2013.07.18 - South Gotham Dive

South Gotham. An ugly place. It should be no surprise, really, that Shift might be found in a place like this.

It's a corner bar, like thousands of others in seedy parts of cities across the globe. Behind the grid work of iron bars are bright neon signs, once simply reading, 'Lite', the other carrying the Pabst Blue Ribbon identity, and a third simply reading 'Bud'. The latter is having trouble with the 'd'; it flickers off and on at irregular intervals.

Inside the beaten up old bar are mostly old crows, neighborhood alcoholics wasting their social security checks away. However, there is one important facet of this place. It is a place where mercenaries often meet.

Shift, on this occasion, is once again looking for work.

Sitting alone in a threadbare booth, he glances at the clock on his cell phone with a scowl. A glass of less than choiceworthy whiskey is wasting away before him, and a half-smoked cigarette dangles lazily in his hand. He ashes a long forgotten cherry into a styrofoam cup filled with tap water and ash, then peers over at the Jukebox when it begins pumping out an all too familiar riff.

-''Back in black! I hit the sack! I've been too long, I'm glad to beee back!''

He'd made it back to Gotham to track down what was going on with Pamela Isley's plants. A quick brief later with Nick Fury, and it became apparent that there were other things moving on that the Boss wanted more information on... namely, that incident that Roy had been involved in with a group of mutants the other day.

And while Roy certainly wasn't looking to use the -favor- that Shift owed him, Fury had let him know in no uncertain terms that he'd love to talk.

Sliding into the booth, dressed in a trucker cap, a dark jacket, t-shirt, and blue jeans, Roy Harper nods at Shift, looking perfectly grim. No, it wasn't a -happy- social occasion. "Hey. Boss's looking to talk to you," he says without preamble.

Similarly, Shift is dressed for the occasion. He's actually wearing a flannel shirt. Not exactly Kurt Cobain here, of course; it's more along the lines of the ones old east coast rappers used to wear while shooting music videos with scantily clad ladies in the Bronx. The black leather jacket helps to set it off at least somewhat, but the beat up old jeans don't exactly scream 'Kwabena Odame' either. He's here to blend in, after all.

When, of all people, Roy plops down in front of him, the African leans back into his seat, as if Jabba the Hutt just sat down. He was expecting someone quite different, and as far as he knew, Roy wasn't lining up illegal merc deals as a current addition to his CV.

"Christ," curses the heavily accented mutant, pausing to give Roy a good, solid once over. "Give me -some- kind of foreplay, Harpah," he quips. "It's like a girl just walked ovah and said, 'Yes, I will suck your dick right now'."

Clearly, while Kwabena is a bit upset that it would appear he's actually being stiffed (pun intended), he also intended the remark to be humorous, albeit darkly. A smirk grows on the edge of his face, and he slides a half-opened pack of smokes toward the middle of the table for Roy to take. A peace offering, perhaps.

"At least let me buy you a drink first." He glances across the way, demanding the bartender's attention with his eyes, and motions subtly toward the man across from him indicatively.

"Hah!" Roy grins, raising a hand up at the waitress. "No thanks, I don't smoke."

Leaning back against the threadbare seatrest, grimacing at the lack of support, Roy quirks an eyebrow, eyes full of mirth. "I don't swing that, so you buying me a drink is not going to get me to suck your cock."

The waitress that happens to wander by gives him a startled look, but Roy waves a hand. "Just give me a beer, and give him whatever he wants..."

The waitress puts her hands on her hips. "What kind of girl do you think---"

"I mean, get him... oh wait, I think the bartender's got it..."

The waitress sniffs, and goes to pick up Shift's order, as Roy looks towards Kwa, the grin fading. "Anyway, since I showed up on SHIELD's behalf responding to your request, the director wants to get the full story. Since _I_ don't have the full story... well, I've been asked to haul your butt in."

With a heavy snort, Kwabena pulls the pack of smokes back toward himself. "Well I wasn't sure how big of a favor you wanted," he chides. A sideward glance is given to the waitress during that exchange, but soon enough, the time for jokes draws to its close.

Listening with an attentive ear and an intentionally half-hearted eye, a full two, maybe three seconds pass when Roy finishes, before Shift lifts the glass of whiskey and downs the remainder in one gulp.

"That's... quite a favah," he replies. "Dat being said, I do owe you at least one. Maybe two." With a quiet, drawn out sigh, Shift leans a bit to the side, adopting a more casual demeanor. He only glances toward the waitress when she returns with a beer for Roy and another glass of whiskey for Shift, before returning his attention to the trucker hat.

"What should I be expecting, here?" he asks.

Sounds like he won't be putting up a fight.

