With an expression of blatant puzzle, a ginger man in his mid-twenties, an orange short-sleeved jumpsuit, and a full face of mime makeup found himself escorted to the prison phone area. Quite bluntly, he had absolutely no idea who would be calling him.
Firstly, he had no contacts outside the Villains International League of Evil, and that organization had fallen a good several months ago, finally taken out by long-time opposition and ex-operative turned goody-goody, Carmen Sandiego. And secondly, he was a mime. Was the caller...aware of this?
Shifting his lips at the receiver resting on the shelf of the wall phone he was escorted to, Mime Bomb could only be more curious. Sparing one questioning glance to the escorting guard standing near, the young man picked up and put the phone to his ear. He heard only a dead, awkward silence, and so hoped whoever was on the other end understood Morse Code, attempting to catch their attention by tapping out a 'hello' on the mouthpiece.
He was not through the third letter when he was interrupted by a bright, exuberant, heavily-accented New Zealand voice.
"Mimeyyyy! There you are, bruv! Oi was startin' ta think you'd run off," this voice chirped before chuckling at its own joke. Mime's memory jogged, his face falling into stun as he instantly recognized the owner. This was Neal. Neal the Eel. A man Mime Bomb had only gotten the chance to work with twice during the end of his time as an operative, and only one of those times as proper partners, but during that time...there had been sparks.
Mime had questions. How had Neal escaped having his mind wiped for a second time after that second mission had failed? For that matter, how had he escaped it the first time, when he'd been arrested? Capture was grounds for mind wiping, and yet Neal had been given another chance. How was he not in prison himself? Was he in prison? And why was he calling Mime Bomb? Why now? And was he...okay?
Mind racing, Mime barely got to tap out a W and an H to begin questioning when Neal interrupted again, seemingly predicting everything Mime was going to ask. He did have an uncanny knack for reading the silent one, although without seeing him it was above and beyond.
"It's me, Neal! Bet yer surprised to hear these slick tones~. Well, Oi know we didn't get to catch up in China, but after that caper went belly-up, Oi figured it was probably better if Oi laid low for a while, y'know? Slipped out on a nice, relaxing cruise aboard this delightfully dank fishing boat, and took a bit of personal time doing the world tour thing while Oi made sure V.I.L.E. wasn't after me as much as Team Red. Decided Oi didn't wanna risk Professor Bellum giving me the old brain drain again. Or jailtime. Seems like you weren't as slippery as Oi was when it came to that, though."
Another chuckle as the slimy Kiwi yarned. This last quip was enough to change Mime's attentive expression into one of irritation. He didn't appreciate the jab at his situation, but knew Neal well enough that he ought to have expected it. At least now he knew Neal was not, in fact, incarcerated.
Seemingly predicting the reaction he'd get again, Neal went on, "But before you hang up on me, Oi am goin' somewhere with this. Lo and behold, during my self-imposed sabbatical, Oi find out V.I.L.E.'s been taken down! Imagine my shock! Well, followed by a huge load off. No more headhunt. Seems like Old Red's not hung up on anyone who's not an 'active operative', too, so Oi'm golden. Oi'd say Oi pretty much quit when Oi slid out V.I.L.E.'s back door, wouldn't you?"
He paused politely, like listening for a regular person's response, to which Mime Bomb had no response but a blink. He moved to tap out a warning that he was on a time limit with the phone, but again Neal continued without waiting for a complete sentence. "Right, so long story short, naturally Oi couldn't help but wonder what became of my favorite partner in crime. Dug around, found ya, and well, Oi can get ya outta there if you like. Whisk you away somewhere nice. Whaddya say, you feelin' up for a real date yet?"
Mime Bomb could imagine Neal coyly curling a phone cord around his finger as he reached the end of his proposition. Neal was...calling him to ask...for a date? He'd gone on the run, waited for the heat to die down and then come to find Mime Bomb for that.
Somehow that actually...seemed quite in-character for Neal. Had their unofficial mission date and flirty games meant so much to him?
Most importantly, it caught up to Mime Bomb how casually Neal had suggested...he could get him out of here?
This time, Neal did wait to hear the reply, which was a very urgent, hard tapping of the word 'how' followed by repeated 'yes'es.
