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WHO: The Shade and Dr. Wells
WHERE: Harrison's Place
WHEN: Sunday
WHAT: So hey bud wanna be bad????
WARNINGS: N/A

Honestly, Shade didn't know what to think, about the upcoming assignment. He certainly couldn't do it alone, and being without his powers was... disturbing, to say the least. The prospect of doing his work without powers? Even moreso. He simply couldn't do it, not really. His method for thieving? Slip in with his powers, take, and go back the way he came, through what wasn't the Shadowlands, but close enough.

Which did little good. He suspected he could get in, but out would be more difficult. Impossible, really, unless he was exceptionally lucky, and Shade was well aware of his luck. It wasn't going to happen. It was likely to instead backfire, and he would be powerless for longer. You tell an immortal who doesn't sleep and eats only for pleasure that he is to be mortal, and it simply doesn't go well. Shade knew that well enough, he'd done it before, when he'd been in prison.

The plan, therefore, was to assemble a team.

Or rather, a group of thieves. well enough of an idea, and Shade was rather pleased that he'd come up with the idea, but it was a matter of time, and planning.

And the first step, was to find another like-minded individual who could run -- he chuckled to himself at that -- interference.

Which was how he was in Harrison Wells's living room, sipping mildly on a delicate cup of tea, and waiting for the man to notice that he was there.

It was fine, he was an immortal. He'd wait.

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With his duties for the semester over at Heropa University, Wells found that he had an abundance of free time that he had little idea how to use. Sure there was his work at the imPort cellular research lab with Raina, but that could only take up so many hours in a day. So he's been getting to work using the tech of this world to create the tech of his world. The technology of his time rather, as he finds many components often have decent substitutes even in these dead times.

However, as he's in his room ordering parts from online, he gets a mild prickling sensation that he can't quite explain. A feeling of being watched rather, and though he isn't skittish he does have a healthy sense of paranoia. One that tells him something is off around here.

Quietly he unlocks his desk drawer to pull out a small handgun, one kept in case of emergency use, and leaves his room with silent steps. Thankfully he has no roommates anymore, so there won't be a worry about any commotion if someone is robbing him and he decides to shoot them in the shoulder. However as he slowly steps into his living room, gun cocked and ready to shoot, he notices a top hat that can only distinctively belong to one man.

"Shade?" He asks as he enters the living room in full, seeing that it is indeed the man. He moves the gun down and behind his person, not shy about having it but not seeing a reason to use it anymore (he doubts he could even shoot him with his powers.)

"Harrison!" he greeted, as jovially as one could expect. Shade wasn't shy, about showing up in places where he was likely not welcome. He didn't seem bothered, in the slightest. If anything, he only looked up from his cup like Harrison was a welcome interruption in his drawing room.

Which, of course, was ludicrous, but the point still stood. He waved a hand, as if it was nothing, that he was here. As if he was welcome. "Would you like some tea?" he asked, gesturing to the pot. Yes, he'd certainly brought a pot of tea from home, to sit in the Reverse Flash's living room, and enjoy himself as he sipped mildly at his drink. Because what else would one do, when they were going to make an impression?

"I thought you were above the vigilante stuff, by the way," he added, after a long pause, looked him up and down, and lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head in the general direction of the gun.

"I don't drink tea," his voice is cold and hard, swallowing down his annoyance. He likes his space and what he doesn't like in conjunction is that space being invaded. Especially frustrating is that he never once told Shade of his location, and yet here he was.

He takes a few steps forward, until he's more in front of Shade and smiles with disdain at the man, raising his one free hand to take his glasses off.

"The gun is to shoot intruders. You're lucky it wouldn't work on you." He sucks in a small breath and goes on, tilting his head to the side a bit. "Next time, ring the doorbell."

"Mm, touchy, then?" he asked, as if it didn't bother him. "Jack and the Flash never minded," he said simply, a touch put-upon, as if the fact that he was so distressed by it was a matter of sticking points, rather than a quest for privacy.

