Spread Eagle Pub (Cassidy)

[Tristan Caine]

Things were bad. Very bad.

Caine, once one of the greatest operators in the business of catching mutants, high ranking official in the government, and well connected agents, was alone, homeless, and possessed close to nothing. Loneliness was by far the worst.

Not to say he was much for being social but just having familiar faces, even backup, was comforting. It had been just over two days since he had stolen the agency's intel, he was wanted, and he'd already brushed with another agent and two mutants. He had only one choice and he was going to do something he hadn't done in years.

He needed a drink.

The Spread Eagle Pub, aptly named judging by some of it's denizens at this hour, was a corner bar with low class clientele, three exits, was dimly lit, smoke filled, and put off an air of "screw off." Just what he needed.

He nursed his drink, single malt whiskey, neat as he surveyed the place from the far barstool next to a back exit. He had rigged the lights with adhesive balls no bigger than a BB set to a button taped to his arm. On the other arm were set the det cord charges he'd set up behind a dumpster in the back. A shape charge designed to cut a new exit if need be. He thumbed the agency issue flash bangs he kept in his pocket. One could never be too careful.

He needed a plan. But before he could consider planning out any action against his former affiliates in the "machine," he needed new allies. He doubted he could find any former agents or personnell within the agency... Which left civilians, crackpots, or mutants. And he was certain they'd sooner redecorate the walls with his insides than help when they found out who he was.

He sighed.

"Want another?" The burly bartender asked in an obviously counterfeit english accent. Caine nodded. "Why not?"

Not like he could do much without a plan. And he couldn't plan without friends...

"I don't even like people..." He said inaudibly.

[Cassidy Morgan]

"...Seriously?"

A slight hiccup followed the unceremonious outburst from the purple-haired woman seated in the far corner of the "pub." A sigh followed the hiccup, and a purposeful upturning of the wine glass in her left hand followed the sigh; all three actions an unassuming preface to the downing of what was approximately her fourth glass of wine.

Ridiculous, one might say, for the evening was still quite young.

But for one Cassidy Morgan? Why... this was only the beginning!

Usually, at least.

The sound of patent leather peeling away from the sticky table top certainly brought more attention her way, not that she seemed to notice. The motion - which revealed the rather iconic red of her rather disheveled uniform skulking beneath the jacket (never mind the red beret sitting on the table, turned so that the insignia identifying her rank was conspicuously apparent if one had any knowledge of such things and simply bothered to have a glance in her direction) - was also purposeful. She was reaching across the table - one hand moving to take hold of the enormous bottle of wine she'd purchased a scant twenty minutes before; the other sliding an unhappy smart phone back in her direction. As the wine poured, Cassidy made a few scratching motions across the face of the phone and twisted her pretty mouth into a pretty frown.

"It'd be so much easier," she stated, placing the wine bottle down and re-hoisting up her glass. "If everyone just played nice. ...Right?"

Her smartphone began to buzz; a momentary distraction that she silenced as soon as she remembered which button did what on it. Then she slumped, her left hand idly twirling the wine glass, while her right became the prop that held up her chin. Black eyes trailed across the pub's clientele, but truth be told, she had eyes for only a single individual - and Tristan was framed, perfectly, in the wine-and-glass bubble she was holding up.

"So... so... so... not my problem right now. I mean, isn't it happy hour? I thought people had, ya know, lives to attend to... or something."

She only barely stifled a yawn as a tell-tale shade of crimson began to flutter across her cheeks.

[Tristan Caine]

"So not my problem right now," Caine said quietly as he caught none other than his prior handler's eyes. He raised his glass to her. No point pretending they hadn't seen eachother.

Cassidy... Perhaps the strangest girl he'd the misfortune of serving under. He never liked her attitude or drinking. But the worst was her unprofessional manner. He often wondered how the hell she kept her job at all. Rumors said she was well connected. Caine never bought it. No way did a train wreck, Garth Brooks song lifestyle kind of girl like that have friends.

