Stare Death in the Face!

Will wasn’t sure if “bingo” was supposed to be an insult or a joke, so he didn’t outwardly react to the comment. He wasn’t really very good at humor and often didn’t understand when people joked around like that, though he did find it enjoyable to watch people laugh and play around. He was about to list off jobs he had worked, but then Mr. Sionis whistled. He stepped aside when the lackey came in, his overall demeaner quiet and respectful even though most people probably would be overwhelmed and freaked out.

After the henchmen was instructed to take a swing at him, Will immediately went on guard. His eyes narrowed into a glare and his entire aura changed in an instant into something almost frightening. As the massive fist headed in his direction, Will’s hand came up to catch it, stopping the man in his tracks and causing him to yell out in pain. For a few moments he held the poor man there by the fist, crushing him without actually breaking any bones, his expression completely neutral and almost dark. He normally would not go around being violent with someone, but the man had hit at him first, and his job at the club would be to get rid of people who were causing a problem for the patrons (at least that’s what Thierry had told him…). He glanced aside at Sionis as if to make sure he was doing what he wanted, then he turned his gaze back down to the henchman before suddenly dragging him to the open door and then tossing him out by the hand, swinging him out as if he was nothing more than a rag doll. Once the man had been thrown out, Will calmly closed the door after him before turning to look at Mr. Sionis, not seeming smug or pleased the way some would, just neutral as before. “Was that to your standards?”

Once the display in front of him seemed to have reached its end, with what looked like no damn effort at all on “Will Smith’s” part, Roman let out a loud, bark of laughter and clapped his hands together. He stood up and walked around to the other side of the desk until he was standing in front of William and looking up at him. “You, I like. You’re hired. Eighty grand a year. You’re not getting that anywhere else.” It was about triple anything a damn bouncer would get paid somewhere else, but Roman didn’t care. He demanded loyalty and he paid for it, too. 

He pointed toward the door that Will had just shoved closed. The man he’d fought was still in the way, moaning on the floor about a busted hand. Roman stepped over him and then paused right beside his head. In one quick motion, he brought the heel of his loafer down onto his nose. There was an immediate sound of bone and cartilage crunching. “Stop fucking whining.” Blood collected on the floor from the man’s broken nose and Roman stepped out of the way rather than get it on his shoes. With a snap of his fingers, he directed the second guard to clean up the mess. 

Elysia swallowed. It didn’t take much for her to get an odd feeling about someone, not after what her family had done to her. She didn’t take people too lightly anymore, didn’t let their words woo her or lure her in. The mask itself was off putting enough and something told her to flee. Still, she rooted herself to the spot and watched the gloved hand draw close in greeting.

She took it, being careful not to ruin anything of his. There were few people who would appreciate getting paint on themselves, but she doubted he was the type. Prim, clean and intimidating seemed much more up his alley. And judging from his personnel and getup and theatrics of having someone ‘retrieve’ her for him, she figured that he did indeed pay very well. It was just the question of whether she’d take him on as a client. Or was it the other way around?

“Elysia Vand,” she returned with a friendly, though hesitant and unsure, smile, “it’s nice to meet you.” The question earned Roman a nod; she felt like she was on autopilot. “I do, yes. I would just need to ask you a few questions about the piece and, uh, we can go from there.” Her hand signing had been a large part of her life up until a year or two ago. It was difficult to quit something that essentially became a personality to most, so she’d find herself sign while she spoke, though the movements were more muscle memory than anything. “Do you have an approximate date you’d like the piece done by?”

“Don’t let this put you off.” Roman gestured with his free hand toward his face and the mask that of course was the center of anyone’s attention. “Terrible accident. I feel more comfortable wearing it.” It was not a lie in its entirety, either. Beneath the mask were scars, relics of fire, but he’d donned the mask before they ever made it there. 

He watched the movements of her hand, though they were meaningless to him. When Roman wanted to communicate with someone, the expectation was that they would rise to meet him, not the other way around. He’d never gone out of his way to learn other languages. Money talked enough. That was universal and that was the language that he spoke. 

There was something about Sionis that just turned Slade off, but he didn’t care about his own personal feelings for the guy. Roman paid, and he gave Slade challenges, so Slade worked for him when it was convenient. And he could really use some good action after declaring that he was going to work again. The best part about being Deathstroke the Terminator, however, was that even if he had taken a break he still had clients that went back decades. They knew what he was capable of and his reputation preceded him. As such, he could call the shots. If he didn’t like something, he’d turn it down. Not like he was desperate. So he was here, but right now it was for the curiosity of it all. If he was interested in the job, he wouldn’t take it.