Neal chuckled amiably. "Oi'm sensing you're more in love with the idea of leaving your not-so-invisible box at the moment," he returned, "Well, fair enough. First thing's first. You just leave everything to me, and Oi'll have you out lickety split~. Just don't go anywhere, alright~?"
One could practically hear the cheeky wink thrown in with this jab. Mime Bomb sagged in distaste at another quip making light of his situation.
"Well, Oi'll let you go, then," Neal finished nonplussed, "Gonna have to if Oi wanna get over to ya by tomorrow. Ciao, Komrade!" After this flippant farewell, a blunt click signaled the other end had been hung up.
Mime Bomb pulled his receiver away and stared at it for a second before moving his eyes forward into space. That was...definitely not the call he was expecting. Granted, he hadn't known what he expected, but an offer for freedom, from that man, had to have been the lowest on his list of guesses.
Hanging the phone back on its hook and turning to the guard to offer a shrug and step closer so that he could be escorted back to his maximum security cell, he had to wonder if Neal was really serious. Could he really get Mime out of here? He'd sure sounded confident. Then again, Neal always sounded confident. As one of the most skilled operatives in their now ex-operation, he kind of had the right to be.
Well, all he could do was wait and see, Mime supposed as his clear, plexiglass door slid shut and his old professor Gunnar Maelstrom glowered from his own cell across the hall, displeased that his respite from Mime Bomb had come to an end.
So, to pass the time, the silent clown turned to the devious man of mind games and stuck his index fingers in his mouth, taunting his scowl with the first of many extreme faces. Maelstrom had never been his favorite, and the feeling was rather mutual.
...
Bright and early that next morning, Mime Bomb found himself startled awake by an attention-seeking pound on his cell door. He sat up sharply and found a guard there, barking at him to hurry up and get moving, because right after breakfast he needed to escort the ginger freak to the head office.
Mime Bomb had frowned sadly at first, assuming the harsh jolt to be standard unpleasant hazing, but then, wiping the sleep from his unpainted eyes, as he did not sleep in his makeup, registered the part about the head office and his spine straightened, recalling the promise from yesterday. Was Neal really here? Already?
Suddenly full of energy at the prospect of ending his sentence early, the silent man sprang out of bed and slammed a hand to hook the edge of the breakfast tray the guard had gruffly stuffed through the slot in his door. The guard stepped back at the intense way the tray was yanked and the silent weirdo shoveled a handful of food straight into his mouth with his hand. In or out of makeup, this prisoner was unpredictable and off-putting, and the messy bedhead didn't make him look any more sane as he overstuffed his mouth.
Mime Bomb glanced up, thinking the guard might know something about why he was being taken and became eager to confirm. At once he slammed himself against the door, stuffed cheek pressed tight to the glass and eyes bulging in implore, the hand smudged with food clawing and giving a slow drag at the man on the other side, trying to show he desperately needed to know the reason for his escort.
With a wary vocal note, the guard took one more step back, but stood taller and came back to the cell to slam the glass where Mime's face was with a fist. "Don't try any of those mind games, boy! Just eat your slop before I have to come in there and force it down your throat! Not that you didn't already have a head start." A disgusted curl of his lip at the way Mime Bomb had been eagerly shoveling his food with his hand.
Alright, maybe Mime Bomb did enjoy overacting and being creepy on purpose to freak others out just a little, but here he was just trying to ask a question..! Was it his fault nobody could read him well? Stepping back and hunching his shoulders meekly, he frowned again before turning his expression into a flat sulk, falling to sit cross-legged on the floor with a 'thunk' and going for another pouty chomp of breakfast macaroni.
Across the walkway, Maelstrom had slowly opened his own eyes with a low groan and rolled over to sit up neatly, though his hair too was impressively mussed. "Do try and keep it down, will you?" he complained, "Some of us would prefer waking in a civilized manner. For once?"
Leaning around the guard blocking his view, Mime Bomb crushed his eyes shut and shot Maelstrom a bratty stuck-out tongue.
Maelstrom simply maintained a cold glower and blinked evenly as another irritated groan slipped from his nose.
...
Shortly, Mime had wolfed down his meal and gotten himself cleaned up. He was so excited at the prospect of leaving this stifling hole that he almost considered skipping his makeup, but it just wouldn't feel right leaving it off for a special occasion, assuming it really was one. Besides, Neal might not even recognize him without it.
