20130/Rose gets the job

Rose gets the job
Date of Scene:	24 February 2025
Location:	The Eagles Adorning the Chrysler Building
Synopsis:	Rose is doing a mission and is interrupted by her father. It goes as well as one can imagine. But she does get the job.
Cast of Characters:	Slade Wilson, Rose Wilson

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Slade Wilson has posed:
Fortunately for Ravager, otherwise known as Rose Wilson, there's minimal wind. It's fortunate for her because being on the sixty-first floor of the Chrysler building and lurking among the eagle heads that jut out from the building, high winds could be a devastatingly fatal addition to the scenic view. At least for most people. Rose Wilson - Ravager - isn't like most people. She's better than most people. Even if she were to be blown from the perch she's set up at the base of one of the eagles, it's not like she couldn't easily halt her fall and save herself. She was trained by one of the best - if not the best - and no simple fall was going to take her out of the world.

A block and a half away and eighteen stories down is Ravager's target. A low-level corporate executive with aspirations to climb the ladder. Judging by the fact that outside of his corporate office he's no one, it's the contract was probably placed on him from the inside. A business rival, perhaps? Someone the early-thirties executive slighted during his grueling climb to his current rung on the corporate ladder? An envious ex-wife who wants access to his trust fund for their two children? It's hard to say. The thing that isn't hard to determine is that someone wants Dexter Varnell dead. The contract itself isn't worth a great deal of money. It's enough to make perching up on a skyscraper a block and a half away, enduring the cold brought on by the altitude, and the boredom all worth it. Dexter - or Dex, as he's known among his colleagues - had returned to his apartment an hour ago. It's only a matter of time before he makes at appearance at one of the windows and Ravager can call the job to a close.

This high up there's little noise that happens unexpectedly. The wind howls and the distant blare of car horns is barely perceptible given the great distance. When the wind isn't howling, it's whistling. If it's not whistling, it's whispering. At this sort of height one doesn't expect to hear the rasp of steel against a scabbard. One doesn't expect to hear that same rasp made intentionally quiet by a slow draw, purposefully attempting to conceal the sound against the whispers of the evening's light wind. One doesn't expect to hear the quiet grunt of someone leaping from a nearby ledge with a sword in hand. A set of familiar armor in familiar colors no doubt worn by a familiar person.

Deathstroke the Terminator has, it seems, come for Ravager. Rose Wilson seems to be the target of Slade Wilson and in the city lights the shadowy form seems to flicker with the speed of his movement reflecting the light. Ravager has but a split second to ready herself for battle. She has but a heartbeat to avoid death at the hands of her father.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Platinum-white hair whips to the whims of the wind at the top of the Chrysler building, Ravager patiently waiting for her target to appear. This isn't exactly a glamorous job, but then again it rarely is. This one though? A low-level corporate that no one will miss almost brings pity to the cold heart of one Rose Wilson. But she won't question the motives of those that called the hit on this man no matter how she often enjoys playing the game of 'who hired me to do this job?'. But at the same time she has witnessed humanity's pettiness and sheer evilness to know that whatever the reason it would disappoint her.

They are all so predictable after all.

Rose is just about finishing assembling her sniper rifle, getting the suppressor on when that *twitch* to her senses come. That je ne sais quoi that tells her something isn't right. The one that has enabled her to survive as long as she has, which to many is instinct and has honed it and surpassed it to supernatural levels.

~A trap~

That's what comes to her mind as she is spinning in place, pivoting on one foot and bringing the sniper rifle up which ends up slice in half as she rolls back on the floor with the impact, hitting the edge of the rooftop they are on. Her good eye faces her opponent and a grim expression comes to the lower half of her face that is visible under her armored suit, "What are you doing here?" she asks, the fluctuation in her voice telling of a deeply-rooted fear.

Slade Wilson has posed:
The initial blow is avoided by virtue of the rifle being brought up in a defensive counter. The rifle may be sliced cleanly in two, but that doesn't prevent further assault by the one known as Deathstroke. He continues to press his advantage against an unarmed opponent. Much to that unarmed opponent's credit she's able to avoid the next pair of blows as the keen edge of the blade licks out at her. The first stroke would have scored a deep slash through her face and likely her skull that would have stretched from left eye to right jaw. The follow-up slash is narrowly avoided and it would have disemboweled with a slash from her right to left across her midsection.