He didn’t answer the question, the mask as blank as his face underneath it. He had no interest in shooting the shit, after all. “If I were off the market, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” Common sense, Sionis. As one of the glasses slid toward him, Slade considered letting it fall to the ground, but he didn’t think that there was any reason for hostility. So he caught it before reaching up to pull off his helmet. He placed it down heavily before raising the glass to his lips. It wasn’t like he had to worry about it being poisoned or spiked. He was immune to that kind of shit.

“So? What’s the job?” 

“Don’t know. Maybe you’d drag that big, armored ass in here just to hear what I had to say so you could tell me no. Let’s not pretend like you don’t have a sadistic streak in there somewhere, Wilson.” Roman took a drink and leaned back in his chair again, savoring it. It was excellent quality. He didn’t waste his  money on anything that wasn’t, and that included both liquor and assassins. “Good thing for me it’s still for hire, huh?” 

He waited patiently to be let in to see the boss of the club, not speaking or moving around much, though he did study the decor and the people subtly. His bag was taken away from him before he was allowed inside Sionis’ office, but he did not protest. He didn’t have much of a temper when it came to such things, though he also didn’t have much of value and wasn’t used to keeping things for very long. 

Once in Sionis’ office he stood a few feet away from the desk at what he perceived to be a proper distance, his arms flat at his sides and his expression blank, seeming as if he wasn’t a very bright individual. “Yes. My name is William Smith.  I do not have identification. Or a cell phone. Will that be a problem?” He said this without shame, his tone very matter-of-fact. He wasn’t proud that he did not have a past or even a true name, but he was not embarrassed to be upfront and honest about the situation.  His voice was low and almost monotone, still giving off the impression that he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box, but his stance and balance were clearly very good as if he were trained in martial arts or self-defense. 

Will found Sionis’ face to be shocking but outwardly his expression didn’t change, staring at him with a poker face that came naturally. He wasn’t about to judge the man for looking the way he did, though it did make him curious. Just what sort of place was Star City to have such a character in it? Not to mention the people supposedly flying around in capes and rescuing the population from bad guys…

“Will Smith,” Roman repeated, his eyes narrowing. “That sounds real.” Not that he gave a damn. “You can call yourself Bingo for all I care. What makes you qualified for this position? Just because you’re big doesn’t mean you can take a punch or throw one.” Given the kind of security he needed at his doors, he wasn’t going to just hire in somebody without being convinced. Not even this big fucking guy.

He had a good poker face, whoever he was. Maybe he was on the simple side. That’d be even better. Roman needed somebody that’d ask how high if he said jump, whether they were running the bar, driving his car, watching the door, or burying a body. “If you want this job, I’ll need a demonstration. It doesn’t sound like you’ve got letters of recommendation clutched in that giant mitt of yours.” Even if he did, Roman would’ve still demanded to see it for himself. 

After all the years he’d been active, it blew his fucking mind that there were still people who believed they could actually get away from him. Roman could play a long game when he needed to. Wrongs that had been done to him years earlier would just sit and wait their turn to be rectified. He didn’t like the waiting, and anyone who made him do it just suffered all the more for leaving him with time to build up some real resentment. Star City had been a magnet for some of those people, maybe for the same reason that he’d eventually ended up there himself. It was open season. 

Unfortunately for them, he’d been nursing his grudges with extra care. He’d even made a list. When he called for Anton, he was on number three. One of his old contacts from Gotham, a man who’d ran transport for him and made off with a truck of full of weapons to sell for his own profit, happened to be that number three. The man had robbed him of millions, and Roman was going to get his repayment one way or another. 

He’d given his accountant the location of another property that he’d purchased, which at a glance was wholly unremarkable. It housed an old cosmetics lab that had been emptied of all its contents. It put him in a certain mood. As his security team moved to let Anton inside, Roman lowered the hand he’d been clutching a drill in. Blood dripped slowly from the tip of it and hit the concrete by his foot. Beside him, his former transport-turned-thief associate was gagged and bound to a chair, looking a little worse for the wear. Roman ripped the cloth out of his mouth. 