Then again, he had often walked in on Jack in the middle of...some interesting positions. He supposed he should count himself lucky that Harrison wasn't so compromised.

"Perhaps next time I'll knock," he added, although it was unlikely that he'd remember. Shade was...used to simply coming and going as he pleased, no matter who it was. One of the worst parts about knowing Shade was the knowledge that he may just show up at any time. Most in Opal were used to it, and well... Jay? Jay had figured out a while ago that Shade wasn't all that dangerous. Could be, but he wasn't.

"I actually came to talk shop, if you want to have a seat."

He doesn't know who Jack is and Flash is a nitwit, but he won't bother voicing those thoughts. Shade clearly doesn't care and it'll just be a waste of time to continue on. His shoulders slacken gently, not quite as on edge as before (though far more irritated than he would be if this was just a robber) and moves around to sit on the sofa next to the comfy chair Shade was sitting in. A chair he would normally be at, and all for himself.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten how to use the phone," he huffs as he takes his seat and leans back into the cushions. "Unless this is 'can't let the government hear' kind of talk."

"The phone," Shade says, his lip curled in disgust.

"Does nobody appreciate a good face to face conversation these days?" If he'd brought his cane, perhaps he'd be shaking it. As it is, Shade simply... shook his head, and waved his free hand, before returning to his tea, his lips curled into a smile, as he did so.

"Actually, the government asked me to do something," he said, as if that weren't odd at all.

"Unfortunately, it's not precisely the sort of thing I can do alone."

"Would you prefer to get a -- what's it called, telegram, instead?" He scoffs, intense eyes on Shade despite his slouching lounge.

The mention of something the government wants...he isn't certain how to feel about this, but he doesn't think of Shade as the type to do something for them unless they were offering something in return.

"What exactly do you need?"

Edited (diff icon) 2015-12-21 01:19 (UTC)

"Backup," Shade said simply, as if Reverse Flash had been his first choice. Actually, he had a few in mind, but he knew that this man in particular wasn't particularly going to be that into helping Shade, unless he sold it.

"They want me to steal from someone. Unfortunately... " he took off his sunglasses then, as if they were offensive.

"There are power nullifiers. I suspect I'm going to need someone with more technical expertise."

"...I think I'm going to need a drink after all."

He sighs and gets up from the sofa, but when he goes to his kitchen (at normal speed) he instead unlocks a cabinet to pull a large glass container full of brown liquid. Whiskey, his special made brand that has a hiked up proof for his accelerated metabolism. He goes for a glass before he speaks up again.

"What exactly does your job entail I do?"

"Stealing a few select items from one of De Chima's wealthier citizens," he started, still sipping at his tea. His eyes tracked the drink, more with curiosity than anything else. He'd always figured sorts like Barry couldn't drink, but perhaps...

Well, no matter.

"You're the technical sort, yes? I'll admit, I'm quite poor with technology -- and there is monetary compensation for our efforts."

"A decrepit relic like you, bad with technology? Shocking."

Normally he would mind his manners and not voice thoughts he knows would not normally be welcomed, but he's not good on patience with a man who came into his home and stole his favorite chair. Plus he doesn't really care what Shade thinks of his ugly words - he's just aware enough to know that his bad manners aren't often welcome in society.

"What exactly do you want me to do? Hack cameras, disable security alarms, make sure you're not caught. Power nullification must be really making this a pain for you, since you can't just waltz in wherever you want."

Shade held a hand to his chest, mildly insulted, not simply from the jab at his age -- it was a reality, and one he'd purposefully chosen, rather than anything else. He liked technology, just not for him. Although the temptation to learn grew with time bored, in the long evenings. There were only so many times he could add to his journals, or read books.

Instead, he remained mild, his smile a touch tighter. "Quite so! Back home, I always had access to the Shadowlands, and yet here... my connection could only be considered tenuous at best. It's... distressing, to lose the majority of who I am at the drop of a hat," he pointed it out, a touch sharper than intended.

