π½πππππ π³ππππ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nonscriptum) wrote2019-06-27 11:42 am
nonscriptum) wrote2019-06-27 11:42 am
{ inbox } hadriel
This is Nate, you know what to do. I'll get back to you.
This is Nate, you know what to do. I'll get back to you.
no subject
[ He abandons his gun to gesture fruitlessly at Rafe, who by Nate's account has clearly abandoned his evening activities for the sake of- what, exactly? Pissing Nate off? Stalking him? Reminding him of his uselessness, or something else entirely? So difficult to tell with this many options at his disposal.
Nate could easily leave. It wouldn't be hard, and Hell, he could step over the edge with featherfall and float gently to the ground if he really wanted to, but it doesn't occur to him to not feel cornered by someone who has a history of doing just this. Less charitably: ]
Thought you were filling a gap in your schedule.
no subject
Stepping farther from the edge for some peace of mind, he just narrows his eyes in the dark and waves his arm impatiently. ]
You were going to say something before you backed off. [ In case Nate needs the reminder. ] Not like this town's big enough for the two of us if you're going to play that game, so. Where else was I going to start looking?
no subject
Yeah, I backed off because I didn't wanna talk about it.
[ Hence the forget it. He waves a hand. ]
Thought you could take the hint.
no subject
But fine, Nate doesn't want to say? Rafe isn't stupid. Kyna's post. A conversation with Raylan. People whom Nate's got a connection with as well. He crosses his arms, an attempt to stave off the bristling irritation with this whole fucked-up situation. ]
And miss out on the list of people I'm not allowed to talk to? Perish the thought.
no subject
He doesn't have an argument he wants to share, because that would require an emotional vulnerability of him that Rafe has not and will not earn. ]
Jesus Christ, Rafe, you stalked me out here because I stopped texting you. Why do you care?
no subject
[ His eyes flash, a spark of red in the lanternlight as he snaps back but thenβ No. He's in control. No matter how obtuse Nate wants to be about this, he'll stay in control.
With that in mind β both the thickness of Nate's skull and the control β he answers slowly enough that it ought to sink in. Though Nate's smart enough that he has to have figured some of this shit out on his own by now. ]
This is a small town. We're going to be stuck here for a while. [ Rafe is still banking on figuring something out, on getting anywhere else, dead or not. There has to be more. Has to. ] And I don't need you getting any pissier at me than you already are.
[ DΓ©tente is way too much of a stretch but...an armistice at least. It's all Rafe can aim for when imagining the damage Nate will do the second he decides to open his mouth. ]
no subject
He watches Rafe with a thin, unamused expression for the tone of voice that sounds like something a stressed adult might use to address a five year old. Nate isn't an idiot, and he's been in a place like this once before, for years. Rafe doesn't know the half of it, thinks he has it all figured out, probably assumes he can file everything neatly in his mental cabinet of Shit To Deal With.
Sooner or later he's going to learn just how small small really is. ]
So...what, exactly? You want me to be okay with you cozying up to people I like when I know how you operate? [ Perhaps surprisingly, there's no venom in his voice, but calm resignation. ] I'll just pretend you didn't spend a little over a month trying to kill me after nearly getting my idiot brother killed fifteen years ago, and- well. Guess you already accomplished the former, didn't you. We can just shake hands and wave at each other across the potluck.
no subject
Rafe takes it as a reminder, a prompt to close his eyes, inhale slowly, exhale the same. He will not lose his temper on this goddamn roof. He won't. When he opens his eyes again, his expression is as flat as Nate's voice but the plastic isn't in his voice. Not yet, anyway. ]
If I'd wanted you dead, I'd have let Nadine finish it in the cathedral or Shoreline on the cliff. [ Christ knew it was how Nadine had wanted to play it. Pat and neat and over with. Maybe she's somewhere grousing about being right after all while Rafe got stuck here. ] Because as I've already told you, this wasn't supposed to happen.
