2013.04.09 - I Think The Universe Hates Us

The sunglasses-wearing man in the unstable-molecule business suit sitting across from Dazzler, in a plywood and formica and plastic booth in a little pizzaria in Brooklyn, looks entirely too well-dressed to be eating pizza the way he is: the slice is bent double, dripping grease, and he's lifted it high, a ropy strand of 'extra cheese' connecting his mouth to the just-bitten piece of 'za. To make it worse, he says around it, "Do you remember Doomstadt? And you're supposed to be touring Atlantis..?"

Dazzler's sunglasses are up on her head, and her face is leaned on the heel of her hand; and the expression? Is a blank stare. Because she's thinking entirely too many things at once to address any single one of them verbally for a minute here. Messy eating. Vaguely familiar British dude. Doomstadt nets the addition of a knitted brow, but it disappears again when Atlantis is mentioned.

"I've done a lot of weird things, but so far touring Atlantis has not been one of them."

"No no," says Wisdom, for indeed the Briton is he, swallowing his mouthful and -- ngh -- getting a splat of tomato sauce on his white shirt. Fire it can withstand. Tomato sauce, not so much. This is what dry cleaners are for. He wipes his mouth off, at least, with a napkin hastily scrambled from the dispenser by the wall, and swallows before he continues. The pizza slice remains aloft, though lower, as grease continues to drip, mostly hitting his paper plate. "Before Doomstadt, Namor was eyeing you up and you elegantly diverted it toward cultural interest and the possibility of an underwater tour. Play with the acoustics and la. But-- also-- then. 'Dazzle Me' made number five in the iTunes store, right?"

"Well, duh. That dropped right before my career basically exploded in my fa--" And there is where Ali stops short and she STARES at Pete. Like, REALLY stares. Nigh on /dubious./ "YOU'RE George Frankly?" Incredulity! And then, like the stages of grief, acceptance. "That was a damned good song you wrote. It's a good thing people don't buy CDs much anymore, I would have been mega-bummed to have to watch a stack of them get burned."

"You--" starts Pete, then stops short, staring at Alison. He looks aggrieved, then actually somewhat upset. "Fuck /me/," he says through his teeth, putting down the pizza a bit forcefully. Too distracted with implications, he absently plucks a few napkins and starts to clean his hands, the table. "That's my pen name, Blaire. Pete Wisdom. You've known me since you toured in Europe in a borrowed minivan. I was purportedly security, remember? I mean now obviously you know-- unless you /don't/-- that I was SIS at the time-- Christ--"

Finally, he grimaces and takes off his shades, looks at her properly. His tone is worried underneath the self-mocking rudeness he follows it up with: "I know you don't ask a lady her age, but you're not a lady--"

Alison stiffens, eyes wide in righteous indignation, heels of her hands hitting the edge of the table lightly. "/OOH!/" she explodes in a voice of shocked outrage, but Wisdom blithely carries on.

"--so you don't-- oh! Well! No, much simpler," he interrupts /himself/, lifting a hand. And it's simpler but apparently potentially worse for his mental health, because he's also not looking altogether well when he asks the replacement question. "Was it dance pop, or was it indie?"

"Indie," Ali relents once she comes down from the whole 'age thing' question, which doesn't take long because conversation! "It was only released a few months ago, and it was the best received song I've put out in /forever./ It's STILL selling in drips and drabs despite the recent 'OMG SHE'S A MUTANT' thing, so." Her chin goes back to her hand, though, and she's studying Pete all over again - ESPECIALLY now with the glasses off. "You /are/ really familiar. Like I said, I've had weird things happen before, but I think... I dunno. You seem like you might be this weird constant?" Handwave! "If I crossed into another universe and didn't notice it again I'm going to be upset."

"If you did, so'd I," the Englishman says gloomily, slouching down in the bench across from Ali. "You're not the only one. Fuck. I can't even tell you-- her-- right." Pete's suddenly pulling himself up, lifting his chin. "Fuckit, we're both a bit used to it, ain't we. Do you remember the attempted infiltration of Castle Doom to rescue Psylocke and her team? Do you remember him killing you?"

"Was that a Plausible Denial thing?" Ali wonders aloud. "I mean, the details don't sound familiar at all, but it totally sounds like something I'd do. Which is /weird/ because I'm not real sure I've done anything like that at all ever." But then she plops her 'Registered Hero Card' down on the table, and gestures at it. "Of course, then I went and did THIS and I /know/ this is not normally like me. I'm pretty sure I've turned down at least half a dozen invitations to join this super-team or that, and then I do this?" Shrug.

"Nevermind," Pete dismisses the train of thought with a mental paradigm shift, shuttering up anything regarding how he feels about this being a different Alison Blaire, then flips his own card out of his waistcoat's pocket, along with his SHIELD ID. He slides them across the table so she can see. "I'm an asset to the Crown and an agent of the United Nations; of course I'm registered. Fucksake, they *make* former Marines register themselves as lethal weapons; it's optional for this lot. And you could do it in a pair of fucking sparkly ski goggles and a logo on a t-shirt, call yourself Lady Gaga-to-the-FACE, and *still* be all properly fucking registered. And this *still feels wrong*."

Alison can only kind of nod sadly to that. It's her beer's turn to be contemplated, though it remains untouched. "I kinda' think the Universe might hate us. It's really the only explanation that makes any sense."

"Well--," says Wisdom finally, slowly picking his pizza up again, "if you want me to fill you in on things that are relevant to you that you might not know, we can go back to my place. Have coffee."

"OH my GOD I didn't fall for that in YOUR Universe, did I? Because if so I'm TOTALLY EMBARRASSED FOR HER!" Mind you, Ali is /laughing/ AND being vocally dismissive but -- BUT! She IS checking him out. Somehow, the comment has NOT made her cross him off of whatever list it is she keeps. "You're terrible. Cheers." Yeah, she liked it.

Chortling, Pete holds the pizza up like he's gonna clink it to her beer, and puts his shades back on with his other hand. "She did /not/. She was at my place once, in a war council with three other people beside us, and I'm sure she forever regrets having seen it. It's like a combination bolthole, bedsit, and freshman dormitory room. I don't live there, I pass out there." He's grinning, and then he's stuffing his face with pizza because you totally reinforce disgusting with super-gross.

"Eyuggghhh!" Ali exclaims, tongue out and face contorted in exaggerated disgust. Which she chases away with beer, oh yes. "You pass out there just from walking in the door, right? Gross. You have a military pay-grade, cleanse it with fire and pay someone to keep it decent. Or you know, just don't have stuff and use the trash cans or something. Gah, boys." She takes on a bit of a faraway look then, eyes not really focusing on any one particular feature or direction beyond 'off to the side.' "I wish it had been me that attacked Latveria and been in your war council; it sounds like fun. Except for the dying part, that's total crap. It was crap, right?"

Pizza in mouth. Pizza in mouth lets Wisdom be smug without having to try and come up with anything worse to say. So he smugs at her while she's protesting, but when she gets distracted, he just finishes the slice while he listens. Then he cleans his hand again and picks up his own beer, then grimaces and puts it down again. Because it's not beer, it's American. "It was total crap," he agrees wholeheartedly, emphatic. "But you came back from the dead. It's apparently a habit, even moreso than normal for this lot. Like Kenny. Here, you can have mine, I'm going to get takeaway stromboli," is how he finishes, pushing his beer at Ali and getting up, then wandering toward the counter.

Huh. Ali isn't QUITE sure how to take that. "Well, fuck." But magically, there's a beer! Which means not thinking about things like that! At least until after the hangover.