The convenience was wonderful, but Shade's powers meant far more to him than perhaps anyone realized. "But yes, that would be precisely that. Communication, between the components, as well. I expect to employ more than simply us two."

"I know the feeling."

Of losing who you are. He lost it for fifteen years. In a way, he still is losing it and not anywhere close to gaining it back as he was six months ago before all this happened. He hates it, truly, because he feels this past decade and half has turned him weak. Absorbing Wells' DNA was necessary, but the drawbacks of it are ones he wishes he could be without. It feels like a constant curse looming over his mind.

But these aren't things he can speak of to Shade. Not to anyone. He isn't sure anyone could understand even if he did open up. He takes a languid sip of his whiskey before responding again.

"So you need helpers. What sort of compensation are we talking about here?"

"Monetary, of course," he offered, oblivious to Wells' s reverie.

At least he wasn't insulting Shade now, which meant he was edging toward accepting the offer. Oh, Shade suspected that he would want to remain anonymous, but the fact that he was not still being so belligerent...

It bode well, shade decided. He smiled. "Handsomely, or so they told me."

"Hm." He puts the lid back on the glass container and turns around, taking his drink with him as he walks back into the living room. "How many more people will you be seeking out?"

The questions are mainly perfunctory, given as he mulls over his decision. He is certainly edging toward taking it.

"Oh, as many as we can get, no more than around ten or so," Shade explained, his smile wide. He knew interest was a good thing. "I'm thinking about searching out the old rogues, they would be the best suited for such situations."

He sipped at his drink mildly, and edited to provide more answers.

"Old rogues." He repeats dryly, not liking the sound of it, as he walks back to the living room area and sits on the sofa. "Really hope you aren't referring to that clown half-wit who threw a bottle of mustard through my window in the middle of the night."

He has never been fond of any 'Rogues' through history in relation to the Flash. They weren't bad for a laugh, but they always seemed so...inferior in comparison to their foe. To the hero who always bested them. A real adversary should be a proper match and not lose more than they win.

"Perhaps, among others," he said, with a shrug. "Sorry about that, it sounds terrible," he surreptitiously sniffed, mostly over his tea, but with a smile, he added:

"Funny, you seemed to get it out alright. Besides, Trickster was quite the thief! There was always a difference, where we come from, in real thieving, and Flash thieving. He's quite good at the former, as would be anyone else I allowed to sign on."

Not that he thought he had to convince Harrison, but... well, that was awfully rude, wasn't it? Insulting him like that, but then again... he was so...different. More like a Lex Luthor than one of the Rogues.

"The bottle didn't hit me. It did hit him though - fast and hard," he says with a smile and soft laugh. Yes he did enjoy the sight of Trickster tumbling off the roof, only saved by Barry's good graces (and him being woken up in the middle of the night by the window breaking.)

It's true though that he never saw himself among the Rogues. For one, the Rogues were nothing but an obscure legend associated with the Flash. A couple of them stood out, like Captain Cold, but for the most part? They were nothing to history and thus nothing to his eyes.

"It's your funeral Shade," he huffs and takes a small sip, finishing the last of his drink. "Since you're planning to saddle yourself with someone so incompetent, I suppose it's only right to come along and improve the chances of success."

And who knows? It may even be fun.

Shade laughed, then. Of course, he suspected it wouldn't go entirely smoothly, but... That wasn't the point. Nor was the money, despite the offer. It was excellent for the govrnment to offer, and a tempting fruit for those of you who thieved for funds, rather than for fun.

But between he and Eobard?

His grin said enough, sharp as it was.

"I should certainly hope so! I'm pleased that you'll be joining us."

But Shade -- an immortal -- was a fickle man with no sense for time. His leg crossed, he sipped at his tea, the dark of his pants started to slip away, into shreds of dark ash, that drifted to the ground, to disappear before they even reached the floor.

"I'll contact you, when it gets closer. Perhaps by phone next time."

Edited 2016-01-08 03:18 (UTC)

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