Still...

He stood up and walked to her. He sat down and motioned for another round for both of them in a single smooth action. He pulled his fresh drink in as he moved his left arm to the button inside his sleeve on his right. He took in the details.

She was still sharp, hardly buzzed. Her posture indicated disinterest. Good sign. And she held her glass in her dominant hand. Either she wasn't strapped or she didn't plan on using a gun. Also good. She was capable, not to be taken lightly, but all signs pointed to safe... Enough... For now...

"Cassidy... Come here often?"

[Cassidy Morgan]

Was that what she wanted? Direct attention? This was the query tumbling about in Cassidy's mind as Sir Tristan, as she liked to call him - Tristan was such a... regal name - raised his own glass in her direction. Of course, the query was never directly answered.

He had, after all, just offered a silent toast.

She'd drink to that. (Aw, who was she kidding? She'd drink to anything.) So she did. The whole glass. Four down the hatch... some number she wouldn't be able to pronounce later to go.

Regardless, it was still a slight surprise to her that the newest "missing" member of "her flock" came directly over. Then again, when he ordered another round, she was quite content to drop any surprise altogether.

"Here? Often?" Her tone was so neutral as to invoke a question about whether or not she was actually asking a question. She gave a slight shake of her head. "Don't think I could say that. Not that I remember, anyway."

Before she could say more, the "second round" arrived. A second whiskey was brought to Tristan, and an outside view could certainly say that such a drink was within reason. But what arrived for Cassidy? A second bottle. Ah... to be so lovingly encouraged...

She didn't even bat an eye at it, though. A simple push directed the unopened bottle to a resting place beside it's open brother.

"I dunno... it doesn't really seem like the usual type of place, does it? I think I read about it somewhere... one of those, uh, restaurant rating sites or something." She offered a shrug, refilled her glass, and then hesitated for a moment. "Oh, wait. I think you wanted something, right?"

A flip of her shoulder flexed open her jacket, showing what Caine likely suspected was there in the first place - her battered P99.

"I guess it isn't good for me to have that right now, huh?" It was a rhetorical question. She managed a half-smile. "Maybe you'll hold on to it for me for a few minutes?"

Perhaps it was a gesture of good faith... or perhaps she simply recognized that a drink or two more and the gun wouldn't do her any good, anyway, but the moment the bar tender turned away, she slipped it off of her belt just the same and finger pushed it towards Tristan. The gun was still securely in its holster. She returned her immediate attention to her drink and took a lengthy sip.

"Ya know," she said, glancing back at Caine. "I think a li'l bird told me that we broke up. I didn't even get a text. That seems kinda mean, doesn't it?"

[Tristan Caine]

In a swift motion that barely warranted attention as soon as her hand went off the gun his was on it and he whisked it out of view. He silently checked it. Condition 3. Magazine inserted, no round in chamber. He was somewhat less then impressed with the second bottle, and the condition of her weapon. For good measure he slid his pinky in and out of the chamber then quickly put the weapon on his belt out of view. He checked his pinky, coated in carbon from an unclean firearm. He almost snarled.

"You wouldn't be hiding a second weapon, would you." It was rhetorical, not a question.

He took a small sip as his left hand rested again on the button under his sleeve.

"Always the professional, Cass." He remembered why they'd never gotten along. They just never saw eye to eye. Caine had never minded her looks. She was attractive. But the thought of romance with her almost made him sick. Never stopped him from looking. Such is the male mind. It spoke volumes that the only source of "friendship" he had right now was her.

"We did. I wonder if they told you why..." It was a baited response. Always try to know mare about someone then they know about you.

