Vanessa & Fred | Tuesday night

[x-copycat.livejournal.com]

Vanessa shows up in the mansion's garage to find Fred in hopes of recruiting him for a security job.

The problem with holidays, amongst all the other myriad problems, was that people wanted things. They wanted presents. They wanted parties. They wanted to celebrate. And the wealthier among them wanted to hire security for their fabulous celebrations. X-Factor wasn't typically where one went for standard security so Vanessa hadn't thought it would be a problem. Not until a wealthy mutant fashion designer wanted to hire mutant security to help make sure the series of holiday parties he was throwing remained uninterrupted by those who didn't particularly appreciate a mutant's right to celebrate, as he had put it.

Even fully staffed she didn't have enough people to cover such an event. Rather than turn the man down outright she went looking for qualified mutants to hire on a one off basis. After talking to some of the security firms a familiar name had come up. That was why the metamorph was back at Xavier's wandering through the garage. She hadn't been back since she had left and she was loathe to walk into the place properly if she could help it. But this was for a job. When she came across a pair of legs sticking out from under a car that looked a bit too male to be Callisto's and too thick to be Scott's she hazarded a guess. "Fred?"

Fred heard his name through the low buzz of Springsteen pumping out of the tired radio atop the toolbox, and furrowed his brow. It didn't sound like one of the regular visitors to the garage, and after he slid out from under the car, it took him several beats to put the face to the name, "Mrs....Vanessa, right? John-Paul's friend?" He'd hoped he had guessed right, the only pictures he'd seen of her she was, well, a different color.

She gave him a small, crooked smile that she hoped made up for some of her rigid posture. This place really did not inspire a sense of security for her anymore. "Miss, technically, but correct on all other accounts. Think I can borrow a bit of your time? I have something of a proposal for you."

"Sure. Uh...one moment?" Fred slid back under the hood of the car and, after a moment, an eight-foot tall mountain of fat and muscle was easily hefting the front of the car in the air as Fred took the time to right himself, move out from under the vehicle, and turn to gingerly set the car back down. Fred deflated, as it were, to a more managable size before looking back to Vanessa, offering her a sheepish grin, "Sorry. It's, uh, Ah reckon it's easier an' quicker than usin the jack or a lift, yah know?"

An eyebrow quirked at the display, and at his fluctuating height. Even once he had seemingly shrunk back down the guy still towered over Vanessa by over half a foot. She wasn't really used to anyone being that much taller than her other than Lucas. The metamorph took a few steps back so she didn't have to look up quite so far. "No worries, love, if I could pick up an automotive without anything else to aid I'd do it as well."

Now that he was standing she looked the kid over. He didn't look as young as she had thought he was. He was fairly scruffy and shaggy, which could be problematic if he was morally against shaving. She was willing to try to make him fit the crowd she needed him to fit in if he was willing, though. And she needed the help for the job. "I hear you're a card carrying security guard, aye? And you've got a decent rep for being a reliable, decent employee as well."

Fred nodded as he lit a cigarette and pulled his hair into a ponytail with an old, worn out tie. "Me? Oh yeah. Been doin' it since...uh, well, since before Ah really shoulda been doin it, tah be honest..." He busied himself with putting away loose tools as he thought about the question, and his brow furrowed as he turned down the radio. "Uh...why do yah ask...?"

"Well, I own a PI agency in the city that's also licensed as a security agency in case we for some reason need to take jobs as security instead of investigators. Crap economy, you know? Gotta diversify." She wasn't doing it intentionally, but everything from her word choice to her tone was getting more informal to adjust to the way Fred spoke. You didn't use big, fancy words with someone who spoke simply and you didn't get out the formal hat for someone who came across as more working class. At least she didn't. "Anyway, I've got a client who is really rich, an out mutant and kinda high profile. He's throwing a series of holiday parties and wants mutant security to make sure everyone is drunk and merry and not getting targeted by bigoted assholes while trying to enjoy the night. And I'm short staffed."

Fred nodded along, taking a few drags off his cigarette as she spoke. Private party. Nervous host. Fred had heard the situation before, and worked a few of them even, "So yah asked around, proally got in touch with Big Dave or Mister Sal up in tha city, an' they toldya Ah can get hit with cars an not get hurt?" Fred had been pitched many jobs in much the same way; word of mouth was currency in security.

Something about his description of events made Vanessa smile a bit. "Sort of. More like I asked around the guys who own security agencies to see if they've got any guys who aren't exactly baseline they could recommend or loan me. Dave mentioned your name, I recognized it and went 'hey, I bet I know where I can find him.' Some poking around on the journals put up a big ass blinking light that spelled out 'garage' as the place to head." Vanessa smirked a little. "Didn't know you could get hit by a car. You test that one much?" Somehow, as amazing as her abilities were - when they worked properly - Vanessa still found herself a bit jealous of the people who could survive a bullet, or have a decent chance of dodging it.

