1429/Ethics 101 at the Noonan's Sleazy Bar Education Annex

Ethics 101 at the Noonan's Sleazy Bar Education Annex
Date of Scene:	29 April 2020
Location:	Noonan's Sleazy Bar
Synopsis:	Diamondback and Phobos discuss what makes someone choose a life of crime. The 'someone' in that sentence is Diamondback.
Cast of Characters:	Alexander Aaron, Rachel Leighton

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Alexander Aaron has posed:
    A trip into Jersey is often heralded with a certain amount of open-mindedness if one hasn't ever been there. A consideration that perhaps the tales are exaggerated, that it isn't as bad as so many people say, that one with a properly open consideration can go there and enjoy themselves perfectly fine with no happenstances or curious events. Truth be told, that is likely so for the most part. But a place like Noonan's is there to remind people that like all myths, there is a kernel of truth to each.
    For Noonan's is a shit hole. With the dim lights, the raucous rowdy clientele, the gouged prices, the almost nightly stabbings, and the cage matches that are held at times in the back room... it's a place that might make one think that even the naysayers about Jersey don't understand how bad it can truly be.
    And it's there, in the smoky haze and stench of sweaty bodies, that the out-of-towner arrives. Through the door, no bouncer, but there's a stink-eye shot at the new arrival. Some kid short of six foot, with a shock of blond hair that is entirely too damn clean compared to most of the people in the place. And what's up with that brown leather jacket with the black leather sleeves? Blue jeans? T-shirt that says something about 'Team Banzai' the fuck is that?
    But usually when there are out of towners and they dare to come in, they have this palpable air of fear to them. This hesitance. Anxiety some would say. This kid has none of that. For some that's a good sign. For others, that might well just piss them off.

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    Look. She's almost six feet tall and she has pink hair. She might not be in costume, but the regulars still know her as 'Diamond' or 'DB' or, if they want to use the full super-suit name, 'Diamondback.' Places like Noonan's Sleazy Bar are a good place to get leads on work, and to socialize (and occasionally fraternize) with one's fellows in the criminal sphere. So Diamondback is here, tonight, enjoying a soda.

    'Enjoying' is a bit strong. It's basically a cup filled with ice, and then the gaps between filled with a mixture that's probably 99 parts water to 1 part off-brand Pepsi, and it tastes like expired medicine. But it's a pint glass in Diamondback's hand, and no one has to know that there's no alcohol in it.

    Right now, Diamondback -- dressed mostly in black yoga pants, a tank top that advertises a resort in Hawaii, and an open canvas jacket -- is leaned against the wall by one of the pool tables, having some light conversation with one of the billiard players. "--so he says, 'Wrecker? I nearly totaled her--!'"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    It's like a ripple going through the place. The way the senses of the people in there register Alexander's arrival. Not anything conscious really, not anything beyond the tribal instincts shared between humans spending time with humans of their kind and suddenly realizing there's an 'other'. Just that slight added tension to the air when people are trying to figure out what's what. A raise in tension that can be felt by others near that don't even have line of sight to the youth.
    For Alexander though, in some ways, he can feel it. The slight increase to fear, the subtle flaring of those embers as they lend themselves toward the growth of emotions and instincts linked. It makes him sort of grimace as he moves past the bar.
    A shoulder hits him and is coupled with a New Jersey hello, "Fuck outta the way."
    Which leads to another shove.
    And then suddenly a head /bounces/ off the bar as Bruiser McGinney is smashed headfirst into the bartop and slides to the ground with barely a sound beyond the first meaty /whack/.
    And all of a sudden things are quiet. That pregnant silence of the ambient noise with the jukebox music still going. Tension as people trying to figure out which way things are going to fall, a brawl, a stabbing, what?
    Then one man laughs, just a raw 'haw haw haw' and suddenly things are back to normal. Only now the tension is gone. And Alexander continues to walk toward the back room where the girl with the pink hair dwells, whom he hasn't even seen yet.

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    Diamondback is a mere mortal. The increased agitation is something she feels as vividly as anyone in the place, and something in the air makes her scrunch her shoulders up and take a big drink of medicine-Pepsi even though she hates it. "...so, anyway, yeah, I mean... where was I? Kinda... lost my train of thought there for a second..."

    Diamondback trails off as the fight breaks out. She stands on her tip-toes to see what's going on, which is almost comical considering she's as tall as, or taller than, more than half the bruisers in the place. "Something goin' on up front...?" Then the crowd noise fills back in, and Diamondback rests against the wall once more, and suppresses a shiver. "Eeegh. Felt like something was about to go off. You know that feeling? It's like the line in the movie, you know?"

