2737/What's a rogue demon

What's a rogue demon
Date of Scene:	06 October 2017
Location:	Luke's Bar
Synopsis:	Wesley and Steve walk into a bar and... meet. And talk.
Cast of Characters:	Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Captain America

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Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has had a bad night. He was hunting a little gremlin-type creature through the streets. It wasn't exactly big quarry, but the thing had potential to grow and become a //real// problem. Unfortunately, the chase brought him through the territory of some vampires who happened to have a particular grudge against Watchers, ex or no. Then after dusting two and ditching a third, he slipped in something slick and unpleasant and ended up wrenching his ankle.
After a night like that, he's limped to the nearest place that serves alcohol. He's taken a seat at the bar, dirty and bruised, with a beat-up but sturdy crossbow resting by his feet. "A pint of something, please. Whatever is darkest. And a shot of whiskey." It's boilermaker o'clock.

Captain America has posed:
Brooklyn will always hold a place in Steve Rogers's heart. While pomp and circumstance have attached themselves to him through Captain America, even with his military record, super soldier status, and general claims to fame, he will always be the kid from Brooklyn who still doesn't know when to run from a fight.

Decades in the ice and nothing changed on that front.

The battles have just become increasingly demanding, off-putting, and unsettling. Which is why centring on the important, the constant, and the general warmth of life has become more important as the days go by. That said, here he's able to walk around in his khakis, t-shirt, and leather jacket without drawing too much attention. Most don't recognize him; it's a far-cry from the days when everyone knew his name--if only because he was too scrappy to keep it from them.

But even without the familiarity others display, he finds comfort in what he finds personally familiar. He treads into the joint and has a seat at the bar, not far off from Wesley. His eyes trail the room and land on the other man.

A glint of kindness and warmth reflect in his now-softening eyes when he looks towards Wes. "Hey," he says softly. "You look like you could use more than a drink. The burgers are pretty good--real American fare. And honestly, I don't think a drink will resolve all your troubles."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley smiles a weary smile in Steve's direction. He probably should recognize the other man, but he's tired and because it's that kind of day, he lost one of his contacts and doesn't have his glasses with him. Vampire dust got under one and when he took it out, it...disappeared. So the world is only in focus if he closes one eye. Which he does to read the menu.
"I could use a bit of good luck," he says wryly. "It seems rather in short supply lately. The drink is also to stop a touch of throbbing pain. Once that subsides, I might find my appetite. Ah, thank you," he says as the bartender sets his drinks in front of him.

Captain America has posed:
"Sounds more like you could use an aspirin than a drink," Steve observes as he leans back in his seat. The bartender nods in his direction--they know him well enough here. In short order, the bartender sets a cola in front of him. "Liquor doesn't do much to appease throbbing pain for me," he observes with a smirk. Since waking up he doesn't understand the point of it for him. His metabolism keeps him from drinking anyways.

"But fair on the food front," he notes with a tip of his head. He looks towards the bartender again, "I'll a cheeseburger. Fries. Please." His smile turns downright boyish and his hands fold neatly in his lap.

This place brings out the young man he once was rather than the Avenger and Agent he's become. "So, what happened?" he finally asks. This is the kind of conversation that seems a given in a bar.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley lifts a hand to rub at his face, but at the last second sniffs his fingers to check for the unnamed substance he slipped in. He apparently decides he's safe, because instead he picks up his pint and takes a sip. After swallowing, he says, "Ever have one of those days when you question your basic competency? When things you've done a hundred times before suddenly feel that much more difficult than they should? When fate seems to be having a bit of a laugh at you?"

Captain America has posed:
Steve's fingers rake through his hair and he shoots Wes that same boyish grin. "Almost constantly," he replies. "But I think anyone who is competent feels the opposite. I've seen a lot of extremely competent people feel like they know nothing. We all have those days." His eyebrows lift and he takes a long drink of his cola. "Plus, I suspect, anyone worth their mettle feels like they don't know what they're doing for good reason." He rubs his chin.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"If you always think you know what you're doing in this world," begins Wes as he tosses back the shot of whiskey, "...you're probably underestimating your enemies. Or potential enemies." He shifts and rolls his ankle around, but winces in pain when he gets to a certain range of motion. "Or underestimating the speed of a tiny gremlin."

