2014.02.16 - Rough Cuts - Part 4: No Surprises

Harlem. It's most definitely not a hole. There are most definitely still motels, narrow things between normal buildings, old things with cracked tile mosaics in the lobbies and a slightly unpleasant smell in the stairwell.

It's practically snowpocalypse out there, and there's salt everywhere and snow everywhere and slush in the gutters, and the place the Stark charge card's been paying for has newspapers spread out to keep the floor from being slippery; they're already wet and footprints get inky.

Room two-oh-one. Since Ali looks like she knows where she's going, she'll get past without a challenge, though not without an elevator stare. (And probably tweeting as soon as the pop star's gone up the stairs.)

Smell of cigarette smoke comes out from under the door; television's audible, news. Though it might be someone else's room; the walls are thin.

One knock on the door will earn silence as the television's shut off, a moment where the occupant's undoubtedly looking out the door's spy hole, and then unlockings and cursings and it's flung open. Wisdom's unshaven but dressed, no unhealthier than he was the last time she saw him, and irritated. "What."

Slush, snow, and the whole world knowing you're a God Damned Superhero means that Ali can walk down the street with her radio blasting (not that anyone can hear it) so that she can use the constant source of sound to BLAST THE SHIT OUT OF HER PATH. Who says mutants never do anything useful? She even clears a few driveways and stoops while she's at it, because FUCK THIS WEATHER. And she does it all with a box under one arm. ... A box.

When Pete flings open the door and looks wooly and irritated at her, Alison just gives a big, warm smile... and only just BARELY keeps herself from making a kissy face. "I *missed* you. I hear you've been actually talking to people without telling them to go fuck themselves, so I had Financial track you by the Stark-linked credit card account so I could come bother you," she answers, moving to merrily march her way right into the room unless he arm-bars to keep her out.

Blue -- not brown, at least -- blue eyes squint mistrustfully at Alison. He seems as though he's worked his way back up to only as miserable a fuck as he was before he met Amy. On a semi-rotten day before he met Amy.

"Fine," says Pete, turning his back on Ali and preceding her into the room. "Shut the door though. I'm busy, you're interrupting me."

To be fair, the television's only turned all the way down, and it's Al Jazeera on, and he's got his laptop open on the manky little desk. He shuts this with an irritable flick, then gestures at the one and only chair in the room and stands with his arms crossed. "So out with it."

Before she does anything else, Ali waits until the laptop is closed. Because then she sets the box down on it. It has handles that double as air-holes. "I brought you a present." Oh, is she watching him intently, too. But once it's set down, she sits down primly on the offered chair.

The Box a little bit bigger than a large cat.

A tiny smile plays at the corners of Ali's lips.

Pete /stares/ at Alison. "No."

Ali tsks, though she still smiles. "It was worth a shot. Open the window for a minute?"

Because when she opens the box, there's a *purple dragon in it.* "I owe your mom 10 bucks, Lockheed. Go home!"

Abruptly there is Pete backed up like against the wall, he is holding a fire extinguisher menacingly -- what, every room has one -- and there is a whole lot of glaring. "YOU open the window! Are you trying to KILL ME? BACK OFF, you stupid flying anteater--"

Lockheed just looks smug, like he generally does. Ali covers her mouth so that she DOESN'T LAUGH! Standing up, mouth still covered, she walks while Lockheed follows her to the window. Eventually she manages to take her hand from her mouth and tell the dragon in a squeaky voice, "NevermindItotallywon!"

Window Open. Dragon leaves. Ali closes window again. After which she turns, leans against the sill, and STARES AT PETE with WIDE, SPARKLING eyes and her lips pressed together in the tiniest, tightest smile she can manage. She can't open her mouth yet. Just can't.

"OUT!" yells Pete, now menacing Alison with the fire extinguisher. "UNLESS you brought sixty year old single malt scotch--?" he pauses, hopefully.

She continues to not talk - and her *CHEEKS* have gone bright red from the sheer force of holding back the laughter that is surely going to break loose at some point - while she pulls a small bottle of pricey liquor and tosses it over to Pete.

