2014.01.08 - The Way the Redhead Did

Blüdhaven

Blüdhaven. If Gotham with its vice and corruption can be considered an armpit, then this younger sibling of an outlying borough, nearly a separate city in its own right, could be considered anatomically lower and considerably less hygienic. For where Gotham the crime comes from the bottom up, in Blüdhaven it comes from the top on down. It is a place that may look like any other at first glance, but the police of its precincts are corrupt enough that they view themselves as a gang, but the truly good cops have to meet in secret to hide their plans from their superiors. To those that call it home, Blüdhaven is just that. But more often than not, Blüdhaven is a haven. A haven to crime.

-

Ripley's Lounge, Bludhaven.

It's not exactly the nicest place in the world, even though one might not go so far as to describe it as a 'Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy'. As is with most seedy bars in this Gotham City neighborhood, visitors aren't exactly welcomed, nor are they turned away. So long as no outsiders cause too many problems, of course.

This was the last known location of the mutant known only as Isaac. His inhibiting abilities had created quite a stir amongst the X-Men, but what with all of the other threats that were passed their way, this particular situation has gone relatively unnoticed.

Until today...

The trail had remained cool for quite some time, at least until Doug's attention had been turned to the tag alerts being interjected every so often. Because it was the holidays, and because there had been no inhibiting incidents, Doug had simply left it be, reasoning that Kitty's words needed time to gestate in Isaac's soul.

And yet, the most recent alert...? In Bludhaven?

Leaning back in his room, Doug considers. Desire to just stay in and stay warm struggled with his curiousity over the latest alert.

Bleah.

Bundled up to the nines for the cold, Doug shows up, sticking out somewhat as an outsider the way he's dressed for the elements.

A quick check of his GPS/phone, and then the young blonde crosses the room quickly, coming to a stop at a specific table.

"Isaac."

"He's not here."

Looking up to Doug is a man with similar skin tone and similar dress, but this is not Isaac. It's Frank Smith, one of the older gentlemen who first took up Isaac's side, a former mutant who considers himself now 'cured' by Isaac's unique powers.

The grizzled man narrows his eyes at Doug. There are a lot of things going unspoken right now... suspicion, distrust, anger, violence, all of it withheld from word and deed, yet easily understood by a man with Doug's capabilities.

"Been a while since we seen you 'round here, young man." Frank doesn't even look to the other men sitting by his side. He simply makes a hand gesture, and one of them stands, vacating his seat.

"Go on. Sit down."

Removing his scarf and hat, shaking free his stock of blonde hair, Doug regards Frank with a studious look. His only response to the body language is that of acceptance, acknowledgement as he takes his seat, before tossing his mittens onto the table. "Yeah. No incidents, and I thought things might have settled down. But then I saw something pop up and..." Eyebrows arched, Doug waited to see just -what- had happened.

With a rueful expression, Frank watches as Doug takes his seat. The boy is like a fish out of water around these parts, as far as Frank is concerned, and even if that might be farther from the truth, it's easy to read Frank's opinion in the way he nearly sneers at his visitor.

"Bunch of hooligans, that's what they were," answers Frank. "Come in here, all punked out, lookin' for their cure. Well, their cure's gone, you know what I'm sayin'? Isaac ain't been 'round here for... hell, at least three months." He turns to look at the fellow sitting by his side. "Ain't it been three months, Richie?"

"Mmmm hmm," grunts the man seated next to Frank.

Frank looks back to Doug, lips drawn into a thin line. He's staring, as if trying to psyche out the younger man with his beady eyes.

Oh yes, fish out of water. And Doug -could- have adapted his body language, shifting to fit in, harden himself.

But it wasn't who he was, and the sheepish smile Doug returns to the sneer indicates that. For better or worse, he was Doug Ramsey, and all he could do was nod. "Three months," he says in agreement. "Kitty wanted to encourage him to think about the bigger picture, but..." He shrugs briefly. "The world isn't so easy as to fix everything by ignoring the problems. Or by attempting to fix it by removing the problems. For better or worse, it's what it is, and working -with- it... well, I suppose everything start with listening."

"We ain't interested in your problems, son." Frank's retort is a bit harsh, but it's also just who he is. He's an old man, he's worked his whole damn life, and now, he's got nothing to show for it except a nullified X-Gene and the benefits that came with that.

"You know what though?" He leans back, lifting his hands into the air in a gesture of surrender. "What the hell. You wanna listen? I got somethin' for you."

Frank reaches for his glass of cranberry juice, swirling it around as if it was the whiskey he used to rely upon; the alcohol that removed his pain. The only thing that worked with his mutant curse.

"You wanna know why Isaac left?"

Nodding, Doug turns his attention to the waitress. While she sizes him over and smirks, her worn features almost feral in her amusement, Doug orders a beer. "Yeah, of course. Though I am guessing a lot of it had to do with the redhead."

Truth be told, Doug hadn't felt so clean about the incident, and Kitty had given him -holy- hell over it later. But not in front of Isaac and his gang. No. Kitty protected her brood, but she would not let her friends off so easily when they did -something-...

Frank leans back, smirking. "Shit. You think that's the first time a nigga done roughed up another nigga? Boy, dis is hood life. Ain't no way around it. There's language. Redhead was snoopin', we get it, and that African friend of yours? He knows the language."

Frank leans in again, his eyes twinkling with mirth as Doug orders himself a beer. "Atta boy," he grins, before taking a sip of his cranberry juice. "Three months ago. Group a dudes wearin' shades come in, askin' for Isaac. They break out enough hardware to burn the place to the ground. Isaac sizes 'em up. Ain't mutants. Regular mooks like Lucy and 'Tender Joe over there. So he goes with 'em, saved us all a nice firefight."

"Oh?" Doug smiles, nods at the waitress as she leans over and delivers the mug, taking the moment to sheepishly blush at her displayed cleavage. Satisfied, the waitress heads off, and Doug's swift attention back to Frank as he focuses is all business, leaving very little doubt that the young mutant wasn't above using his linguistic body language ability to appease people's expectations. "So... what was with the alert that called me here, then?" Eyebrows arched, Doug's underlying question was simple: 'What did you need me for?'

With that question, Frank Smith seems to back down with the harsh attitude. Doug seems to have struck a softer nerve, and his attitude is summarily adjusted. "Listen." His tone is quieter, more subdued. "None of us got into this with any bad intentions. We wanted help. Government wasn't givin' us help. Medicaid doesn't cover the X-Gene. All of us owe somethin' to the man. And you guys seemed like y'all got good intentions. When those suits came in here? Was like... I dunno, like somethin' out of the movies. Agent Smith style. We ain't got no idea what they did with 'im, where he's gone, but it ain't sittin' well with any of us. We want 'im back. Safe and sound. You think you and those buddies of yours can do anything about that?"

And now they were down to it, and suddenly Doug understood what they were asking. As he drains his beer mug down to the dregs, the young blond nods slowly. "Yes." No question whatsoever that Kitty would demand that if they could change -something- about the way the Inhibitors viewed mutants, they should take advantage of it.

Although...

"If you don't mind, I think I can bring in a different group. At least, one that won't immediately tick off Isaac the way the redhead did..." Leaning forward, Doug grins. "Tell me... ever heard of X-Factor Investigations?"