The sound of the gun going off, muffled by a silencer, echoed through the car as it pulled to a stop on the side of the highway. Canary had shifted the aim of the gun, hitting him in the leg, and was now halfway out the car door and visibly in the throes of a panic attack.
Draven jerked as a wave of pain hit his leg. She had shot him. Him. Draven. She had shot him. He glared at her so hard he was surprised that flames didn’t come out of his eyes. Anger pounded through him, making him see red.
The driver of the car, an agent by the name of Faithen, was already at Draven's door, pulling it open to hurriedly check him. The man had no way of knowing it had been Draven who'd been shot, making it obvious who was more important.
Canary stumbled a good ten feet from the vehicle, dropping to the ground to pull her knees up to her chest as she choked, trying to breathe. The panic had full taken over at that point, shaking violently as she raked her fingers along her arms, trying to draw herself back from that edge.
“She just shot me,” Draven said, voice quivering with suppressed rage.
"Who the hell even gave the greenlight for her to go on a mission?" Faither muttered, pulling a first aid kit from under the seat. "And why the fuck hasn't she been kicked in general?"
“I would except for the fact that my leg is shot,” Draven said with an eye roll. “Honestly, she doesn’t belong.” His voice carried in true clear night.
"Truer words have yet to be spoken." Faither agreed, pulling out the antiseptic bottle and cotton balls.
“Why was she even paired with me?” Draven asked, tone annoyed. “It’s not like she’s actually good at it. More likely than not, she will just make everything worse.”
"I'll call in, see if I can figure out why." Faither said, starting on cleaning the gun wound. "My guess? Glitch, or somebody desperately wants her to kick it on this mission. Hopefully it's not too late to swap her out. Canary. What kind of codename for a spy is that?"
“Right? A pretty little bird good only for looking at and listening to. Worthless.”
The sound of a vehicle pulling to a stop, and then continuing on, could be heard outside the car as Faither nodded. "Though I can't say her voice is at all worth listening to when she's got nothing good to say."
“When does she ever?” Draven muttered, sticking his hand into his pocket, feeling around for his whetstone. It had been a gift from his uncle before he died, and rubbing it always helped calm him down.
It wasn’t there. Panicking, he looked around on the floor and the seat, but couldn’t find it. He growled. “I’m going to rip her to shreds.”
"What is it?" Faither asked, furrowing his brows as he lifted Draven's leg just enough to get a bandage around it to keep the gauze in place, knowing neither of them was in the mood to deal with any removal of his pants, or the undeniable weirdness to follow.
(No… with the mood he’s in, my poor child would rip his throat out…)
“Something that belonged to me,” he hissed.
A voice echoed in his head. “As a spy, you should value nothing. At any minute, it could be stolen, or broken. You don’t need anything, or anyone. Got that?”
((Lmao, it would just be weird in general for Faither to ask, too. And the guy, despite being an asshole, knows that. He's good with letting Draven deal with that later.))
Faither sneered, not at Draven, but more directed towards Canary. "Give me a second, I'll go get it-" He cut off as he stepped away, looking around in shock. "Where the fuck did she go?"
(It would be awkward… very…)
Draven waved a dismissive hand, as though she was worthless. Which, he supposed, she was. “She went that way.”
"No, she's…gone." Faither shook his head, frowning as he made his way around the car, searching the side of the highway for any sign of the yellow-clad spy. He paused, bending over to pick up a yellow sticky note, before coming back around to Draven. "And apparently, left this."
Despite himself, Draven was curious. But he didn’t let it show. Emotion was a weakness, he reminded himself. “She left with something of mine,” he said, voice quiet but deadly. “She’s going to regret that.”
"Lucky you then. She's apparently got her own way of getting t o your destination, says she'll meet you there."
“Of course,” Draven snarled. “Get there as fast as you can. When I see her, I’m going to rip her to shreds and feed her to a goat.”
"Lucky Cat Casino in Vegas, it says." Faither said, going to shut the door. "You've got a plane ride first."
“‘Course I do,” Draven groaned. “Seemed as though I’ll have to wait to kill her.”
He leaned back in the seat. His leg sent little jolts of pain through his leg whenever the car went over a bump, and he clenched his jaw harder. But the pain helped him focus. It gave him a purpose, helped keep him awake and alert.
((Skip?))
(Sure!)
TIMESKIP: About a Day or So.
One of the perks of having a friend who owned a private jet was getting places faster. And for Canary, that meant getting to Vegas before Draven was even boarding a plane. She'd gotten a room at a fairly nice hotel, despite desperately wanting to go with the cheaper shitty motel she had found in a not-so nice area, and had decided the only valid option for something to do while waiting for the inevitable confrontation, was to gamble.
So that's what she was doing, and had been for probably longer than she should have. Dressed in a black cocktail dress, her signature jacket, and her ankle boots, she hadn't even had to flash a fake ID, and was let straight into the Lucky Cat Casino. That was hours ago, though the exact time, she was unsure of, as she'd been immediately roped into poker, and then each game that followed. And somehow, she was winning most of them. Not enough to gain negative attention, but enough to gain quite the amount of cash off of the two hundred she'd had on her.