2012-11-30 A Mutant, a Mystic, and a Demon Walk Into A Bar...

There's been a veritable flood of strange, cryptic, sometimes half-formed communiques littering SHIELD drop points and inboxes for the last couple of days, all courtesy of one man. Taken as a whole, they speak of an old Canadian intelligence agent who's looking for a SHIELD agent willing to meet with him about a sensitive situation in Latveria--preferably off the books.

Taken separately, they're just this side of nonsense; it's a risky gambit, but raising enough of a stir to pique the interest of /someone/ in the organization was the best move that Logan could come up with with the time allotted to him. Getting the attention of someone dedicated enough to put the espionage-mosaic together would have been a bonus; getting the attention of the boss himself, a stroke of luck.

He isn't /entirely/ sure which it is as he settles into his creaking booth seat, but the setting - a sign-less, hole in the wall bar in some small town - is familiar enough from his service days to put his mind at ease; he may not have ever been to /this/ bar, but he's spent more nights than he could ever remember in places like it across the world.

Tonight, he is dressed for his meeting with SHIELD's best in a brown, fur-lined bomber jacket, beaten up blue jeans, brown leather boots, and a matching Stetson. There's a mug of beer between his hands and a couple of empties beside them.

And the guys who come in -- undoubtedly Logan's sitting someplace with an eye on the door, because god who in this business ever has their back to the door? whatever, jesus -- the guys who come in don't exactly look like SHIELD. One of them's scowling, shoulders hunched, hands jammed in the pockets of his zipped leather jacket and eyes obscured by Sunglasses At Night; he's dressed all in black and there's a cigarette clamped in his mouth. The other guy? Uh. Well. Together they look kind of like Surly the Boy Robot and the Big Demon Guy.

The skinny black-clad asshole does a quick scan of the bar, and there are so few people in it that it shouldn't be a problem to figure out who their contact is-- except that pretty much everyone in there's dressed the same. And looks the same amount of I'm Goddamn Alone Here Fuck Off. "Looks like we get our own drinks," the comparatively short English one of the two says sourly. "Unless you figure on putting a sign up."

Hellboy walks in next to Pete, clad in his usual outfit. "Great, five spot on if the mugs are greasy or just filmy." he glances over, "I know, I know, because of that thing.." he doesn't specify what, exactly, but continues none the less "I got first round. You go say hi to our friend." he heads to the bar, and if there's any lingering stares or sidelong glances he returns them squarely because in a place like this you don't look away and you don't ignore people. He orders two fingers of scotch neat, and a beer. No need to be picky, it wouldn't help anyway, so he takes a mug of whatever swill's on top. In a couple of minutes he's headed back towards Pete with drinks and a dry expression on his face.

'SHIELD's best'. 'An English dude and a demon'; same difference--not that Logan puts all of the pieces together immediately. Hellboy does earn a few lingering seconds of attention from the Canadian, but the mug in front of him pulls his focus soon enough. He drains the thing in short order, and after nudging it aside he pushes up to his feet and ambles over to the bar; the demon gets a quick tip of the head in passing.

Logan is hardly a religious man, but really: why tempt fate?

A minute later, he's back in his seat; several minutes after /that/, the only waitress is hurrying to Pete and Hellboy's table, balancing a tray bearing two shotglasses full of something fizzy.

and pink. Like, /really/ pink.

"Two, uh, Barbie Shots," she says, clearly struggling to keep her cool despite the circumstances. She points towards Logan. "From, um, him? In the--yeah." With a vague little gesture in the Canadian's direction, she slips her tray under an arm and scurries back behind the bar. It's the third such order she's taken tonight; it's getting a little weird, but the tips have been fantastic.

Wisdom is completely, utterly at a loss. In one hand, he's got two fingers of whiskey. In the other hand, he's now got-- "This looks like someone dropped a fucking Alka-Seltzer in a shotglass of /Pepto-Bismol/," he says in slowly-developing horror, the full-body transformation from surly to complete distress quite a sight to behold. He takes off the sunglasses and *stares* at Logan. "I hope this isn't a come-on," he calls over, passing his shot off to Hellboy because no, that color pink does not appear in nature, and then bringing his whiskey over to where the Canadian's sitting.