Forming a valentine with his fingers, he sent Maelstrom the most sarcastically sugary smile as he was ushered down the hall at T.A.S.E.R.-point. He couldn't very well let his prison buddy think he was going to forget about him while he was gone, could he?
Predictably, Maelstrom's face only soured and he turned his back pointedly on his ex-associate, informing him that with any luck, the office was going to move him to Death Row.
Mime Bomb rolled his eyes at this, but as he walked, couldn't help thinking that it was true he didn't know what he was really being summoned for. It wasn't possible for him to actually be put on Death Row, for he hadn't even appeared in court yet, but it could still be something bad. Unrelated to yesterday. He got nervous the closer the office came. Nervous and hopeful.
Luckily, this seed of doubt did not have long to germinate, but it still amplified the wave of relief the bereted man felt when he entered his destination. More than relief, Mime Bomb felt an intense surge of disbelief, joy and gratitude.
There, turning to see who had arrived, was a tall, well-built man with short, oily, black hair and prominent front teeth. That was Neal alright. That was also all Mime Bomb needed to register before his glee forced him to rush forward.
At the desk, a grizzly older gentleman was in the middle of asking, "And what is your relation to the..?"
Neal had cut him off, face brightening when he saw the clown enter. "Hey! There's the man of the hour! What's shakin', Mime Bo-oomph!"
He in turn was cut off as the silent one pounced, sending both himself and the taller man collapsing comically as Mime Bomb clung tightly and pressed Neal into the floor with a hard kiss.
He was so grateful. It hadn't been a lie. Neal had actually come. Anyone had come to save him from festering in a dull cage for the rest of his life. From an unpleasantly brutish environment with no privacy. If all Neal wanted was a date for doing that, Mime Bomb was more than happy to give him a jumpstart. He wasn't sure how else to express just how glad he was feeling anyway.
Casually, the thickly-built man at the desk leaned forward to observe the prisoner's affectionate greeting pinning his guest, then leaned back and narrated as he scribbled on the form he was filling out, "Significant...other..."
Meanwhile on the floor, Mime Bomb could sense Neal needed to breathe and lifted himself off the other, still beaming widely, but upon backing off caught sight of what Neal was wearing and quirked his brow instead, accompanied by a judgemental purse of his lips. It was hideous.
The Kiwi man was dressed floral in a loud blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt and even louder oversized yellow shorts. His sunglasses, resting atop his forehead, had little palm trees decorating the sides. Strangest of all, he wasn't wearing his bodysuit underneath the get-up. It was weird seeing so much of his skin.
Neal sucked in a deep breath once his lungs were released, but was already smirking. "And a fine how-do to you too, buckaroo. Are you just happy to see me, or is there something in your pocket Oi should be worried about?"
This turn of phrase only got Mime Bomb to consider perhaps that he should not have been so eager after all. Indulging Neal only made him more incorrigible, he was recalling. Not to mention the post-impulse embarrassment deciding to catch up with him the longer he stared at this poorly-dressed goofball's flirtatious smirk.
Bringing a closed fist to his chin, the man in pancake makeup mimed clearing his throat and stood, awkwardly taking a modest stance with his arms behind him. He faced the man at the desk.
With a tut, Neal gathered the straw sunhat that had fallen off during his tumble and joined Mime Bomb in standing, still giving him a smarmy side-eye before also looking to the man at the desk. "So anyway...as you were saying?"
"Well, I'm just about done with my records..." the man returned, seemingly having no interest in what had happened. He'd seen a lot in his years working this prison, and so long as nobody was being shanked, he didn't have to break it up. "All your documents are in order, so once it's finalized with your signatures, we can get him processed pretty much right away."
Glancing to Mime Bomb, he informed, "Congratulations, son, your man here's gone and sprung you. Gotten you off with the lawyers, paid all your fees up front, is accepting full responsibility. That's some dedication." This Neal fellow deserved that kiss for his effort, he'd say.
Neal gave a breezy shrug. "Muh, Oi know people. Just a lucky consequence of being so friendly, Oi'd say."
Mime Bomb's posture lifted, again feeling a rise of disbelieving joy in his chest. It was really, actually true. He was being let go! He didn't even care to correct the fact that he wasn't actually with Neal, instead just beaming with elation as the form he needed to sign slid forward with a pen resting neatly on top.
"Sign here," the man at the desk told both of the others, absently brushing a finger through his white comb mustache.
