Old Faces Don't Hold a Candle to a Wife (vs. Tyler)

[David Hunter]

“So…I know you’re kind of…retired and everything…and I really don’t want to be a burden to you, but…is there any chance you can help me out here?”

It was a simple question. One that, having asked, even David knew right after was a stretch.

Nonetheless, standing on the stoop of a suburban, Montreal, two-story home, it’s about all he has.

The response may shock you.

“Might I inquire as to who you are?” the man on the other side of the door asks.

Par for the course at this point. David shakes his head, offering a hand as a form of compromise.

“David Hunter. Happy to meet a legend like you face-to-face,” he says.

The man raises an eyebrow. After looking up and down David’s body, noticing the open Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans combo—and of course the pistol in the back pocket—he takes the hand offered.

They grip each other's hands tight, with the man noticing the black t-shirt David is wearing.

“20% cooler, huh? No way that was not intentional,” the man says.

“A little birdie told me it was a good idea,” David says.

“Is that little birdie chirping up a storm right now?” the man asks.

The two let each other’s hands go. Any niceties fade away to make room for the incessant chirping of a nearby black bird on a nearby pine tree.

“Pretty sure crows migrate out of here this time of year,” the man says.

The two lock eyes. David only offers a small and nervous grin, leading to the man to raise an eyebrow.

“Hey…I’m…kind of patched for time here. So I’m going off the Shrek method of ‘get in, get out, avoid the dragon’. Can I come in?” David asks.

“Sure. Can’t say I’ve talked to Jack in a while but I imagine if you came to me, it must be important,” the man said.

The man moves aside, allowing David to enter the house. When a black bird tries to enter, the man slams the door shut. The bird slams into the glass, falling onto the snowy stoop below.

“That wasn’t nice…” David says, for once actually showing his nervousness.

“He will be fine,” the man says.

He doesn’t look behind, waving David forward and approaching a nearby room. David takes one look at the door, peaking outside the window to notice the bird flying off. David lets out a breath before following the man.

When he enters the next room, a small fire is going. The man is sitting in a recliner, a glass of something in his hand. Judging by the bottle of scotch on the table, it’s probably easy to assume this is going to be fun for absolutely nobody.

“Please, take a seat. I know you’re not allowed to drink on the job, but—” the man doesn’t even finish a sentence before a glass is poured of the scotch.

David grips the glass close before slamming it back. The liquor pours down his throat. He sets the glass back down.

He falls back into another recliner, letting out a long breath.

“Or maybe you are not on the job?” the man asks.

“Depends on the job. Look, I’m going to be honest with you Mr. Lawrence, I got a bad bitch with two guns after my ass for shooting her maybe boyfriend, another two groups trying to capture me, and another one probably after me for another fucked up reason. I was told by a cat in Seattle that a guy I’m looking for stopped by. He has something I’m looking for. I need to know where the hell he is.”

The man—Mr. Lawrence—looks on. He finishes off his glass of scotch before slamming it on the table.

“It can’t ever be easy with you Hunters, can it?” he asks.

“If it were, everybody would do it.”

The man shakes his head. He stands up, approaching a nearby laptop. He wakes it up before typing away.

“You’re going to have to help me out here. My wife won’t be back for another hour or so but I know that there’s a lot to catch up on. What the hell happened since I retired?” Mr. Lawrence asks.

David pours himself another glass of scotch. That soon finds itself down his throat and in his stomach.

“My dad joined the Council. There’s been a new baddie that’s showed up and is taking people from multiple dimensions. The Council want him dead, the Peacekeepers want…well, peace, I guess, kinda in the name there, and the Others are just trying to contain everything. My dad’s been put in charge of stopping them, but he’s been doing a shit job at it. Ironic. Doing shit jobs is all he’s ever done.”

“Clever,” Mr. Lawrence adds in.

“I try. Anyway, I recently starting working with this new group for hire because they said they could help me find somebody I’m looking for. This guy I’m hunting has a Wu I need to find the person I'm looking for. Besides a few other details like pissing off ol’ Two Hands and being aided by a dusty old crow, I think that’s about the jist of it.”

