Smoke and Lacerations

[Fawkes]

Fawkes grinned behind his sunglasses. Cole was younger both out of the Hedge and in appearance, but sounded like a curmudgeonly Scotsman being dragged out of his smokey cabin. Maybe it was the alcohol. "Sorry Cole. Don't trust you enough to brawl, or I'd be way too tempted to use my shit; and then you'd be swinging at nothing. That shit's earned." The smoke twists between the cracks in a sort of mock echo of the Metalflesh. That was also new: he never had those subtle lacerations coating his features before. He punched the gas once the stretch of road was clear of twists and turns, checking his phone for an address. The mannequin didn't use GPS, apparently very familiar with the route.

"You know I'm a criminal. Right?" he asked airily. "The rigid stuff is just an expression of the Wyrd. I'm not a hunk of steel."

[Cole Volker]

"Wasn't asking to fight you- and if we did, the last thing I'd be worried about is either of us. If we fought, one of us would definitely die- no point questioning that. If we fought, I'd be more worried about everything within a mile." One was a flaming death ball, the other was a tornado of glass. No way anything was coming out of that mess pretty.

Fawkes' new appearance was certainly recognized, but Cole didn't really think much of it- considering he could change his looks on a whim, and the Wyrd's effects on their bodies.

"I think I remembered you saying something like that- at the ah... When Rich became king. I wasn't all there for most of that though. You know I'm a criminal too, yeh?" Not drugs- nope. Arms. Guns. A small business out in the middle of nowhere with a working forge? He'd managed to squeeze out a few custom parts.

"I'm not using magic crap of course. But I don't want to hold my punches. Not to start. I've gotta go full force on something."

[Fawkes]

"Also. That. I don't know why you're fixated on the idea of killing each other," the doll said as his eyes clicked to Cole, "If that's how you feel, why do you keep inviting me here?"

He slowed momentarily to respond to his phone vibrating, confirming the appointment.

"You're fine," Fawkes said to the comment about criminality. "Circe gave me an idea where both of you are at." He wasn't interested in triggering another 'badass contest' when neither understood the rabbit hole while they danced around the edge. And frankly, he was glad for it. He registered the cross street before merging on the highway, checking the time on the radio clock. "How familiar are you with Cartels, kid?"

[Cole Volker]

"Not fixated, cousin. Just seen enough of what you can do- and I can't see us fighting unless it's something serious. Perhaps in the future, some day." Just about all of their meetings had shown displays of his powers- and twice now Fawkes had threatened Cole with violence, even death. Was it at all wrong that Cole might get such an impression?

"I am... Glad this doesn't bother you then. Other people would probably be averse." Something to keep in mind. A point to connect? And he'd asked about cartels... "I'm sure I've sold some arms to them once or twice- but I've never gone any higher up than the streets, so anyone I dealt with was probably low on that totem pole." Cole preferred it that way, for now. Too much popularity with dangerous people wouldn't lead anywhere good.

"I doubt they'll recognize me just by looking, if that's what you're getting at. I suppose I could talk business with them after the fight, but I'm dealing with enough on my plate as it is." Trucking in illegal armaments probably wasn't the best activity to be done while banished.

[Fawkes]

"So either you are convinced I do not have control over myself, or you are admitting you don't," Fawkes responded placidly, doing his usual social check-in.

At Cole's mention of selling firearms to the Mexican gangsters, the mannequin idly flicked the cigarette from his hand before slipping it under his shirt, pulling out the vicious looking MAC10. "See. That tells me you actually don't deal with them." He gestures with the submachine gun towards the other Elemental, expression unchanging, "If you've dealt with them, you're on the radar. Then lets say one day a more prominent member is shot. Hell. Maybe they're just friends with the right guy. Or someone's wife gets riddled in a drive-by. They find out that gun came from you. And they find out you're selling to someone they don't like. Then someone gets a call."

[Cole Volker]

"Ya going to tell me ya wouldn't have done something regrettable back then if the King hadn't stepped in? Because I didn't start that shite- I got loud, sure, but I'm not about to punch a man if he don't ask for it. Yer the one that used the Armor- and that shite's never soft." At this Cole took a deep breath and looked out the window on his side. "I know I've a lack of control, and I am trying now. I'd have hoped this would show ya that." He didn't want to punch people for fun after all. Well, it MIGHT be fun.

And then he gets more into the cartel, and for added effect waves the gun out and points it at Cole. Charming. Another deep breath before Cole went on a tirade- though notably, this one wasn't shouty or wrathful, and none of the visual expressions of his anger manifested- no steam, no glowing. It was more aggravated, annoyed, than truly angry. Cole's accent, notably, became much more apparent as the metalflesh spoke.

