6295/All That Beef
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| All That Beef | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 27 January 2019 |
| Location: | Unknown |
| Synopsis: | Summary needed |
| Cast of Characters: | Crossbones, Typhoid Mary
|
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock's parked his motorcycle outside, the big man going inside and ordering himself a double supersized Belly Up combo and then grabbing a seat at one of the colorful booths. He pops a straw in his soda and gives a suck, rattling ice in the plastic cup as he kicks his boots up. Mary will be along when she's along, he'll let her order whatever she wants but he ain't so presumptuous as to pick for her. Who knows, she might be a grilled chicken girl.
There's a family with kids there and the mom looks sidewise at the tattooed roughneck and q uickly begins to move her kids along, resulting in a little bit of tantrum as she yanks away the last of little Billy's fries and hustles him toward the door.
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
It isn't long after Brock plants himself in a booth and orders for himself that Mary saunters into the restaurant with the characteristic jingling of a bell in its upper corner. She bumps into the woman who's backing away from Brock, not looking where she's going. It's no accident, though. Typhoid Mary smiles wolfishly at the woman as she turns to automatically apologize -- the ingrained habit sending the words thoughtlessly out into the narrow space between her body and Mary's. Mary's got a good half-foot on her, too, not to mention the slightly bulky build, and the mode of dress. "MAMA, SHE'S GOT WHITE EYES," little Billy points out rather loudly, even as his mother claps a frantic hand over his mouth, shushing him. Mary bends low, her unzipped leather jacket falling away from her body and revealing more than most are comfortable with. Her wolfish smile gets wider, a cinnamon toothpick clenched in her molars, as she replies in a too-sweet voice, "The better to see you with, my dear. Wanna say somethin' about my teeth, next?" she winks one of those milky, all-white eyes.
The woman gasps in horror and hurries her family out the door with haste and nary a backwards glance. Mary just nudges Brock's foot aside with her own before she sinks into her side of the booth with a contented sigh, a smile on her face. "Ah, Bonesy, you started without me," she says, looking over the menu. She orders french toast with bacon AND sausage, and a huge glass of milk and a soda with light ice, sending the waitress scurrying with one of her creepy leers.
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow snorts in amusement, "I ain't started. I just ordered. I held off on takin' a bit until you got your sweet ass over here," he says. He winks at the waitress, "Don't worry, we ain't gonna be no trouble. Long as nobody gives us reason. You got me?" he says. The girl nods nervously.
"I got about an hour until I'm meetin' on o' my contacts. Got a shipment of special fireworks coming in, if you know what I mean. Figured I could use a little company on the run. I'll let you shoot a bazooka," he singsongs.
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
"I guess so," Mary relents, not looking to start a squabble for no reason and in a public place where the playful roughhousing it could incite might attract attention she'd rather not deal with, right now, like the cops. Typhoid settles down in her seat comfortably, twining her legs affectionately with Brock as they chat.
"Well, hell, you had me at 'special fireworks,' Bonesy!" she grins broadly. "I love shopping with you," she adds. "You never bitch about the wait while I try on things like bandoliers, or a new gun holster."
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow grins, "Good. I know of a few fun places we could try 'em out. Tenements and such, where the masks don't hunt and the cops don't bother," he says. "Lots of disposable real estate we can burn down for our own amusement." He reaches down and squeezes one of the murderous vixen's calves.
"Dealin' with some Turkish motherfuckers. Not exactly my favorite people, but at least they deliver. I bought some Jamaican shit once, but lost a couple of flunkies when it blew up in their face. I had to go carve a few rastas to remind them to do quality control."
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
Typhoid's face lights up as Brock outlines the plans for today. After a moment, she purses her lips suspiciously and fixes him with a narrowed gaze. "Are you tryin' to butter me up, Bonesy? You know that you don't hafta do that. You want somethin', all you gotta do is ask," she says, sliding her hands under her thin red dreads, clasping them at the back of her skull. "You're talkin' real sweet, so I'm wonderin' what's goin' on in that noggin'a yours," she gives him a slowburn smile as she regards him.
