ArchivedLogs:You Need a Montage

You Need a Montage
Dramatis Personae Trib, Cage	2013-07-19 When you gotta learn a bunch of stuff, real fast...
Location <NYC> Heroes for Hire - Midtown East
The front room of the Heroes for Hire office has the secretary's desk, a small filing cabinet, a computer, and a ceiling fan. Janice, the aforementioned secretary is a sixty-something woman who's accent clearly marks her as being from Eastern European descent, though probably one generation removed judging by how well she speaks English. Janice was almost certainly selected by some busy-body lawyer on Luke's behalf, probably to keep him free of any more accidental law suits. The paint is faded, but everything pretty much works. Off to one side is the bathroom, and the other door leads back to Luke's office. There's isn't much in Luke's actual office but a small desk and a swivel chair pushed into one corner, with a pair of straight backed chairs on the other side of it. A couch is by the window that looks out over the city, with Times Square in the distance. All things considered, its actually a pretty decent little spot. Luke had sent the text: 'Let's chat. Can you come to the office today?' Since then, Luke's been puttering around, /actually/ doing some of his paperwork which has been piling up since he still doesn't want Janice to come in. She's doing what she can, working from home, and he's still paying her of course, but the atmosphere in the city for mutants is just too rough for her to be in the office. Mutie-supporters get it almost worse than the actual mutants do. So we find Luke now in the front office, standing next to the desk sorting mail. He's got on a tailored yellow dress shirt, dark jeans, and black biker boots. His head freshly shaved, shining in the fluorescent lights, with his sunglasses pushed up to perch on top of the dome. Trib shows up not terribly long after the text -- perhaps he was waiting for such a summons, or maybe he was just close by. In any event, the big man seems almost /chipper/ when he comes through the door of the office. Dressed in jeans and hiking boots with a short-sleeved blue plaid button-down, he's got a curl at one side of his mouth for his boss when he spots him. "Was wonderin' when I would hear from you," he rumbles amiably, moving into the office and shutting the door behind him. "I tried to send you a text, but..." he holds up his right hand and wrinkles his nose. "It ain't my strong suit." "Hey no problem, man," Luke says, smiling when Trib enters. He offers up a fistbump, and nudges his smartphone phone which is laying face up on the desk nearby. "I hate these things too, but Parley says I gotta get on top of it, keep up with the publicity. All that bullshit. You know. You been ok?" Trib returns the fistbump with a chuff of laughter, and shakes his head. "Yeah, I can see where you probably are hard on a phone." He waves a hand at the device, and crinkles his eyes. "They're fragile as fuck." He moves on past the desk, glancing at the stack of mail before he parks a buttcheek on one corner of the desk. "I've been pretty good," he rumbles, grinning a bit wider. "Money's been fuckin' tighter'n a frog's ass, but things have been pretty good, otherwise." He grimaces. "All things considered, I mean. City's still fuckin' nuts." "Yeah, I mean, it's mostly because I missed the last 15 years, being put away and all." He shrugs, and rolls up his sleeves to reveal the dark, unmarred skin of his forearms. The backs of his knuckles show scars from his boxing practice, back before his powers showed up, but most of his skin is remarkably smooth. "I just don't get these things. When I went in, it was still, you know, used like a /phone/." Cage laughs, and nods. "Oh yeah, part of the reason I wanted you to come in, was so I could give you this. Fell off the back of a truck." Cage reaches into the top drawer of the desk and sets a roll of bills on the desk. "Wanted you to have that. Took it off a meth dealer in Harlem. Can't deposit it, but it spends just fine. Should help tide you over until things pick up around here, business wise." Trib's eyebrows lift, and the corners of his mouth pull down. "I hadn't thought about that," he says of Cage's incarceration. "I guess it would be fuckin' weird as shit. I just got one of the fancy ones," he notes. "But I'm still payin' for minutes up front." He turns to watch Cage as he digs in the desk, and the roll of bills is eyed with another, slower lift of eyebrows. There's a long moment of silence, and then the boxer's brow falls into a furrow. "Jesus, Boss," he rumbles. "Did you fuckin' tumble some mob fucker? What the fuck kind of meth dealer is walkin' around with that kind of scratch?" Which doesn't really seem like the appropriate response; a fact that brings a small flush to the man's ears. "I mean, I appreciate it an' all, but..." he wrinkles his nose. "Someone's gonna miss this kind of dough." Luke holds up his hands, warding off Trib's concerns. "Trust me, it's cool. Those are mostly tens and twenties, not hundies, ok? And the guy wasn't that connected. He was just selling by the school, and that ticked me off. What can I do?" He grins and sets the