Fletcher Gray

Fazal: Good that you've clarified you're buying or else I would've thought you were after my cock.

Fazal: But, of course and always. Italian?

Fletcher: I am after the little Khan, it's why I'm buying the lunch.

Fletcher: Italian sounds good. I could go for a spaghetti and meatballs.

Jessica: mmmm, overconfidence. somehow it was SO much hotter last time

Jessica: right, it's never luck when you're involved 🙄

Jessica: and making fun of an elderly man, fletcher? how low can you go?

Jessica: idk, you walk around like some sort of big shot. thought you'd have more of a say 🤷🏻‍♀️

Jessica: and the selection over in pest must be p bleak if it hasn't even been a week and you're already hitting me up

Jessica: what do you want?

Fletcher: I can go as low as you like, Jess. You should know.

Fletcher: Well, my usual appointment bailed, so I thought might as well.

Fletcher: I kid. I kid.

-

“I can see that.” Priscilla Rubin addresses dryly, her lips pursed and a contemplative glance at the man currently pinned against the brick wall. A hand on her hip, and a signature blade in another. The dynamic between Pestilence’s cautious Virtue and her assigned Power always hinged on their entirely different dispositions. Fletcher could be reckless, temperamental, and vengeful (sometimes, simply for the sake of being those things). But his ruthlessness and quick-thinking was often the proper balance for Priscilla’s caution. Always one to think before she leaps, it did her well as a Virtue managing one of Pestilence’s most important assets. Still - there was a benefit to acting first, and thinking later. Fletcher is proof of that, and one man had already paid the price.

“Drop him.” She decides, undoubtedly earning Fletcher’s righteous protest. But her lips curl into a placating smile, gesturing to the unconscious body already strewn on the ground. “You need someone to send the message back to their boss.” She reminds him, slowly approaching the unconscious body. Her fingers rest against his pulse, warmed by the blood that Fletcher had drawn. “After all,” she pops her lips. “If a body is found on enemy territory, and no one’s around to talk about it - does it really make any noise?” The strength of Pestilence rested in their subtlety. They never beat their chest like Famine, or raised arms like War. Silent and deadly, would be their ammo. But they exposed themselves now. The first to break the Truce, and enact necessary evils on their enemies. Why not strengthen the message by allowing the frightened Angel to report back to their superiors?

“I mean it, Fletch.” Priscilla rises back up, as she places a placating hand on his shoulder. A softer tone, but not any kinder. “Drop him. It’s the smart play.”

.

“A dead messenger is still a messenger,” something sinister glinted in his eyes, triggered, no doubt, since the recent events unfolding in London. “Reckon it will make enough noise when one of their own is found dead on their own territory,” he shrugged, but obliging with Priscilla’s request, the grip on his victim’s neck loosened. Hinging on the edge of life and death, the man dropped on the ground with a thud.

Fletcher had never been big on authority and following command - but not when it came to Priscilla. Earning Fletcher Gray’s loyalty was no easy feat, but she had – one of the very few people who could count on Fletcher to have their back, come hell or high water, and to do their bidding. Wherever Priscilla went, Fletcher followed. Whatever Priscilla wanted, Fletcher made it happen. No questions asked.

“Now, listen here, sock puppet,” as a parting gift, the Power slapped the man to render him awake enough to hear the message, “Tell your boss that Pest was here to collect what they’re owed, if it wasn’t fucking clear enough already.” With that, he finally let go, and turned his attention to the Virtue. “Want to get out of here? I mean I could to this all night, but...”

Fletcher: Hey, Faz. You hungry?

Fletcher: I'm starving and I don't feel like entertaining vaginas today.

Jessica: oh, u know, learned from the best. aren't you lucky i was nice last time? 😘

Jessica: you're fooling yourself if you think i'm doing anything for you next time i see you

Jessica: which could be, let me think... n e v e r

Jessica: should've thought a bit more about the great sex you'd be missing out on BEFORE you broke the truce, babe

Jessica: big miscalculation on ur part xx

Fletcher: Luck had nothing to do with it, Jess. You know it, I know it, your neighbours know it. 😉

Fletcher: So dramatic. You sound tense... Senior is an old man, if a stab wound doesn't kill him, high cholesterol will. I've seen him go to town with shellfish at the anniversary dinner.

Jessica: mmmmm, talk dirty to me, babe

Jessica: come to my apartment and up to my bedroom and get gunned down by security xxx

Jessica: do you want my address? we can totally make it happen, i'm down 😘

Fletcher: That's a weird kink, but okay. Didn't think violence was your idea of foreplay, you're full of surprises, Reyes.

Jessica: well, i was drinking, you looked hot in that tux, and there was a truce on

Jessica: i have SOME regrets

Jessica: you are insufferable. why are you even texting me?

Jessica: do you miss me or something? poor you 😢

Fletcher: Want to have some more regrets? 😉 the fun kind.

Fletcher: I have a feeling you could use some stress relief.

Jessica: fletcher, did you just insult my uncle, my cousin, and THEN hit on me?

Jessica: lose my number yesterday

Fletcher: You didn't seem to mind it the last time 😘

Fletcher: If you're pretending you want me to lose your number, I'll pretend I care about Senior.

Fletcher: Senior's still kicking, huh?

Fletcher: Guess his skin was as thick as his son's head. Must be in the genes.

—

Even Victoria, who nearly made a living out of conversation and acting, could feel her patience growing thin as she stood there outside the building. She’d stopped just for a cigarette and the man had struck up conversation. He some schoolmate of Jack’s, she gathered. Not one of theirs, so not worth remembering. She had smiled and nodded along at the man’s stories, not even really able to get a word in, which is why she honestly found herself relieved when Fletcher stepped in beside her. 

