: Willie Nelson - "Whiskey River"
wisdom douglas 


Mutant Town. The November snow's started early, and just like a song some 20 odd years away says, the wind blows right through you.

The bar is 'Three-eyed Jack's', because it's run by a guy named Jack and he has three eyes. Apropos. It's the kind of bar they put in a basement, dark and a little dank and a lot smoky. And the kid sitting in the middle of it all at the bar could not look more out of place, with his Xavier's School hooded sweatshirt and his yellow hair hanging lank from the last traces of snow outside. "Bourbon," He says to Jack, "And keep it coming. Please." He pushes a $20 across the bar… he intends to drink for awhile, it seems.

*

Pete Wisdom has his spot on the end of the bar, a tumbler of bourbon kept close at hand. This Tennessee whiskey was certainly a different thing than the Irish or Scotch varieties, but he liked it just the same. He had a cigarette perched on a nearby ashtray, grabbed up and dragged carefully as he flicks his eyes down to the blonde kid.

"Have a bad day there, lad? That's an awful lot of booze for such a skinny boy to be imbibin'," he says.

*

Doug looks up as he gets his glass, and then he lifts it back—he gulps, and sets it down. "Just did something stupid, that's all." He says. "Thinking about the future. You know. Who says we have one?" He says. He rests his elbows on the bar and his chin in his hands. "Your accent." He says, as he thinks. "London? West End?"

*

Pete Wisdom grins, "Spot on at that. You've got a good ear, my friend," he says, blowing plumes of smoke through his nostrils. "Future is always there, comin' whether we like it or not. Our place in it ain't always clear, but ain't yet seen the man could stop time. Maybe a woman or two, but that was probably just the way it felt in me head," he says.

*

"I think I might've met that guy once." Doug says, as his bourbon's refreshed. "Doug Ramsey." He extends his hand, "Here to get blackout drunk." He says, "I should have a good ear. My power's Omnilinguistics. Well… I guess it's Omni-pattern recognition… but languages came first—" He holds up a finger and takes another mouthful of whiskey. "So I've got an ear for that sort of thing, yeah."

*

Pete Wisdom takes the hand, "Pete Wisdom. Pleasure, mate," he says. He raises an eyebrow, "Omnilinguistics, huh? Sounds useful enough. Surprised one of the spy outfits hasn't scooped you up. You been keepin' a low profile? Cause cryptography's pretty hot in those kinda circles, last I checked," he says. Of course, he actually IS a spy, but he's probably not supposed to advertise that fact. Not that he's ever been one to do what he's supposed.

*

Doug looks down at his bourbon, and then drains it again. "I graduated from the Xavier academy about four years ago… spent four years kicking around Europe, doing work as a translator for hire. I taught Gaelic in Ireland, Welsh in Wales — they were amazed how well I spoke it. But that's what I do." He grimaces. "If I became a *spook*," He says, "I don't think intelligence would ever let me go. My life wouldn't be my own anymore." He looks up at Pete, squints at him, and then says, "You're in Intelligence. It's written all over you. So to speak."

*

Pete Wisdom laughs, "I hope not to anybody but you. Kinda mean I was bad at the job, wouldn't it? And I promise you, I'm very damn good at the bleedin' job," he says. "But I'm feelin' a little lax, especially hear among my people. Freaks and losers and drunkards, a tribe if ever there was," he says.

"And no, they probably wouldn't let ya go. But there's worse things in life. And they do have dental benefits. And a resource they value would be protected and get paid fer the trouble. Bet most of the folks you end up helpin' out don't pay worth a damn. Me? I like gettin' paid."

*

"Among other things, I'm the master of the cold read." Doug admits, his chin in his hand. "I've been accused of being a telepath, but I'm not. It's just that subtle cuesmicroexpressions, body posture, breathing ratethey all click into place for me. I can just understand it." He takes another pull of his bourbon, and sets the glass down.

"Yeah?" He says, thinking about that, "Sometimes translation pays well, depending. But I don't wanna be anybody's stooge—no offense meant." He rubs his temples. "I'm sorry. This is gonna sound ridiculous to you, but I just spent an extended length of time in Hell, got out and then promptly fucked up my already pathetic love life but good. So I'm here to drink… because when I drink, I get stupid. And I don't want to subject anyone I actually like to it."

*

Pete Wisdom shrugs, "It ain't that ridiculous. I seen my share o' mad things in my day. I know Hell and demons and magic and all of that stuff. I ain't ever seen much use for it - seems like it causes mostly misery and blood," he says. "But some folks swear by it, I know."

"Hey, you gotta live your life the way you want. BUt I'll tell ya this - I been a spy for most o' my adult life and, most o' the time, I just do what the hell I want. If you got the talent, they need it enough that a little bit o' insubordination ain't that big a deal."

*

Doug thinks about that, for a long time. He takes a long, slow pull of his bourbon, and then sets the glass down. "All right." He says. "I'm sold." He's also drunk, wobbling just a bit on his barstool. "Introduce me to y'r bosses, Pete." he says, "And I'll start work for 'em right away. Freelance?" He raises his eyebrows. "I c'n work under classified orders."