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow shakes his head, "You'd look pretty good all buttery. But it ain't no scheme. You're just nicer company than the usual class of scumbag I end up workin' with. I'd like to keep it a solid relationship, if ya get me," he grins.
"Plus, ain't many I know that can keep up with me when it comes to mayhem. Almost none. Cept you, of course."
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
Typhoid Mary smiles. "If I had any shame left, I might be blushin' right now, Bonesy. You know I'm real keen to spend time with you, too. We always have fun together, even when we're not, if that makes any sense," she nudges his leg affectionately with her own. As the waitress comes in with the order, she exhales with relish as her food is placed before her, and begins prepping her food to her liking. Not fussy, but she takes a moment to spread some butter and whatnot. "Yeah, I wanna keep it solid, too," she says, once they're alone again. "It's not often I find someone who can keep me interested and can also handle me, so the fact that we work well together, it's somethin' worth enjoyin' and maintainin'," she says, syrup dripping down her chin as she grins, bringing a napkin up to clean it up.
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow grins and does the job for her, using a napkin to quickly wipe her chin and then tossing it over into a nearby trashcan for a three point shot. "Ain't a business where you can trust folks much. I know I'm a piece of shit, but I do have honor, of a sort. Those I swear to, I stick by 'em, thick or thin. I'm all about the tribe, y'know," he says.
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
Typhoid Mary grins and continues to eat her meal with enthusiasm and enjoyment, chatting lightly about little things -- this one time she decapitated a dude and the blood spatter went wild, giving her pink eye, and other stories inappropriate for the dinner table. "I been thinkin' about taking up some kinda art, lately. I like lookin' at it, for sure. But, I feel like the kinda art I'd do would just get me in trouble with the law," she says, sounding wistful. "Y'know, like, blood spatter art as some kinda abstract piece as a statement about violence or somethin' intelligent that people say when talkin' about art that goes over my head."
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow grins, "Blood spatter art? Ain't that what the cops call 'evidence'?" he teases. He eats a few of his steak fries, liberally smearing ketchup in echo of the blood she mentioned before chomping down on them.
"Never had much artistic impulse myself. Most of that shit don't make a lick of sense to me. Especially spending real money on it. I'd rather buy a patch o' land or a car or...I dunno. If I want somethin' to look at, I got you, ain't I?"
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
Typhoid rolls her eyes and laughs, sticking her tongue out at Brock's joke. "'Course it's evidence! That'd what I'd name it, too. I'd hide it in plain sight. 'Evidence: John Doe, Decapitation' That's what it'd be called. Imagine me sellin' it for millions like ol' Banksy an' they never suspect it's /actually/ blood spatter from a decapitated dude. That'd be hilarious," she muses.
Then, she grins and squeezes his leg between hers, "You ol' softy. You know you can look at me any ol' time. You could watch me make art. I bet I'd look good doin' it," she says modestly. "That aside, you got me wonderin'. Is there anything you want you don't have?" she asks.
- Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow grins, "Probably leave the head on it and everything, knowin' you. Ain't afraid o' nothing, you are," he says. He finishes his burger with a few more bites, washing it down with a splash of soda.
"I'd watch you do just about anything. As for what I don't have...eh. I ain't ever been much for things. I got a cabin up in the backwoods somewhere, far away where the rats and the scum can't get, my own private little hidey hole. All the hunting I could use, a pond full of fish. A big barbed wire fence and a minefield to take care of any nosy federales."
- Typhoid Mary has posed:
"I couldn't do that to start out. I'd need to build mystery around myself, get really famous for bein' crazy, then include a decapitated head that LOOKED real, but wasn't...then, after a while, put a REAL one that they'd assume was fake since I'd faked 'em out the first time... Kinda like Banksy meets Ozzy meets Manson or somethin'," Typhoid Mary muses with a grin.
"It's true that there's not much that can spook me, but a healthy dose of self concern never hurt no one," she points out. "If I weren't afraid of nothin', I'd be dead, prob'ly." She grins, listening, "I never woulda counted you for likin' livin' in bumfuck anywhere, but you don't much like people, so that also tracks. S'a weird mix of right and wrong."