“I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed, flashing an apologetic sort of smile up at the other man, who seemed thrown off by Fletcher’s insult. Excusing herself, she turned to start walking with Fletcher in the direction of his vehicle, sighing quietly. “I would tell you you didn’t have to do that, but honestly? That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” She said, looking up at him. Her mind was already turned to business, gears spinning with all the possibilities. “How long do you think this should take?”

“Real fucking, shame, Vic. I can do a lot of nice things for you,” the smile was inviting, but he didn’t dwell on implications for too long, instead reached for the car door to open for her, and once she was inside, he got into his seat, putting the vehicle into ignition. Being entrusted with escorting the boss’s daughter and explaining the drug distribution 101 at Pest had been a task that Fletcher took seriously. Impressing Michaela was important, and he was determined to get into Victoria’s good graces.

They’d barely left the surroundings of the cemetery, when Fletcher had noticed a car behind them in the rearview mirror. For now, he decided to stay cautious and keep the eye on the black SUV, and not give Victoria a reason to worry just yet. “Are you excited to learn how the sausage is made? Please don’t tell me you’re vegan... They’re the fucking worst. Right after Famines.” The power tried to keep the mood light, and glanced at the Seraphim with a smile.

Somewhere that’s not Pest territory

Open to anyone

“Alright, alright, calm your horses, sweetheart, your turn will come.” 

He decked the asshole so hard, his head hit the pavement with a thud that was bound to cause a concussion, but Fletcher had been focusing on the other assailant first. Perhaps he should’ve seen this coming, as he ventured into the enemy territory with no back-up, but he had to meet an important client and he sure as fuck wouldn’t waste an opportunity like this.

Fletcher had been on his way back from the meeting when he’d exited the building, and before he could reach his car, two idiots had tried to take him out, but he’d always been quick on his feet. His fist rammed into the now swollen face of the assailant number one too many times for them to stay conscious, and once they were down for good, his attention turned to the other one. They’d fought hard, and it would’ve mattered, had they not fought against Fletcher. In under a few minutes, the Pestilence power had them pinned against the brick wall, with the grip around their throat so tight that threatened to crush their windpipe at any given moment.

Probably if not for the footsteps that were fast approaching, he’d committed a second murder under a span of ten days... His hands still felt bloody from curb stomping to death whoever was trailing Victoria Pinkett after Jack’s funeral.

“Enjoying the show?” He snarled at the newcomer, “I’m sure this little guy would love to address the audience but I’m afraid he’s a little tied up,” head tilting to gesture at the man still in his grip, Fletcher flashed a menacing smile.

Ricardo: What are you talking about? I can be fun.

Ricardo: Yeah I don't wanna know about that thanks.

Ricardo: I'm going to choose to not reply to that.

Ricardo: Or that.

Ricardo: What time do we meet?

Fletcher: Right. And I can be a buddhist monk. In theory.

Fletcher: So sensitive. How are we even friends???

Fletcher: Opposites really do attract, I guess.

Fletcher: Around 10-ish, maybe?

Fletcher stood outside the chapel with his back to the late January chill.

The wake was over, and the mourners were making final small talks before the crowd would disperse – most of them would probably never return to visit Jack Tanner’s final resting place. Fletcher amongst them. Dressed in his finest black tuxedo, and matching black wayfarer sunglasses, he put out the cigarette on a metal fence and watched his own vaporised breath float off into the gray air.

Fletcher cared little about Jack in his life, and even less so in his death, but faint depression had settled into his heart. Today had been a cruel reminder where he’d most likely end up one day – on the other end of the barrel of the gun. When Michaela herself asked Fletcher to accompany her precious daughter to Pest and explain the inner workings of the drug distribution, he realised there was something big happening, bigger than a death of a Dominion. Much sinister.

He walked down the lawn and interjected Victoria’s conversation with some preppy looking rich asshole with complete lack of acknowledgement of the latter. By the looks of it, the conversation was taking longer than one would deem entertaining. “Ready to leave, Vic?” He addressed the Pestilence heiress, not even bothering to look at the other guy. “I have the car ready, we need to go. I’m sure discount Chuck Bass can bore someone else into their early grave.”

Ricardo: It would have made me feel better if you actually listened to it for once.

Ricardo: Doesn't surprise me.

Ricardo: I'm patiently waiting for the day you'll be able to keep your pants on for one second.

Ricardo: How the hell should I know what Fazal is into? Work on impressing him not bedding him.

Ricardo: I really hope this pans out for you, man, it would certainly help.

Fletcher: Yeah, but your voice usually gets in the way of all the fun.

Fletcher: ...You may have to keep waiting longer. I have a long bucket list of people I'd like to fuck before I die.

Fletcher: I'm going to impress him in bed. Does that count?

Fletcher: I've received great yelp reviews. "10/10. Would bang again."

Ricardo: That was pretty fucked up man.

Ricardo: I'd imagine it's more of a "who do you have to kill" sort of situation.

Ricardo: You gotta talk to Fazal or Priscilla but I'll say what I think if asked about it.

Ricardo: Got it. You think we'll find something worthwhile?

Fletcher: If it makes you feel any better, I could hear your voice in the back of my head like 'Don't do it, Fletcher'.

Fletcher: But, the music was loud and she was really hot, so I kinda tuned the inner you out.

Fletcher: Oh, cool, so I'm already sleeping with the 50% of the people who decide my fate.

Fletcher: Reckon Fazal is into tall spicy brunettes?