    "'I got a bad feeling about this.'"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Into that room now, Alexander steps and pauses near the pool table, looking at those there. Not a bad cadre, Rachel associates herself with some of the tougher guys that grab work there. But, to be fair, she stands out. So when that youth with the handsome features, albeit with a stern glower appears, she's the only one that gets a second glance. Though perhaps not for the reason one might imagine.
    "I was told that this was a decent place to find some help." His voice is calm, at ease despite the weird tension in the air as he looks from face to face to face. "I can pay if needs be." And they usually are in a place like this.

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    If there is any upside at all to growing up as the youngest and only girl in a group of siblings that all got into street crime and gang affiliations, it's that Diamondback can hang out in the toughest rooms with the worst hombres with the longest rap sheets and be good. She doesn't seem ill at ease in any way, shape, or form. She's maybe a bit too glamorous for the vibe, even dressed down, and she's probably the only person who was in the billiard room and not actually drinking alcohol... but she blends.

    The arrival of the pretty-boy catches Diamondback's attention, in the same way that a Roman senator's attention would be caught by a hapless gladiator just happening to wander into a coliseum full of hungry lions. Her brow furrows gently, but she doesn't speak up just yet, waiting to see who's the second to speak up. Second, because she already knows that the first is going to be one of the pool players yelling at the kid that this ain't no rough-trade gay bar. So once that's done, she waits for the second response.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    Prophetic, one might consider Rachel. A seer to prognosticate so accurately about the future for the words sent Alexander's way are indeed rather unflattering and without generosity.
    "Fuck off, faggot!" Perhaps not as eloquent as she had imagined, but those words are then punctuated by the clack of a cue ball striking another billiard ball, and the rumble of a few more.
    To which he replies easily enough, "Good job, you just ruled out another gender entirely for sexual partners. Leaving you with slim pickings, man."
    But then he looks around the room again, those curious hazel eyes of his flitting about as he adds, "Nobody here likes money?"

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    Diamondback is quiet for a moment longer. There's a feeling of dread building in her stomach. She has no idea where it's coming from, and trusts it simply as intuition. A handsome youth wanders into a bar, and next thing he knows, a deformed guy and a walrus-man are in his face, and someone's missing an arm not long after...

    With a deep 'mmm,' Diamondback pushes off of the wall and leaves her gross not-quite-a-Pepsi on the billiard table. "C'mon, kid," she says, sound like a grizzled veteran even though she's in her mid-twenties. "Let's grab that booth over there."

    Diamondback heads to the booth, striding past the young man, and whether he comes along or not is up to him. But she sits down, looks over, and waits. And tries to ignore the anxious feeling that's still welled up in her for some reason.

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    That tension likely doesn't go away, even as the youth turns his back on the billiards room, a room that's at least for now restricting itself to hurling daggers with their eyes as opposed to real ones. But that tow-headed young man follows in her wake, settling into the seat of the booth opposite her, easing into the part of it closest to the wall and resting an arm upon the tabletop.
    Though he seems to blend in his own way, not with this crowd but with most of the people she's seen of his age, there's something in those pale blue eyes that drift toward jade green as he looks to her, expression curious.
    "Thanks," He offers at first, "My name is Alexander." He tells her, though doesn't offer his hand. At least not right now.

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    "Diamondback," says Rachel Leighton. With most, if not all of the bar knowing her by that name, she's not about to suddenly volunteer the name on her passport. "You know, usually, when a rich kid gets the idea to get a problem solved, they find someone they can use as an intermediary. Rich kids who just walk into a room full of low-lives tend to be rich kids who live very short lives. Or rich kids who end up not being so rich."

    Diamondback wags her eyebrows to punctuate her little story. She draws in a breath, focusing, trying to still the nagging feeling that's like a third cousin of panic. "So, you're in the market for... what? Getting a stingy relative to quit sticking their fingers in the trust fund? Recovering the priceless Ford Model T that got left to the wrong person in the will...?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "So your read of the situation," Alexander says calmly as he lets his gaze drift to the side, and then his lips twist into a smile. And it seems to transform the whole situation. A hint of that tension that had been there slithers away down whatever hole it came from, a subtle weight upon the shoulders of those nearby might well ease. But it's when he looks back and there's a flicker of humor there in his gaze that it might seem all the more amusing.
    "Is that I'm some sort of spoiled rich kid looking to engage the services of some mercenary type, for some petty act of revenge or the like?" A pause and then he adds, as if offering absolution, "I mean I could kinda see it. It's the new jacket right? It was a gift. Sends the wrong message huh?"
    But then he leans forwards and murmurs, "I could use about an hour or two of your time if you have it to spare. Whatever the going rate, I suppose? I do have money. But no heavy lifting or head cracking for you to do. Cool?"

