124/Do You Wanna Party!

Do You Wanna Party!
Date of Scene:	25 February 2020
Location:	Josie's Bar (New York City)
Synopsis:	Bar broken, but Bobbi gets to live.
Cast of Characters:	Melissa Gold, Bobbi Morse

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Melissa Gold has posed:
    So what's a down-and-out real superhero from a fake team that she helped dismantle to do? Get blind drunk, obviously. It's been a while since she and her compatriots tore apart Zemo's fake superhero team and then finding themselves blown to the four corners by the winds of circumstance. A while for most. A lifetime for Melissa. So she's spending a bunch of time in dives (the only places she can afford) as her life falls down around her.
    "...So if you want my address, it's number one at the end of the bar..." That's her voice, a surprisingly nice one with exceptional pitch control, singing under her breath. "...where I sit with the broken angels clutching at straws and nursing our scars..."
    There's no straw in her drink though. She's taking it hard and neat. A triple of some hooch or other. She really doesn't care. The whole point is to numb. She reaches out for the drink when some tough guy who can't read a room (or a stool in her case) tries to chat her up.
    "Hey, babe. Is this the bus stop?"
    A withering glare from the short muscular woman practically wearing the sign "DO NOT ENGAGE".
    "'Cause I'm here to pick you up!"
    Countdown to violence in five... four...

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Enter Bobbi. S.H.I.E.L.D agent, true. Needing a drink, true. She surveys the room and scowls. Given she's just come in from a burning building and the PD not getting who she is...Bobby strides to the bar. If anyone tries. They'll end up in a cell in S.>H.I.E.L.D. custody. Bobbi's in that mood. Sliding onto a stool she orders a shot of whiskey. Not to drink. Instead to project an image. She's (technically) on the clock. She's just not doing anything. So she can damn well drink. Her phone in the rigging beeps. "Bout time. I'm off the clock" Bobbi grunts. Time...to let her hair down.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    The guy doesn't get the message when the leather-and-stud-clad musclechick ignores him and turns back to her drink. But again, before she can reach for it, the unsteady bozo tries with his impossible-to-resist line. "Are you from Tennessee? 'Cause you're the only ten I see! Let's have breakfast tomorrow. Should I call you or nudge you?"
    And with that Mel loses her patience and turns to face the guy, slipping off her stool and into what any trained combatant would view as a very aggressive close-in combat stance.
    There's something about this woman that's familiar. From some file or another. Or maybe television. That's it! She's in the unlimited wrestling league, or was or something.
    Unlimited. Wrestling. League. Oh shit.

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Bobbi knows who that woman is. She whistles to try to get the bozo's attention. "Leave her be" she calls over, and slides off her own seat. She's ready for anything. Got her staves. Got her ass kicking mindset

The problem is...she's too sober for this. Ugh. Why now. Why this jackass? Why...?

Bobbi shakes her head, looking unimpressed, she's just waiting on the bozo to try it with her. She's secretly hoping he gets knocked on his ass, really...

Melissa Gold has posed:
    Male. Check. Drunk. Check. Stupid. Check. Two hot women short-circuiting what passes for his brain. Check.
    "Oh, babes, I'm not sure if there's enough of me to go around ... but I'm willing to tr..."
    And that ends that. A fist, attached to a pink-and-white haired hard case, lashes out and strikes the guy. Not in the face. Right below the diaphram at the solar plexus.
    The man, knocked backward by the blow, falls to ground, eyes widened in pain, then in panic as he tries to relearn breathing and fails.
    "Wyoming, not Tennessee," she growls. "Fuckin' hate Tennessee. Buncha yokels with missing teeth and terrible breath."
    She turns back to her drink, pausing along the way to glance over at Bobbi appraisingly, taking in the outfit.
    "Not a good trade," she says. "Pay sucks for women. You should look for work as a bodyguard. Got the looks."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
One S.H.I.E.L.D. agent? Check!

Bobbi nods, "You're good" she offers and gets hit on by another bozo. She's off her stool, watching him.

"Did you come from space? Cause you ar a star" she hears. "Seriously?" she asks. "Did you just say that? You're way below my league" she says with a narrowed glare at the bozo. "Just try it, buddy" she says. He sways a little and slurs his words. "You're so prettyyyyy" he says. Out come the staves. "You want to sit down now? Sit down, and sober up" she warns, sitting back on her stool. Finaly she can take a....