[Cassidy Morgan]

Cassidy managed a frown. Whether it was because her gun disappeared or because of the "professional" comment was not truly clear, and she didn't intend to clarify it. Nevertheless, the frown was transient as she easily fell back into her "wine in one hand, chin in the other" posture, and watched the "turncoat" agent. She didn't bother to retort the rhetorical - she never carried a second weapon (barring any random object she happened to pick up when at home, but home this was not) and she suspected Caine probably already knew that. She wasn't supposed to be a fighter, after all. Just a voice - a voice that was only occasionally her own in terms of content.

"Why?" For a moment she appeared genuinely surprised by the question. A quick draining of her glass and the follow-up preoccupation with refilling it - as full as it would get, just to finish off the first bottle - told the true story. "Well..."

There was a long pause, as Cassidy appeared to take silent council with her wine glass. A few moments later, she drained half the glass and the crimson on her cheeks turned a shade brighter. She offered Tristan an extremely brief, almost playful smile.

"I figure you found somethin' prettier to look at, that's all..." She gave a half-chuckle, obviously induced by the alcohol and shook her head slightly. "Oh, sir knight, I'm sure it's in the folder sitting on my desk, or, maybe, in whatever e-mail thing I received but... can't... figure out... how to access on this thing. I dunno, there was some yelling back at base camp, and someone said something about stolen, and someone else said... what did they say? ...I forget now. Something serious... I presume." She shrugged. "Do you see my problem here?"

She tapped the smartphone on the table. The display lit up... prominently producing a picture of one of her cats.

"I think it's stuck. ...Maybe, maybe not." She leveled an unlevel gaze at him. "Is it terribly important? I mean, obviously, but what do you think? Or is she easy, or something? I mean, if it's like that and not important..."

Was she serious? Was she joking? Or was it a little of both? Either way, she didn't seem terribly concerned at this moment.

[Tristan Caine]

Too nonchalant, the fact that she could put a cat as her background suggested she was familiar with her phone. She had read the report or at least knew the score. He suddenly didn't like the fact she had placed her phone on the table and was trying to get him to look at it either. Paranoid? Maybe. But her alluring words, the way she played coy... He could never tell with her. Which was maybe the real reason he'd never liked her in charge.

Still, it couldn't hurt to play along. He scanned the windows and exits. Head counts, marked or unmarked cars, earpieces, people who didn't belong. It looked clear from what he could tell. Maybe she really didn't care...

"Pretty isn't the word I'd use. Nor easy by any stretch. Suffice to say that in all likelihood they either told you something false, or they didn't give the full story."

At least now he knew it was cats. He'd always spotted the hairs on her uniform but never could tell what kind of pet it came from. Cats... He had been betting on dogs.

His face took on a more serious tone as his gaze fell level with hers. "Be straight. How much do you know?"

He wondered if he could find an ally here. Although... How effective she might be depended on her bottle count. He half wondered what had happened, if anything, that might have turned her into the mess before him. Only half.

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Nnnmmmmmgh...."

There was something a little different in this ignoble exposition. It didn't seem to quite match the rest of her banter. Perhaps something had irked her? If it had... it didn't seem to last very long. Cassidy sighed again and finished off her glass.

"What is this... straight... nonsense?" Cassidy gave an almost forlorn glance at her unopened bottle. "Be a gent and open that for me?" It was a rather out of place request, but it wasn't really born by anything other than laziness. She tried flicking at her phone. Somehow, it opened an app displaying Angry Birds, and this elicited a frown from her.

"Really..." And, distracted, she made an absolute failure out of the very first level of the game. "I would have thought you'd be the first to recognize that 'they' - whoever 'they' are - don't tell me anything. Why would 'they'? It's, ah... it's, um... what is that quote? 'Ask and you shall receive', right? I never ask... haha." The laugh was almost... almost bitter. "No. All I say is Northwest, Sir Tristan. Somewhere between A-2 and A-3, be mindful of the autoyard, won't you?" She smiled slightly. "Female, 5'2", black hair, blue eyes, olive complexion. A touch on the frail side, no weight to report. Properties? ...Properties? The properties are... Where'd my report go?"