Fred looked around, as if for someone else listening, before he shrugged, "Customer thought ah mutant dancer was a hooker he didn't have tah pay or respect. Ah, uh, 'disagreed' and so did the club. He decided to argue with the front of his truck. It, uh...went worse for his truck than it did me, Ah suppose..." Fred tried to be as vague as possible; to his knowledge, the incident was reported as routine drunk driving, the club didn't want any more people finding out about it, and the dancer in question had quit over the event. No need to go spreading business that wasn't his.

"I like a guy who stands up for a girl others don't think deserves any respect," she told him in an appreciative tone. "Durability of your sort is useful but not really why I'm coming to you. Mostly I just need a mutant who can do security. The client specified that he wanted security to be...one of his own. If you're interested, it's three parties. One in the middle of the week, one on Friday, the twenty-third, and one on New Year's Eve. I'm even shorter staffed for the last one 'cause my two guys in the agency have out of town plans. I pay well and I pay even better for working a holiday." Vanessa grinned. "Especially when my best friend is one of the ones ditching me for it."

"A stripper stands around naked. A bouncer stands around lookin mean. Both, uh, get paid for it. Really, what's the difference, yah know?" Fred listened intently at the schedule Vanessa laid out, "Not tah brag, but Ah can cover for two men down. What're the hours, what's the pay, how bad does he think it's gonna be, an how many guys am Ah workin with?" The questions rolled out politely and succinct; work of this nature was something to which Fred was acutely accustomed.

She didn't go into why she liked a guy willing to defend a stripper. There were plenty of times she had wished Madame's security would step in on her own behalf, but they hadn't because Vanessa was just a whore. She didn't need that trip down memory lane and instead focused on answering his questions. "Hours are nonspecific as of yet. We go on the clock around five p.m. and are off the clock when the party ends, which could be as late as four a.m. but is more likely to be near three a.m. The pay is forty an hour which means you're looking at about four hundred a night for the first two nights. New Year's will bump you to sixty an hour. The client has no threats against him or his parties as of yet. At this stage it is simply a precaution. You're working with me and four others each night."

Fred let out a low whistle at the hourly rate. He didn't really feel the need to put on airs or pretend he wasn't impressed with another X-Person, "Good wage, fair hours...Sounds like yah got yourself an employee, uh, 'Boss'." Fred grinned, and offered a hand to Vanessa, "Anythin else Ah need tah know or do...?"

Vanessa grinned from the whistle straight through the hand shake. She was still grinning when she answered his question. "Yeah,there's one other thing. I need you to clean up. The client's a bit on the swanky side. That means a hair cut, a shave...and a suit."

Fred balked a little, and coughed into his hand. Well, it was a good job while it lasted. "Clean up? Uh, I don't, uh...own a suit..." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Am Ah gonna have to thin up an watch mah accent?"

She was about to address the issue of the suit when Vanessa got distracted. "Thin up? You can just...magically be thinner?"

Fred let out a small laugh, "Uh, well, it ain't magic, but..." Fred closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. After that familiar burning little lightning worked its way up his spine and across his bones, he stood there, still a towering height, and noticably large, but no heavier looking than normal, "Uh, ta-da...?"

Vanessa's eyebrows went up. She was obviously both surprised and impressed. "And you can keep that up for ten hours without blacking out, requiring enormous amounts of protein or anything else that may be detrimental to you, your job, those around you or your health?"

Fred thought about it. Since he'd gotten back from Muir, he'd been experimenting with trying to keep his power in better control. He'd played around with it, but ten hours, "...should be fine. Ah've caught myself doin it even without really meanin' tah. I get really thirsty sometimes when I do it, and it can hurt going from this to, uh, well, really fat an big really quick, but nothin' debilitatin'..."

Considering that, Vanessa looked him over again. "Nothing personal, but if someone is looking to make trouble they're more likely to start with the big guy they think is a butter ball and I'd rather not have any easy targets other than myself. So, yeah, you should 'thin up' for the job. You look more solid like this, more muscular and because of that more like you can put someone on their ass if they fuck with you."

Fred wasn't the biggest fan of 'sucking it in', but a job was a job. He nodded, lighting another cigarette, "Can do. Do yah, uh, know where ah can buy an inexpensive suit...?"

"I'll hook you up with my fashion guru." Adrienne had too much time on her hands these days anyway. "She will ensure you get a decent suit that won't break my bank. And a hair cut that isn't terrible."

Fred tried to sound as excited as possible about the idea of a makeover, "Yeah...can't waiit..."