Or not. There's that bozo and his buddies in a pack of drunk assholes. Great. Great.

Bring it, jackwagons. Bring it! Either way, she looks to Mel. "I swear I know you from somewhere" she offers, before the first catcalls happen. His friends are putting the bozo up to it. Bobbi's not having any of it.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "You've probably seen me as Screamin' Mimi," Mel says. "That's what most people remember me as." She turns at the bar and leans back against it, scouting out the pack. "OK, you take the one on the left, I'll get the rest."
    And her face is deadly serious. That's how she's viewing an equitable split. Then she pauses.
    "You got cash?" Beat. "A fuck it, who cares."
    And she rips a chunk of the marble countertop off of the bar, leaving the wood bare from underneath it. The snap of breaking rock fills the room and silences conversation. The chunk that sails through the air at the crowd of drunken bozos, smashing into the table, snapping one of its legs before it shatters into a thousand pieces. The table tilts over at a sick angle.
    "Last chance to run," she says. "After that the blood's flowin'."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Out come the staves. Bobbi goes into a crouch and drives her staves towards the one she's been targeted. Snapping the staves together, she plants the pole and vaults. Only. She keeps her feet out, doesn't tuck them. Result? A flying pole vaulting kick. With that done, she's got the staff in both hands now, ready to beat down her target. "Yu didn't run. And I got told to do this" Bobbi offers, she spins the staff in her hands and it seems to whirr as it spins.It smacks the bozo on the chin, and she lowers it. Have a jewel shot, suree, why not. Bobbi is dangerous. With said target in the fetal position now, Bobbi looks over the bar.

"Anyoneelse want to try either of us?" she snaps.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    Melissa goes more hands-on in her question, nabbing one of the fleeing guys and dragging him up to the bar. His struggles look pathetic and don't appear to register on her at all.
    "Look at what you did!" she tells the guy, rubbing his nose in the section she tore off like he was a dog who used the carpet inappropriately. She then looks up at the bartender. "He feels bad for what he did and wants to make amends, don't you, sport!?" She shakes the guy by the collar of his shirt and jacket. A quick affirmative is provided. "So how much is this gonna cost Sparky here to make good?"
    The bartender looks, wide-eyed, and states a sum in the thousands. "But we got ins..." "Never you mind insurance," Mel says. "He feels really badly and doesn't want to make your rates climb, so he'll just pay it all off."
    Angry eyes turn on the guy as she puppets him turning toward her. "And don't let me hear that you had a change of heart, K?"
    She loses interest in the conversation then, and instead turns her eye on Bobbi.
    "Which team you part of? Didn't know they let sticks into the ring these days."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Bobbi laughs. "Not a wrestler" she says. "Oh I get stick for carrying sticks. But" she says leaning closer to Mel. "I'm government"

Doesn't take a genius to figure out who she /really/ works for. Then again. She's smart like that. "They taught me to kick butt and take names" Bobbi says and watches the fleeing guys. "You run home to Mama and tell them you just got your ass whipped by a girrrrl" she says, drawing out the last word. Ouch, right in the pride, Bobbi!

she resumes her saet and just....sort of looks at the chunk of bar. "Jeez, that's gonna be a pain to fix" she mutters,her own drink untouched now. Looking to Mel, Bobbi smiles. "Oh that's you? Don't worry. I'm not going to ask for an autograph" she says. "Don't wanna end up like that lot" she nods, waving a hand to the fleeing drunks.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "S'appreciated," Mel said, then stops talking a moment as the tragedy registers.
    Her drink was on the section of bar she ripped off. The glass lies shattered on the floor, precious brown fluid long-soaked into the cracks, beyond even licking off the floor.
    "Dammit."
    Deadpan, just like that. Quiet rage seething behind the voice. Her eyes swivel to the door where people fled out as if she were of a mind to chase after them, but, instead, she slumps.
    "My damn luck."
    She looks across at Bobbi again. "Don't mind you. You're not in my space tryin' to score with me. Talks fine."
    Her tragic eyes slide to the floor again and she sighs, patting herself down in the hopes that she has money for another drink somewhere on her person. Finally she pulls out a tenner that's seen far better days.
    "Bartender, give me the most hard liquor I can get for that. I don't care what it is."
    The point being, after all, to deaden perception anyway.
    "Melissa," she says, holding out a hand to shake. "Government? You can make WAY more doing security."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Bobbi hands over a fifty. Because S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are rich, or at least, Bobbi has a spare fifty to throw around. Unlike some, Bobbi changed her mind on getting blind drunk. Nope. Instead she takes the hand and smiles. "Bobbi" she says and laughs. "You think money's why I do this? No. See the world. Make a difference" she offers with a nod, watching Mel. "So you were a wrestler, huh? Good job or bad job?"