She mimicked herself, ironically, her tone as bored as it was the first time she delivered the information - a few months ago.

"Oh, what was... next? Didn't I say her nails were green and gold with a fleck of silver? I think I made that up. I don't really recall. She did something with... water? Fire? Oh... oh, wait, no dirt! She flung dirt. That's right. Dirt. So dangerous. Maybe dangerous. ...I hate getting dirt in my eye, after all. Did you even catch her? I think that night was a gin night. Probably not the best. ...What were we talking about?"

Was it feigned indifference? False memory loss to draw him into a more 'trusting' position? ...Probably not. She was probably being completely truthful with him, her memory as flakey as the gold in Golden Grain. Instead of bothering to really wait for an answer, she seemed to momentarily give up, folding her arms on the table and laying her chin on the pillow they made.

"I'm afraid, sir knight, all I know is that you're cheating on me with someone or something. And it isn't very nice to break a girl's heart. Someone said something about retrieving you, but... it's just silly to take someone back that's hurt you so, don't you think?"

[Tristan Caine]

Caine's face had shifted in ten seconds from expressionless, to a frown, to confusion, to outright dumfounded. He could barely follow any of it. His mouth hung open, eyebrows furrowed. He quickly snapped back to impassive once he realized his expression. How could one woman be so impossibly odd?

He sighed, relaxing just a hair from her statement about taking him in. Not that he believed she was capable on her own. But he didn't want the conflict and hitting girls gave unpleasant feelings. He waved a hand dismissively at the bartender. No more drinks for him. He could feel the buzz creeping into his face and found it unpleasant.

"Yeah. It was dirt. Not dangerous at all until it starts whipping at you at high speeds and happens to be the size of a small car. But I'm sure you read the report, right?"

He paused, trying to decide if he should get a water or not. Her boyfriend/girlfriend metaphor made him... Uncomfortable. She had done this sort of thing before. He was fairly certain she threw it into conversation just to screw with him but again, he could never tell.

"I mever cheated on..." Dammit. She got him. "I went off grid for my own reasons... Officially. But if you've no interest in capturing me. How about a favor? I'd owe you one."

He let the question settle for a minute. What in the world was he getting himself into?

A man bumped into Tristan. Perfect. He went with the bump, bumping in turn into Cassidy. He made a show of going for the bottle with his left hand to save it from knocking over. His right hand deftly flicked the back cover off of her phone as he placed a patch.inside it before clicking it back into place. He prayed she didn't notice. Even if she had he'd placed the same monitoring technology on the inside of her holster and behind the trigger on her gun. He could track and listen but no more. Hopefully he'd copy her sim card sometime.

He looked at her, suddenly aware of the close proximity and straightened up quickly. "My apologies. Saved your wine though. Does that earn me some trust?"

[Cassidy Morgan]

"Oh... ah, hum... hm... uh..."

*CRUNCH!* That was how it always went, wasn't it? The bump had caused her to move, and her movement had set her up perfectly for Tristan's "fall" which had brought him close. The closeness killed her balance - a good thing, if she had been fighting, but an inconvenient and unexpected thing here - and her elbow had unintentionally come down square across her wretched smartphone. There was, of course, a question of something being amiss. Did any other woman produce that kind of force in balancing her drunken self? Regardless, she had destroyed it and... she gave it a severe frown, potentially the most powerful expression she had thus far exhibited.

"A-ah! Aw... aw, man... what... what time is it? That was... that was almost a week of use! ...I, uh... er... hello?" She seemed to notice Tristan's proximity quite a bit later than she had noticed the destruction of her cell phone. She shot him a half-smile. "And here I thought you didn't care..." And she sobered (to make a purposefully terrible word choice.) She gave a bit of a shrug. "Whatever. Happens every day, basically. Not the wine saving, mind you, the breaking of that... thing. Thing. ... Er. Earned trust...?"