money closer to Trib. Trib narrows one eye at the older man, and reaches out slowly to tap the roll. "You didn't hurt him too badly, did you?" he verifies, even as he picks up the roll and stands to shove it in his pocket. "I mean, I don't have no fuckin' use for that kind of trash, but dude -- the cops are just lookin' for a fuckin' /excuse/. If your meth dealer was human, I doubt they're gonna call his...whatayacallit. Reliability. Into question." He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully, but not without sympathy. "You gotta be /careful/, Boss. Believe me when I tell you the cops do not fuck around anymore." "I know man," Luke says, taking a deep breath. "I just roughed him up a little. Told him to stay away from the schools. Neither of us wanted to call the cops." He grins, and then the grin fades as he remembers something. "So hey. I gotta ask you something." Cage pinches the bridge of his nose, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. "Parley... tells me you followed him home the other day. Do you wanna tell me about what happened?" His tone is almost apologetic that he has to bring it up, but he does. He's a business owner now, and he has to have awkward conversations from time to time. Trib looks skeptical, but he just nods at the summary of the encounter, watching Cage's face as he speaks. Maybe he's learning to lip read, or maybe he's waiting for the moment when the man gets to the point of his call. Which is easily marked by the fall of grin, and Trib shifts back to listen with a tilt of head. His eyes narrow at the retelling, and his jaw sets with a slide of teeth that's audible. "He said that?" is a dangerously low rumble, followed by a snort. "'Course the fuckin' weasel said that," he mutters, mostly to himself. Then he raises his chin to GLARE. "I didn't fuckin' /follow him home/," he growls. "I looked up his fuckin' address in the files here, an' went by his place. To ask him if he had a fuckin' computer I could borrow so I could see them fight videos that Stark put out, from the cages." He pops his eyebrows, and his growl deepens. "I wanted to see if I was /in/ any of 'em. 'Cause I don't need people seein' Retribution Jones chewin' out some guy's throat." He wrinkles his nose. "But him and his fuckin' creepy twin-clone fuck made it damned fuckin' clear that I wasn't welcome, so I fuckin' beat feet." He sniffs. "An' that's the last I've seen of fuckin' Mister Parley since." Which he seems very glad about. "Yeah, ok man," Luke holds his hands up again, trying to smooth things over. "Let's just sit for a second and chill. I'm not /accusing/ you of anything. Honestly, I've been thinking about doing some recon on the guy /anyway/, I just wanted to make sure you didn't go off and do it alone." Luke sits down behind Janice's desk, but rolls the seat around one side, so the desk isn't between them. He gestures at the chairs that sit opposite her desk. "That guys creeps me out, just between you and me. And I wanna know more. But if you need something, like a computer, just let me know. That shit's easy to pick up, and I just expense it man. It's really not a problem." "I don't know what it is about that guy, Boss," Trib says, shaking his head. "He ain't done nothin' to me or anythin', but there is somethin' about him that sets my fuckin' teeth on edge." He shakes his head, and frowns. "I thought it was just 'cause I was fresh out of the fuckin' cages, an' that's why I went by. I was goin' to take him to work out, after, so we could get to know each other." He shifts his weight off the desk, and drops into one of the offered chairs. "But after bein' fuckin' dismissed by him an' his creepy twin-clone, I ain't got no reason to believe it's anythin' other'n my gut warnin' me off him." He leans back in his chair, his brow furrowing. "I could use a fuckin' computer," he admits softly, a bit subdued by the idea of expensing something that pricey so casually. "It'd sure make it easy to find open cards, to get back into the ring. 'Least I wouldn't have to wait for a machine to open up in the library." "Yeah, I can't say what it is either, but yeah." Cage shakes his head, staring off into space for a minute. Finally he shakes his head. "We'll figure him out later though. C'mon back for a sec. We'll get you squared away for a laptop at least." Luke hops up and leads the way to his actual office. Once in there, he rolls the dial on his wall safe, smoothly selecting the six number sequence, and retrieves a couple stacks of bills. He swings the safe shut again, but not before revealing a substantial stack of cash still inside. "2 G's oughta cover something decent, right? Just get me a receipt, or Janice will kill me. Like, literally. Commit murder." He grins and holds the wrapped bills out to Trib. "Just watch him," is Trib's advice as he drifts after Cage. "He seems slithery, like a cat. An' not in a good way. More like 'throw your shoe at him before he pees in your flowers'." He lifts a shoulder and politely turns away as Cage spins the dial on the safe, turning back as the man pulls out the money. His eyebrows lift, and his lips purse thoughtfully. "I..." he frowns, and his brow furrows as he