[ Stupid and short-sighted and maybe it bit him in the ass in the end, but it's the truth. Whether or not Nate wants to believe that is on him. ]
I'm not expecting kumbaya here. But I'm also not about to start snapping if you start chatting up people I know. [ Sullenly, under his breath: ] I know how you operate too.
no subject
It doesn't make sense, and maybe he'll never understand it. Maybe he just doesn't want to.
The suggestion that he would willingly share information like a mamita hot on the latest gossip in the marketplace makes him bristle, though. Nate has never been loose-lipped like that, nor does he have any inclination to come across as a major asshole by doing so. No one would would have any reason to believe him, anyway. He's just a guy. ]
Excuse me?
[ He might have said as much if not for the utterly inexplicable statement mumbled so loud it might as well be a stage whisper. ]
What the Hell does that mean? How do I "operate?"
no subject
The facts are what Nate has on his side now and Rafe is too painfully aware that that's what makes the legend around the man that much more formidable. All the ridiculous things that were too implausible, too incredible to be true β they were. Every crazy rumor was backed up with the more valuable finds, the bigger discoveries, the vaster knowledge. All of it more than enough to unbalance Rafe's side of the scale, stacked against the few paltry facts that'd always outweigh Rafe's own best efforts to escape them. ]
Crash landing into shit and still managing to come out on top, [ is the ready answer. If Rafe hadn't wanted Nate to hear, he wouldn't have said it aloud at all. ] With people just tripping over themselves to lend a hand along the way.
[ Not that Nate ever realizes this. Never did. Which almost makes him that much more hateable β provided distance enough to keep from being sucked in by that ineffable fucking quality he has about him. God, Rafe misses being able to be in a different hemisphere by morning. ]
no subject
It strikes him how strange it is that Rafe Adler of all people should be angry about what Nate has or has not accomplished. He isn't published in National Geographic or Archaeology Now, he doesn't attend galas or fundraisers, there aren't museum wings with his name emblazoned above them, traveling exhibitions he curates. For all intents and purposes Nate doesn't exist in the legal realm of the business, and barely lifted his head above the water in the less-than-legal side. People approached him by word of mouth, he never had business cards or a brick and mortar set-up.
People talked, but not that much. Most shit was just hearsay, told and told again with embellishments and exaggerations, if there's anyone left to do the telling. Generally Nate tends to leave a trail of mercenary bodies in his wake, because in spite of the apparent reputation he has the paychecks are big enough to incentivize them to shoot at him in burning buildings until he shoots back.
For a long moment he looks at Rafe, brow wrinkled, confused. ]
...how would you even know that?
no subject
It's a word of mouth business. Word travels. [ Duh. ] Especially when the tales are as tall as yours.
[ Nate is barely a blip professionally, legally, but the stories around him practically make him a myth. Larger than life. Maybe the fuzzy vagueness, the maybe-he-is-maybe-he-isn't is what makes it more palatable than the hard evidence Rafe brings in year after year. He doesn't know. All he does is that in any circle, any measuring, he's still short of whatever it takes for people to take him seriously. ]
no subject
For a long moment Nate stares at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion, feeling increasingly discomfited that whatever reputation he has is apparently still kicking years after his retirement to a normal life, a normal livelihood. ]
Like what?
no subject
Half the shit he's heard is likely puff, exaggeration, the usual distortion that comes from it being told by friends of friends of a friend. Still leaves a hell of a lot in the realm of "probably". Still so much more than any other ten men can claim across the whole of their careers. He lists them off one by one, the greatest hits. ]
Ubar. El Dorado. Shambala.
no subject
[ They're not small accomplishments, he knows, and Nate has sketchbooks full of material on them, notes and scribbles about ancient lands, fragmentary pieces of history he pockets along the way. Things he can't sell or give to a museum for lack of provenance, things that gather dust in the boxes of his attic office.
None of it garners fame. It's not what he wants, anyway. ]
What do you care? It's not like any of that gets slapped on the cover of National Geographic.