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    "It's the everything," Diamondback says, lifting a finger to trace the outline of Alexander's shape in the air in front of her. His request makes her frown, though.

    "I'm gonna stay sat down here for exactly ten seconds," the pink-haired woman says. "If by the end of ten seconds you haven't convinced me that you're not some weirdo trying to pay a woman to help fulfill some weird kink, well..."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "I need insight into what makes you choose to be who you are." As easy as that. Alexander uncurls a hand to the side, gesturing absently as if brushing everything away. "I've been going to different places, finding different people, learning what I can about how they view... morality. Ethics."
    Then he looks back and meets her gaze levelly, and there is definitely something in those irises that is strange or out of the ordinary. "I've talked to several people, and much of what I've gotten is the point of view of a bunch of heroic self-righteous people up their own ass for one reason or another."
    Then he looks away and gestures, "Figured I'd come to a place like this to get some honesty. From people who have made hard choices."
    A shrug is given as he looks back, "But no, no kinks."

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    When Alexander spells out his mission, Rachel stares at him like he just suddenly started speaking in ancient Greek or something. She doesn't make a move to get up, once those ten seconds have passed, but she seems somehow even more disapproving.

    Or maybe it's that she feels like just talking to this kid is somehow walking herself into a trap. Primal fight-or-flight instincts are being tickled, the longer she stays where she is. "...well. Insight into what makes me choose to be who I am." She breathes in, then out. "So you came here, to a bar full of people who don't choose to be who they are. We just play the hands we're dealt. I dunno what kinda kick you're on, whether this is a philosophy dissertation you're researching, or what, but... I think you ask the folks here, Alex, you're gonna find that they think the really hard choices are ones that got made for them."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "I'm not trying to be insulting, Diamondback." He draws the corner of his lower lip between his teeth and worries at it for a moment. "More..." But then he smiles and exhales a small breath that might be a touch of a laugh if only it was given more energy. Then he looks back up and meets her gaze and he tells her quietly. "I know it's not fair. Here I swoop in to this place, where people are all dealing with their own things. My guard is up, and I know that chances are people are going to want to kick my ass just for... existing."
    He cocks his head to the side curiously, "But I'm not doing this lightly. Not doing it selfishly. I can tell you the whole story of... everything. You might not believe it, and at the end of it you might think I'm even more of an asshole."
    Then he straightens up a little and says, "But I'm not fucking with you. I'm sincere. And I could appreciate the help. And the insight."

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    Diamondback squints. She folds her arms under her breasts, and hunches her shoulders in a bit. It's almost like she's suddenly cold, but really, it's a response to a sensation of dread she just can't ward off, let alone identify a cause for.

    "The more you say, the less sense I make of it," Diamondback says. "So... okay. Let me see if I have this straight. You want to talk to people about why they've done the stuff they've done. What made me decide to be a legbreaker for money... am I getting close?"

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    A nod is given as he murmurs quietly, "What has made you..." He tilts his head as he looks to her, watching her with a gaze that's attentive but also gauging as if he's looking at her for the first time. Perhaps she might feel that touch of dread lessen, not too much, but perhaps enough while the young man looks to her. "Delineate things mentally. Like..."
    He uncurls a hand, resting it on the tabletop, gesturing, then turning it over as if divvying up parts of its surface. "I've seen people tend to compartmentalize things. Very few people ultimately feel that they're bad people. That they're villainous in some ways. More they're doing as you said what they feel they have to. To survive. Or for their family. Or for something else they hold very dear."
    The young Olympian peers at her for a moment, "I would just, hear your story if you'll share it. To see what perhaps moved you in whatever direction. Because I am dealing with my own things. Making hard decisions."
    Then he looks away and murmurs, "Maybe I'm trying to figure things out, or maybe I'm just procrastinating. But I'd like to know all the same."
    "And if you don't want to, I understand. I'll still pay you. So tell me if you want to. Or don't."