Hellboy leans in, sniffs, winces. "Aw, Petey..I think this guy's tryin' to take the piss outta us." he says flatly, taking on some of his British friend's expressions. "I don't know what's worse..the excuse for beer, or this." a beat pause, "Maybe if I mix 'em, they won't suck as bad.." he says contemplatively, before looking over at the wee Canuck. "Really?" is all he says.

"Really," the wee Canuck succinctly replies after tipping his head up enough to give Hellboy a peek at his tired blue eyes past the brim.

With that, Logan lowers his gaze to Wisdom, hands folding atop the table as he adds, "Not my type," for the Brit's benefit. And then, for both of them: "Get any interestin' messages, lately?" Another glance - this one unmistakably suspicious - is cast towards the demon, but after a quick onceover and a shrug, he seems satisfied enough to return his attention to Pete. Apparently, there was one hell of a push for diversity in the intelligence community since he retired from the game.

"Would that make it a Hell Carbomb? Hell is pink, right?" Pete asks Hellboy over his shoulder as the enormous red dude trails after him. Then he stops near enough, reaches to put his cigarette out, and downs the entirety of the cheap whiskey in one go. The glass, he clinks down on the oak. "Plenty of interesting messages. One of them involving a silly bint we work with and some trouble she's got herself in. From what I gather, she's also managed to drag a friend of mine in. So for the love of Christ don't be fucking with me."

Hellboy does the shot and beer combomb style, winces, "Jesus that was rank." he mutters, and then looks up, "Red, you colorblind schmuck." he says good naturedly and falls in behind Pete, he chimes in with "The rest? Pretty much non-sense, so we figure it was enough of a smokescreen since we don't usually show up for non-sense."

Logan answers Pete's conerns with a flash drive, fetched from an inner pocket and flicked towards the Brit in one fluid motion. There isn't a lot on it right now - a message from Betsy about invading Latveria in retalation for Doom threatening to destroy Gotham City from an invisible flying fortress, and a little bit of data about her co-conspirators.

"Your girl, my friend, and /her/ friends all went to war with Latveria over the weekend; they wanted to expose its ruler as a terrorist. Had a big broadcast ready to be beamed out from the front lines; you see how that went." Or, well, didn't. "That's all I got, right now." He gestures vaguely towards the drive. "Hopin' it doesn't have to /stay/ that way." Exhaling, he reaches back to rub at the back of his neck for a moment.

"I ain't lettin' my girl stay there a day longer than she's gotta," he then notes. "If we can play ball, here, great; if not, I got places to be."

A glance up at Hellboy; Pete's gone business now, no more cracks about pink and Hell and whatever. Or other things. He's caught the flashdrive in one quick grab through the air, and while Logan's still explaining, and Pete's making listening faces, he's taken a tablet from inside his jacket. The drive gets jammed in the port on the side, and Wisdom starts flicking through what little data there is on it. "Oh we're in," he says absently, focusing on the display-- then handing it over to Hellboy; it's a lot better of a deal than more pink shit. Attention, back on Logan. "Make that *two* of my friends and our girl. This is personal. Even if that's probably the most moronic plan I've ever heard of, and I half wonder if Betts isn't an LMD. I'm going to tap a few other people I know to come along for the ride; HB, can you trawl your gentleman's club for anyone who could use an adventure? Or cash, depending."

Hellboy is all business now as well. He tucks the flash drive away in his trench, where nothing can get to it. He nods, "I think I know a few members of the Explorer's Club that might want a holiday." he looks between Pete and Logan, "I think it's time we go and pick the girls up from their slumber party."

'Slumber party' earns the demon an icy scowl.

Which, okay, is probably not all /that/ intimidating from a man who's nearly two whole feet shorter than he, but Logan has never been one to let a little thing like his height stop him.

