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Tiger didn't want to be here.
Carnivals were loud, irritating, stuffy and filled to the brim with people, only being made worse with the scorching heat that came from being directly under the sun. The turban on his head didn't help either, but it wasn't like he was going to take it off.
He cursed Helena— Matron, he dully reminded himself— for making this his and Grayson's meeting place for the mission.
The children around the carnival screeched and squealed whenever they saw something that excited them, and that was to say, all the time. Their high-pitched voices carrying through the open field like a firealarm coated in sugar and topped off with more sugar. The Carnival itself smelt of grease, sweet perfumes, soil and sweat: Which didn't exactly make the best combination together. Pieces of squashed popcorn and other type of fastfood are hazardly scattered on the ground-- most likely from the children running around with tilted food boxes and others walking over them carelessly.
He's been to worse places; places that covered the walls and floors with blood that the stark-clear-pure white was no longer seen underneath the dark red, the strench worse than years worth of garbage piled up and stocked in a place that had no air or chance of purification. Places that were labeled outright gruesome and terrifying even for an agency that was used to seeing more than just horrible things almost everyday.
Still, even with that in mind, the Carnival was not a place he would go to willingly.
He made his way to the center of the Carnival, where the pay-games were. Dry grass along with mucky loam soil sticks to the soles of his boots that (would no doubt be awful to remove later) left imprints on the grass field, even if he was trying his best not to weigh on it.
Matron had sent both him and Agent 37 to Kansas, a mission that had to deal with meta-human trafficking rings and ordinary human to meta experimentation. Helena had been confident that they could get the information on the ring and the experimentee's without making a fuss. Tiger was confident that Grayson would not leave the ring without making a fuss of it all.
("-can not leave the people there by themselves! We need to rescue them, not just let them be experimented on! Or- or let people take away the metas!-" Agent 37 had argued, folding his arms with both anger and concern that looked practiced and natural even for a happy-go-lucky agent.)
So, no. Tiger was sure Grayson would be making a Grayson-Sized dent in the supposedly Do-Not-Create-A-Scene mission, which wouldn't really help at all with the covert. But 37 did that (read: ignoring the word 'covert' to 'help people') relatively often, and even though it still annoyed him as much as it used to do when they first teamed up, Tiger was already used to it. Expecting-- Knowing Grayson was going to risk the mission if it meant saving someone's life.
Which also meant, it isn't the source of his main problems right here, right now.
No, his problem was the pink hellium balloon attached to his wrist. It made him hate the carnival even more than he already did.
Grayson had suggested it, making a compelling argument to Helena when asked why ("it'll be easier to find each other!"), and Helena being Helena, agreed. He had argued back, but in the end, Grayson and Matron won over it. Though, Tiger made Matron choose the balloon he would use, instead of Agent 37, to Agent 37's mock offense.
He's starting to think it was a bad idea to let Helena choose his balloon. Beter Helena than Grayson, anyways.
The pink 'Hello Kitty' balloon is bigger than his head, the end of the long thin white string wrapping in a scout's knot on his wrist, and the start of the string being attached to one of the cartoon cat's foot. The cartoon itself is posed in a curtsey, both hands (...arms? The cat.. does not have hands.) lifting up the hem of the dress, eyes drawn as arc's and the bow on it's head being a neon pink, just like the rest of the cartoons dress. Idly, he wonders where the cat's mouth has gone.
(Maybe it had been torn off, stitched back up neatly without the mouth and faded to make it look like it never had a mouth in the first place. Or maybe the illustrator thought Hello Kitty looked better without a mouth, and decided not to give it one in the end. Either way, Tiger didn't mull on any of the options.)
Tiger himself is a big contrast to what the balloon looks like.
It doesn't need much description.. he's just wearing black (aside from the yellow turban). A black shirt, black pants, black boots, black socks.. And then the distracting pink Hello Kitty balloon strapped to his wrist.
Ignoring the balloon, he continued walking until he reached the tents. The center of the carnival was filled with people, and even if Tiger could recognize Grayson in a glance, he suddenly felt a little bit of relief (not that he would ever tell that to Grayson or Matron,) to know it'd be easier to find the other agent in the crowd of kids and enthusiastic adults.
