[ 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. ]
![[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. ]