"We got a weather manipulator on board," he notes once he's set the anger aside. "I assume we're gonna need a hell of a lot more'n that to have a shot. I dunno /what/ Betsy was thinkin'--"

At this, he casts his eyes down into an empty mug.

"--but I ain't about to make the same mistakes she did." With a gesture towards the drive, he makes a request: "I need that back, full'a whatever you can dig up about Doom'n Latveria. The sooner the better; can you do that?"

"Yeah," says Pete, jamming his hands in his pockets. The answer's not casual or nonchalant, but it's confident. "I can get Deadpool in. I've got a healer on tap. Then there's the two of us: you can look me up; name's Pete Wisdom. Former MI-6. Then HB's got his club, they all cheat. And I'll see who else I can rustle up. One thing I want to make sure of, though, mate-- whoever's coordinating has to be fucking good at improv, people management, battle planning, field tactics, and ops. Or no matter what we know and who we bring we're getting pasted, because this asshole's as brilliant as he is pissy."

Hellboy nods, "Consider it done and yeah, I can find a few people. I've heard rumors about Doom anyway, second coming of Adolf as far as having his hands in both tyranny, tech, and mysticism. This is a good a time as any to tip the hand he's holding. I'll make sure I bring a few special gifts for him." he nods, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Logan," the man replies with a curt nod. "Special Branch." Canadian intelligence, in other words, just as advertised. /Old/ Canadian intelligence at that; the RCMP hasn't had that particular department in decades, at least not according to any official paperwork. "More is fine; you grab anyone you think you can trust who'll give us a leg up. Long as they can pull their weight, we can use 'em; getting as many people out alive as possible's goal one, right now. Best plan I can come up with, right now." Despite the slumber party remark, he tips his chin approvingly in Hellboy's direction as he speaks of people who might give them a leg up. Or, perhaps, a hand up, in his case.

"You happen to know any more like yourself," he begins as he turns his attention fully to the enormous demon, "you feel free to bring them, too; maybe if we're lucky, Doom'll be the god-fearin' type."

"Right. Well if you've not come up with more'n that because you don't do that sort of thing, and want someone with a fair bit of experience in ops handling that side, I can do it. And I can swing us some tight-band ranged encrypted comms either way, so whoever /is/ handling it can be on the field as well," Wisdom says, straight-up and matter-of-fact. And then one side of his mouth twitches up at Logan's last to Hellboy; he takes a half-step away from the two of them, just in case.

Hellboy eyes Logan a bit and shakes his head, "Sorry, man. They don't come any pretty than me. But I'll check, just in case." he give the shorter fellow (they usually are) a nod. He inclines his head towards Pete, "Don't let the foppy style sense or the accent fool ya, he's as good as they come. Nick wouldn't keep him around if he wasn't."

"I ain't come up with more'n that yet because all the intel I've got on this situation, yer lookin' at," Logan shoots back with narrowing eyes. His tone is actually pretty even - no growling or anything - but the lack of a plan doesn't sit so well with /him/, either; being reminded of it just sets him on edge.

"When the pieces are there, we can figure out how to arrange 'em; 'till then, it's just grasping at straws. Speaking of--" He fishes a twenty from his pocket, then, and after tossing it to the table, takes his feet and gestures to the note. "Get yourselves another round, if you need it. I got places to be." After giving the demon one last, faintly disbelieving look, he takes a few steps towards the door, adding, "There's a phone number on that drive; it's secure. Use it if you need me 'till we get those fancy SHIELD comms set up."

And Hellboy gets -Pete's- narrowed eyes on him, 'foppy'? WTF foppy. But then Logan's getting his Irish up and Wisdom lifts his hands quickly in a visual underlining of his assurance: "'S why I wasn't assuming it *was* the case, mate. Good to know. Get back to you on it tomorrow with round one."

Hellboy nods, "We're on the case, should have something for you ya then..I'll have feelers out for tag alongs in the meantime." and Pete's look is returned with a smile from HB.