Most of Thierry’s choices stemmed from the need to solidify what could become a rather precarious position for him. When he’d accepted the job at Visage, he’d been well aware of who Roman Sionis was, and knew that he wasn’t signing the every day contract. Still, it was one he’d read closely. There was nothing in it that forbade him from seeking other employment, although plenty of vague terms and conditions existed in the contract itself. Accepting another position at Opulence didn’t exactly seem like a conflict of interest. It wasn’t as if his scope of duties were nearly the same. That being said, he didn’t make as much money there as he did at Visage; he’d accepted the position with one motivation alone: insurance. There was no telling how solid or long-term his situation was, especially knowing that Black Mask wasn’t exactly on the path to reformation. If something were to happen to the club, or to him, then he needed his foot in another door. 

At some point he knew Roman would find out about it. That was already on his mind when he was called to his office. The location made it clear that this was going to be a formal meeting.

Immediately he could tell that he’d been drinking, but he didn’t know how much. Thierry sat across from Roman when he gestured, his expression impossible to read, but he showed no fear or wariness. That didn’t mean his heartbeat didn’t pick up just a little as he studied him, scrutinizing what he could of Roman in an attempt to gauge his mood. 

He could ask what was wrong, but he made a clear choice by not speaking first. Roman was the type of man who liked to control the conversation, where it went and how it happened, and he was willing to let him take the lead. There was also safety in silence. Thierry could speculate, but he didn’t really know why he was there. He wasn’t going to accidentally reveal additional information.

Roman had been brought up with immense wealth and parents steeped in high society. The masks they wore, their manners, their lying, their superficiality, were all things he had ready access to within himself. He used them, still. They served their purpose, and when the mask needed to slip he was all too happy to let it. Nobody who’d ever crossed Black Mask would have denied that. He had a cruel, sadistic streak that sat comfortably alongside how he did business. He’d not yet turned that cold gaze on Thierry, but maybe that was how the night was going to end. Shame.

Once the door was closed and the guard was gone, Roman leaned forward and tapped one hand against the top of his desk. “Successful night? You were booked.” He’d checked. 

-

Black Mask. A powerful man. An interesting man. A ruthless man. But, despite his many strengths Chou could see a weakness or two in that most valuable of fields: information. Their operations may have dealt with one another in the past, briefly and forgettably, but to Chou’s knowledge while Roman knew of Lord Butterfly, he was unaware of exactly all that name stood for. And, for how long it had been standing. Still, it would be rude to neglect an invitation, especially to such a lovely venue. He’d dressed in a simply blue suit and white shirt and arrived at the venue in secret some time before.

After all, he didn’t plan on going into the meeting himself. Instead, Chou manifested an illusion of himself and moved that to the door, nodding at the large man standing guide who let him in with no questions and a nod in return. It was an opulent place, the king in his castle. He suspected Roman was a man who didn’t work in the more subtle way he preferred. This would make for an interesting competition between them both.

“Mr. Sionis.” he spoke slowly, moved slowly, everything about him unhurried as he made his way towards the other. “It is most respectful of you to invite me here for a conversation. I do so appreciate respect.” There were few ways to earn his ire faster than to be lacking manors or to give due diligence. “I cannot help but find myself wondering why though.” he continued, expression nothing but friendly.

“Many things come to my mind when I think of the Black Mask. But respect gestures is not the first.”        

“No?” Roman didn’t get up. He stayed as he was, leaning back in his leather chair behind his desk. “I can be a civil man, Doku, until people give me a reason not to be. Is that what you plan on doing?” He’d not intended to go getting his hands dirty so quick out of the gate, which was why they were talking and not having an exchange of a bloodier nature. 

Roman Sionis. One of Gotham’s finest, as far as Slade Wilson was concerned. At least when it came to the padding he put in Slade’s wallet. And Slade was all too keen to see what the other wanted from him now that he was here in Star City. An unexpected relocation, to Slade. Wasn’t he running Gotham’s underground? Or had he been snatched up for the joke rehab program that had purportedly also cured Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy? Slade supposed it didn’t matter to him what he was doing there. The why was likely to have a great deal more significance to Slade personally. Things were rarely boring with the Black Mask. And after so long rebuilding his credibility after his hiatus, he wanted something juicy. Something that sent that thrill through him. It was the dark and primal side of him that been made docile by trying to quit. It was the side of him that was angry and good at taking that anger out in the most skillful way possible. That part which craved the thrill of the other side. It was just business. Deathstroke’s business. 