Quite readily, Mime had stepped forward and grabbed that pen. Poised to sign, he paused when he felt a presence hovering over his shoulder, and glanced a quirked brow at Neal, who had come close and was staring with keen interest and a curious smile at the empty signature line Mime was about to use.
Catching Mime's look, he returned lightly, "What? Are you going to tell me your real name if Oi ask nicely?"
Letting a breath out through his nose and rolling his eyes at how nosy Neal was, the ginger man brushed it off and in a rather elegant and tall, but strong and tight cursive, wrote the name Ashton Mín. Then he tilted his arm slightly to offer the pen Neal's way, radiating a distinct aura that said 'happy now?'
Neal looked plenty happy, even more interested to see that name spelled out. "Oh..! Mín? Are you Irish, then? Fascinating. Oi never would have guessed by your accent."
Forming a cross expression, Mime Bomb put his fists on his hips and sent his exasperated impatience rather sharply towards the taller man. That was an awful joke, and he did not feel this was the time to be making cracks at his expense. With the light at the end of the tunnel so close in sight, he was in a bit of a rush to leave.
Neal sighed, finding the other's irked reactions as endearing as ever, but also understanding that the prisoner was likely antsy. He reached to take the pen, but still couldn't help playing around a little bit more. He'd missed being around someone that could sass on his level.
"Alright, Oi hear ya," he allowed, moving towards his own sign line. "Hey, but on the topic of interest, what if Oi told you Neal wasn't actually my real name?"
Mime blinked, distracted by this. Actually, it kind of would be interesting if...
"Well, that would be a lie, 'cause it is," Neal grinned, "But. What if Oi told you it wasn't my first name?"
Mime hesitated, a bit confused and not trusting why Neal was bringing this up now, although it would still make sense from a perspective of undercover work...
Shrugging in further amusement, Neal quipped, "Wouldn't ya know, that'd be a total fibberoo, too~!"
Now Mime had no idea what Neal was getting at and was irritated beyond reason, clawing at his face, his lower eyelids pulled down in a great show of being fed up. In the next second he'd wrapped his fingers around Neal's throat.
Neal couldn't help a laugh as he successfully hit Mime's threshold. He'd hit the man at the desk's too, by the way his head was bowed and he massaged his forehead with a heavy sigh.
"Sir, are you planning to sign off on this or not..?" It seemed like it would be a waste to get all the way here and then not take the man he'd come here for.
Realizing strangling Neal in front of the man about to let him walk free would be a bad idea, Mime quickly took his hands away before he looked up. He still pouted, though, arms crossed.
Neal let his own arm slide around the man beside him in consolation, giving his upper arm a rub. "Sorry, bruv. You know me. Just can't resist a bit-a fun first. 's been too long since Italy. And Oi do like learning about you." Promptly, he swirled a nice, loopy signature reading Neal Linnett onto the line waiting for him. "There. All better?" he cooed to the now ex-prisoner.
Centering himself with a deep inhale, the silent man supposed he could forgive the other since he'd actually followed through. Maybe Neal really didn't know how to express himself through anything but puns and quips. It wouldn't be very surprising. Mime was going to have to be sure to train him to watch his boundaries if he kept this up, but he offered a small smile to show that he was still very glad Neal had come to his rescue at all. In turn, Neal smiled back sincerely.
Not long after, Mime Bomb had been issued his release certificate and escorted to the reception desk. There he was given his old clothes back, along with the meager belongings he'd had on him when arriving that hadn't been confiscated as V.I.L.E. property. That boiled down to a wallet and spare makeup. It wasn't Mime's wallet, but he wasn't about to announce the fact.
Then, he was outside, gladly sporting a grey and black sweater and black tights, the sun beating brighter than he'd experienced in what felt like forever. Still, he greeted it with an open-mouthed grin before hooking his thumbs together and sending his hands soaring as he performed a giddy pirouette.
Stepping out behind him, Neal confirmed, "Yup! Free as a bird." A beat. "So! You got somewhere to be, or can Oi offer you a lift into town?" He thumbed in the direction of where he'd parked. This was a legitimate question, as he didn't know if Mime Bomb had arrangements outside prison, but he knew most inmates didn't have a lot waiting for them and could use a helping hand upon release. If the younger man was anything like the rest of V.I.L.E.'s recruits, he would be an orphan and have no family outside of the organization, as well.