He barely makes it five meters towards the tent when he sees Grayson, or namely, the balloon Agent 37 has attached to his wrist. All relief he has from earlier washes away like water to a smooth soaped surface, leaving annoyance and irritation at it's wake.
Tiger relaxes his face as he folds his hands on his chest, balloon floating awkwardly on top of his head while he glares at Agent 37 through the crowd.
Tiger sees the way Grayson practically beams when they share gazes (though has a feeling that Grayson already saw him even before Tiger caught sight of the other's balloon), eyes widening in glee and grin wide enough that if Tiger tried grinning like that, it would hurt. Grayson waves comically at him; just like those children that say 'Hello' to each other that he sees on missions. Agent 37 then points to his balloon with a wider grin than earlier, mouthing a 'Do you see this?!' before he prances his way towards Tiger, skillfully making his way through the crowd like water; passing people without bumping them.
Tiger remains in his spot with his eyes glaring and arms folded.
The Tony the Tiger balloon attached to Agent 37's wrist floats mockingly with him, eyes gazing into his soul and Tiger has the definite urge to hit the balloon like he does to a punching bag until it deflates and has the printed ink flake with every punch. Tiger wordlessly prays to his God that the balloon somehow unties itself on Grayson's wrist and hovers higher into the sky and disappear for eternity.
Grayson, unlike Tiger in his all black, is wearing clothes that are bright and alarmingly colorful, the colors clashing together forcefully that makes it look both uncomplimentary and complimentary at the same time. Agent 37 has purple cargo pants on with minimal embroidered yellow words in russian, the words are scattered and don't have much relevance or meaning to each other, though it would probably seem fashionable to a person that can't read russian.
37 has a white tank shirt on with a printed rocket on the front with the caricatured faces of Superman, Wonder Woman and Batman peaking through the rocket's windows. It's a few sizes too big for Grayson's mostly lithe body—practically swallowing the junior agent's frame and making him look smaller than his 5'10—though it would be probably be the perfect fit for Tiger, even if both him and Agent 37 were the same height. On Grayson's head was a unicorn headband, not that it was anything surprising, but it was noticeable.
Tiger thinks Agent 37's clothes are funny looking (for a lack of a better word) for a spy-- no one really dressed this flamboyant or intolerably in Spyral, other than Agent 37 himself. It's disgruntling.
Agent 37 pranced, making a stop in front of him with a wide grin, effectively getting into Tiger's space; which unfortunately meant the Tiger balloon also making it's way into his space.
Tiger narrows his eyes at the Agent, then flickers his eyes up to the balloon he's holding. Grayson just seems to beam even more, if possible. "Oh, this?" He points up to the Tiger balloon, grinning innocently. As if he wasn't out-right annoying Tiger in public, in a situation where they weren't using hypos and could be remembered, that idiot. "I got it on the way here— From a guy with a Jerry the Turkey hat, and, wow, wouldn't Damian would absolutely love that?— I didn't even know people sell cereal balloons!" Grayson finishes, tugging on the string of the balloon.
Tiger rolls his eyes, putting a hand on Grayson's shoulder and pulls, "Let's just go," he says as he removes his arm from Grayson's shoulder to walk to a more scheduled area, "we have more important things to talk about."
Though Grayson is trailing behind him, making it impossible for Tiger to see him without having eyes on the back of his head, the spy can imagine a grin being tossed his way so he moves a bit, just in time for Grayson to launch himself beside Tiger without hitting the group of teenagers that passed, head tilting front and looking at the older with a gleam that he could remember meant both amusement and mischief. Tiger never really liked that grin and the teasing that would always accompany it, but he stays quiet as he prepares himself nonetheless for whatever idiocy the former vigilante will tell him.
"Like the Hello Kitty balloon you're holding?" Grayson suggests, smile loosing it's innocent ruse and morphing into a grin full of amusement and teasing instead. Tiger tries to hide a scowl, "No." He responds curtly, biting back his words.