Mr. Lawrence finishes his typing. He turns back around to look at David.

“Right. I never worked with Revy—dimension jumping, mercenary work, and world traveling was always Nathan’s forte—but I know once she is on the job she’s hard to stop. Your avian ally will be of help, but the goal is to get you out of here. The man you’re looking for did show up here. We talked for a bit about ‘old times’, or whatever, but it was mostly a courtesy visit. He was tired and needed a place to stay. Funny enough, the scotch is all I have left of my stash.

“Anyway, I know a guy in Philadelphia who can help. He’s an informant. I booked you a flight for two that leaves in a couple hours. You’ll have to trade to get what you want, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Silver owes me a favor. I’ll cash it in,” David says.

“How the hell did you get a favor out of Mr. Silver?” Mr. Lawrence asks.

“I worked a job protecting an alien a while back. She needed to get home and he needed help. Seemed like a good gig.”

Mr. Lawrence nods in response. He’s about to speak again when a knock breaks through the noise.

Mr. Lawrence holds out his hand. David takes the pistol from the back of his jeans and hands it to him.

The two walk towards the door, with David lurking behind. The knock appears once more.

Mr. Lawrence wraps his hand around the doorknob…before opening the door.

The pistol points at the guest.

Just a black-haired man with a gray button-up shirt, white jacket, and black slacks. He also has a weapon on his back, that’s irrelevant.

The man raises his hand in mock surrender.

“Mr. Branwen,” Mr. Lawrence asks.

Qrow looks past him towards David, who only shrugs.

“What’s up Qrow?” David asks.

“Um…I think we have company, but…I think she’s on our side?” he asks.

Qrow moves out of the way. Mr. Lawrence lowers the pistol, tossing it over to me.

The three of them exit the doorway, approaching an interesting sight.

Revy is floating in mid-air, her two Berrettas armed and ready to fire. She’s wrapped in a pink glow, the scowl ever present. Her eyes are also lacking in the soul department, meaning she is definitely "on the job."

Holy hell is David lucky.

Or not.

I mean, the woman with an arm out, a pink ball of translucent light engulfing her hand, and narrowed eyes in a business suit complete with black squared glasses is…terrifying, let’s just go with that. Absolutely terrifying.

“Shit,” Mr. Lawrence says.

“Honey. Who are our guests?” the woman asks.

“Gwen, dear. Nice to see you home. Um…this is—” pointing towards Qrow.

“I know who he is Nio, I was being rhetorical,” the woman—Gwen—says.

Mr. Lawrence freezes. She's using real names. The shit he's in just got even deeper.

Qrow uses this opportunity to turn into…well, a crow. A white light engulfs him. When it disappears, he’s just a black bird. He starts to fly away, but the other hand of Gwen, now also engulfed in the pink light, stops him.

Qrow stops mid-air, suddenly changing back into his human self. He collapses into the snow, landing on his ass.

“I don’t think so. Qrow, nice to see you again. Any chance you’re just here for a refill or is there a reason you decided to visit?” Gwen asks. “Sorry to say there’s not much left.”

Qrow stands up, wiping the snow off his pants. His hands come up, palms out.

“Hey, I’m just here to make sure the kid doesn’t fuck things up too badly,” he says.

“Hm. Yes. ‘The kid’,” Gwen says.

She turns her eyes to David.

Holy shit David just saw his life flash before his eyes.

“You got a name?” she asks.

“David Hunter,” David says, arms going straight to his sides. “Ma’am.”

Gwen smirks despite the situation.

“Polite. Nio.”

Mr. Lawrence—or, Nio, I guess, for simplicity—follows in David’s footsteps, to speak. His arms go straight, looking down into the snow.

“Yes, dear?” he asks.

“Why is Two Hands currently on our front lawn, guns a blazing, trying to attack us?” Gwen asks.

David leans forward. He grits his teeth, putting on another nervous grin.

