|
  |
.~{:--------------:}~.
He'd like to think this counts as a nice day by New York standards, but even that falls short. Outside is a skating rink, a layer of black ice on the roads and sheeting down the front of stairs leading into subways. It's amusing in a way to watch businessmen skid in their fancy shoes or boots down the sidewalks, colliding with trash cans and tripping over themselves. Truly, it isn't very pleasant and lunch time finds the rush even worse. His mouth purses, quiet amusement ablaze in those dark, inscrutable eyes. Maybe something about sitting politely in the finest shawarma restaurant anywhere has something to do with it? On the other hand, the King of Wakanda would never slip on ice and even if he did, he would make it look like he intended to do that. The blessed power of Bast, and all. "Winter is at most chilly except in the Highland areas," he notes, in one of those rare 'in my country' stories. He's not a big one for them.
Robbie Reyes was walking around said skating rink rather casually actually. Looking around for nothing in particular. He wore his trademark leather jacket, coal black jeans, a dark red T-shirt, and combat boots..fingerless gloves adorn his hands and that bladed chain is hidden nicely on his wrist inside said jacket.
Eventually, he walks inside of the schawarma kingdom, and eventually a familiar royal that he's served with (and soul read) a couple of times as the Ghost Rider. Robbie Reyes, who truly gives no fucks about anything, approaches the king of wakanda, despite him attempting to be low-key, and pulls out a chair for himself.
"Mind if I give you company?" he says simply. He was gonna sit down either way…just polite to ask first.
No doubt the spirit of vengeance won't read very much from T'Challa except a prevailing desire to do the right thing. He still holds onto a noble soul, someone who would align more to a modern-day paladin than other possibilities. A mere fighter he is not, nor only a king, but someone with a greater sense of matters and their import than some. He inclines his head in greeting to Robbie at any rate, taking in that pair of boots more than anything else. "You expect trouble today?"
The answer is probably going to be 'yes, every day' and he'll have to leave it at that. "It's better to dine in company. I find the food has a better flavour when spiced by good conversation."
Even now Robbie reads the same thing. Good for the king. Though when asked if he expects trouble, he shakes his head as he drags over a chair and sits in it in reverse, his chest resting against where normally ones back would be. "No trouble here."
Thus does Robbie simply grin at the Wakandan king as he speaks, nodding a few times. "Well said. Hey! I'll have the usual!" He shouts at the chef, who identifies him as a regular and nods to Robbie before the latter returns his attention to T'Challa. "So then…the Wakandan king is eating at a shawarma joint…classic." He says in humor. "Hear anything from Danny?"
"Good." The shawarma that he ordered is light on parsley, too strong for the nose of the cat, and heavier on hummus. Chickpeas on the other hand? Absolutely acceptable, especially as a basis to enjoy the flatbread and the chicken grilled within an inch of its life. Good food, something to fill the belly. "The city will draw trouble in its own time. Best we enjoy these moments of peace."
Opinions made around a fork and a bit. Robbie will have to go claim his basket like everyone else, but the restaurant is so small that a jump might get him into the pit where they carve the meat. "Danny? Ah, not a great deal. He has been absent for the most part, I think?"
Robbie listens to every word in depth, though eventually he does get up when his order number is called. "Gotcha..one sec." He leaves briefly to claim his food before he returns to the table, casually munching on shawarma. "Hmm…hope he's alright, despite how many times I want to clock him." He says then.
Eventually…he leans forward, eyes on T'Challa. "Real talk, pardon the French, but no bullshit." He was always a straight shooter, but he does not speak with disrespect.
"did you get a note with a black hand printed on it with a warning?" He says softly…never know who is watching..
T'Challa munches on the forkful of rice and chicken, content to savour the fine flavours offered to him by the experience of shawarma. One can be a king and adore such things, as he rightly should. Mm, magnificent. Perfection comes in many forms, and swaddled in fluffy bread the shape of the moon will serve to satisfy the cat. He'll need that.
His composure is not rattled when the warning of a black print comes to the fore, and Robbie is staring him down. Knowledge simmers away in those thoughtful eyes. His broad nose wrinkles just a bit. His inhalation isn't simply problematic; he is out to scent whether anyone out of the ordinary slips by, the melange of human perfumes and other signatures assaulting him. "Yes."
as TChalla confirms his suspicions, Robbie takes a small breath as he looks about. "Know where it came from? Enemy movements?" He figures the man before him is at least a decent planner.
"What about the others? Did they get one too? Or are we just targets?" He asks a few questions, eyes peeked for dangers.
"Arrived at the embassy. Unfortunately such things are tawdry but unknown." T'Challa frowns slightly. "We are not a nation that opens to people. There will be men and women who resent us for that, among others. It is not clear how it arrived, a handoff by someone who may not have known better."
