romanvittoriosionis: (you use to call me from a payphone)
[personal profile] romanvittoriosionis posting in [community profile] anofferyoucantrefuse
It's early afternoon when Sionis and Harkness finally roll up to the airport in their nondescript, borrowed sedan. It's busy already. Tourists, business travelers. Schmucks. Lots of 'em. Roman pays the parking fee out of pocket and somehow manages a prime spot without violence or threats thereof. The mob-provided vehicle camouflages nicely enough that Roman makes careful note of exactly where the fuck they parked lest they do something brilliant like lose the goddamn car.

Roman carefully tucks his piece under his jacket when they finally climb out of the car. He has no actual idea who it is they've been sent to fetch; when you get orders handed down from the head of the family, you do them and don't ask unnecessary questions. He can guess, though. Someone with pull. And someone in enough danger to not only warrant an escort, but for Sionis to get stuck with the giant stupid Aussie for the task.

There's a large group of tourists huddled at a crosswalk, by the rows and rows of waiting taxis. The two of them blend in, as much as they could possibly blend in anything. They go as far as the airline counters before breaking off to find their particular gate. D10, one way from Reno, Nevada.

Harkness is in a surprisingly chatty mood. Roman nods along but tries to mostly tune him out. He can't exactly tell him to shut the fuck up, either. He settles for walking at a good clip as if he could possibly outrun the conversation. They end up making it to the gate much sooner than expected, unsurprisingly.

If Roman's entirely honest with himself, Harkness isn't even being particularly obnoxious. Roman is just... tense. Something about this just sets his teeth on edge, and it's not even being made to be chauffeur for some important so-and-so. He can't put his finger on it.

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-09 05:54 am (UTC)
diggerharkness: (Default)
From: [personal profile] diggerharkness
Digger supposes he's not got it too bad. It's boring, yeah, but it's a fuckin' easy job today. Tag along with Sionis and look big and mean while they pick up some bloke from the airport. It's nice gettin' paid to not do much. Sit around an airport. Probably get stuck carrying the damn luggage. Only real downside is having to put up with whatever crap this jackass they're picking up feels like dishin' out. That and dressing like a schmuck. Low profile bullshit.

But really, mob work ain't so bad. Maybe he'll even have time to get one of those little frozen yogurt things with all the toppings. Those're good.

It's not too bad getting in and to the right gate. Digger makes small talk while they walk, and Sionis is a grumpy bastard like always. Be a bit weird to be walking around together and not chat though, right? Right. They get to the gate damn early too, and wouldn't you know it, it's right across from the frozen yogurt place.

"Back in one sec," Digger says, making his getaway before Sionis can ask why or tell him no. Can't yell at him if they're trying to be incognito, right? Not without lookin' like they're having a bad breakup, anyway. He makes a beeline for the frozen yogurt place. Gets there just in time to cut off some family with a couple kids. Sorry kiddos, Digger's in a hurry. At least he knows what he's about. Doesn't take him long. The little rugrats are still tryin' to figure out flavors when he's done piling toppings on. Cripes. It's fuckin' frozen yogurt. They're kids. Give 'em chocolate and go.

He heads back to Sionis, who's sat down at some point. Digger flops down in the seat next to him. "Right. When's his plane gettin' in again?"

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-09 07:34 am (UTC)
diggerharkness: (uhh)
From: [personal profile] diggerharkness
3:45? That's not bad. Digger'll have time to finish his snack. He digs in (ha) with gusto. How the hell do m&ms taste so much better when they're not out of the little bag? It's a fuckin' mystery. He stops mid-crunch when Sionis notices.

"No?" he says, a little disbelieving. How do you not know frozen fuckin' yogurt when you see it. Or at least assume it's ice cream or something. "Got some froyo." Digger holds the cup up briefly for scrutiny. Sionis looks real confused somehow.

"You know? Froyo?" He picks one of the cookies out and uses it to shove enough of the toppings out of the way that Sionis can see underneath. And then eats the cookie. Since it's the airport, they actually have real damn Oreos instead of the gas station knockoffs. 'S nice.

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-10 02:11 am (UTC)
diggerharkness: (uhh)
From: [personal profile] diggerharkness
Digger pauses, tiny spoon halfway to his mouth. "What is wrong with you?" he asks incredulously. Who the hell hates froyo? "You got some kind of frozen yogurt trauma, Sionis?"

He looks at the display too and wouldn't you know it. The damn flight's early. Now he's gonna get brain freeze. Great. Digger squints at Sionis and keeps eating. And yeah all right, he's eatin' a little faster. Still gonna take 'em a minute to let everyone off the plane, though.

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-10 06:29 am (UTC)
acesisrael: (i wear my sunglasses uhhh all the time)
From: [personal profile] acesisrael
This has been the longest fucking five plus hours of Buddy Israel's life. Five excruciating hours in a cramped, uncomfortable seat in coach stuck between Colonel fuckin' Sanders and Brenda, Reno, Nevada's most judgmental Mormon mom. The small amounts of liquor the stewardess deigned to allow him kept the edge of for a while, but Buddy's been on the highway to the fuckin danger zone for the last two hours at least. He can't stop bouncing his leg; and now, since they've hit tarmac and failed to move, it's escalated to him tapping his fingers loudly on the armrest.

Brenda's disapproval is palpable - as it has been since approximately as soon as they left Reno, which is about when Buddy started day-drinking. Colonel Sanders, on the other hand, keeps trying to sympathetically pat his shoulder. He's really over both.