The failed assault results doesn't deter Deathstroke. The one-eyed mask remains fixated upon Ravager and the blade slashes out again, but this time it meets with his adversary's own blades. Ravager's own two swords in hand, the pair initiate a deadly flurry of blows. Deathstroke against the twin blades of Ravager, the pair's skill is put to the test as their blades exchange blows and their bodies move in a bid to gain some physical upperhand on the other.

"Focus on your opponent," Deathstroke answers with a cold, raspy voice from within his mono-eyed helmet. The voice seems more chastising than affronted. It isn't his own pride that is on the line, but the lack of focus in a student and his own daughter.

That lack of focus seems enough to supply Deathstroke with the opening that he needs. Amid the flurry of blades his foot reaches forward like a serpent's strike. On such precarious footing, under such strict environmental circumstances it doesn't take brute force to potentially meet an unpleasant end. All it takes is a sudden blow to one side of either leg to suddenly force an opponent into an unbalanced state or, even worse, to simply topple from the narrow span of the eagle's back.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Ravager is already in motion, silvery twin blades coming to clash with Deathstroke's own, the clear sound of steel on steel echoing throughout the empty rooftop as they enter a brutal dance where death may come at any moment. And while Rose is on the defensive most of the time there are times in which she lashes out, much like a serpent, blades seeking a weakness on her enemy.

Yet for all her powers of prediction and reading her opponents there's only been one opponent she has never been able to fully discern, that being her father. A glaring blindside on this young woman.

Still, she keeps up a best as she can, her enhanced body a near match to her opponent's, faster even if not as strong.

She jumps up to that ledge to avoid a slash that would had neatly cut off her legs by the knees just as Slade hits her with that kick, right as she is jumping. And without any kind of support for her balance it means she is spinning in the air.

Starting to fall down all those 61 floors. She reacts quick and stabs her blade through the stone of the building, a screech as the blade cuts through a bit before stopping and she is left hanging, "I am focused." she retorts while still hanging there, looking up with a ferocious expression to her. She spins then, using her strength and agility to throw herself back up to the roof, lashing out with a few kicks back at Slade, a frenzied onslaught, "But now you are starting to piss me off." she says through gritted teeth.

Slade Wilson has posed:
"If you are, then not enough," Deathstroke answers back with a cold tone that could only be delivered through a sneer hidden away beneath the helmet that he wears. The retort made regarding her particular level of focus is delivered and then Slade begins to move, shifting away from the spot at the base of the eagle's back. It seems that he's already predicted her likely point of return should she utilize the embedded blade to swing back toward him to engage anew. The prediction pays off. She launches herself back at him and if he hadn't sidestepped, she'd have surely knocked him from the eagle and sent him plummeting the dozens of stories in return.

By giving ground he's at least prevented his own downfall, even if it does open space for Ravager to claim some of it. Now safely upon the eagle once more and with a series of devastating kicks thrown his way, Deathstroke continues to dip and weave away from her onslaught. Could he have taken one of her legs off with the blade that he still wield? Surely. The price to pay for such a desperate gambit would have certainly seen Deathstroke knocked from the building and sent plummeting himself.

As a result he gives ground from the series of kicking blows sent from Ravager toward Deathstroke - from daughter to father. One arm rises up to defend himself, knocking aside blows that would have struck him in the mask. The blade works deter blows at his own legs that would see her using his own tactic against him.

"Pissing you off?" The question is asked just as Deathstroke leaps backward and toward the ledge of the building's exterior. The leap almost seems to defy gravity with the smoothness of it and the relatively flat trajectory. When he lands the sword has been tucked away at his back and the elder of the pair seems to take on a fighting stance. A silent invitation for her to come at him with all of her fury if she so chooses. It is, of course, a carefully laid trap that he doesn't expect her to take up. "You'll lose every time you let your emotions control you," Deathstroke answers back in the same cold and emotionless fashion as before.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Rose exhales, air mist forming in front of her lips while she takes deep breaths after the flurry of attacks back at Slade. She but has one blade left now, with the other left stuck to the side of the building. A blade that she now holds with both hands, her grip firm. Full of a anger towards her opponent. And yet as they reach that stalemate at the edge of the roof she doesn't charge right of.

There is a pause. A thoughtful one. Measuring her chances of success, checking the precarious position where Deathstroke is at. How much of a death sentence is it to strike right now? And yet his voice grates at her ears in a way that rattles her. Stance becomes more ample. Aggressive. The grip on her blade tightening in a manner that is telling. That aggression is just about to overcome her.

"No one controls me anymore." Her voice cold but the tone underneath is fury. And then she takes a step forward, ready to charge...