He dandles the fork between his fingers, thinking no doubt. "Yes, we should ask the others. It is possible they were targeted as well if we both received one. What other common link is there?" Aside from being awesome.
Robbie looks at the Black Panther as they talk….never thought he would be working with a literal king. Talk about a weird twist in the road. Nodding a few times at his question, he ponders.
" all of us interfered in those ninjas operation…maybe we just paid the price for our actions…I don't think it is something that we can't face down, but it's our friends and family that I worry about.." a soft sigh then.
"so…we have no leads? Nothing? Hell I'm willing to bargain that we hide our people in Wakanda until we straighten this out. Though I know you're not exactly accepting of outsiders."
The Wakandan view on things is rather muted, though they do fight for their crowns and almost everything else. What is a death threat, for a man standing atop the necropolis? So there lies no smile. "Their fighting style would mark them out." He spreads his fingers. "I think this would give me a direct line to the possible origins. That does not, however, help us figure out the specific name or their motive. There could be many possibilities, and it serves us to remove the least likely from a pool to answer."
He rests his elbow on the table, poking about with a fork. Nothing said on the idea of hiding a nation, or people in a nation, even though that's part for the course with what he does; what his nation does, however, has nothing on what he decides. "People on the street will know something of this, yes? It is not in isolation. Can you hear of any marks being sent out elsewhere?"
Robbie seems to analyze TChalla some. All Kong?s hide something, but he has read his soul…a good window for information. But alas, the king is strong willed, and the Spirit of Vengeance has little success when relying on subtlety…though at TChalla's observation, a single nod conveys agreement. "True. As well as attire and body language. It's not hard to sniff out a killer." At least for him.
When asked if he could hear if any other marks were sent, Reyes shrugs. "No idea. Why I followed your trail. In terms of resources, you win in the Defenders…which I guess is what we're calling ourselves now." He shrugs then.
"I don't know if this applies to street wisdom…this group seems pretty damn secretive, but I'll see what I can dig up."
Subtlety is something more of a cat thing, anyways. Whereas Robbie is the equivalent of a flaming bloodhound, unable to slip out of notice, the resting state of being painfully, obviously … well, obvious. There. It counts for something.
"A killer roams the streets, many killers in a city full of good people. How do you locate the one who threatens us? It may be worth examining the trading records for the ship, but they may be falsified and protected behind lawyers of lawyers. Something Danny would be better at, putting his corporation to that work. Failing that, it may be worth it to hunt down other leads."
Flaming bloodhound May be a slight understatement when describing Robbie Reyes.
Robbie nods a few times to TChalla at his words when he is asked how he could sniff out the killer. "I…can read souls. While some are harder to read than others, much like the heart, when you see it, you can find no lies. If I was able to do a more wide search, I could likely find at least one person who knows what we are dealing with." A small sigh then. "Danny's a people person. He could get it done if we ran into a legal battle…or at least keep the courts stalled."
"Reguardless, do you have anyone who could help out? Or are you donning the cat suit to help out?" He says that last bit -very- softly as to avoid eavesdropping. He does so rather spectacularly even.
Bloodhound of the worst and best kinds, no understatement. Let it be appreciated for what it is, he's effing scary. Nothing wrong with that.
"Yes, that would be helpful," T'Challa isn't effusive in his reply. Neither does he react with complete horror, which says something. "So you may be able to discern those who wear the crimes and point them out, though can you discern so clearly the responsibility or duty?" He bounces his knee under the table for a moment, clearly restorative justice awakening an idea that's going one way and then the other. "A legal battle would not be the way to approach this. I am going to see what answers can be found in the obvious routes — the street, surveillance, what kind of information lies out there. I may have to go into the lab."
Lab? Yes. He has a lab. Eat your heart out Tony Stark, T'Challa is richer than you by a magnitude of about 10.
Robbie Reyes nods. "Yeah…part of my job description is to cast vengeance against the unjust. I can see the fine line…and see where they fall in that margin." He cracks his neck then as he listens. "Alright..sounds like a plan. We'll all meet up in a few days and compare notes." He says pretty easily before he rises to his feet. "….you have a lab?"
course he does, but meh. "Alright…I'll get to work." Yes, he will take his shawarma with him.
"I should pursue these options immediately." T'Challa agrees on that front, and the last of his meal he wraps up in the crackling waxed paper provided for just that tidy purpose. No real trouble for him to fold in the ends, pinching them down for the trip to the wastepaper basket or whatever passes for the nearest thing. Recycling in Wakanda would break that down into its components for the purposes of reclaiming the compounds, but not so much here.
"Oh yes. It may seem woefully traditional to those here, but…" He shrugs his broad shoulders and rises. "I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Reyes."