The younger of the two just continues to sport the grin, "Helena gave that to you, right?" he asks knowingly, ignoring Tiger's response. "Yes." He replies. He can see Agent 37 eye the Hello Kitty balloon in his peripheral vision before his eyes flicker towards the Tony the Tiger balloon.
Grayson's eyes continue to flicker back and forth between the two balloons, seemingly accessing something, grin unknowingly going back to his resting face, before his eyes land on Tiger, grin slowly coming back full-force.
They continue walking like that: Tiger's eyes trained on the path as he ignores Grayson staring intensely at him with a shit-eating-grin.
A few minutes go by in silence. Not peace. Absolutely not peace, Tiger is admittedly— unnerved, for a lack of a better word, by the way Grayson is staring at him.
He narrows his eyes at nothing, still staring straight ahead. He breathes in then sighs, "What," he stresses, turning as he sees a vacant table near the makeshift food court, Grayson hot on his heels. "It's just—" Grayson cuts off, and Tiger spares a glance to the side to see Grayson biting his lip to contain barely concealed laughter. Barely concealed, because Tiger can hear the small giggles coming out of the Agents mouth even with the Children screeching happily in the background.
"It's the-- hmfffp" Grayson wheezes, and Tiger sighs as he sits down on the table, touching the breeze of his nose, Grayson following him by sitting in front of him but still wheezing. "The--" Agent 37 tries again, but he shakes with silent laughter, unable to finish the sentence.
"Just get on with it," Tiger snaps, eyebrows crossed and stance irritated. The older scans the field right after, making sure no one is paying them too much attention. It wouldn't be the best gracious if they were compromised and someone knew they were spies, but he guesses that Grayson's behavior is having a setting to non-spy-like anyways.
"I-- Youuuuu... Th.. eeeem," Agent 37 says, but it comes out more like he's singing a very out of tune song that a no-brainer produced because of his attempted concealed laughter. He narrows his eyes at Grayson, and Grayson, upon seeing him, doubles over in laughter in his seat, almost hitting his head on the table, folding himself as he cackles silently.
Tiger shakes his head exasperatedly, "We have two days till the trafficking ring comes to Kansas. Go get us something to eat." And with that, Tiger shoves a hundred dollars towards Grayson, who, even though calms a bit, his shoulders are still shaking with laughter. Even if it's obvious, Tiger won't outright admit that he sent Grayson away for the betterment of his mind unless asked. He probably gave too much money, too, but like he said, it's for the betterment.
The other agent reluctantly snatches the 100 off the table and scurries off to a foodstand after some thought, the Tiger balloon floating behind him annoyingly.
Tiger curses whoever printed the Tony the Tiger balloon. He had already gotten enough of the Kelloggs Mascots face, and had been the tiniest bit relieved that he would be looking at the Tigers back instead of the front as , but the balloon gets flipped and it still shows it's face. Damn it, why.
He mentally puts those thoughts aside, instead, bringing back the human trafficking ring into his mind. Except, there's nothing to really think about that. Matron had made sure both him and Grayson knew all of the information Spyral could get on the ring, and him and Agent 37 had already discussed what needed to be discussed during the 15 hour call to Kansas. (They had left and arrived seperately, Grayson being on a mission with Midnighter somewhere in the south while himself being on a solo. Instead, with Matron's orders, they left immediately after both missions finished to do the ring.)
Part of the discussion had been agreeing that Tiger would be the one getting them a place to stay for the next few nights (which would be a Motel and a backup safehouse,) while Grayson did... whatever he would do (read: have fun at the carnival, apparently).
Tiger sighs, burrying his head in his hands for a moments peace before Grayson came to interrupt it again. A few seconds pass with the sounds of screaming children and vendors endorsing, only to lift his head up to the sound of a chair getting pulled out and grass crunching. So much for a moment of peace, Tiger thinks dryly.
Agent 37 seats himself opposite to Tiger, grinning maniacally and still stifling a laugh. Tiger breathes in, counting up to five in his head, hoping that they get whatever this is done soon.
He lifts an eyebrow up at Grayson, who proceeds to put down a box of popcorn down on the table along with a small paperbag of fries. Grayson slides a boxed corndog towards him while munching on his own corndog. Tiger narrows his eyebrows at the younger, knowing that the agent hadn't put down whatever was making him laugh yet.