The bereted man had to pause in his prancing, realizing that he did not in fact even own a car, much less have a long-term plan of what he intended to do at the moment. He was very capable, but it seemed like Neal might have a headstart on planning, and not being alone actually seemed like it would be preferable in this situation. It was quite lucky that Neal seemed to think so little of offering him support. Clasping his hands and stepping closer, he nodded graciously at the invitation for a lift.
"Swell," Neal agreed, "Right this way." With a little flourish and a bow he began walking, and true to his nature, also seemed incapable of refraining from chatting with the nearest person. "We can go and get your probation guff out of the way, but after that, Oi really was hoping to catch up. Like can you tell where Oi took my time off?" He invited the other to inspect his Hawaiian tourist outfit with spread arms, and Mime had to glance him up and down, catching sight of a pair of appropriately dark green Crocs he had not noticed on the other's feet previously. His nose wrinkled.
Neal caught him staring downward and put his hands on his hips, noting the judgement towards his footwear. "What? They're practical! Slip on, slip off~." He liked clothes that were easy to slide in and out of.
Mime gave him an unimpressed smirk before rolling his eyes with a slight shake of his head. Neal was still very attached to his theme of slipperiness, it seemed. Well, to be fair, he had been incredibly clever with it.
Deciding to humor Neal and answer the obvious question, Mime also wobbled his arms from side to side and swayed a little as he walked, vaguely imitating a hula cliche.
Glad to see the younger man wasn't closed off from conversation, Neal chirped back, "Right you are, clever cookie. Oi did take some hula lessons as well, if you're interested. You ever been to Hawaii? You wanna go? We could head back right now."
Mime couldn't help a silent snort there, just picturing Neal dancing. It might be worth taking him up on the offer just to witness that. Smiling coyly, he offered back a 'we'll see' kind of shrug. The first thing he wanted to do was relax a little now that he was part of the outside world again, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go all the way to Hawaii to do it.
"Fair enough," Neal obliged, "Actually, Oi have been looking for a more permanent place to settle in light of recent V.I.L.E.-related events, and well, in light of you-related events, Oi was wonderin' if you'd be up for the idea of bunkin' with me? Oi am technically responsible for you now, and it might be fun, getting to know each other as roomies, more convenient dating proximity..."
Mime blinked his eyes wider hearing this. It seemed Neal had been much farther ahead in the future-planning process than he could have expected. He was looking to set up his own roots, and was prepared to offer Mime Bomb a roof if he needed it. And he still wanted to date. More than once, it sounded like. Well, the silent man did also recall that he himself had had thoughts that if Neal had gotten out of his predicament without losing his memories, that he would not mind playing a more long-term flirtatious game with him. And Neal had escaped with his memories intact. Come to seek him out, in fact.
Mime Bomb had honestly not expected to see Neal again after being sent to prison, so now he had to consider if his thoughts about him were still entirely valid. He remembered the man fondly, and was willing to repay his kindness with a date, but did he still want to try for a real relationship? He'd never tied himself to another person in such a way. Never felt inclined.
Then again, he also remembered the way Neal managed to read him so much better than anyone else. He wasn't flawless at it, but he was still eerily good, and more than that, he responded like Mime Bomb was talking regularly. He was not impatient with the way the ginger expressed himself, and in fact seemed to enjoy his unending round of Charades just as much. He took part in the games. Understood Mime Bomb on a level no one else ever had. It was very refreshing. And he'd come all the way here to spring him from jail, just so he could ask for the chance to pick up where they left off...their time together must have actually meant a lot to the Kiwi.
Looking up from the contemplative dip of his head he'd taken, Mime Bomb simply lifted his hands palms out, and pushed them forward before spreading his arms and looking around to ask where.
Neal had stopped walking, having reached his car in the dusty parking lot. "Hold that thought; Oi'll tell you on the way. But you're walkin' past your ride, mate." He patted his hand on top of the driver door he stood by.
Mime Bomb blinked, turning his head for a double-take. That was Neal's car? It was so nice, he hadn't even registered it at first, assuming it belonged to some big shot who worked here.
