7807/Chasing History

Chasing History
Date of Scene:	12 September 2021
Location:	An empty warehouse in Bludhaven. After dark.
Synopsis:	Deathstroke is hired for an unusual job.
Cast of Characters:	Mina Murray, Slade Wilson

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Mina Murray has posed:
Bludhaven isn't a nice place, even in the daylight. Anyone who willingly agreed to meeting there must either be a) very naive, or b) very dangerous. To make matters even worse, the woman set the meeting for a disused warehouse on the waterfront.

And she's also alone.

But this isn't Mina's first rodeo, so to speak. And she isn't exactly meeting a news reporter, either. No, the man she is meeting is very dangerous in his own right, and his services don't come cheap.

The young woman looks to be in her early 20's, dressed all in black like some goth. She is waiting inside the warehouse, in full view of the center of the room. In the darkness.

Slade Wilson has posed:
Slade Wilson is made for places like this. Bludhaven is not his favorite city by far. It isn't due to the danger (Don't make him laugh), but the garish neon and twisted carnival atmosphere of the criminal element here. No class. No class at all.

He doesn't take just any job, but the message from Wintergreen had made him very curious, as his man couldn't find much info on the woman. That was a rarity. He'd admired the photograph taken ins ecret of the possible employer, and finally decided to meet. He doesn't enter the warehouse on the ground floor. Instead, he opens one of the upper windows with the silence of the grave, slipping in and moving along the rafters like a cat.

Sleek mail and colored armor make up his outfit, his face concealed with his infamous one-eyed mask. A pair of blades rest across his back, and a large handgun beside a knife at his hip. He watches the floor of the warehouse for a long moment before he calls out, his voice carrying in the disused building:

"You reached out for me?"

Mina Murray has posed:
Mina is waiting in the center of the warehouse in darkness because she's not like most people. For one, she can see perfectly well in complete darkness. Secondly, she has several more decades of experience than her youthful appearance would suggest.

Then the voice calls out she turns directly towards him and looks up. "I can assure you that I offer no threat to you." she declares. American, but the accent is cultivated. British, originally? Likewise, from her stance the woman is carrying something heavy in one of the coat pockets. The right.

"But yes, I was rather hoping you might be able to help with a certain problem that I'm having."

Slade Wilson has posed:
He can see keenly in the dark as well, though ability is due to technology, and not Dracula. Deathstroke steps from the rafter and drops, landing gracefully about fifteen feet from the woman. His orange bandana flutters and settles, and he rises to his full height.

"And what problem do you have, Miss Murray?" His own accent is hard to place. His voice is deep and pleasant in a dangerous way, but he has the accent of a man who has been everywhere, and absorbed as he did.

Mina Murray has posed:
The woman keeps her hands out of those coat pockets, at least, and when she takes a small side-step the coat shifts. Pistol, likely a large-caliber revolver. Her head tilts, dark lips pulling into a small smile at the question. "My problems are numerous, Mister Wilson." she replies almost cheekily.

"In this case, however, the problem in question involves something very dangerous being in the hands of people who don't fully appreciate its nature." The woman clasps her hands behind her back in an almost formal fashion and takes a couple of lateral steps, neither closing nor increasing their distance.

"It is an artifact of sorts, and I want to get it back."

Slade Wilson has posed:
"Most people don't appreciate what they have," he grunts softly. "Double that if it's beautiful or dangerous."

He shrugs a muscled shoulder and nods a bit as he listens, watching her curiously from his spot fifteen or so feet away. He registers the weapon but doesn't say anything. She's in Bludhaven...of course she's armed.

"An artifact."

Mina Murray has posed:
Mina keeps her hands clasped as she paces slowly back and forth. Slowly and deliberately. "Somewhere around the year 1000 AD, the Toltec civilization thrived in the city of Tula, just north of Mexico city. After about 250 years, Tula suddenly and inexplicably burned to a crisp. Most historians wrote off this event as revenge from their unfriendly neighbors."

There is a brief pause before she continues. "The Aztecs revered the Toltecs and took their practices of human sacrifice to even greater heights. Most historians focus on the later culture."

Mina turns to regard him directly, then. "The city of Tula did not burn by natural causes, nor was it destroyed in an act of war. The 'artifact' which caused the destruction is presently somewhere in the Tri-State area, thanks to the bungling of a drug cartel."

Slade Wilson has posed:
"I see."

Deathstroke is silent for a long moment, watching her pace with his solitary lensed eye. He crosses his arms across his armored chest.

"Where can I find it, what kind of resistance can I expect, what does it look like...and how much are you paying?"

The large man doesn't ask what the woman is planning to use the artifact for. He does not care.

Mina Murray has posed:
Mina smiles at the question list. "Honestly, that's the reverse of the order I'd expected." she replies. "I'm not entirely certain where it is, or I would not be seeking to employ your services. But in any case..." The woman reaches slowly into her coat pocket... the one not containing the pistol... and produces a flash drive. "... everything that I know about the artifact is right here. Pictures, history, and last known location."

"I would imagine that it's on the desk of some cartel boss who has more ego than sense. Expect it to be surrounded by an appropriate amount of guns and unpleasant people."

She pauses for a moment. "You are looking for a statue about the size of a wine bottle, Mister Wilson. A feathered, winged serpent. Its head is removable, but I strongly advise against doing so. My estimation is that whatever energy force destroyed Tula would incinerate about thirty city blocks."

Slade Wilson has posed:
"Noted." The man crosses the distance between them and offers an open hand for the thumb drive. He waits for Mina to hand it to him.

"Leave contact information with Wintergreen. Same way you got ahold of me in the first place."

He trucks the thumb drive into a pouch at his belt. "There are a lot of people out there that would do some pretty terrible things with that thing. I'll just need to make sure I get my hands on it first."

Mina Murray has posed:
Mina passes the drive over, placing it in the man's larger hand. "Right now, as far as this idiot is concerned, the statue is a piece of ugly pottery that he's keeping because it looks 'cool'. I'm hoping that it stays that way until it can be safely retrieved and contained."

She rocks a half step back, then, looking up at the mercenary. "At present, the British Museum will pay rather well for the intact statue. I've convinced them that it holds some significant, intrinsic value. They are your buyer."

The woman slips both hands into her coat pockets, then, more out of habit than any sense of defensiveness. "I would prefer to join you once you have located the statue, Mister Wilson, and I'm afraid that I must insist. Without me to negotiate the sale, all you would have is a terra-cotta incendiary bomb."

Slade Wilson has posed:
He cocks his head a bit as he looks down at her, watching and listening. His body language reads piqued curiosity. "I'll contact you when I have it."

He takes a step back from her, his gaze dipping briefly to take her in before he half turns away. "This isn't the first time I've been hired for some occult business. I don't specialise in that...but I do specialise in everything else related to the job. This should take me too long."

Mina Murray has posed:
Mina is sizing him up as well, and the view is a long one. "I look forward to hearing back from your successful endeavor, Mister Wilson." As opposed to hearing about his failure on the 6:00 News when part of the city is destroyed by fire.

As he half turns to go, she adds. "It is for 'everything else' that I contacted you. Godspeed, Mister Wilson."