[ Root is a good enough hacker that almost no one knows she exists, and those that do know were willing to pay a premium price for her services when they were for sale. So there's really no call to have this meeting in person, except she's curious, and still debating whether she wants to go along on this job herself. With the life she leads, she figures she doesn't have a lot of years left until she dies somehow, and that sharpness lends a clarity of purpose that makes her utterly unflinching.
Die now, die tomorrow, die next year -- who cares, as long as she makes sure it's worth something. She wants to enjoy what time she has.
She's not going to pass up an opportunity to meet Deadpool. His whole reputation is ludicrous and wildly conflicting. Having access to dark web conversations just makes the whole thing even more confusing, because it's not like they're reliable sources, and they often contradict one another -- and the Machine, who of course knows everything there is to know about everything, doesn't give her info just for the hell of it. She's meticulous in her ethics that way, Root thinks fondly. Like father, like daughter. No, the Machine gives her just enough to do what she needs to do and nothing more.
So here's Root swanning into a dive bar like she owns the place. She'd given him a location and time to meet and said she'd find him, but nothing more. She's a tall spindly woman in fashionable yet unremarkable black, and she has two pistols tucked into the small of her back under her jacket, a knife handle sticking out of her boot, and a cochlear implant subtly visible through her hair over her right ear.
There's a bright, interested air about her like she's going on a fun jaunt, and she strides right up to Deadpool without an ounce of hesitation. ]
Are we having a drink first or right to business?
[ She's down with either one, but she's at least going to ask -- Root is highly social but also hates most of humanity, meaning when she comes across a novelty she just wants to dig in. ]
[It’s not completely unheard of for a client to request to meet in person, but it’s not necessarily typical either. The type of clients that Wade attracts (people with special needs) garner a certain level of discretion by nature. He’s sometimes done entire jobs without ever seeing a client’s face or even knowing their real name. Risky, yes, but the payoff is usually proportional.
Wade is admittedly more particular about the jobs he takes these days than he’s been in the past. There are reasons for that. Nothing’s ever completely off the table though.
New York City is one of Wade’s old haunts. Even if he doesn’t live here anymore, he finds himself drawn back often. He’s already built up a reputation here, for one. It’s also the territory of several people of interest— heroes, villains, goons, you name it. He’s familiar with the little dive bar his client pinned as their meeting point, and he’s actually a little glad to settle into a dim corner and wait. There aren’t many bars that accommodate guests like him, and thankfully this is one of them.
The woman that eventually approaches him is beautiful, yes— Wade has eyes and they work, thank you very much— but she’s also got an air of confidence that piques his interest.]
Hey, sweetheart. Not that I think just anyone’s gonna come strolling up to a heavily armed masked man sitting in a dark corner alone— kinda cliché, now I think about it— but you mind identifying yourself first? Think of it as a formality.
[He cocks his head slightly, clearly taking notice of the pistols she’s packing herself.]
Then I’ll buy you a drink, promise. Got my customer service face on and everything.
[ Root's never really lived in New York City, but she keeps coming back here, too. At first just because it's a population nexus, so there's a lot of jobs here and it's a convenient place to get lost in and restock -- but now because Harold is here, and that also means Shaw is here, and Root has to stop back in and check on her people every so often.
It's strange, having people. Strange and precious, something she'd walk off a roof rather than betray.
Her confidence isn't arrogance; it's someone who knows exactly who they are, where they're going, and what they're willing to do to get there. Root isn't fearless, she's determined. And she's determined she's going to follow the Machine to the end of her days. The Machine wants her here right now, so she's here. That the Machine approved this meeting also means the Machine thinks Deadpool wouldn't really be a threat to her at the moment, whatever his reputation.
And isn't that interesting?
She gives an easy smile that has the same insouciant edge as batting her eyelashes would. ] Most people aren't any fun that way, it's true. I'm Root. [ She'd identified herself that way online when reaching out to hire him, and she has a reputation of her own inasmuch as no one anywhere is willing to admit to knowing who she is. One of her personal costs of doing business. ]
Make it something with whiskey.
[ And she sits herself down at his table, apparently content to let him handle ordering, buying, and waiting on her. ]
[Identity checks out, so Wade doesn’t protest when she slides into the seat adjacent to him at the table. He’s not sure he would have regardless. Again, she’s interesting— enough that he likely would have entertained her even if she had nothing to do with the job. He’s maybe a little too enthusiastic when he waves someone down to bring them some drinks.
He does order himself something too. The alcohol doesn’t really do much for him, but there’s a social aspect to it, especially when dealing with clients. Wade leans forward in his seat, clearly broadcasting his interest.]
Okay, Root. Not often I get these kind of calls, so this is a novelty. But I totally get it. [A little hand wave here.] Curiosity got the better of you? Couldn’t resist meeting the man, the myth, the legend in person? I am pretty popular these days. Sorry, no autographs at this time.
