| Tribute to the Fallen | |||||
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| What: Back at the Black Lagoon Bar, Belikova and company salute those to have recently fallen. From her side. No one cares about those other guys. | |||||
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It'd been only a day since the Apache storm at the docks. With many men getting tended to, and others being given unauthorized funerals at sea, Belikova had given everyone time off, but told everyone to come to the Black Lagoon the next night, business casual.
The somber mood of the bar as Roy enters has him meeting Belikova's glance at him with a quiet nod as he seats himself at the counter.
"What's going on, Contact?" Roy asks quietly.
"Waiting for everyone to arrive," Belikova says, her contralto voice soft as her glances goes around the room.
Here's a change of pace. Domino's arrival can be heard from outside, the familiar rumble of a supercharged Shelby rolling up to a spot alongside the bar. Rather than enter the place by herself, she's accompanied by a certain hackerette.
"I'm tellin' ya girl, you're gonna wanna ditch that phone, like pronto. I could trace ya through that shit, these badmonger nethacks got past -my- defenses so ya know your phone's an easy target."
"Would you just lay off it already, Austin?"
"I'm serious! That sucker's painting a giant bullseye across your back--"
Domino shuts her up by pulling her phone out and tossing it at the energetic woman, currently decked out in her finest mirrored black PVC (because she's in mourning, of course.) She swipes it out of the air and has the back panel off and the battery and SIM card removed in three seconds flat. The card is held back to the merc as they both reach the bar counter.
Dom pockets the chip, flopping onto a stool and folding her arms together on the worn wooden surface. "Beli. Looks like you got through in one piece."
Good, so all of that effort wasn't wasted.
As other men enter, Belikova turns her scarred visage towards Austin, narrowing her gaze ever so briefly, before arching an eyebrow towards Domino in a stare that says, 'What is -she- doing here?'
The stare turns into a full-bore dagger glare, as Belikova pursues her lips. And then through clenched teeth, she manages to force a terse 'spasiba', followed by "Brief me later."
Roy, meanwhile, greets Austin with a "Hey, Whackers. Enjoyin' the clean life?", moving stiffly as the gash across his abdomen reminds him he's got a way to go before being healed.
"Right," Domino responds in a similar tone as Beli. "Until then, she's family." And that's that. After what this merc went through just for Beli's sake she can damn well quit complaining and take it with a little grace.
Austin, on the other hand, plunks down then gives Roy a peculiar look. "'Whackers?' Aah wait, this Blitzer's goin' for the slang, yah? Look here Dif, just 'cause we bumped heels doesn't mean ya can rock it, solid?"
"Give him a break, Aus," Dom says in his defense with a faint sigh. "He's been through worse than I have, and a whole lot worse than you."
"Hey, I almost had my AG-3500 compromised because of that -ludicrous- little stunt of yours--"
"Was I wrong in thinking you were the right person for the job?" she sides to the hacker with a meaningful look.
"Aw hell no, D."
"Then drop it and have a fucking drink."
When the last person arrives, Belikova barks a quick command, and the bouncer at the door turns the sign over to 'closed' and locks the door.
Around the tables, guns are pushed aside to make room for shotglasses, two per person.
As the counter is set with two shotglasses each, Roy wrinkles his nose at Austin. "Whacker, hacker, same difference," the SHIELD agent says, tilting his head to Austin. "So -she-," Roy turns towards Domino, "was the reason we got past Deathstroke alive?"
Belikova pours vodka into the glasses, pausing to eye Roy for his statement. "Sorry, Contact," Roy sighs, as he lowers his head. Most, anyway.
As soon as everyone has one shotglass full, Belikova takes her glass, lifting it.
Austin continues to give Roy a level stare. "A whacker is what ya take to weeds, Dorkalus. Hacker, breaker, waver, diver, nipper, tweaker, code thrasher, hand dancer, interfreak--"
"Austin," Domino says in a level but tired tone, nonchalantly setting one very heavy chromed .44 revolver onto the bar counter beside herself. "Can the vocab lesson wait until a point in time where we aren't surrounded by ornery drunk folk with enough ordnance to conquer a third world country?"