Slade Wilson has posed:
"You sound so certain, but so utterly wrong," Deathstroke's cold words answer back at Ravager's confident words. One can practically hear the mocking grin that punctuates his words. There the pair stand some yards apart, the precarious building ledge all that separates them. One wrong step could spell doom for one or both of them. The Terminator's hand moves quickly. The average person, the average eye? They'd miss the movement before it's too late. For Rose the movement is fast, but not so fast that she can't react to it with just enough time to spare.

Slade's hand drifts to his side and the pistol that he wears there is pulled from his holster.

BLAM-BLAM!

BLAM!

Three shots in total ring out. Each of those rounds heads for Ravager. If one didn't know any better they'd think that Deathstroke was going out of his way to finally put an end to his own daughter, Ravager.

One of those shots goes wide and is flung into the distance, where it'll drop and potentially have fatal consequences for someone far below in the distance. Two of the rounds slash through the air, bound for Rose herself. Already he's following, as if chasing after the bullets in a bid to charge toward Ravager in pursuit of the pair of bullets bound for her. No doubt he expects her to block, deflect, or otherwise avoid the incoming projectiles and open the way for Deathstroke himself to rush forward and engage anew.

Rose Wilson has posed:
Those first steps turn into a full-on charge as Rose dives forward, blade held high. Running right into that gun that is pulled on her, the sneer on her expression evident. A gun to a blade fight? Isn't that beneath them? But in the end what matters is winning. Shots ring through the air. One off into the distance that she does not bother with yet it's the last two that are of concern.

It's when her powers come to work though, because she knows where Slade would hit her if he meant to kill her. Her blade slashes, impossibly fast, deflecting a bullet that was aimed right between her eyes, the spark of it as it's deflected blinding her a moment. Enough so that the final bullet grazes her side while she is spinning in the air and even if most of the impact is absorbed by the armor she can feel the sharp pain of that graze. A graze that she knows will be healed up soon. But for now the pain is there.

The impact of the bullet does make her spin harder and when she lands there's the split of a second where an opening can be found. Where Rose isn't in full control of her surroundings, blade just a touch too high to create any meaningful defense against a well trained opponent like Slade.

Hand is reaching towards her own handgun but it's already too late.

Slade Wilson has posed:
One round deflect and the other dealing nothing more than a minor graze; it went better than Slade could have hoped. The opening create is one that he's quick to exploit as he bounds the last few yards between himself and Ravager. At some point his own firearm is holstered anew, freeing his hands. Deathstroke's hands out, but not to deliver blows. The left reaches to snag Ravager's blade-arm by the wrist and the sheer strength of the man can be felt in the vice-like grip that clamps down on it. The other moves to perform the same with the opposite hand, attempting to prevent her acquisition of the firearm that she's midway through seek out. There he attempts to grip at her wrists and take control of them.

These of course leaves her legs - and her head - free to attempt her own strikes at him, but it seems a contingency that Slade's prepared to defend against. The knee throw at him is met by a thigh and hip turned toward it, causing it to impact with the armored sheathe that he wears. A headbutt proves a fruitless effort as the helmet that he wears absorbs that impact.

Finally there is a chuckle. It is cold and condescending as it always has been, but the words that follow it are far from spiteful or chilled, "You've done better than I anticipated".

The words are perhaps disarming, yet Slade doesn't release his hold on the wrists of his opponent. It seems for the moment he maintains his grip and continues to turn aside efforts to deliver blows to him by what few angles that Ravager can reasonably achieve. He continues though, speaking through the Ravager's frustrated growls and snarls, "I need your help with a job," he spits out as though that alone might cause Rose's fury to instantly subside and at least allow him a brief opening to explain himself.

"If you can calm yourself, control your emotions - then I will let you go and we can talk," Deathstroke remarks with a voice that seems less cold. Now he seems resolute and serious.

Perhaps it's a show of good faith that the touch of Slade's grip lightens, releasing some of the pressure afforded by his clamping hand. A physical promise of her impending release should she cool herself and allow their conversation to unfold.

Rose Wilson has posed:
"Yea. Fuck you too." Automatic answer back at anything her Father might have said. That she did better than expected? Rose won't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it, or otherwise admit the rising swell inside at making him proud. It'd be too complicated to even try to acknowledge it herself. So instead it's her fury that he gets, a cold one once he relents the hard grip on her wrists and she actively stops trying to kill him.

