Canary's eyes landed on Draven as he left the building, approaching where she and Rico were standing, and her face showed her displeasure. Great. Mr. Top Spy. "Well well well, look who decided t' finally show up." She drawled, ignoring the fact that she had been ten minutes late herself.
"Be nice, Raf. You still have an entire mission to complete." Rico chided, removing his arm from her shoulders to give Draven a friendly wave. Unlike Canary, he and Draven had no bad blood between them, and even worked decently well on their own missions. Though, that could have been attributed to the fact that Rico was a tech guy, not a field agent.
Draven’s lip curled. Great. His partner was Tech-Boy Rico, it was bottom-of-the-class Vasquez. Could this night get any worse? “Hello, Vasquez, Techy,” he drawled. He was in no mood for being friendly. He had been disturbed from his late-night cereal eating, and he was not happt about it.
"It's Canary, jackass." Canary spat, ignoring the twinge of fear that always accompanied her name being used, no matter how long it had been.
"Raf, please." Rico nudged her, pulling something from his pocket and slipping it into the pocket of her bright yellow jacket. "Play nice, stay alive, both of you. See you when you get back." With that, he gave Canary a quick hug and disappeared back inside the building, leaving the two alone.
“Whatever you say, birdie.” Draven leaned against the wall, watching as Rico left. “Friend of yours?”
Canary's face softened for a split second as she watched Rico, until he was out of sight. "Yeah. Best friend." She shook her head, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Le's just get this over with. I've got a facetime date tonight."
“Figures,” Draven muttered, so quietly that only he could hear it. “The weakling and the Techy.” He stood straight, wiping his hands on his pants. “Let’s get this over with.”
Canary glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. Her hearing was greater than anyone gave credit for, not that he needed to know that. She motioned to the car idling up next to the curb, before pulling open the door to climb in. "Hurry up, or I'm doin' this without ya."
“But you’d just mess it up, like you do everything else,” he said simply, climbing in. “You need me, Birdie, whether you care to admit it or not.”
"The only thing I need is a churro and a margarita right now." Canary said, not bothering to buckle as she slouched in the seat, crossing her arms to get comfortable.
“Whatever you say,” Draven said with a shrug. “Your loss.” He turned. “Where are we going?”
"Airport. It was in the debrief thingy." Canary said, resting her head on the window. It looked like she had every plan to nap, but she wouldn't actually. Couldn't, not in a moving vehicle, and with Draven there. "Vegas, here I come."
(It’s because he’s so special. No one can relax around him.)
Draven ran his hand through his hair and messed it up, making it stick up slightly. He did that out of habit, when he was thinking. Frowning, he thought about what was to come. How could he possibly be expected to work with the Bird Brain?
((Lmao, that and she can't sleep around anyone she doesn't know super well and/or is incredibly comfortable with. She can't even sleep around Rico. The only person she can sleep around is her friend Lyle, mainly because of the shit they've gone through together.))
Canary pulled an old notebook from her bag, tucking her legs up onto the seat as she flipped through the pages. Glimpses were visible here and there, pages written in various blends of languages like some kind of code, and the occasional photo or item taped in.
(And Draven is used to making people uncomfortable because of his amazing looks and stunning personality-wait… what did I just write?)
Draven ignored her. He fiddled with the blade of a small knife, careful not to hurt himself.
"Cabella's small folding knife, five inch blade." Canary muttered to herself without looking up, seemingly unaware of it. "Good for self-defense in a pinch. Hollow of the throat, eyes, underside of the arm."
Draven ignored her. He twisted the knife ever so slightly, and it was thrown into the back of the seat. With an almost lightning-fast move, he pulled it from the seat and, with another slight move of his fingers, tossed it again.
"Your throw is off." That was the first time she'd actually addressed him, once again without looking up from her journal. "Too much arm. Good, but ya want t' use your wrist more."
“I’m not using my arm, I’m using my fingers,” Draven said coldly. “And why do you care? You can’t even throw one on the target, let alone the right way.”
"You ain't even seen me throw one o' the damn things." Canary said, still casually reading. Nothing ever really seemed to phase her that much, which had been called 'absolutely infuriating' on multiple occasions. "Too much use o' your fingers'll have negative consequences in the future."
“What future?” Draven asked. “I’ll be dead before then.” And he meant it. He hated his life. He felt worthless and awful all the time. He had no real friends, and no one cared about him. They just cared about his appearances. He had planned to die in the next mission, but apparently that wouldn’t be able to happen with Bird Brain around.
"Tha's no way t' look at life." Canary said, finally looking up at him. Her mismatched eyes studied him, oddly calculating, as though she was seeing more than what he was showing. "Take it from someone who does anyway."
He waved his hand dismissively. “Missions, or at least the ones I get, are very dangerous, and I have a ninety four percent chance of dying before sixty.”
She wrinkled her nose, making a face. "Ugh, math. Statistics are a fallback for people without the ability t' control their own fates."
“Who can control their own destiny, though?” Draven asked. “No one. There will always be the slight flaw in the planning that makes everything foexplode in your face.”
"Tha's why you don' plan. It's so much more fun t' do whatever the fuck comes t' mind as it does." Canary said, as though it was obvious. "D'you plan everything?"