So it begins. A casual discussion. Bobbi's gleaning whatever she can.

"You did good with those guys. Not trying to make you a job offer, but hey my employers got tricks and can always use more good people" Bobbi grins, "Though you're a wrestler, or were. So tell me. What was it like?" she adds, leaning foward on the stool.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    "The Grapplers we were called. Four of us tearing through the ring, takin' on all comers." Body language shows some evasion. "Not enough pay in that. Guys got paid more, so we did outside stuff. Got some upgrades and joined the unlimited league. Loads of money there, but high stakes is high risk. Two of us dead later and ... well ... time to move on." More evasion. LOADS more. "A bit of work in ... ah ... well ..." She chuckles. "Security. Got loads of cash. Was swimmin' in it. But all good things must turn to shit, right?"
    The accent. The wording. The mangling of common idioms. Probably not the best-educated cabbage in the patch.
    "I'm kinda between jobs at the moment. My friends are spread to the four winds and I do odd jobs here and there to make do."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
Nodding, Bobbi listens. "Ah, makes sense really" she says watching her. She nods watching her more, as if studying her. "I know who you are" Bobbi says quietly. "I know who you are. I'm not judging you. But, you're kind of noticeable"

Drawing herself up to her full height, Bobbi nods. "See, I know who you are. But you're not in any trouble...wel not with me at any rate" she says. Not every 'run into a person on a list' situation demands a team to capture them. Bobbi's perfectly fine talking with Mel. Hey. They did taem up to kick butt

Melissa Gold has posed:
    The tensing at "I know who you are" is visible, as fists clench, shoulders tighten, and a whole body prepares for action. Then "you're not in any trouble" happens and, while the tension remains, Mel looks across at Bobbi appraisingly. Then the tension ebbs.
    "Good. I'm not lookin' for trouble and I really don't want to hurt someone who came up to back me up when she didn't know who or what I was." Melissa rubs the side of her face and sighs. "Look, I know I did bad things. I got jailed for 'em. I did my time. And then I turned on the people who had me doing the bad things."
    She spreads her arms and pats herself down. "Which is why I ain't got cash now, 'cause I liked the doin' good thing. It felt good and I wanted to stop bein' fake about it."
    Now, finally, the drink goes down. She makes a sour face at the taste, but no reaction otherwise.
    "Turns out the rewards for virtue are ... ... something something." A head shake later. "Bein' on the good side sucks," she opines instead. "But I'm not goin' back. Just wanna be left alone."
    She glances at the wrecked bar. The shattered pieces of it across the room. The broken table. A wry expression crosses her face. "OK, got a bit of a temper still."

Bobbi Morse has posed:
"Oh I'm not about to drag you off to jail" she says, Bobbi nodding. "Bllieve me, we good folks do bad thing for good reasons" she adds, looking amused. "I can sit here and rattle off things that happened and bad things for questionable reasons, done by good people. Nobody's perfect. Believe me if people thought the good guys were pure goodd and bad guys were pure evil, a la religion..." Bobbi says. "There'd be a lot of reality checks bouncing. Trust me" she nods. "Yeah barkeep, got a club soda?" she asks. Because why not. Club soda it is.

Melissa Gold has posed:
    A deep sigh. Someone seems to get her. "Glad to have met you, Bobbi, then, and glad your government gig is workin' out for you. It's not a gig I could ever get into." She makes a wry face. "They want high school." She chuckles. "And they want someone who ain't a repeat felon, if you get my drift."
    Then her face lights up a bit. "But you ever flown? Ever just swooped in, kicked ass, and had people callin' your name happy to see you? Nothin' quite like it. Feels good. Almost makes up for deciding if you're going to eat or pay the electric bill this month."