takes the money. "This is really fuckin' good of you," he tries again, clearing his throat a bit. "You've been really fuckin' great about everything with me, Boss, an' I really appreciate it." He lifts a shoulder. "It's been a long time since someone's done that who didn't want nothin'." His smile is small, and almost fond-looking. "Thanks." "Hey, don't sweat it. And it ain't for /nothin/'," he says, grinning. "1. If my momma found out I wasn't treating employees right, she'd have my hide. 2. You /work/ for me. I will be eventually asking you to do stuff." He laughs. "3. Technically, the way the books work, the computer will belong to the company, so you just gotta give it back if you quit. But do whatever you want with it while you're with us. No problem, man." Trib snorts. "You know what I mean," he says. "I mean, it's costin' you an awful lot to be nice to me. An' I ain't exactly some sort of golden child." His grin is self-effacing, and he lifts his shoulder. "Unless I eat some gold, that is." He grins a bit, and tucks the money into his pocket before he flops on the couch. "I'm really just gonna use it for boring shit," he insists. "Unless you're into boxing. I ain't into much else." He waggles his eyebrows. "So you ain't gotta worry about it bein' filled up with weird shit or nothin'." He rubs at his nose, and frowns. "How much longer you gonna be able to keep the office closed, if this shit keeps up?" he asks, rubbing his nose again. "I mean, I figure you can only keep things closed 'for a while' for so long, yeah?" Luke shrugs. "I dunno, I mean we could always go office-less... but I like the idea of people being able to show up somewhere and ask for help, you know? Or drop a note off... We'll see. As for boxing," Luke says, raising an eyebrow. "You /do/ know I was the ranked champ in the prison circuit before my mutation showed up, right? That was pretty much /all/ I trained for, before prison." "Old school, huh?" Trib doesn't seem bothered by this idea, nodding at the answer. "I just had to check," he rumbles. "It's kind of a bitch, not knowin' for sure. But, things are kind of a bitch all over, so I guess it's pretty normal." His eyebrows lift at the revelation, and he sits up a bit straighter. "Fuck no, I didn't know that," he says, his eyebrows dropping into a sudden, surprised furrow. "Here I been lookin' for someone to train with, an' you've been sittin' here lookin' pretty with your fuckin' feet up?" He lifts a finger. "I know you could turn me into paste, but you gotta fuckin' spar with me sometime." "I fuckin /like/ puttin my feet up, ok?" Cage says wryly. "But sure man. It was hard at first, but I've gotten pretty good at pullin my punches these days. Just don't get all weird about me going easy on you, right? There's no way I'm going a hundred percent. Period." He grins and shrugs. "Dude, you remember where I fuckin' /was/ when you found me, right?" Trib is genuinely amused by the turn of conversation, and he spreads his hands. "As long as you don't pulverize me, I can take some stuff." He slaps his knee, and grins widely. "This is fuckin' awesome. I've had shit luck trainin' since I got out. I think fuckin' Rico got me blacklisted or some shit. I had to take a membership at a fuckin' /health club/ to get a work out." "He might have, yeah." Luke thinks for a moment and nods. "A lot of known muties are gettin blacklisted from sports all over the place, if anyone knows. But it seems like we should be able to get you in a ring. Your thing doesn't just happen by accident, right? You gotta eat something first?" Suddenly Cage gets and Idea. He pauses a long moment, and then says, "Hey... What if you ate some iron before you and I bout... you know, out at the train yard at night, or something. Can you move around ok like that?" "/Fuck/," Trib exhales in frustration, lifting a hand to tug at his hair. "I'm gonna get that little Puerto Rican bastard an' twist his fuckin' head off his shoulders." Which sounds more like a promise than a threat. But the question distracts him from offering anything darker. "Oh, most of the time I can control it," he says. "If it's just one thing, an' I don't eat too much of it." He grins. "I can do iron, but I'm slow as shit. If we keep at it, though, I bet I can get used to it." "Probably worth trying to get used to," Cage suggests. "And besides, if you get used to fightin like that, you're gonna feel like fuckin /greased lightning/ when you get a real fight." Cage nods at the door. "You wanna head out to the yard tonight?" "I didn't think about that," Trib says, his smile widening. "Fuck. I should have had you as my trainer all along. That's fuckin' brilliant." At the offer, he shakes his head, slapping his hands on his knees. "Fuck, yes," he says. "I've got no plans. My...hmm." He wrinkles his nose, for a moment, and pokes his tongue into his cheek. "I got no plans," he repeats. "My whole evenin's free." He checks his phone, digging it out and glancing at the screen. "Or, I will be free, if I get my other shit done." Then he's standing up, rubbing his hands on his thighs. "Did you need anything else?" he verifies. "I should get movin' before it gets too hot to fuckin' think."