Captain America has posed:
A faint lift of Steve's eyebrows follows the last. "Tiny gremlin?" his head shakes and he brings the cola to his lips again. "The world has definitely changed in a hundred years," his eyebrows lift in strange surprise at the thought, but he lifts the coke in the air in a //cheers// motion. "Makes sense, I guess. Zombies exist. Why not gremlins?"

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"There is an awful lot that lurks in the shadows, just out of view. If you strain to see it, most of the time you'd rather wish you hadn't." In another situation, Wes might say that with a slight tinge of arrogance and the dramatic. But today is not a day for arrogance, so instead it comes off as slightly wistful and beaten down.
At the hundred year comment, he turns towards the other man and closes one eye. He leans forward a bit. It's very strange, unless you piece together what it is he's doing. "I suddenly feel as if I should know who you are."

Captain America has posed:
"There's a lot that lurks in the light too," Steve offers with another flicker of a smile--this one far more subdued than before. Talking of how the world has changed and what the changes look like leaves him unsettled, but he manages to still be friendly--affable, even.

The last, however, earns a small chuckle. "Just a kid from Brooklyn who sometimes thinks himself a philosopher," he replies. He holds out his hand for Wes to shake, "Steve."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
The Brit blinks rapidly, but not in response to the name. It's very awkward to only be able to see correctly out of one eye. "Ah yes," is all he says as he puts it together. He extends his hand. "Wesley. A pleasure."

Captain America has posed:
"Likewise," Steve replies. The bartender sets Steve's burger in front of him and Cap gives the fellow a nod, "Thanks." His lips curve up at the sight of it. Old habits die hard, and while he normally eats well, he appreciates this. "So you hunt gremlins then?"

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
As soon as Wes sees the burger, his appetite cuts through the fog of self-pity and pain. He straightens a little and tries to flag the bartender down. "I'd like one of those as well, please." Then he folds his hands around the base of his pint. "Ah, not generally, no. This particular creature grows rather rapidly and can become a problem if left unchecked. Particularly if it finds a mate. I tend to hunt all manner of things that need hunting."

Captain America has posed:
"Huh," Steve replies rather ineloquently. "Well, I've met hunters before. I work with one actually," he brightens. Common ground with new friends at a bar does some incredible work. But temporary brightness fades quickly as he observes, "Been some pretty insane cases with things that go bump in the night. Just one side of the world I didn't know much when I was young." Pause. "Younger. Younger," he nods at that. He definitely doesn't look old.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"I've learned that age and appearance often do not match up, so I don't tend to jump to conclusions," says Wes with a touch of amusement, but also a certain weariness. "It is rather a lot to take when you first start pulling back the veil. But it has rules and history like any other thing. When you approach things academically, it feels less overwhelming and staves off existential crisis....sort of." He wobbles his head side to side, "Sometimes."

Captain America has posed:
"An important lesson, that," Steve replies quietly. The mention of approaching things academically warrants a touch of good humour, "Not everything is academic though." The good humour in his gaze grows, "Sometimes it's all action and teamwork and..." he swallows around a growing lump in his throat "...rescue. Sometimes there isn't time for the other, just the need to stop bullies in their tracks. No matter their size, appearance, or reason."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"Yes well, that might work for you," says Wes with a soft chuckle. "But for those of us with less in the brawn department, the best way to win a battle is to research. I know rather a lot about...things that only occasionally come in handy. Ah," he looks pleased when his burger is produced. "I do my best to find a team who can balance out my shortcomings, yes. I'm a good shot, and I can hold my own in a fight, but there's nothing supernatural about me. I'm just a man." He attempts to pick up his burger. It nearly falls apart on him. "...a man who seems to be having an exceptionally bad day."