She gave him a quizzical look, and made no obvious efforts towards removing him from her proximity. Maybe she appreciated the warmth. Maybe she didn't care that they were now getting odd stares from the rest of the clientele - after all, hadn't she voiced it quite plainly that they had "broken up" previously? It certainly was a convenient excuse for their current situation...

"What are you gettin' at, cowboy? It's not like I'm on duty or anything. You can just chill out, ya know? It's not even half a deal... I mean... ya know, unless ya start sliding that hand of yours to my right..."

What did she mean by this? If he followed her direction, Tristan would have found his hand on something a bit... squishy. For certain sexual harrassment suit, right???

[Tristan Caine]

Years of training, two combat deployments with special forces, and years of overall hardening.... And within ten minutes Cassidy had managed to turn him six different shades of red. His male mind was split and he froze. Should he go for it? He considered the thought of a quick squeeze. Considered the thought. Didn't consider actually doing it.

He moved back, though not so far as maybe he should. But his hand lingered just a bit longer. Somewhere in the midst of this thought process, he'd forgotten all about the phone.

"Listen... Angelface. I need field kits. As many as you can get. Intel, mainly on myself. Just forward your emails to this number." he slid her a napkin with a number on it. He hated his scribbly handwriting. "And maybe you can get a list of anyone afyer me? Any background on them would be nice too." He was practically beggin here bit what choice did he have? He still needed to set up a safehouse as well but anything connected to federal could compromise him. He'd have to seek out his own home base. His mind briefly wandered to Cass' backside...

He suddenly felt like he needed another drink.

[Cassidy Morgan]

She... laughed. No, really - she actually laughed. For the first time in many years... she was amused. Not amazed and appreciative - like she was with the various MMA events she (illegally) streamed or the quick views from Japan of sumo and other martial arts, where prowess and skill conquered her. No, she was... amused. To craft it in her mind's eye was simple: it amounted to the simple expression and question: "What the fuck just happened?"

"What?"

Her simple question touched nothing upon the weight of what he had asked. It was almost childlike in it's... dismissive, unconcerned nature. She wore what was... obviously a forced smile. Forced... but not unnatural. The proximity wasn't a bad thing; the need - the want - the fact that she might be... useful... was quite enticing. For a split second, it even made her... happy. But it was dismissed. Things really... weren't that different.

"I... don't even know what yer talkin' about." Her voice seemed suddenly... slurred beyond how it was before. "I mean, what? You wanna... tap my stuff or something? See things, hear things, know things... I, uh... hear... er, see... know... whatever order I said before? The... hell? I don't... Do I look anti-virus or anti-spyware to you? I mean, seriously... ... can't you just open the Goddamn bottle?"

The final exclamation covered her grabbing of Tristan's napkin. Thus, the only final hope was that she remembered what pocket she put it in the next day. No guarantees there... but there was, at least, some hope.

"I mean... you sure are talkin' about big stuff, and you haven't told me... shit... yet, ya know? Gah... ...Whatchoo lookin' at?"

The final bit was directed at a random guy that was just too close to the "action." For good or ill, her poignant, though slurred, question seemed to ward him off. She was mostly glad. It sort of seemed like no one would die because of this current interaction. Not that she really cared, mind you.

[Tristan Caine]

Tristan was at a loss... again. Cass had always been odd but to laugh out loud at his request was a new level of strange. The sad part was he knew her well enough to know exactly why she was laughing. Part of him pitied her for it. Another part scoffed.

At her ramblings he could barely discern it was no suprise the most understandable request was to open her bottle for her. Whether it was more of her shenanigans or if she really lacked the ability at this point he Couldn't tell. He pulled the bottle away and popped it, smoothly pouring its contents into her glass. He knew better than to argue with her about her drinking. She was an adult, more or less. She could make her own mistakes.