[He’s ordered himself a heavy-handed cocktail and stirs it with the straw a bit when it’s placed in front of him. He doesn’t lift his mask any to drink just yet.]
Unless you’ve got another reason? [Just a light probing.]
[ Root had asked in the first place for the social aspect -- it's a clear signal that she's open to talking about more than just the job, and he'd taken her up on it, whether or not he actually does any drinking. She gets the vulnerability inherent in raising his mask at all, and she's not going to press on that. (She does have social skills, and sometimes she even uses them for good.)
She's not planning on doing a lot of drinking herself, just sips her old fashioned and uses the glass as a prop to keep her hands occupied. ]
Nope, just curiosity, [ she admits, completely lacking in shame. She's still smiling, amused, swirling her drink a bit. ]
My boss suggested you for this job, and she's... picky. [ That little hesitation was just Root finding the truthful yet privately funniest word possible to use there. ] Usually I can handle things on my own, so when she suggests someone else, they tend to be someone special.
[ In one way or another. Sometimes they're special because they're one of Root's former victims, and the Machine wants her to face that, or because they have a unique particular quality that they need for this specific thing. But they are all special, and anyone who gets the Machine's attention, Root is interested in. ]
[Wade is also using the drink more as a prop for now. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned anything specific about her boss when she’d put in the job, but nothing comes to mind. He does preen a bit at what he thinks is a compliment.]
Your boss? Do I know your boss? I mean… clearly she has good taste.
[He’s pretty sure he would have remembered someone like Root if they’d spoken before. But it’s possible that Root’s mysterious boss had used another liaison or reached out to him directly if they’d worked together in the past.
If they haven’t… well, maybe his reputation is just preceding him here. That’s not entirely unheard of either.]
[ In Root's eyes, it is a compliment, and the Machine does of course have good taste. How many billions of people is the Machine keeping track of, and one individual sticks out to her for any reason? It's like getting the passing acknowledgement of a god -- flattery in itself. ]
No one knows my boss except me, and she doesn't tell me much.
[ Root shrugs and takes a measured sip of her whiskey. That's mostly accurate, and a way of dodging the real question. ]
But wherever she gets her information, she's never wrong, which means you're the right man for the job. How do you feel about being the good guy for this one?
[Wade seems just a little apprehensive when Root mentions some of the specifics— Nothing that he’s opposed to, but Wade has a complicated history when it comes to being the “good guy.” Thankfully this is just work; putting it in the context of a job means it’s just another box for him to check off.
He’s still curious about her boss but decides to go along with the change of topic for now.]
Hey, you’re paying. Heroics aren’t really my… area, but I’ve been known to moonlight on a team or two. What’s the job?
[He does finally peel his mask up just enough to hook over his nose, revealing some of the scarred skin underneath. He pulls the straw out of his drink and takes a generous sip, the burn of the alcohol pleasant even if it won’t leave any lasting effects.]
[ She doesn't react in the slightest to the reveal. Root's version of 'good guy' is maybe a little... malleable. Hey, she leaves people alive when the Machine tells her to, mostly. And she's trying to do something meaningful with her life now rather than just surrendering to the inevitable entropic decline of the universe, so really, she's made a lot of progress. But she will absolutely still use a power drill on a suburban mom's hand if the situation calls for it.
There's maybe some of that in the carelessness of her response. ] I told you, she always picks people for a reason. It's not that kind of heroics.
[ Root actually doesn't know what the job even is until that precise moment when the cochlear implant in her right ear sparks to life and tells her, inaudible to anyone else. It's only a momentary pause and then she continues smoothly. ]
Some kind of mess the CIA is making overseas; I don't have all the details yet. But it must be big if she thinks I can't handle it. [ She actually pouts. ] You're going to have all this fun without me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for dp
Die now, die tomorrow, die next year -- who cares, as long as she makes sure it's worth something. She wants to enjoy what time she has.
She's not going to pass up an opportunity to meet Deadpool. His whole reputation is ludicrous and wildly conflicting. Having access to dark web conversations just makes the whole thing even more confusing, because it's not like they're reliable sources, and they often contradict one another -- and the Machine, who of course knows everything there is to know about everything, doesn't give her info just for the hell of it. She's meticulous in her ethics that way, Root thinks fondly. Like father, like daughter. No, the Machine gives her just enough to do what she needs to do and nothing more.
So here's Root swanning into a dive bar like she owns the place. She'd given him a location and time to meet and said she'd find him, but nothing more. She's a tall spindly woman in fashionable yet unremarkable black, and she has two pistols tucked into the small of her back under her jacket, a knife handle sticking out of her boot, and a cochlear implant subtly visible through her hair over her right ear.
There's a bright, interested air about her like she's going on a fun jaunt, and she strides right up to Deadpool without an ounce of hesitation. ]
Are we having a drink first or right to business?