"Ya throw that gun in everyone's face when yer tryin' to make a point, or do ya just like nonchalantly mentioning killing around me? Because this is about the therd time you've tried talking serious with me, and if the ferst time didn't make a dent I'm not sure why ya thought this would be any better. Part of control's knowing what werks and what doesn't, yeh? Well pointing that hunk o' metal at me's as much an insult as it is ineffective. I've talked to people about my problems, they talked back, and I'm troying to change because o' them- and they didn't need a gun or a field of glass to make it. A simple-" at this, Cole gave an incredibly fake, overly done 'normal' accent "'- oh, then you don't know, bro. The Cartel are super bad dudes and I don't think you'd do well wading any deeper into that clusterfuck' but Nooooo you had to be just a bit of a dick about the whole thing. Just because yer made of glass doesn't mean ya have to be a cutting shitebag all the time. I'm trying, lad. But 'This-'" Cole waved his hands as if pointing a gun "-Doesn't help. in the slightest. World's got some tough shite- pretty sure every one of us knows that now. Don't need you reminding me of the Doom and Gloom and Killing- makes ya sound more like a random Autumn, when I called ya as someone I want to be a friend."

Was Cole wrong? If his cousin had a softer side, Cole had yet to see it. Still, if Fawkes DID possess such a thing the metalflesh hoped it was more agreeable than the bugger nonchalantly waving a gun in the driver's seat.

"Now, I'd rather do something friendly that doesn't involve this danger crap. I know it's going to be dangerous, I'm going to get my teeth kicked in probably. But if I'm walking into a beehive just let me get stung- because yer particular warnings aren't doing much less harm than the bees. Not going to learn without a few mistakes. So. Ya have a favorite color? Ya like dogs? Are we there yet?" Maybe a more casual start was needed for the two.

Hopefully.

[Fawkes]

  failure

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2019-06-08 00:54:16		Fawkes rolls 4 to guns aren't normal? (Wits + Socialize)		7, 2, 6, 4		failure

Apparently he was more drunk than he was caring to admit as the Metalflesh oscillated between accents. His bitching wasn't answering his question, and the complaint about killing when he was the one that brought it up raised more questions.

Dick about what? Fawkes blinked as he registered he couldn't control the gun. "I was going to ask if you could make a silencer for this. But yeah. Exactly. Don't deal with them."

He moved into the passing lane and continued accelerating, putting away the gun when Cole signalled he wasn't comfortable. It was a little weird to be called a Fall Courtier for being percieved as aggressive by the kid who lit on fire whenever someone told him to pump the breaks, demanding people above his rank and experience recognize his superior Wrath.

The mannequin nodded on occasion to signal he was listening as he focused. Cole was...asking for things to remain friendly, but then still wanting to "get stung". He blinked behind the sunglasses.

"Purple. Yes. And fourty minutes, but I can make it thirty," he said, picking up speed.

[Cole Volker]

Things had remained calm. Maybe something had actually registered from Cole's tiny tirade. And Fawkes wished to have a silencer made?...

"Ya know, ya could 'ave just started with that. It won't do me much good seeing the gun 'ere anyways- don't have the equipment to make measurements. And given what we were talking about, that 'ardly seemed a good time.... And yeah, I can make a suppressor- ya want factory standards for it, or were ya hoping for something more wyrd?" Modern firearms- or at least the ones with too many techy bits- didn't always respond well when Cole tried to make Wyrd variants. But a simpler thing like a suppressor? That could probably respond easily enough.

"I don't plan on going any deeper with that crowd. The street-level stuff is good enough for now; least then I can get to know who I'm selling to, and gauge how much shite I could be walking into." Cole didn't need money, and anything a criminal could provide he could probably make himself- save for drugs, which... Well, Cole had been lucky enough to turn to the bottle first.

And oh boy- Fawkes seemed in a hurry. He'd answered the questions though... Did he just want to get there as soon as possible, so this conversation could end? Or was this how he always drove?
"Aye lad, I'm sure you can be but er... Ya want to risk getting pulled over? That variants not legal right? Can't make a suppressor for ya if yer taken in." A few miles over the speed limit was fine- pressing the gas with a likely-illegal weapon was not.

"Ya ever cook?"

[Fawkes]

"A Hedgespun silencer? If that interests you. Circe offered to get me one but you sounded like you wanted a project," he said. Whatever helps, right? Reminded him of John requesting he do 'art therapy' but never followed up with whatever the hell that entailed.

At Cole's continued naivete Fawkes snorts, "Sure. As for getting pulled over, you don't need to worry about that." Cole had no idea what his connections, IDs, or licenses were: mundane or magic for that matter. Besides, policing in Sacramento hit certain areas for their limited funding, and a speeding asshole in farm country was at the bottom of their list. At most they would park at an intersection and wait to catch the most generic vehicle descriptor in existence, or if by some miracle a caller caught the plate at their speed, running it wasn't going to bring up anything relevant.

"I cook to eat?" he said, blinking at the question. "You mentioned you've been talking to folks. What's your report, Private?" He was definitely curious. The conversation with Circe had set them in extremely different worlds when he had expected a connection, but if she made progress with the Metalflesh, by all means. The Sergeant just wanted a friend, and maybe Cole was her new project after John.