“Funny story…” he says.

“Is it?” Gwen asks.

If looks could kill, David would be all over the front lawn. Dead, splattered, gored, destroyed, demolished, just a bloodstain on a modern Montreal home.

“Choose your next words carefully, kid. You’re on death row and about to get the noose,” Qrow stage-whispers.

“Solid advice, but I’m pretty sure he’s already dangling,” Nio adds-in, not even bothering with the whisper.

“You two, shut-up,” Gwen says, earning her two solid stances in return. “David, if you would? Please explain.”

“Somebody stopped by your house recently with something I need. Mr. Nio explained to me quite clearly that he doesn’t know where he went, but I should ask Mr. Silver. Revy is after me because I…might’ve shot her maybe boyfriend…and she’s hired to capture me. Or kill me. It’s hard to tell with her eyes.”

Afterwards, there’s a pause for drama, or at least one to figure out what the hell is going to happen next.

With a very, very deep sigh, probably the deepest that David’s ever heard, and he’s given some deep sighs, Gwen lets her arm drop. Revy collapses onto the snow face first.

“I’m gonna—!” she doesn’t get very far before a boot to the back of her head, courtesy of Gwen, knocks her out.

She falls back into the snow face-first. Not very dignified, but nothing Revy ever does is.

At least it's not Recoome.

Or Yamcha.

“I want you gone,” Gwen says, pointing towards me. “There’s a reason Nio retired, and it’s because of shit like this. You’re lucky I came home as early as I did or else we’d have to explain to the neighbors why there are bullet holes in our house. Nio, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight, and I’m taking away your laptop. Qrow, make sure this kid doesn’t kill himself.”

Qrow and David share a look, both of them raising an eyebrow.

“Not to be arrogant or anything…okay, absolutely to be arrogant, it's fun, but I can take care of myself,” David says.

“I’m sure you can. It’s the ‘killing yourself’ part I’m talking about,” Gwen says.

“I’m not suicidal. Qrow, am I suicidal?” David asks.

“He’ll be fine. I’ve been following him for a while now and it wasn’t until a day or so ago he realized it,” Qrow says.

“Holy shit, am I suicidal?” David asks.

Nio looks between the two, shaking his head. Gwen walks up, patting him on his shoulder before entering the house.

“You three finish up. I want you two gone by the end of the hour,” she says.

When the door behind them closes, David is left pondering his own tendencies while Qrow just shakes his head.

Nio takes out a cell phone from his pocket. He looks at it a bit before showing David a picture. It’s of the same man on David’s photo, red jacket and all. Although the picture Nio has is only of the jacket…and nothing else. Thank god he cropped out the bottom frame.

“This the guy?” Nio asks.

David takes out the photo from his pocket. He unfolds it, revealing the same face and everything. Same jacket too.

“That’s him,” David says, putting the photo back. "Why that one?"

"Max is an asshole, that's why," Nio says.

Nio puts his phone back into his pocket.

“His name is Max Daemon. Mr. Silver would know what you’re looking for. I’d probably be looking into an alternative though. As nice as that Wu might be, Mr. Silver is pretty knowledgeable. If anybody can help, he can,” he says.

Qrow puts his hand on Nio’s shoulder.

“The kid knows the game more than anybody, Nio. Trust me, he’s got this. I may not agree with the way he’s going about it, but considering how everyone else is doing? I think he’s probably got the right idea,” Qrow says.

"Qrow, why are you even here? Shouldn't you be at Beacon or something?" he asks.



"Ozpin wants me here in case anything bleeds into Remnant. This is big, Nio. Bigger than we've ever seen before."

"Shit..."

Nio shakes his head, looking over towards the unconscious body of Revy.

“You two should go. I gotta deal with my wife and her Anodite temper and Revy won’t be out of it forever. You should be able to make it out of here before she wakes up,” he says.

Qrow nods, turning into his crow form once more. He flies onto David’s shoulder, who offers his hand to Nio.