[ She's down with either one, but she's at least going to ask -- Root is highly social but also hates most of humanity, meaning when she comes across a novelty she just wants to dig in. ]
no subject
Wade is admittedly more particular about the jobs he takes these days than he’s been in the past. There are reasons for that. Nothing’s ever completely off the table though.
New York City is one of Wade’s old haunts. Even if he doesn’t live here anymore, he finds himself drawn back often. He’s already built up a reputation here, for one. It’s also the territory of several people of interest— heroes, villains, goons, you name it. He’s familiar with the little dive bar his client pinned as their meeting point, and he’s actually a little glad to settle into a dim corner and wait. There aren’t many bars that accommodate guests like him, and thankfully this is one of them.
The woman that eventually approaches him is beautiful, yes— Wade has eyes and they work, thank you very much— but she’s also got an air of confidence that piques his interest.]
Hey, sweetheart. Not that I think just anyone’s gonna come strolling up to a heavily armed masked man sitting in a dark corner alone— kinda cliché, now I think about it— but you mind identifying yourself first? Think of it as a formality.
[He cocks his head slightly, clearly taking notice of the pistols she’s packing herself.]
Then I’ll buy you a drink, promise. Got my customer service face on and everything.
no subject
It's strange, having people. Strange and precious, something she'd walk off a roof rather than betray.
Her confidence isn't arrogance; it's someone who knows exactly who they are, where they're going, and what they're willing to do to get there. Root isn't fearless, she's determined. And she's determined she's going to follow the Machine to the end of her days. The Machine wants her here right now, so she's here. That the Machine approved this meeting also means the Machine thinks Deadpool wouldn't really be a threat to her at the moment, whatever his reputation.
And isn't that interesting?
She gives an easy smile that has the same insouciant edge as batting her eyelashes would. ] Most people aren't any fun that way, it's true. I'm Root. [ She'd identified herself that way online when reaching out to hire him, and she has a reputation of her own inasmuch as no one anywhere is willing to admit to knowing who she is. One of her personal costs of doing business. ]
Make it something with whiskey.
[ And she sits herself down at his table, apparently content to let him handle ordering, buying, and waiting on her. ]
no subject
He does order himself something too. The alcohol doesn’t really do much for him, but there’s a social aspect to it, especially when dealing with clients. Wade leans forward in his seat, clearly broadcasting his interest.]
Okay, Root. Not often I get these kind of calls, so this is a novelty. But I totally get it. [A little hand wave here.] Curiosity got the better of you? Couldn’t resist meeting the man, the myth, the legend in person? I am pretty popular these days. Sorry, no autographs at this time.
[He’s ordered himself a heavy-handed cocktail and stirs it with the straw a bit when it’s placed in front of him. He doesn’t lift his mask any to drink just yet.]
Unless you’ve got another reason? [Just a light probing.]
no subject
She's not planning on doing a lot of drinking herself, just sips her old fashioned and uses the glass as a prop to keep her hands occupied. ]
Nope, just curiosity, [ she admits, completely lacking in shame. She's still smiling, amused, swirling her drink a bit. ]
My boss suggested you for this job, and she's... picky. [ That little hesitation was just Root finding the truthful yet privately funniest word possible to use there. ] Usually I can handle things on my own, so when she suggests someone else, they tend to be someone special.
[ In one way or another. Sometimes they're special because they're one of Root's former victims, and the Machine wants her to face that, or because they have a unique particular quality that they need for this specific thing. But they are all special, and anyone who gets the Machine's attention, Root is interested in. ]
no subject
Your boss? Do I know your boss? I mean… clearly she has good taste.
[He’s pretty sure he would have remembered someone like Root if they’d spoken before. But it’s possible that Root’s mysterious boss had used another liaison or reached out to him directly if they’d worked together in the past.
If they haven’t… well, maybe his reputation is just preceding him here. That’s not entirely unheard of either.]
no subject
No one knows my boss except me, and she doesn't tell me much.
[ Root shrugs and takes a measured sip of her whiskey. That's mostly accurate, and a way of dodging the real question. ]
But wherever she gets her information, she's never wrong, which means you're the right man for the job. How do you feel about being the good guy for this one?
no subject
He’s still curious about her boss but decides to go along with the change of topic for now.]
Hey, you’re paying. Heroics aren’t really my… area, but I’ve been known to moonlight on a team or two. What’s the job?
[He does finally peel his mask up just enough to hook over his nose, revealing some of the scarred skin underneath. He pulls the straw out of his drink and takes a generous sip, the burn of the alcohol pleasant even if it won’t leave any lasting effects.]
no subject
There's maybe some of that in the carelessness of her response. ] I told you, she always picks people for a reason. It's not that kind of heroics.
[ Root actually doesn't know what the job even is until that precise moment when the cochlear implant in her right ear sparks to life and tells her, inaudible to anyone else. It's only a momentary pause and then she continues smoothly. ]
Some kind of mess the CIA is making overseas; I don't have all the details yet. But it must be big if she thinks I can't handle it. [ She actually pouts. ] You're going to have all this fun without me.