*

Pete Wisdom laughs, "I ain't no recruiter, son, just a suggestion. But yeah, I'll let 'em know 'bout ya. They can track you down easy enough, I'm sure, kinda what they do," he says. "Be plenty sure, though. Like ya said, ain't no small commitment an' you got a little bit o' liquor in ya at the moment. Not as much o' me, but that's true of most," he says.

He does order himself another whiskey, though, chaining a fresh cigarette off the body of its predecessor. "You got any friends can take care o' ya, kid? Bad neighborhood to be wobblin' home at night with nothin' but a gift for languages to keep ya safe."

*

Doug looks down, and then curls his hand around his glass. "Yeah but I don't wanna wind up back there tonight. I've got money — I'll find a hotel." He says. His expression turns gloomy, drunk-wet, and far away. "Stupid." He drains the rest of his bourbon. "And what's it for anyway. Stupid power. Sucks." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then proceeds to deride himself and his abilities at length — in conversational Japanese.

*

Pete Wisdom shakes his head, moving a bit closer. He reaches out and pats Doug on the shoulder, "Look, kid, I get what yer sayin'. Ya see people with wonders, who can do impossible things, and what you can do, maybe it don't seem so flashy. But you gotta remember that there's a million, million people who ain't got nothin', nothin' but the same straight human misery's been crawlin' around this planet for a million stinkin' years, scrabblin' and clawin' for a little bit o' light and happy," he says.

"Most of 'em don't get it. Some never even knew it existed in the first place. They might be the lucky ones," he says. "I'm just sayin' - I get it, ya feel like a dog's arse, but don't get yerself killed over it, ya ken?"

*

Doug looks at the ice in his glass, and clinks it back and forth, slowly. "I could change it." He says. "I know I could. Break the world's language… and teach it a new one. My language. But then I think of the way the people I'd love would look at me and—it's not worth it." He looks over at Pete, and says, "Does anybody love you, Pete? Anybody at all? Is there anybody you're doing this for?"

*

Pete Wisdom takes a long drag on his smoke, "I see, you're one of those philosophical drunks," he says. "Some blokes get all weepy. Some get all affectionate, wanna be your best friend. Some try to get in your pants, man or woman. And some gotta think deep thoughts. Well, yer power is language, makes sense you'd be a poet at heart," he says.

"No, son, I don't think I got anybody left that loves me. My parents are long gone and the women…the women never stayed and most of 'em probably didn't like me that much to begin with," he says. "I do things for me. Cause I like me, at the very least, even if the rest of the fuckers don't or won't. YOu gotta like yerself first, kiddo. Otherwise the rest don't amount to much.'

*

"One more bourbon and I'll get mean." Doug says, before he nudges the glass toward the bartender. Then he looks down, and says, "I don't know if I feel bad for you, Pete — or if I think you're lucky." Then his expression focuses slightly, and his scowl deepens. "…But you're right." He puts his hand over his eye. "I don't even know where to start on that one."

*

Pete Wisdom snorts, "Get to know your hand real well as long as you're lacking a date. That always worked for me," he says. "Hard to resent somebody who treats ya so nice."

He takes a long drag of his cigarette and shrugs, "I ain't got much in the way of answers. I'm a fucked up excuse for a gentleman on any continent," he says. "My job's mostly kickin' the shit out of nasty things and then makin' sure nobody else talks a peep about it."

*

Doug looks up, and then says, "Right now, Pete—I'd say that sounds pretty nice." He pushes himself to his feet. "I'm gonna go seek the black haze somewhere. Okay? You… keep in touch. You can ring for me at Xavier's." He wobbles a bit, on his feet, collecting his balance. "Oop."

*

Pete Wisdom steps over and grabs the young mutant's elbow, keeping him steady and showing pretty sharp reflexes in the process. "Call my pal here a cab, huh, barkeep?" he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bill, "Here, take some of this funny looking American money. Nothing but old men far as the eye can see," he says.

*

That makes Dirk wipe his eye with one hand, after he laughs. "Yeah well… you put the Queen on yours cause she owns all the jails." He says, "If she told you to jump, would you really say 'How high, ma'am?'"

*

Pete Wisdom grins, "Nah, I'd say 'How high, your Majesty' cause I like havin' my head on my shoulders, don't I?" he says with a wink. "You're a charmer and all. C'mon, let's get this poor lad to a hotel to dry out before some rank tosh with a lizard face tries to relieve him of his dignity and his wallet."

*

"Ain't got no dignity left." Doug says, leaning on the bar. He tosses down the first bill he pulls out of his wallet, another $20, as a tip for the bartender. "Hokay." he says. "Let's go. I like you, Pete — but not like that… you just ain't my type! But you know I think I know a girl who might think you're a looker… she likesh guysh with black hair."

*

Pete Wisdom grins, "I'm every girl's type, Dougie me lad, they just don't always know it. That or my charming personality puts them off," he says. When the cab pulls up, he makes sure the cabbie's on the up and up and gives him a little extra tip just to make sure the kid gets to his proper destionation.

Then he's going to see if mutant hookers are actually a thing. That's gotta be a thing, right?

*

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