xp_logs | Warren & Wade | Monday Evening (backdated)

Wade drops by Warren's to discuss all the information his contacts haven't been able to give him on Vanessa's disappearance.

Wade had picked up copious amounts of Mexican on his way over to Warren's because that was what you did when someone was stressed. You provided food and gave them an update on what your contacts within the mercenary world had managed to find on their girlfriend. Knocking on Warren's door, the mercenary double checked to make sure the chimichangas were on top and resisted the temptation to eat another tortilla chip.

Warren had more or less moved into Vanessa's full time these days - okay, so being surrounded by her stuff was just another reminder that she wasn't here, but he'd rather be there than not. And it also meant he was on hand for any emergencies at XFI. It didn't take him long to answer when Wade knocked, Warren having been attempting to tidy up the kitchen in an effort to procrastinate. He'd gotten about as far as throwing out all of the old take-away containers, and then started contemplating hiring a cleaner.

"Hey," he said to Wade when he swung open the door, his eyes going a little wide at the piles of food in Wade's arms. "... can I take something before it all falls?"

"Yes, please and thank you," Wade said, hefting a bag into Warren's arms and giving him a smile. "I come bearing food and not much else, but I'm hoping it'll suffice for the moment."

"No news?" Warren asked anxiously, absently accepting the bag and then wincing at his question.

"Sorry. That can wait. Come in, I'll grab us..." He trailed off, looking towards the kitchen. "Well, we might be eating straight out of the bag. I'm not sure there are any clean plates at the moment."

"No problem, Flyboy," Wade said, putting his bag on the counter. "So far as news goes... I've got feelers out. My tech guy's scanning channels and digging into places he shouldn't be digging, but that's about par for the course so far as he's concerned. I've got a couple other people on the look out and they know if any information comes up they need to contact me." It occurred to him, in that moment, that he wasn't sure he'd ever actually told Warren he was a mercenary. After finding out Vanessa was missing, he'd sort of forgotten about that. Oh well, he thought. In for a penny, in for a pound - or a shit-storm. "My arms dealer's very fond of her, so he's got his people aware of the situation as well, but selling information's tricky when you're in a position like that - if it gets around, it can really mess up your reputation."

Warren blinked a few times, digesting what Wade had said. When Wade said he would ask around, Warren didn't actually realise the sort of people that Wade would be asking. It took a few moments for Warren to respond, rearranging his thoughts as quickly as he could.

"Right," he said firmly, before busying himself with finding some clean cutlery. Or at least some he could wash. God, he really needed to clean up in here. A bunch of dirty dishes got moved to the sink in the search, Warren eventually finding some clean cutlery buried in a drawer, before he returned his attention to Wade and the food.

"Want a beer? I know there is plenty of that around."

"God, yes," Wade said, nodding as he unpacked containers of Mexican. "I've had my head buried in places it's not supposed to be buried for about 24 hours and keeping all my cell phones straight is driving me nuts." Not to mention the fake names he used with each number and the various bank accounts he was transferring funds to and from to pay for the potential leads somebody might bring him about where Vanessa may be. There were so many qualifications going into all this that it was giving him a headache. "So maybe a few beers. Chimichanga? How're you holding up, Worthington?"

Cell phones? Warren almost asked, and instead just went to the fridge, fishing out a couple of beers and handing one over to Wade. "I'm...." He just shrugged. "Holding up. Not much else I can really do, honestly. There's been no word, no new information, I just..." He shrugged again. "At this point, all I can do is hope."

Hope was a fickle thing. Wade didn't say that, though. He didn't offer commentary, just popped the cap off the bottle Warren had given him using the counter and then took a long sip. "Fair enough. Eat. I brought all this food over here to make sure you weren't wasting away. I expect you to put it to good use."

"I haven't been wasting away," Warren grumped. His unique system didn't let him not eat - he didn't store any fat, so when he went too long without eating, his body let him know in a hurry. And his muscle mass demanded he eat a lot, especially a lot of protein.

Of course, that didn't mean he'd been eating well. His worry had meant he hadn't been too picky about the food he ordered, and much of it hadn't smelt nearly as good as the food Wade had brought over.

He took one of the containers of food, digging in straight away. It all smelled delicious, and he was starting to get those 'eat now' vibes from his stomach.

Wade snorted, then pointed at his face with his chimichanga. "This is my 'I don't believe you' face. In case you were wondering." Still using his fork, he leaned over and caught the hem of Warren's shirt on the tines. "Are you sure I won't see your ribs?" Before Warren could answer, Wade started tugging the fabric up.

"Hey!" Warren protested, trying to bat Wade's hands away. "You've seen me without my shirt before! You can see my ribs regardless of how much I've been eating. My body doesn't store fat."

"Huh," Wade said, letting the fabric drop and considering that as he took another bite of his chimichanga. "Valid point," he said, nodding. Apropos of nothing, he said, "This kitchen is so gross - I want to clean it. With soap."

"It's -- " Warren looked around. "Okay, yes, it does need cleaning. I've been thinking of calling my old housekeeper to see if she'll clean it. I don't know when it got so bad."

"Dude, I totally know how that goes. Everything's all clean one minute, you blink, and suddenly everything's covered in the crusty remnants of three weeks' worth of food and various beverage spills," Wade said, nodding solemnly. "But I'm pretty sure you can soak most of it off and stick that stuff in the dish washer. Or, y'know. The housekeeper route works, too."

"The housekeeper route is the safest, I think. I don't trust my ability to turn on a dishwasher." Warren's ability to do anything domestic was sorely lacking, and it was often dangerous to let him near cleaning products.

"Fair enough," Wade said, grinning. "You finish everything in that bag and then we're heading down to Zeitgeist for drinks. I finally got the bouncer there to stop giving me the evil eye."

"You're just far too pretty for Zeitgeist," Warren said with a grin, before starting seriously in on the food. "Far too mainstream." Warren had the bonus (?) of being winged, it meant they tolerated his presence there. Obvious mutant and all.

Wade flipped Warren the bird, felt that was vaguely appropriate, all things considered, and finished off his chimichanga. "Whatever - you're too pretty. They just discriminate. It makes me sad on the inside."

Warren just smirked back at Wade. "Poor Wade, he's too pretty for a mutant bar. Your life is so terrible."

"Shut up," Wade said, mouth full of rice. He'd opened a container full of everything he could possibly want in a fajita, which was mostly rice and refried beans and delicious, cheesy beef. "Just because you can flap around and awe people because of some psychological hardwiring that makes them revere you or whatever." He wiggled his fingers at Warren. "Whatever, we're going and we're drinking and it will be good."

"Says the mostly-blonde-white-guy-with-money-and-no-visible-mutation." Warren smirked back at Wade. He'd done enough anti-discrimination work and spent enough time in District X to recognize privilege when he saw it. Society was built to favor guys like him and Wade (minus, of course, Warren's wings and bisexuality, and Wade's crazy and illness). Neither of them really any place to start bitching about discrimination.

And with that, he flicked his bottle top at Wade.

Wade caught the bottle cap with the container of food in his hand, then scooped it up on the end of his fork and tossed it back at Warren. "Mostly blond? Pssh - I am not blond. You're blond." He couldn't exactly dispute the rest of it, though. Of course, he'd worked hard for his money, but that didn't change the fact that he had it now and he didn't get hassled as much as people with visible mutations. "I was getting kind of desperate, though," he said, tone almost philosophical. "I mean, if he hadn't stopped looking at me like he wanted to shank me, I might've broken a finger or something just so he could see it heal as proof that I am, in fact, a mutant. Anyway, eat. We're leaving in like ten minutes. The clock is ticking."