Grayson shrugs nonchalantly, smile on his face and all, but he brightens considerably as he slams down a red packaged biscuit on the table like he won the lottery. Tiger looks down on the biscuit and deflates, "How--" he tries to say, but then cuts himself off. He burries his head back in his hands and groans.
The Tiger biscuit is stapled to the soul of his mind.
"I literally didn't know this biscuit existed!" Grayson huffs, "But the lady in the stand was selling it--- it's chocolate by the way, if you didn't know-- and it's not like I couldn't buy it!" he defends, at Tiger lifts his head back up, arms crossing against his chest and shoots Grayson a glare. "You had a choice not to buy it." Tiger hisses, "I wanted chocolate— And I did not!" Agent 37 shoots back, affronted, but eyes gleaming with mischief.
"You did," He argues knowingly.
"I did not," Grayson argues back intelligently.
Tiger closes his eyes and bites back a retort, pinching the bridge of his nose enough for it to hurt. "And you couldn't have bought any other chocolate?" He hisses. Grayson blinks, and then he feigns mulling over it. Tiger has to bite back a sigh. "No." Grayson states finally. The older doesn't bother hiding his sigh this time, "Dick Grayson, you idiot."
Agent 37 shrugs, chewing on the corndog "I mainly got it because of the name, though." he admits. Tiger just scowls harder, not bothering to reply.
"Aren't you going to eat?" The idiot asks, but he doesn't really, since he's pushing both the corndog and the fries towards him. "No." Grayson frowns at that, "I didn't just spend your money for nothing, and I don't have money right now to pay you back," The younger says offensively, like Tiger just commited a crime, but then grins, "Eat the Tiger biscuit too."
"No." He says finally, with a little more force than he wanted. But, of course, the younger isn't detered. Of course."Why nooooot?" Grayson shoves the red plastic closer to Tiger, "Eat it!" The younger points to the biscuit, leaning on the table and setting his corndog down. "No," Tiger huffs, glaring at the rookie agent. "Yes!" Grayson insists "No." Tiger insists back "Yes!" "N--" "YES!"
Tiger huffs, "Fine," he tears into the red plastic harshly, but none of the biscuits fly out of the plastic. Shame.
He twists the plastic in his hands: The dark brown biscuits are small and rectangular, just the length of his thumb. It has wave designs on the edges and it's brand name in the middle, bigger than anything else on the biscuit. 'Tiger' it says, and he idly thinks he's eating his own name.
Silence descends on them both him and Grayson. He doesn't look at Grayson, but the younger is seated right in front of him, so he might as well. Grayson isn't looking at him (though Tiger weirdly feels like Grayson is watching him back, even if the youngers line of sight is far off of him), but the newer spy's gone back to eating the corndog, staring off at the amusment park games in the distance, looking wistful and Tiger wonders if Agent 37 wants to play the carnival games.
Grayson is similar looking to the carnival, his brightly colored clothes blending well into the rightly placed rainbow vomit the entire carnival is. Tiger, to put it simply, isn't used to people like Grayson. There's Helena, in her all no-shit-taking personality and sarcastic wits, but even she's all down to business and serious in their line of profession. Grayson is... not. Especially not with the Agent 37 theme song he created. Though, Tiger can't deny, Grayson is an asset. Not that he would ever go into detail unless necessary or admit it out loud near Agent 37's hearing range, but Tiger's found himself tolerating Agent 37 more than hating him.
Tiger bites into the biscuit. It tastes nice.
"I think I'm finally calm enough to say what I've wanted to say earlier," Grayson faces him, corndog still half finished, grin on his face like a maniac. "I'm with three cats." The younger states. "The Three Catcateers." Grayson adds smugly, leaning onto his chair as he fiddles with the string of the Tony the Tiger balloon.
Tiger blinks, narrowing his eyes. Grayson isn't with any cats. Just him and--- the balloons. "You idiot," he hisses. Grayson laughs, and it's the most irritating thing Tiger's ever heard in his life.
Though, the biscuit tastes better the next time he bites into it.