"I told you I am always in control." And she clicks her boot heel to reveal a sharp blade springing from the tip of it. One that without her legs being controlled could had caused serious damage. What could had happened? Would Slade had been fast enough to stop her? An answer that none of them will discover. She clicks the blade back in and as her breathing starts to slowly return there is a nod out of her.

"A job." She echoes those words from Deathstroke, "What makes you think I'd help you at all?" but then again she didn't outright say no. And if she didn't then it just means she has already accepted. The only thing that's left to do is negotiate the prize.

Arms fold together when Slade finally releases her fully.

Slade Wilson has posed:
The hold on her wrists evaporates instantly. He releases her and steps away. Slade's gloved hands move to adjust his kit, settling it securely in place and ensuring that everything is precisely where it should be. He does this blindly and with practiced precision, all while his lone eye remains fixed upon Rose. He doesn't acknowledge her goading responses, but instead acts as they he hadn't heard them. Just one more way that he's found to annoy and frustrate her by ignoring her attempts at drawing his attention to her unfavorable antics and aspects. The appearance of the blade results in Deathstroke's mask tipping forward and he peers down toward her boot. He either chuckles, nor laughs, but instead looks up again to remark upon the small blade itself, "That's cute". Few like to hear their hidden blades spoken of in such condescending manner.

Her arms folded and the talk of employment now on the table, Slade steps back and plants his back to the exterior of the building. His arms do not fold, but one thumb moves to rest hooked beneath the utility belt that he wears. His helmet shifts for a moment, scanning his surroundings before he continues without looking toward Rose. A moment ago they had been working to kill one another by all appearances. Now it seems that Slade feels comfortable enough to take his eye from her and survey his surroundings like some sort of tourist.

"It's a job on foreign soil," he begins without sparing a glance toward Ravager, "I could do it alone, but I figure you could use the money and the action. Plus the experience," he says with only a smidge of that cool, condescending tone from beneath his mask. "I've got a contract to terminate a Russian oligarch who's vacationing in Cuba. The circumstances of the mission profile and details suggests a two-person job". He pauses for a moment in order to observe Rose from his lone eye. He watches her for only a moment before he concludes, "I determined that the best chance for success lay with either you or that moron Wade Wilson. He's too unpredictable by default. I can predict your unpredictability."

Slade shifts forward and removes his back from the wall. The sound of his bootfalls on the ledge can be heard against the soft whispers of wind whistling softly around the building's western face, "You want the job or you want to tell me to go fuck myself, Rose?"

Rose Wilson has posed:
The little barbs back at Rose has her narrowing her one good eye but she isn't goaded into answering back, taking it for what it is. An attempt to get under her skin and while she knows if there's anyone in the world capable of it that's Slade. So she just shakes her head slowly, walking to go pick up her blade and sheathing it back in place. The only part that she takes exception to though? It's when Wade Wilson's name is called up.

"Really, you are putting me on the same sentence as that fuck up?" it's a rhetoric kind of question but then she is smirking when Slade announces that he can predict her unpredictability, "That's my power, not yours.."

It's the last question that makes silence fall on the rooftop, just the wind's howls heard, frigid, a pregnant pause as the young woman takes stock of her father and what he is asking of her, "I will take it." she finally says, accepting.

As Slade no doubt knows she would.

Slade Wilson has posed:
"You're both fuck ups," Slade answers back with a voice made hollow by the mask that he wears, "you're just less annoying from what I hear of his reputation. Even if only barely less," he concludes. He continues to step away from Rose, walking out and along the spine of one of the great eagle heads that sprouts from the building's exterior. He doesn't stick his arms out to balance himself like some may do, but simply maintains his footing as he walks out nearly to the eagle's beak. Once there Slade's helmet shifts about and turns toward Rose, considering he from the single eye fit within the mask's face.

"I knew you'd take it," he says without a hint of mockery. Was there pride heard within his remark? Probably not. Right? He glances to the side of the eagle's head and the sixty-one stories below. He continues the height seemingly without suffering the vertigo that many others may. After he's taken his time observing the fall, Slade's attention turns back to Rose and he adds, "In two days I want you to meet me at the safehouse in Brooklyn. The shitty one in New Lots. Bring your equipment, but keep a low profile. We'll be leaving for Cuba from there". The instructions are clear and concise.

Slade glances again to the deadly drop below and then back to Ravager, his mask settles in the direction of her and he concludes the instructions with an answer to the next question surely to arise, "I've already arranged transport. All you need to do is show up and not screw up."