He set the bottle down and truly looked at her. Here she was, a girl he knew but didn't. A lifetime of nothing or perhaps too much of everything at once. She had been hollowed, lost faith, scarred somehow. He wondered if he'd ever hear the story that had created what he saw before him. There were rare, inexplicable moments of humanity and intelligence that shocked him enough to question if he truly knew her at all. But they inevitably vanished as quickly as they arose and he was left with her shell once more.

"I mean... you sure are talkin' about big stuff, and you haven't told me... shit... yet, ya know? Gah... ...Whatchoo lookin' at?"

Her outburst had one hand on her gun, the other on his trigger device in an instant. He turned slowly, gauging the nobody who slouched off into the smokey tendrils. Tristan relaxed again.

"I know. There isn't much to tell. You have my number. Seek out an agent. I don't know his name, rank, or station. Average height, slim build, blond, medium length hair, blue eyes, and glasses. Last seen wearing a black suit. Think Men in Black without the shades. If you want answers he's your man."

Tristan looked at his watch. It was getting late and he still needed to find a place to hole up for the night. He'd been to long without sleep and he was losing his edge. He would need all of his mettle for things to come. He looked forlornly at the door, knowing that the night held nothing for him out there. The sense of loneliness hit him again.

He turned again to the drunk mess that was his former handler... Was this really all he had? He frowned. She was in no shape to listen any further. Time to go. He headed in the direction of the back door to collect his det cord. Couldn't afford to waste resources.

He waved over his shoulder. "It was good to see you, Cass." What was more shocking than thee words to him was the fact that he meant it. He shook his head and smiled at the thought of the ridiculous girl as he made it to the alley.

[Cassidy Morgan]

((OOC: LoL. Shall we play that Tristan left her gun on the table? Otherwise, he mighta just walked out with it... unless I missed something. ^_^; ))

----------------------------------------------------

"Oi vey," Cassidy half-complained, the strange expression pulled from something she had seen or read in the distant past. "All the work is left up to me? ...Lame."

It wasn't really as bad as those words made it out to be. Well... maybe it was. It required her to remember the next day. So what did she do? ...Naturally, she upturned her glass and drained it, just as Tristan turned to walk away.

"It was good to see you, Cass."

That's what he said. Did she believe it? ...Based on the situation, she thought she could. Partially, at least. Typically, she believed it was never "good to see her" and, if work reputation meant anything, the department would likely agree with her self-assessment.

Whatever. It didn't matter.

"Baaaaiiiiiiii~!" she said, mimicking the airy, ultra cute Japanese girl Engrish departing call she was overly familiar with, thanks to various media. She added an expected, lazy wave to go along with it, promptly seeming - to anyone else in the pub - to return her attention solely to the wine on the table. The refilling of her glass gave her mind a little time to work and, at the last moment before Tristan completely turned away, she offered the lame, universal sign of "call me" with her hand and, to finish off the "relationship" angle she'd been playing the entire night... she blew him a kiss.

What a joke, right?

Abruptly, her eyes cut to her right. The random man from before had creepily returned. He was unashamedly staring at her breasts.

"So..." he started.

"So..." she mimicked. Then: "...what?"

"You two gettin' back together?"

Well, that was a surprise. Looked like she'd covered her bases well. She almost snorted.

"What? ...Aw, hell no! He just owes me a bar tab now. Duh. Didn' ya just see he walked out without payin'?"

"Oh, uh..." The man was definitely a creep. "Ok, so can I-"

"No."

"But you-"

"Tender!" To completely cut the creep off, Cassidy stood up... albeit a bit shakily. "Tab, please! I got the whiskey, too, kay?"

And then, in a feat expected only by those who new her, she grabbed her wine bottle and turned it up, chugging its contents down like an idiot frat boy doing a keg stand. By the time she finished, her face was as red as her uniform. After dropping a few bills on the table to (more than) cover her own (and Tristan's) tabs, she gathered her things - holding her broken smartphone like one might hold a dead rat - and stumbled her way out the pub.

All in all? Pretty standard night. By her odd standards, anyway.