Taking a closer look, though, it did not look like it belonged to anyone who ran a prison. It was sleek. Incredibly sleek. Low and wide in the body, rounded and shaped almost exactly like a Bugatti Veyron, but with the tires bumped slightly outwards. The windows were all highly streamlined, tinted as black as the body paint, but their outer rims were highlighted with a stark blue-green neon. The tire rims and a highlight on the doors matched this color, and headlights glowed fiercely with the same, the license plates doing likewise in a slight underlighting effect.
Actually, if Neal had been wearing his V.I.L.E. bodysuit, it looked just like him in car form.
Well, Neal might not have had taste in clothing, but this car made his muted companion mime out a low whistle as he ogled.
Neal couldn't help a hint of pride in his smile. "Ya like it? Oi do think it's a pretty slick ride, myself. Top of the line. Why settle for anything but the best, eh? Crime is such a rewarding career, you gotta splurge." The slippery man did not see money as much of an object, especially since half the time it wasn't even his money he was paying with. His own bank accounts were loaded quite heavily after a nigh-life-long and successful criminal career, though. Just because V.I.L.E. had disbanded didn't mean he didn't have other options to fall back on.
Opening the driver door, Neal noted, "So don't worry about it if you think your fees were much to sneeze at. Oi'm not plannin' on holding you in indentured servitude. Oi just think you're a loose thread worth followin' up on." A brief wink was sent to the other. "Well, hop in."
A flutter burst to life behind Mime Bomb's ribs at this sudden flattering confession. It was a familiar flatter. That way Neal had of catching him off-guard at the most random moments and charming him by being charmless. His breezy amiability, loyalty and fairness despite being on the side of evil. It all came flooding back, and the muted man couldn't help his face warming in fondness. Yes, perhaps sticking with Neal for the moment would be most preferable.
Sliding into the passenger's seat, he took an impressed glance around the fully black leather interior, admiring the blue-ish glow of the smart interface in front of the shifter, before putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the seat with a smile, stretching out in the ample leg room and closing his eyes with clear approval. He was taking a page from Neal's book and choosing to get comfortable far too immediately.
Neal noted this with an amused tut as he pulled out of the parking spot and got them moving. "Makin' yourself at home already? Should Oi be jealous?" The younger man seemed more ready to move in with his car than him.
Mime Bomb peeked out from under one eyelid and gave a lazy poke of his tongue Neal's way in a teasing manner. He hadn't sat in a luxury seat for quite some time. Let him have this.
It was Neal's turn to give a slight roll of his eyes, though it was not bitter. It was kind of cute the way Mime Bomb was so eager to return to the finer things in life. And he could not be blamed.
Having another beat to think about everything Neal had said, however, Mime Bomb flicked his gaze out the window towards the distant French suburbs they were headed for, and then back at the man driving, opting to follow up on his earlier proposition. He prompted Neal to begin telling him about his plans by pursing his lips in question and moving his hands to form the outline of a small invisible house.
"Gingerbread house..?" Neal gathered in the short glance he took, eyes needing to stay on the road. "Oh! Ah. Yes. Oi did say Oi was gonna tell you more about that. Well, the idea is to touch down somewhere the law's got nothin' on us. Fresh start. You ever committed a V.I.L.E. crime in Canada..?"
Putting a knuckle to his chin, Mime Bomb had to reflect on that, but eventually answered with a shake of his head.
"Peachy," Neal beamed, "Me neither. Oi was lookin' around, and Oi'm thinkin' of this nice place in New Brunswick. Spacious, low cost of living, home of the arts, but lots of woods around...thought it seemed like a cozy base. Whad'you think? You up for it?" At heart, he was actually a little nervous that Mime Bomb wouldn't want anything to do with him after they hadn't seen one another in so long. That he had seen their games and that kiss they'd had in Venice as just a game. But even when things got hairy, Neal's interest in the other had remained. It had never been anything but genuine, and this man was so unique, he truly did want to continue getting to know him, and potentially form something real. Living together was a big step, and he was afraid it might be intimidating, but he really did feel it would be the most convenient, and he wanted to offer as much support to the other as he could, not seeing it as a big deal since he was someone he cared for.
Just listening to this, Mime Bomb felt an edge of wistfulness creep into his mind. It started to hit. There was really no more V.I.L.E. Nowhere for him to go back to. If he'd been on his own, he wouldn't have just been laying low; he would have had to carve out a new path for himself and build a new life. Neal was certainly a trade-up from Professor Maelstrom as his only tie to his past, but he was starting to absorb the realization that if he didn't have Neal here offering to help him build that new life, he would have just been some random Irish brat again, keeping to himself and likely returning to the dark web circuit, his main source of income before V.I.L.E., and committing petty crimes and disturbing people for the fun of it on the side.
