more like a medium effort

“‘underrated’, fuckin’,” he’s grumbling under his breath rather than complaining out loud. sometimes, roman’s blasé nature annoyed winnie. but then again --- what didn’t annoy winnie sometimes? “yeah, you go ahead and do that. but i swear to fuck, that if you advise me to avoid bullets just as someone pulls a gun on us, i’ll push you in front of one.” it’s all bark and no bite, as winnie’s threats usually go --- yet he still stops a bit short of their destination trying not to look hesitant. “you can talk them out of guns, right?”

sure, it’s a useful power, but winnie barely deigns the act worthy of a raised eyebrow. he’s grown up around mutants, he can stomach flash and showmanship all day. still, he’s glad he didn’t have to do any physical work to get it cleaned up. “well look at that, huh? magic man with magic hands.” he barely considers quentin’s words, shrugging quickly after. “i’unno, you wanna stick around and find out? ‘cause,” winnie barely moves from his spot before his form disappears, expertly and effortlessly camouflaging into their surroundings. their voice sounds from the same spot, still not moving. “i’m fine right here.”

in that moment, winnie curses the fact that he’s so easy to read. all his emotions are front and center right now and they really shouldn’t be. will’s words are so soft and mushy that winnie feels the fondness radiating off his brother. the statement had taken them off guard, is all. it hadn’t been... aw, jeez. now he felt bad. he takes a second to clear his throat, schooling his face into something more neutral before letting out a laugh. “fuck, dude. that’s---” he’s smiling now, and he hopes it comes off as genuine as he feels it. “you sound happy. percy’s a good dude. i just can’t believe you tied the knot already. you’re making me feel old and lonely.”

“yeah,” winnie nods at her words, starting slow then gaining enthusiasm as he speaks. “yeah, see? this is why more mutants should be in mystery podcasting. too many dumbasses not even considering what should be fuckin’ obvious.” he kicks more leaves into his pile, putting off the inevitable task of having to pick them off---just a little longer. “how many murder stories does that fucko gotta stumble through before he even brushes against the real truth? ‘unsolved’ is a dumb title when i can name two murders off the top of my head where not only do i know who did it, boogara didn’t even mention them as suspects. amateur hour.”

an array of noncommittal and disapproving sounds come out of winston’s mouth, cutting margot off as she recounts her tale. not that it wasn’t interesting, but --- “i dunno, i don’t think that should be a great feat. that dude’s not really right on a lot of the things he spouts on his show.” he grimaces as he kicks a branch into their growing debris pile, knowing they’re going to have to pick this up with their hands soon. “dumbass thinks ordinary people killed j.f.k. he left magneto out of the suspect list and for what? we’re all thinking it! magic bullet my ass.”

while it’s true that winnie doesn’t need to come to the training rooms often, they still frequent it occasionally --- and mostly for what he calls sightseeing rather than actual training. he was only passing through today, not yet made up his mind on if he was sticking around when the man shifts and looks at him, asks him about wanting a turn. “oh. no,” winston answers, eyes too candid to be mistaken for anything but ogling. “i wouldn’t say i need it. i’m just taking in the view.” the words are airy, noncommittal. a passing gesture and a compliment all in one. 

a scoff, then. soft and almost fond as winston shrugs, “guess so! but then again, when have i ever said anything important?” given their shared history, kurt should know by now that winston sometimes talks only to hear himself talk. they’re too used to the sound of their own voice, too scared of silences --- awkward or otherwise. “so, forget it, it’s in the past. not important! what is important, however, is the way you were looking at me. was that a blush i spied on your face? a wistful look?” winston has witnessed neither, but poking fun at kurt’s otherwise grumpy disposition is always a good bit of fun. “kurtis, please. it’s over between us.”

“sounds like work.” his tone is bordering on complaint yet still only stating a fact. “and for the record, i think the safety hazard even for the guys who made it is a better name. more dangerous. all edgy and self-referential. not as catchy, though.” a sigh, then. delicate and weary --- though he hasn’t moved from where he stands. “guess we gotta. where’s the--- are there even brooms here? do we gotta find a janitor or something?” 

every witticism that inhabits his head leaves him --- just like that. winston is left blinking at his brother, frozen for a second as he processes the words. “you what?” the squawk, though undignified, is all winnie can manage in the moment. “you and percy what? when? w-- how?” then, never the one to be shaken to their core enough to not make a joke --- “wait, are you pregnant?”

even though winnie brought up the topic, bea’s answer stops him short. closing time looms over them but winnie hasn’t been in any kind of hurry here. their shift has been over for a while, yet they linger at the bar with beatrice, talking about everything and nothing. though, this---this isn’t nothing. but it shouldn’t be everything, either. “pretty fucked up of him.” it’s a fact; one bea knows by the look on her face. “don’t think i can ever go toe-to-toe with you on a fucked up childhood fight, then. you win by a fuckin’ long shot.” he punctuates the end of his sentence by topping up her drink with the last of the vodka. “all i got is a mercenary dad who had a lot of enemies. nothing real interesting there.” 

“i’m not repeating myself,” winston starts before she repeats herself for the third time. “you can’t die from drinking five slurpees in a row.” winnie shakes their own cup before taking another quick sip. “but it sounds like god lowered her standards for who she lets in based on that guest list.” 

“holy fuck, did you think of that yourself? are you a philosopher now? fuckin’ dostoevsky?” sarcasm dripping from every word, winston barely spares a glance at roman as they walk down the darkened street. “fuckin’ cold tonight,” is winston’s quick follow up as they pull their jacket tighter over themself. sure, he didn’t have to wear a mesh shirt to the club, and sure, they didn’t have to ask roman to accompany him here, but--- better safe than sorry, right? meeting new clients is always tricky in their business. “any other genius tips you wanna share before we get there?”

“great plan, actually. simple. refined.” winston spares a glance at the pieces of glass scattered on the floor then up at the broken window. “call it modern art and move on, right? that’s how all those artist fucks made their money anyway. hey, we should sell tickets to it. call it the fall of mankind or something pretentious.”

“well you don’t have to yell.” though he means it as a joke, his face is almost deadpan as he speaks. “and you definitely don’t have to use surfer swear words. wack? are we reviving the 90′s this year?” he peers over to cassie’s phone, barely respecting boundaries as they go. “what’s so wack about that? looks like a whole lotta numbers and big words.”

a point. winston was sure he had one. but then again, talking isn’t really a point a to point b type of deal with winston so it’s easy for both him and whoever is listening to him to get lost. kurt cutting through his words doesn’t help at all, giving how winnie falls silent, brow furrowing. “huh. you know what, fair question. couldn’t give you an answer if i tried. i think we started on coffee, though.” though, identifying the main topic wasn’t hard, given their location at the coffee shop. “after that, it’s anyone’s guess. pretty sure i mentioned leather, at some point.”

“oh, the prodigal son arrives!” sarcasm thick in his voice, winston matches the tone with an incredulous wave of his hands. though he’d arrived to their meeting barely ten minutes ago, he still finds it in him to act as if he’s the superior one here. “i don’t know, what is up? are you gonna tell me what you arranged a lunch date --- lunch not included, by the way! --- for?” the suspicious look at william tops his sentence off, scrutinizing his brother with narrowed eyes.