Captain America has posed:
A chuckle follows the remark about brawn. Steve's head shakes, "Didn't always have the brawn. Still didn't stand for bullies." He laughs again, "It was actually a huge problem." His lips quirk into a tired smile. "I swear my brother," not biological, "pulled me out of more fights I couldn't possibly win than I have hairs on my head." The smile turns fond and then bittersweet. He sniffs, tilts his head, and takes another bite of his burger. "Just a man can do a lot in any fight if he's determined and equipped. But I understand using strengths. Guile if you've got it."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"With all respect," and Wes seems to mean that, "The best fighter, or the most determined, can't win against a creature that only has a single weakness if you don't know what that weakness is." He takes a fairly neat bite of his burger, then goes for a few fries. "Determination counts for a lot, but sometimes knowledge is the best weapon."

Captain America has posed:
"It's not just determination," Steve counters quietly. "It's parsing in the moment. Diving head first and standing up for someone smaller. A weakness can be learned at that second, and waiting isn't always an option." His fingers drum against the counter. Something weighs on him with these thoughts. "And I know some are determined to wait--that it somehow will maximize safety for the most people, but," his head shakes, "I'd rather die doing something than have someone else get hurt while waiting." His lips press into a thin line, tight and taut.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
Wesley is a pretty observant man. He's getting that they're not talking in broad strokes about battle tactics here. Fortunately, he has a burger to work on while he composes his thoughts. "I don't disagree with you in principle, but I believe you and I have different sorts of enemies. For instance, have you ever fought a vampire? A werewolf? Faced a ghost or a demon with a face full of horns?"

Captain America has posed:
"No to all of those fronts," Steve replies slowly. "But I punched a lot of Nazis." At that his lips quirk and his head shakes. "And I've seen some pretty strange mysticism. And mythological weaponry," his eyes actually roll. "Stuff that could've wiped out entire cities if we had waited." His lips quirk again, "Some that could wipe out costs. It's surreal really."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"And very deservedly so," Wes remarks in regards to Nazi punching as he pops another fry into his mouth. He chews it thoroughly for a moment then, "My point is, in those cases, there is often only one way to dispatch your enemy." He wobbles his head, "Occasionally two or three, but my point is, it isn't always apparent." He inhales, then decides to switch tacks. "Think of what I do as intelligence gathering. I'm the one who determines where a target might be and what it might want. And in the case of the supernatural, how it can be killed. You can beat up a vampire all day. You can shoot it. You can stab it. It will keep coming. But behead it, a stake through the heart, burn it? All quite effective. I once came up against a demon that couldn't be killed except by spraying it with a solution of cloves and glycerine soap. Other than that it was quite invulnerable."

Captain America has posed:
"I think that's why we," the royal we?, "also work in teams. I need intel, but I can't get it quick enough. Not to make a big enough difference fast enough." Steve's chin drops. "Which is half the problem." His lips purse and he emits a long breath while he glances towards Wes again. "No one can do it all on their own. Not with any long-term success. I'm no engineer. Punching a doomsday weapon isn't elegant or useful depending on what kind of reactor is in the middle of that thing." His lips edge downwards. "But that's why I work with other people. So we don't have to pause. It's not about my own neck," he's lived far passed his expiry date, "it's about resolving the problem quickly."

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has posed:
"And sometimes a permanent solution is a slow one," says Wes. But then, he's always been a pragmatic soul. He hates losing people too, but the Watcher training of a big picture approach to problems has never really left him.
He eats what he can of the burger, then pushes the plate aside. He doesn't have a huge appetite in general, but American portions are also a bit too large for his English sensibilities. He swallows a few more mouthfuls of beer, then digs for his wallet. "I'm afraid I must leave you," and then he says a bit pointedly, "Captain. I lost one of my contacts earlier and seeing half the world clearly has created a rather wicked headache. That and I believe I've sprained my ankle."

Captain America has posed:
Steve dips his head toward Wes. "Steve is fine. I'm not at work," he counters with another smile and a nod of his head. "Make sure you nurse that ankle then. And good luck with the headache." His hand lifts and he issues the other man a small wave, "Good to meet you, Wesley." He looks back towards his burger, content to relax into the kid from Brooklyn rather than Cap himself.