The Road to Texas


tybalt_icon.jpg wesley_icon.jpg

Scene Title The Road to Texas
Synopsis Wesley and Tybalt meet, Tybalt's mother who happens to be Wesley's grandmother gives them a mission!

Chinatown and a Jet!

A little later in the afternoon, Wesley finds himself inexplicably in Chinatown with his red Gretsch G5135 electric guitar on his back. He appears frustrated, having come to a stand with a person who speaks little to no English. "I want Kung Pao Chicken damnit! Don't you understand English? Stop speaking Chinese!"

But the man behind the stand continues to speak Mandarin, responding with, "I don't speak English you moron! Go away, shoo, shoo!" the man waves his hands in the shooing motion, but Wesley just doesn't seem to get it, and the exchange continues.

Tybalt happens to be waiting on his BBQ Tofu. Which he happens to love more than the people who run this place. However when Wesley starts in on the man, Tybalt stands up and crosses his arms over his chest in a disapproving way. He puts a hand out and pats Wesley's arm for a moment as if to ease him off. "You'll have to excuse my friend…he's a little soft in the head. He wants Kung Pao Chicken and is too stupid to find the words." He offers in mandarin which of course gets a happy laugh and nod from the Chinese man. "They are chinese….they speak chinese. Don't be a dick, it'll get you farther in life." offers the cowboy as he tips his hat to the man. "Placed the order for you."

"I was trying to talk louder until he understood me." Wesley says quite logically, crossing his arms as he looks over at the other Scion, sniffing lightly at the air. "Thanks for ordering, I was just gonna give the guy some other guy's wallet I stole 'cause he looked at my girlfriend funny. Who're you anyway? I'm Wesley, but Clash Storm is my god name."

Ty just stares at the guy for a few moments and simply shakes his head in what is obviously disgust. "Which makes you an idiot on two accounts." He notes as he moves to sit down at his table to continue to wait. "Scions are getting hunted down and you go around telling everyone your God Name….why not just paint a target on your chest, buddy."

"Now Now" offers a soft tinkle of a feminine voice from behind the pair. There is a young -beautiful- woman with bright blondish hair…much like Tybalts. With beautiful blue eyes….much like Tybalts. Who is wearing a dress of silver and has a few silver feathers in her braided hair. Around her neck is a small amulet of gold. "That is no way for an Uncle to talk to his Nephew." Tybalt pauses, turns and instantly goes slack jaws. "….Mom?" She nods and he rushes over. "What are you doin' here?"

"If I paint a target on my chest, that just means more fights." Wesley points out, holding an index finger up as if it were the most logical thing ever. "I don't see the bad part." But then the woman comes, and his eyes are wide open, practically drooling when the woman arrives. "That's your mom? You're my uncle?" He has no idea what this implies about what his mother is to him, but he's already sniffing in her direction. "You're even more hotter than that other hot girl who was like, weird hot. You're like that really weird hot that makes my head hurt and I don't understand it. You wanna go do it?"

Tybalt turns instantly around, arm drawn back and and fist clentched. "Talk about my momma once more, and you're gonna be shittin' yer own teeth for weeks." And it -looks- like he means it. "ENOUGH!" Comes a command that no one can help but obey. She speaks and as she does so it becomes very clear there is no silliness to follow, no pick up lines and no bickering. "You as my son have a job to do. You are to escort my Grandson….Wesley. To Legend, Texas where there are some things happening that his father should be seeing to, but as he is currently….in trouble, it is left to his blood. And I am assigning you, my blood, to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble….." She pulls a pair of tickets out of her purse, lays them on the table and moves to stand, exiting the restraunt. A moment later she is gone….leaving the pair of you and the cook, who looks like he isn't aware that anything has even happened.

"That hot chick is my grandmom?" Wesley asks, suddenly looking a tad sick for a moment, mostly because, well, he hit on her. Yes, he has limits! "Shit, well, alright, so we're going to Texas? She didn't even say what we had to do." He cracks his knuckles and grabs a ticket, heading for the exit himself. "Well whatever needs to get its head cracked in, I'll handle it. You can come 'cause my grandmom is freakin' scary and I'm not pissing her off by leaving you here."

Tybalt narrows his eyes and simply has a heart sick bitter look in his eyes that comes out content as he looks back at you. "That was my mother, and if you continue to disrespect her, I swear to christ I am going to fuckin' shiv you in your sleep." He says scooping up the other ticket and pulling out a cellphone. "Need to get travel bags?" He asks as he lowers his voice and starts speaking as he moves to the nearest corner and a limo shows up.