By comparison to what he'd had as an elite member of a world-wide organization, such a life by his lonesome seemed like a sad thing to return to. So much less...grand. And he wasn't even going to be able to jump straight back into crime. He'd been to prison. Carmen Sandiego was likely going to find out he'd been released. So he was going to have to play nice and not raise any attention. Pretend he'd gone straight. He was going to have to be...a civilian.
Bitterness entered his face as he recalled what life as a civilian had been like. It was a life that had led him fast into crime. He'd hated it. He didn't want to go back.
But...he supposed it was better than prison. Glancing back up to Neal, grateful on another level now that he had someone who was willing to not leave him alone on the outside, he gave a relenting nod. New Brunswick did sound like an ideal settling place for ex-convicts.
Noting the rather careless agreement and the shift in Mime Bomb's tone of posture, Neal ventured, "You...alright, bruv?" He was glad to hear that the other was onboard, but he sure didn't seem enthusiastic about it.
Mime Bomb gave him a dull-eyed look, but he knew he could not explain himself in full while Neal was driving. He just put a limp wrist forward and motioned it in a pass-offish way, telling the older man not to worry about it.
"Muh, well, if you're sure..." Neal did not sound so sure about dropping it, but thought perhaps he could pry again later when they were in a more settled environment. "So...speaking of no more V.I.L.E. then...can Oi call you Ashton..?"
Mime Bomb's eyes widened, a sting directly related to the things he'd been thinking hitting his gut harder than he could have expected. It was true. No more V.I.L.E. No more codenames. He didn't need to be Mime Bomb anymore. But...he loved his codename. He'd come to think of it like his actual name, even if he'd still had to go by his first name during classes, before a codename had been picked. Thinking of referring to himself as 'Ashton' again felt strange on his proverbial tongue. It was so dusty in his mind. It sounded strange on Neal's literal tongue.
Crossing his arms, he hunched and formed a slight sourpuss, not ready to give that up just yet. He was still wearing his Mime Bomb outfit. He was still Mime Bomb.
Neal passed another concerned glance across the car. The quiet clown was getting weirdly defensive quite quickly. "Was it somethin' Oi said..?" he wondered, "Oi'm sorry if Oi messed with you too much...you don't have to agree to all this if you're really against it...ok? Oi swear Oi'm not gonna be offended or come after you or anything. Oi'll be happy knowin' you're out there enjoyin' yourself instead of cooped up in there." He gestured to the world around them before thumbing back towards the prison.
Looking down, the man in makeup felt bad now. He hadn't meant to make Neal think he'd done anything wrong. Well, he had not appreciated the hazing about his release, but Neal had already apologized for that. Here he was doing nothing but being kind in offering Mime Bomb a fresh start. Mime Bomb also did not want to just run off after what Neal had done for him. He did like Neal. He just wasn't sure how the other was taking the fall of his criminal family and home so easily. Maybe he'd just had more time to process it on the outside?
As they rolled to a red light, the ginger man straightened his back and inhaled deeply to steel himself, putting on a smile and reaching to touch Neal's hand on the wheel. He nodded once in assurance that nothing right now was Neal's fault. Lifting his other hand in a point, he pivoted his elbow like a clock hand.
A soft smile came to Neal's lips. "Later," he agreed, "Once we have a hot minute though, we've gotta talk about this. Oi know somethin's eatin' ya." Reading people was one of the Kiwi's best skills. He wasn't going to let Mime Bomb's brooding slip past him. "That's a nix on the name, though..?" he wondered.
Mime Bomb sat in a proud puff, one hand fluffing his beret while the other pulled lightly at his horizontally-striped sweater where a lapel would have been.
"Right. Maybe later on that, too," Neal supposed, "You certainly look more like a Mime Bomb right now, anyway." With the stoplight changed, he turned his attention back to the road with a squint, scanning the buildings lining the sidewalks of Fleury-Mérogis, in search of that pesky parole building he'd set up an appointment with. It was just his luck Mime Bomb had been captured and processed by a French inspector. It was not his strongest foreign language.