Participants:
| Scene Title | To Become a Monster |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Ziadie explains for his disappearance; Ethan brings up further work. |
| Date | January 22, 2011 |
An older building houses this bar/hotel mix, and upon entering the first things one notices is that the atmosphere isn't what would normally be expected. Entering pushing open a thick metal door, an almost fine establishment feeling starts to overcome the senses with a light cherry colored oak floor, and soft amber colored walls. A large mahogany bar rests in the left corner, with many different types of liquior resting upon its shelves. Towards the right corner of the bar sit a couple of pinball machines, a dart game, and a SNK 10-in-1 cabinet that seems ready for its daily quarter harvest. A few booths line the left wall, and decently spaced tables with four chairs apiece come out towards the center of the establishment. On the right sits two large pool tables, with racks of varying sized cues lining them. Directly across from the door sits a rounded staircase leading to the upper level.
The pool cue taps the side of the table as if appraisingly.
Everyone you love dies…
The words written on the kitchen wall weren't particularly easy to escape. Ethan Holden has been through this before. His whole family murdered, more or less because of him. And now again, his one and only daughter. The only reason he has left for remaining in this scarred scab of a city is under threat. Ethan Holden died with his family. The Wolf rose from those ashes, and the Wolf knows exactly what must be done.
Daiyu Feng has to die.
The crowd at the bar this afternoon is sparse. Seldom few find themselves drinking here, and even a smaller population finds itself around Holden. Standing separated from the general populace, Ethan seems to be staring off into the deep greens of the pool table, having lost himself in thought for a moment. (Which rarely happens). After a moment his wits return to him, and the cue is drawn back and shot forward delivering a precise shot that drowns a few balls in the back pocket.
Wearing a long black pea-coat, the man hasn't seemed to notice that he's inside. Not only does he not remove his jacket, his sunglasses remain glued to his facial features as well. But from behind the shades his eyes flick up momentarily, scanning the room.
He's late. Ziadie makes his way inside, leaning heavily on a standard metal cane — not his usual cane. He's dressed appropriately for the weather, though the wool peacoat he wears is open rather than buttoned, and his left arm is held against his body, in a sling. He doesn't seem to notice Ethan, at first. Instead, he leans backwards against the doorframe, bringing a flask to his lips, then meandering towards the bar. If Ethan wants to talk, Ethan can stop playing pool, and come find the older man. At the bar.
The pool cue is dropped unceremoniously upon the pool table. All but forgotten Ethan begins to make his charge across the bar towards the elderly man. For all his counseling on other younger individuals pursuing his line of work on restraining themselves, resisting anger. There are times when Ethan can only just hold himself back from throwing people over things.
"Where th'fuck you been?!" Holden growls as he nears the bar. Not removing his sunglasses just yet he fixes a steady gaze on the other man. "Did you not see whot I was doing the night we met, Ziadie? If y'don't fucking recall. I'm a cruel man. And I'm not adverse to beatin' th'fuckin' lungs out of an old man." His hand slaps against the bar as if to drive home how angry and super serious he is.
He's very serious.
"Didn't show up for our last meet. Not answerin' your phone? Normally in a relationship, this would get a sad face in a text. But in this relationship it gets a screwdriver in the testicle sack. Where th'fuck you been?!" He repeats.. because he's serious.
Ziadie is unphased by Ethan's anger, more or less. With the uninjured arm, he draws the phone out — it's broken as hell. "Let's see, where do I start," he says. "Monday night, I ended up getting chased and shot at by a fucking robot." Ziadie's voice is pitched low and evenly, such that no one he's not talking to will hear him, even if Ethan is making a little bit of a scene. "In case you don't recall, I'm not as young as I once was, and I can't exactly outrun robots that collapse buildings on me. And I can't exactly answer th' phone if a layer of bricks and concrete fucked it up." He pauses a minute, looking at Ethan.
Besides that, it does look like Ziadie's already had a few things beat the hell out of him recently. "I touched base as soon as I could."
Ziadie's response doesn't soften Ethan's features, but it does slow his attack. The Wolf simply stares at the man for a long moment, looking down at the phone. "Robots." He repeats dully. Making a soft click with his tongue. Reaching up he draws his sunglasses away from his face. "My daughter was attacked by Feng." It's Ethan's way of saying, 'I'm sorry, I've been stressed out too!'
Whether Ethan believes the robot story or not, it's unclear. "I 'ave more responsibilities for you." He mutters. "Feng's always been a slippery cunt. And this city is obviously goin' to 'ell. If you're willing. I want to make y'more than my informant. I need eyes out there, your talent is useful, and I imagine you still remember 'ow to pull a trigger. You'll be workin' with me. I'll pay more, even set y'up with a flat. And if y'know anyone else we could 'ire…" He gives a light shrug. They need all the help they can get.
Ziadie's face is thoughtful. "I been staying with an old buddy of mine," he says, quietly. "I think it's best I keep staying there, least for a while longer. Being half-buried by rubble ain't good, at my age, an' it's best I live where someone else happens to be too." There's a wince as Ziadie shifts, though he's trying to minimise how much he shows it. "But much as I can do for you, that's more 'n fair of y', an' I appreciate it." On his own terms is left unsaid, but perhaps obvious enough, given the circumstance.
He looks over towards the bartender. "The Glenfiddich," he says. "And whatever my friend wants." This, time, apparently, Ziadie's buying the drinks. "I'm sorry 'bout your daughter. She okay?" Family. It's a sore point for the older man. "Family's important." He should know. He doesn't have any.
"Fat Tire." Ethan barks over the bar, his eyes re-training on Ziadie. "She'll be fine. She's my daughter." Ethan reminds. "No one in m'family goes down easy." He leans against the bar somewhat. "Was Feng." Ethan looks up flatly at Ziadie watching him blankly for a long moment. "I was th'leader of a cell in Europe. After my time in the SAS. People would shit if they heard th'Wolf comin'." Ethan looks down for a moment.
"'Aven't 'ad to be that man for a while, since the old man died." Holden looks back up, nodding over to the bartender as his beer arrives. Scooping it up, he tips it back slightly into his mouth. "Shitbags like Feng. Others. I need t'clean 'em out, Ziadie. It's time I became that man again. I want you t'be in my network. I need y't'elp me become a monster, again." Ethan looks up flatly at the other man.
Ziadie nods. The older man is pensive, turning the cup of scotch around a few times before lifting it to his lips. "I tell y' the same thing I've told other folk I worked for," he says. "I do honest work. Don't matter what side of the law, but I do honest work." He's drawing a careful line there, with his words. In fact, Ziadie is stressing the point deliberately, and he shifts in his seat. "An' when an if what yer doing falls inna that, I help you."
Ethan watches Ziadie for a long moment before letting out a slow calculated laugh. "'onest work." Holden repeats with a large grin. "My man." Ethan brings up his hand, patting Ziadie's shoulder enthusiastically. Bringing his beer up, he raises it to the other man. "This might be th'most honest work I've ever done." Taking a step back he nods to the man. "If y'know someone who needs work and can be trusted." He gives a light nod. "Yknow who to send 'em to."
Ziadie winces a bit, but smiles a bit as well, and raises his glass, then tips it back, draining it nearly by half. "Careful 'f the shoulder," he cautions the younger man. "An' yes," he says. "There're a couple 'f things most folk don't as much realise, even when they know what I can do. Was once suggested that too much dishonesty migh' not be good for m' health. Extends further 'n one migh' think."