"I've got my guitar and my vest and stuff, I'm good. And I ain't disrespecting anybody, she's my grandmom too." Wesley points out as he leans down to stare at the limo, tilting his head. "Swanky. Wish I could bang my girlfriend before we leave. So, we're getting in this thing? You rich or something?"

"Yes….I'm rich." He offers in sort of bored manner as he makes his way into the limo, once the door is opened for him by the driver. "So….Wesley." He starts as he pockets the ticket and opens a compartment to take a bottle of whiskey out in order to pour himself a drink, then pours two. "…I'm Tybalt Odeman….Son of Freya." He explains. "Which would make you son of….?"

"Thor." Wesley answers, sliding the ticket into his jacket and the guitar around from his back once he gets into the limo. He's immediately holding his hand out for the whisky, can't pass up free drinks in a rich guy's car. "So you're like, my uncle, and you're rich. So… you'll buy me stuff?"

The cowboy pulls off his hat and frowns visibly at you. "You dishonor your father with your behavior." He states simply. "Your father is a good man who does good for thousands of people. You are a selfish little piece of shit who thinks this is all fun and games…" He states plainly as he goes to take a drink.

"I fight for the glory of battle, as they used to say." Wesley explains, opening and closing his fingers now as if to say 'gimmie the drink'! He's overall very calm and casual, not seeming too concerned with the situation. "Being all heroic and stuff isn't gonna save more people than doing it for the reasons you were born with. I kill monsters, I don't hurt any civilians, unless it's just some thug who pissed me off. The Ragnarok's coming, war ain't some pretty thing, and some soldiers happen to like what they do."

Tybalt gives a nod. "It is no excuse to act like a character from some shitty Douglass Adams knockoff." He offers as he toys with the idea of not giving you the drink, but he gives it to you any way and while the argument has been going on, there Limo has been driving, down the streets and towards JFK. Plus side to being loaded? You don't need to go through the airport. You get to drive straight up to the jets.

"I am how I am, you want me to go put on a suit and sit around planning my assault on a vampire castle? Fuck no, I'm gonna walk in there and smack vampires with my guitar until I find the leader, then I'll rip the leader's head off." Wesley explains his apparent 'tactical prowess', raising the glass to his lips to carefully sip. "If I die, I died in battle, and that's alright with me. Except my girlfriend, there's nothing more important than battle."

Tybalt smirks a little. "Now you sound like the son of Thor. Using your talents and gifts to kill mortals because they piss you off, or to steal from people….it's petty." he says. Which one should note is interesting to hear from a cowboy who looks rather young and has a taste for foreign languages and such. "Speak with your actions, not your mouth….probably for the best…." The car slows and the doors are opened. You can see a small jet being loaded up with a trunk or two and a large silver motorcycle that looks….well….divine. "That's our plane, Wes."

"This better not be a plane with hookers, I'm trying the whole monogamous thing, since if I make my girlfriend cry I'm gonna punch my teeth in." Wesley threatens… himself, downing the whisky, dropping the glass on the seat, then stepping out to walk towards the jet. "I'm dating this smart nerd girl, she can like, do that hacking thing with her brain, and she's teaching me how to use a computer and send her pictures of retarded cats or something. She's so fucking cute."

Tybalt passes you by as he heads to the plane. "I don't think I care." is his immediate reaction. "But if you need any help with the teeth thing, y' go on ahead and let me know, will ya?" He offers a soft smile as he heads up into the rather well appointed private jet which is decorated more like a living room than a jet. The air-hostess takes the tickets and gets everyone strapped in. "No relics to bring along?"

"The two I was given are missing. This mind controlling asshole stole my bracers, and that messed up my arm so some scientist guy has that. We're supposed to get 'em all back soon. I'm good though, I have one relic, and an angel feather." Wesley sniffs around the jet, eyeing the hostness momentarily before ripping his gaze away. He's trying very hard to not look at women! "So how long's this ride gonna take? There food on this thing?"

Tybalt gives a nod of his head. "New York to Texas? 3 to 4 hours give or take…." He explains. "There is a movie theater and game station in the other room if you are bored and there is also a chef on board, so feel free to order whatever you are in the mood for." He offers as he pulls at the handle on his chair and reclines a little before putting his hat over his eyes.

"Kickass, I want five meatloaf burgers with kitchup and bread crumbs with super sweet grape drink." Wesley decides as he takes his seat, propping his feet up as he waits for his food to get done, yawning.

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