It feels like an eternity before they're finally allowed to disembark. He has to hunch weirdly, half-in his seat, before he can elbow his way into the aisle and fight with the overhead compartment. It's a fucking battle to wrest his (upside-down) carry-ons from the overhead, and he takes a purse to the face in the process.

It goes without saying that Buddy resents the hell out of flying incognito in coach. Likewise, he resents traveling alone. He feels exposed. …And also, he has to lug his own baggage. It’s a pain in the ass. It occurs to him that Vitti never actually told him who would be picking him up. Two guys with a sign, he said. Mr. Hershey.

He pauses at the top of the stairs to squint up throw his sunglasses, past the brim of his hat. Why is it so sunny? Since when is Gotham sunny? He swallows down the indignity of it all and trudges across the tarmac, behind a large man in the most neon Hawaiian shirt he’s ever seen. This has to be rock bottom.

It doesn't take an absolute genius to figure out who in the crowd at the gate is there for him. There's a large man with a bad haircut and the biggest mutton chops Buddy has ever seen, and next to him, holding the ‘Mr. Hershey’ sign while smoking, his feet kicked up like he’s on break… is motherfucking Roman Sionis.

Buddy shifts one of his bags higher up on his shoulder and wanders over to Sionis and, uh, that other guy. Before Israel can say anything, Roman looks up at him and just blurts out incredulously, “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Buddy stands there in complete silence for a very long beat. “Oh, I’m sorry,” He starts. “Did you just spend the last day packed in a sardine can? Have you subsisted on little bags of fucking pretzels?” Buddy can feel his voice raising, and has to quickly stamp out the rising meltdown. He chucks one of his bags onto Sionis’s lap, who barely has time to get the sign out of the way. Sionis just laughs quietly, and unfortunately is still laughing when Buddy unceremoniously dumps the other bag on his lap too. “Take the bags and let’s go, chucklefucks.”
Edited Date: 2017-12-10 06:33 am (UTC)

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-10 11:37 pm (UTC)
diggerharkness: (Default)
From: [personal profile] diggerharkness
Digger... doesn't quite finish his froyo fast enough. Whatever. He's nearly done by the time people start coming off the plane. Means he has to uh, stash his cup under a seat, though. Not gonna risk dashing off just to throw it away.

Past some big bloke in a Hawaiian shirt, their guy zeroes in on them and makes his way over. That figures. Digger and Sionis aren't too flashy today, but they're not hard to spot if you know what you're lookin' for. The guy coming up to them's kinda small and hopping mad. Seems familiar too. Where's Digger seen him before?

Guess Sionis knows him. They argue like they might almost be friends, not that Digger's gonna ask. Don't need them to gripe at him instead. He shoves his way upright and grabs the guy's luggage from Sionis. Digger knows how it works. 'S what he's here for. He follows along as they head for baggage claim.

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-11 08:17 pm (UTC)
diggerharkness: (welp)
From: [personal profile] diggerharkness
"Yeah, I lost a bet," Digger says without missing a beat. "Figured taggin' along with him was better than washin' cars." He shrugs like it's a tossup.

They get to baggage claim easily enough. When they find the right conveyor belt thing, Digger leaves the carry-ons with Sionis and shuffles up to pull whatever suitcases their guest points out.

It's uh. It's a lot of fuckin' luggage. Digger figured there might be one more, but nah. Little guy's got the whole damn set apparently. At least they're easy to pick out. Real flashy lookin'. Expensive. The kinda shit Digger'd idly consider stealin' if he weren't on the clock right now.

He pulls another suitcase down and eyeballs it. Hang on. He half turns to squint at Mister Suitcase here. Yeah no, he knows who this is now. That's Buddy fucking Israel they're picking up. Digger lets out a startled bark of laughter before he can stop himself. The fuck kind of trouble did Buddy Israel get into to be runnin' all the way to Gotham? Goddamn.

(no subject)

Date: 2017-12-13 08:47 am (UTC)
acesisrael: (i wear my sunglasses uhhh all the time)
From: [personal profile] acesisrael
Buddy claps a hand over his heart and inclines his head, giving Crocodile Dundee a very sympathetic look over his glasses. "My condolences. Truly." He turns back around, and the trio more or less spend the rest of the journey to the baggage claim in total silence.

The Aussie guy is good at taking orders. Buddy quietly points out his shit as it shows up on the baggage carousel, and the guy pulls the bags off with no questions. Halfway through, Roman vanishes for a bit to return with one of those baggage cart things. Dollies? Whatever they're called. Buddy's not entirely sure.

There's a moment where Dundee there pauses and looks at Buddy as if he just figured him out - and maybe he did - but Israel's pretty immediately distracted by Roman being Roman.

"I knew you had a lot of baggage but I didn't think it was literal," Roman says, apparently with enough mindfulness to keep his voice down. He hefts up the baggage on the cart. "Goddamn, what the fuck is all this? Did you pack Hugo?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I packed Hugo," Buddy says, nodding along. "He's in three different suitcases, you get to reassemble him. Good look."

Roman snorts a little loudly. "The least you could'a done is put him in one with airholes, man. That's just cruel. And messy."

"Ha, ha, ha," Buddy replies flatly. Dundee's grabbed the last of his bags, though, and as soon as they get that loaded it's time to get the hell out of here. Not soon enough. Hopefully the safe house he's gonna get stashed in is decent, if not up to his lofty High Roller standards. He'll deal with that when he gets to it at least. For now, he mostly wants to lay down in the back of the car and not talk anymore.

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