maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

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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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)