He didn’t even hesitate on Dick’s behalf, though he was sure that it would be a fight if he knew that Slade had been called on by the same man who had murdered one of his siblings. At this point, though, who hadn’t tried to murder a bat or a bird. Slade’d keep watch on that shit to keep Dick happy, but it wasn’t his concern what the past had wrought. Stephanie Brown hadn’t been one of his jobs. Slade had never claimed that Sionis couldn’t be sick and twisted. But in Deathstroke’s world, busines was business and money was good from anyone’s pocket.

He stood before the other, taking in the figure he cut behind his big desk in his big chair. Compensating for something, maybe? Slade smirked beneath his mask, adjusting his weight as he stood completely uncowed. “Didn’t expect to see you in Star City. Gotham get too boring for you now that most of the action’s up and left?”

“I go where the opportunities are. Gotham’s all dried up and this place is a ripe fruit.” Roman reached to one side and opened a compartment on his desk to pull out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Is that what’s kept Deathstroke out here? A juicy little peach?” He poured two fingers worth into each glass and slid one to the other side of the desk for his company. “I wouldn’t blame you for that.”

Slade would already know that he hadn’t brought him there for a chat. They were associates, not friends. Roman had plenty of use for the former and none at all for the latter. He didn’t need a damn friend. Still, he liked to know about conflicts of interest. Even the big bad Terminator had them once in awhile, he was sure. It’d be a good time if he happened to find one.

Elysia was used to purveyors traipsing the boardwalk as they eyed the vendor’s work - hers included. Some bought, some enjoyed the view before they wandered off without buying. She was used to sitting and painting for the customers, conversing with them and exchanging goods for cash money. She never once had to be lured away from the safety of her booth to meet a potential client by his car. Already on edge, Elysia complied but kept herself at the ready.

Depending on how many people were involved, it could be a quick getaway - if it was a trap. She very well could be overthinking things and letting her worry get the best of her. Whoever this was, he seemed to have money, so maybe it was a chance to take? The mask and the eerie vibe that exuded from the client in question seemed to squash that hope of a chance immediately. She could hear her uncle tell her not to judge a book, but she had done that with her distant family and they turned out to be drug lords and mutant traffickers.

She looked wildly out of place to have a meeting with how much black stood out in the park. Her thin jean smock was littered with paint smears and rolled up at the sleeves. Her mousey brown hair was wound up into a bird’s nest of a bun, stuck together using paintbrushes. Her socks didn’t match.

She wasn’t much to look at. Roman would have never given her a second glance if he didn’t know who she was, hadn’t tracked her down on purpose. He still didn’t know the extent of it, but what he did know was that she was a mutant. She was a mutant and she’d survived a massacre of a family that had been on even his radar. Was that it, though? Had she just survived? Roman doubted it. 

After everything that happened Airen had seriously considered doing what he’s known for - leaving. It was frustrating that he couldn’t shake off the memory or those stupid bird monsters out of his head and he thought maybe it was because he needed to get out of Star City. He thought of maybe hitting up Tokyo again, it’s a been a few years so he’s sure all his favorite spots have fully restocked on jewels and other valuables, but in the end he didn’t. He still doesn’t know why, maybe its because he wanted to stay in the city he had a hand in saving for a bit longer.

His nights out as Fox Tail helped. He was doing what he actually wanted to do, which was stealing, and didn’t give a second thought as to what was the best for the greater good. He managed to scope a house that seemed to be owned by some rich folk with a hobby of collecting rare - and expensive - things. Wasn’t much security, which normally didn’t matter but lately Airen hasn’t been in the most taunting mood so didn’t mind the easier route.

After disabling the cameras - a trick he learned from Payload - he entered the part of the house opposite of where security was perched. Once inside, he found a room with some of the items he was looking for and got to work. A lot of these would sell really nice on the market, if he hurries he can possibly still catch his connect by the end of the night.

Just as he liked fine things, expensive things, Roman also occasionally liked a good show. He wasn’t flashy to the point that it’d be a detriment to himself, but when he wanted someone to pay attention then he left them no room to do anything else. As Airen was doing his little raid, the lights in the house turned on. Outside, he had men stationed below the windows, at the doors, and anywhere else that might become an exit. He and Fox Tail were going to spend a some real quality time together, and they couldn’t do that if he managed to slip away.