"'Kay..."
"Good girl." Without thinking about it Dom raises one of her own shots, now siding to Roy "You two have -us- two to thank. I accept ammunition. She accepts ..bandwidth, I guess."
"Caffeine," Austin helpfully replies.
"Caffeine," Dom repeats.
"--For us... for you--- for those who are not with us anymore--" the Russian woman intones in Russian, her dulcet voice solemn, before switching to English. "... for Johnny, for Quint, for Ringo..." Names of the recent dead are intoned, quietly, with small grunts for each name, before Belikova finishes her toast. "Goodbye, my friends, goodbye."
And she drains the shotglass, as does everyone else, Roy included...
And then, almost all at once, the drained empty shotglasses are thrown at the dartboard on the wall, creating large explosions of glass shrapnel and tinkling noises as the remaints hit the floor.
This tradition is new to Domino, but one which she can get on par with. Something to drink, something to throw, something to break alongside a whole bunch more identically shaped pieces of debris. Down and done, easy.
Austin is looking particularly lost, sitting there as everyone else downs the shot then throws the glassware. "What--"
"Look out," Dom sighs while reaching over to grab one of the hacker's shots, downing -that- one then throwing it as well. She didn't have the patience for this, either Austin's going to step up to bat or she's going to get run over by everyone else.
The other shotglass remaining for each person is now filled, followed by boisterious shouts. Some tables break out in song, others make room to play cards, and others start talking.
Roy takes a swig and leans against the counter, wincing as his wounds remind him they exist, as Belikova moves over to join the small group.
"All right," Belikova says, her voice clipped. "So I take it by your insistence that I owe you -something- that you've tracked down who was responsible for Deathstroke?"
"-We- did," Domino corrects when Beli returns to the topic at hand. "Roy got confirmation, Austin ran the trace, I took care of the rest. Guy's name was Melinko, not sure why he hired Deathstroke to come after you but he won't be a problem any longer."
There's a bit of an edge to the woman as she explains all of this. More than usual. Her expression looks hardened, more resolved.
"Which reminds me," Austin says while placing Dom's disconnected cellphone onto the counter then reaching for the magnum--
--only to get stopped short as Dom's hand -slaps- down onto the .44, picking it up, snapping the cylinder open and shaking the bullets loose from the chambers with one hand. A flick of the wrist snaps it back closed. A roll of the hand twists her hold from the grip to the barrel, holding it out toward Austin.
The emptied gun is accepted, turned around in her own hand, then brought down grip-first onto the phone with a solid -whack!-
"I go through more phones that way," Dom mutters while gently rubbing her forehead. "Look, Beli. Take it as a random act of kindness if you prefer, but I did you a real solid back there. I'm gonna trust that you aren't going to forget about it and call it a night."
Taken care of. Belikova's expression shifts from terse to a surprisingly tranquil expression, and a nod of acknowledgement. She actually seems -pleased-... or at least, judging by the not-at-all gritted 'I am in your debt, Mrs... Domino.' The smile grows, just a bit more feral. "So you've taken care of the problem? Well then, I have... business to attend to, if that's the situation."
Lifting her shotglass, Belikova speaks quickly. "To the bottom!" and then drains her shotglass, before departing from behind the counter.
Roy, meanwhile, has been regarding Austin's handling of the magnum. "What are you tryin' to do with that gun, flipper?" he asks, before Belikova's departure has him glancing back up. "Business? What did you do to the guy, Dommie?"
Domino holds eye contact with Belikova, merely nodding once in silence to her question while holding her open hand out toward Austin. Just like that she gets her revolver back.
Austin wrinkles her nose slightly as the liquid crystal starts leaking out of the shattered phone's display. "Uhm. Cleanup, aisle three?"
The wheelgun's cylinder is snapped open, the rounds individually getting loaded back into the chambers with slow, almost lazy motions of her hand.
Tik. Tik. Tik.
"What do you think I did to the guy, Harper?"
Tik. -Click.-
The reloaded gun is holstered as Domino slips off of her stool, stepping away from the bar.