“Thanks again Mr. Lawrence,” he says.

The two shake hands once more.

---------------------------------------------------------------

A little while later, David sets up a camera so that it sits on a table. We get a shot of a single hotel bed, as well as the usual inventory a standard Marriott would have.

David is about to sit on the bed, when a knock on the door occurs.

He approaches the door, clad in nothing but a towel. When he answers it, a man in a skull mask with a pistol pointed at him is who appears.

The man gives David a piece of paper. David opens it up, revealing what’s written.

David rolls his eyes before doing some hand gestures to the man. The man nods, doing so in return. David closes the door, setting the paper on the table next to the camera.

David sits down on the bed, beginning to speak.

“Sorry about that. Just a summons from some cult or something. They shouldn’t be an issue, just a little precautionary measure. Anyway…

What a fucking night, eh? I retained my crown, remaining the King of the Underground. I finally put to rest any claims Muscles might have on the title. I even made a new foe in the unfortunately large Sicko.

And all before bedtime.

I could go at lengths about Sicko, but considering he’s positioning himself as my next challenger, I’ll just go with this for right now: if you think I’m scared of a big fuck like you…than you’re right, I’m terrified.

But you could be a fucked up incestual combination of Pennywise and Quasimoto and I’d still step to you. Yes, I get it, I lost the title to Muscles Malone. Everybody else already had their laughs, nice to see you had a few more left in you, Sicko. Unfortunately for you, your fate, in the end, will be just like all of theirs, and just like Tyler Scott’s…you will all bow down to the once and future king.

And if you decide that revolution is more your forte…well, there’s always the guillotine. Worked well for Robespierre for a while there, not sure what the issue is.

But yes, while Sicko can prove that Muscles Malone is as annoying as everybody has said he is and that Tyrone Smith is as shitty as I’ve always said he was, I’ll be destroying another unfortunate peasant in the form of Tyler Scott.

I’ma keep it real with ya chief…ain’t nobody lookin for another strong style beat-‘em-up wrestler to roam the halls of the Pure Class Arena. I mean…why look for another one when you already have me? I understand you might be good at hitting somebody else, and that’s fine for a while. Hell, I’m pretty sure I beat the hell out of Holden so much he got even more confused about what he wants.

But there is much more to me than just striking somebody until they’ve got CTE. I can talk with the best of them. I can beat the hell out of anybody with anything, anywhere. I got a move that I can hit from literally any position, so watch your step, Tyler.

Fine, we both make a career off of making sure our opponent doesn’t know what hits them, and by the time they remember, they’re finally waking up on a stretcher under some EMT’s, but the main difference between me and you?

I make this look goooood.

…

…

Oh, also, I’m presently the King of the Underground champion? Yeah, so while you’re toiling and trying to get onto Trauma every week, I have a guaranteed slot. And in the main event too!

And it’s not just because I happen to reign over an entire division with an iron arm, it’s also because I’ve earned this spot.

Sure there were those Underground matches I’ve been in and those have been some of the toughest battles I’ve fought in the ring, but in case you’re not aware, this kind of shit is daily for me. Getting punched in the face? Please. A kick to the gut? Easy.

A bullet to the lung?

You should’ve aimed for the head.

And yes, I’m talking a big game for you, Tyler Scott. But that’s because it excites me. Being in a ring with somebody who’ll actually be able to return what I’m giving out? That’s the kind of shit I dream of.

So…while your loss this week won’t come at the hands of a snap, it will be just as fast.

And it won’t be because you didn’t give it your all. Oh no…your loss will be because you simply didn’t have enough to hang with your King. I understand, being in the presence of royalty is tough, but at least you had the balls to act the fool. No, while you’re focused on beating me down, one Thrill of the Hunt pulled out of my ass should do.

Or, if you prefer, you could always act the knight. Save us some time and just…fall on your sword.

The choice is on you, because I for damn sure know, I’m not losing my crown. Not now, not ever.

But hey…at least it’ll be a good match right?”

David approaches the camera, turning it off.