"Not exactly the sort of thing I'd be asking a favor for. I mean, really, I had to report -why- I took a SHIELD hovercycle out to do you your favor, since you seemed to make it sound like an international incident. Which it was, and which is why Colonel Fury's so interested."

Nabbing the beer, Roy takes a swig. "I got no idea what to expect, to be honest. I'd guess he wants to find out -why- you'd involve SHIELD. I mean, I told them it was an emergency, and it sure was, but... how -did- you know?"

Glancing back towards the waitress following Shift's gaze, Roy comments, "You want me to do you another favor?"

Very quickly, Shift shakes his head to negate Roy's last remark. "Hell no," he answers, then draws in a deep breath through his nose and... considers.

After a moment, Shift leans forward, dropping his voice a few decibels. "De real challenge here," he finally answers, "is dat... well... dere will be some few questions I won't be at liberty to answer. I don't imagine dat is going to go ovah too well. Let's just say I had qualifiable intelligence on de mattah, and de ability to form a quick response team. One dat is off de books. Sound familiar?"

He leans back into his seat, letting memories of Latveria fill the space between them.

"He's not going to like it when I don't give him all the details he's looking for," he surmises.

Unconcerned over Shift's dismissal, Roy smirks. "Eh... this is the Director. He'll probably have the information somewhere already, and is just testing you to see if you're gonna lie to him," the ginger notes, as he takes another drink. "Even lying by omission is probably not gonna go over well."

Placing the beer down, Roy leans over, smirking. "So if you could get a quick response team, why -did- you want SHIELD involved? You wanetd -someone- to notice the atrocities in that village, right?"

Soberly, Kwabena nods his head in agreement. "It goes beyond that," he admits, and holds up a hand with index finger sticking up. "Two things. One? Dere is scientific proof to support theories dat some X-Gene mutations tend to 'blossom' during moments of heightened emotional strain, often to dangerous levels. Two? Some of my mutant friends have recently come into contact with a particularly dangerous enemy."

Pausing, Shift takes a sip from his whiskey.

"Honduras is an ugly place. Howevah, I don't care how backwards or corrupted a country is... dis happened once, and it's going to happen again. I don't mean to make a human or mutant rights issue out of it, but here's the deal. Rosa Oseguera, de young girl accidentally responsible for de incident, has finally explained exactly what happened. Let me tell you, Roy. It's ugly. De poor girl just saw he boyfriend murdered, and was about to be raped by gang membahs. She freaked, de mutation blossomed for its first time, and you saw de aftahmath. The potential for political and international fallout from incidents like these--and I can promise you it won't be de last time something like dis happens--is very real. We're lucky Honduras is so corrupt that really, nobody gives a damn."

Tempering his tone down again, Kwabena continues. "We also encountered an individual known only as 'The Inhibitor'. He's got de ability to inhibit de effects of X-Gene mutations. Dat much is qualified. What we don't know is how he does it, if a technological platform is involved, and whether it affects oddah metahumans whose abilities don't sprout from de X-Gene."

"So tell Fury that. Maybe we can get you some help. Hell, _I_'d be happy to help," Roy replies, an intense stare at Kwabena's face given before the SHIELD agent drains the rest of his beer.

Running a hand through his hair, Roy glances back. "Just tell the old man that, and then maybe you can get some SHIELD help, -especially- if this is taking place across international borders. If you can do that... well, then you got nothing to worry about."

With a similar nod, Kwabena finishes the rest of his whiskey. "Don't worry," he answers. "I don't plan on playing any games with de Colonel." Seems Kwabena knows something of the man's reputation.

Then again, that doesn't mean he's going to be outing the X-Men, either.

"Alright, then," he says, and reaches to gather his things. "I'll go de easy way. You tell me where to be, I won't put up any problems when dey put de bag ovah my head."

"Pffft... I'm going to be there, man," Roy says, bringing his hand up in a bro-grasp gesture. "If you're going to get a bag on your head, they'll have to put one on me too. Okay, I'll make the arrangements. You just show up. Oh, leave the weapons home, cuz chances are you'll never get them back, or if you do..."

Hey, Roy might be SHIELD, but he wasn't -stupid-.

Kwabena throws up a two fingered salute. He didn't really need weapons, after all, especially in this scenario. "Alright, you got it, boss." Out comes another cigarette, and he peers around the joint for a few moments before snapping open a zippo and lighting up. "Well, shit. I am getting stiffed." He turns back toward Roy and flashes him a grin. "Who knows, maybe I'll impress Fury enough to get some real paying work. Dese job fences." He brings up a hand to about eye level, signifying that he's had it up to there with the usual mercenary types.

"You got my numbah," he says, before rising from his booth. He throws a few bills onto the bar before pushing open the heavy door and disappearing into Gotham's worst part of town.