Once it's safely caught, and before he can open it and spoil his mouthful with a roar (though this means she's risking having it thrown back at her head with force) Ali opens her mouth to say, very quickly in her normal voice;

"Kitty says 'Hi!'"

And THEN she starts howling with laughter. Her SIDES already hurt!

It is a long moment of Pete steadfastly ignoring Alison while he flicks paper covers or whatever off of the sketchy glass tumblers on the dresser, and continuing to do so as he carefully opens the bottle of precious alcohol. He's still ignoring her as he pours one for himself, then sets the bottle down next to the empty other one. He doesn't say a blessed word; she's still laughing and he's having a religious experience.

Eventually, she stops. There are tears - and Ali is wiping them away, and slowly catching her breath, and oh, god, she needs to sit down. "Oh my god, I think... I think I'm going to retire. I don't see anything else I could possibly tease you with going anywhere NEAR as well as that did!" Okay, that starts her laughing again, which is counter-productive. "I mean, what the hell WAS that?"

Ali sits up then, immediately waving her hands, "No, no - don't explain. Explaining would TOTALLY spoil it. I don't want to know! But thank you, that was amazing. Thank you, seriously!" She hasn't had a laugh that big in a good long time!

"I practically wrote Pryde a map to the Defenders 'HQ', so if you want to give her hell for enabling me, she'll be around for it," Ali offers - the laughter held back again, but definitely not far below the surface.

"You are such an ass," Pete says disgustedly. "I'll be back probably day after tomorrow. Strange tracked me down; we spoke. I'm nearly done sorting details." It's the really good stuff, and he's not trying to get drunk, so he nurses that tumbler for all it's worth. "Also, I hate you. And Pryde. Nearly as much as I fucking hate that fucking flying menace."

"I know, I know," Ali responds to the 'I hate you' and the 'You're an ass' - but she holds her hands up again, "I swear, I had *NO IDEA* the dragon was your arch-nemesis! I just thought it'd *bug* you! Man alive, he's *gone* and we're all of us still standing! You didn't even kill me even though you know I'd get better," she points out.

But they're lingering. "I've been trying to give you space since Gemworld - I *know* you need time to process shit like that when it hits the fan quite as spectacularly as that did. And for what it's worth, while I don't know if it was *right* or not, I'm not sure it isn't what was going to need to happen at some point anyway."

"Yeah. Well. It's done, whether or not it was right, or whether or not it could have been avoided in any case," says Pete, turning away, sipping at the Scotch and fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes. "Important part now's finding a way to fix things. She-- made me out to be like Constantine, Blaire. That I didn't think it was real. That I couldn't fathom people lived there, that I didn't understand consequences. I wanted to stay. But Strange says there'll be a chance to fix things. So."

There's a brief pause, and Pete looks over his shoulder, unlit cigarette in his mouth, lighter in the hand opposite the alcohol. "Don't suppose Booster was recording, do you?"

"She's a teenager, Pete, and we basically flipped over tables in her house. Of *course* she freaked out," Ali tries to posit gently; but she knows better than to try to force him along any hopeful paths. "I'm sure Booster was recording, yes. I think he has Google Glass built in or something.

"Then I guess I'd better go there tomorrow," says Pete, looking down into the glass, then lighting the cigarette. "I only know what was going on where I could see. I need to know what he could see." The inside of that dodgy tumbler is fascinating. He doesn't address Amy's adolescence. He doesn't address what he did to her, or on how many levels, or what the immediate and visible consequence was. He doesn't address how right he's afraid she was about the two of them, a couple of months ago, after Otherworld. He just stares unseeing into the glass, then sets it down. "Thanks for the 'fiddich." Unspoken but clear: go away.

"Any time," Ali says warmly. She picks up the now-empty Lockheed box, tosses it to herself and catches it again, then tucks it under her arm. She doesn't try to HUG Pete or anything, but she DOES reach over to mess up his hair (more) on her way out.

"See you tomorrow then, Pete."