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    Diamondback remains skeptical, if one judges solely by the expression on her face. Her guard is up, her hackles are raised. She couldn't turn the response off now even if she wanted to.

    "My story? It's a pretty short one, kid." The pink-haired mercenary wags her eyebrows again. "If I want to survive in the world, I need money. And I want to do better than just survive. I want to live well. I want to thrive. I want to respect myself when I wake up in the morning. And I know that the stuff I get hired to do is wrong... but I'll still respect myself more after knocking over a jewelry store than I would after a shift as the assistant manager at an Old Navy."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    A nod is given, "And what barriers have you adopted?" Alexander meets her gaze steadily, "What things won't you do? To maintain that ego that you hold apart from society's... boundaries. It seems like people build up a social structure of their own and construct it from their experiences. Either to... rationalize, or to protect themselves."
    "And," He looks back and holds her gaze, "How has it changed over time? And when it changed why? Do you look at yourself and think you're hypocritical, and do you often think about these things or have you lost what people call a conscience?"

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    "Whoa, whoa, that's like thirty questions," Diamondback says, lifting a hand to motion for Alexander to ease back a bit. "Thirty really big, really heavy, really personal questions, kid."

    The mercenary stops, then, and looks off to one side while she considers her response. "It's like I said. All I want is to wake up in the morning and not regret what I've done. So I don't do things I'd regret. I don't kill people. I don't take jobs that don't pass the smell test. Do you know what I mean?" She sighs. "I mean, if you knew what I meant, you wouldn't be asking. But... yeah. Maybe I'm a hypocrite. I'll steal from people, I'll beat people up, and I pay my rent based on people needing stuff done that can't be done legally. But... who's worse? Me, or the person who hires me? What's worse, a cat burglar or a crooked politician? You can sit there and ask these questions all day, every day, forever. And you'll just get lost in it. So you just have to do what feels right for you. Whatever 'right' means."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "You have to survive. And live with yourself." The young man says as he looks at her steadily and he smiles a little. Some aspect of what she says actually seems to play to him well and almost as easy as that, his features ease. Those hazel eyes glimmer with a touch of warmth and whatever that dread that was in the air might well ease off even more.
    "You realize you're..." He looks across the room, where over near the bar the man Alexander slammed into the bar is finally waking up, grimacing and growling at the people near him.
    Then he looks back to her and says quietly, "You're not like a lot of these people. A lot of them don't have those boundaries."

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    The longer the conversation goes, the more Diamondback settles -- gently, though, bit by bit. Even if she's not feeling weirdly anxious, it's still in her nature to be suspicious. Her line of work, at least, if not her nature.

    "Yeah... yeah. That's their problem, though." Rachel looks over where Alexander looks, and then back to the young blonde. "And as long as they don't make it my problem, too? Then it's on them to figure it out. And if they DO make it my problem, then /I'm/ gonna be /their/ problem."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    A small laugh is given as he looks away from her, keeping that smile for once. And it totally changes the look of the youth, no longer growling and glowering, no longer that huge barrier of severity. Instead he looks his age, looks entirely pleased at something as he looks back at her and then something occurs to him.
    "Hey, you umm." A hand lifts to the back of his neck to rub there thoughtfully, "Did you know a gal from around these parts named Mimi? Screaming Mimi? Or Mel. Maybe."
    That smile remains and he uncurls a hand toward her, "You remind me a lot of her, same sort of... attitude." Then he gestures with a nod, "And hair. Kinda."

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    Diamondback has to stop and think again -- flipping through a mental rolodex of rogues. "...oh, Mimi, with the white hair, and the green kind of a tutu thing?" The woman nods along slowly, like she's gaining her confidence in identifying the right person. "I mean, I heard of her, probably know some people that knew her or know her or something, but I never got close. The whole white face paint clown look... always figured she was one of those Joker fangirls. Like the other one, what's her name. She's really trouble, people tell me. So, yeah, I don't need that kinda stress."

Alexander Aaron has posed:
    "Yeah, her." Alexander gives a nod and then says, "She changed her name, became Songbird." A twist of his smile as he adds, "Went with pink and white hair instead of green."
    There's a pause as he murmurs, "She decided to go straight. Became a hero, of all things."
    The young Olympian looks around the room and across the way one of the men is pointing in Alexander's direction, gesturing at the booth shared with Rachel, not too much of a concern. Though it lets Alexander know that the clock is ticking.
    "You could maybe do the same thing, Diamondback. Sometime down the line maybe." There's a pause and who is he really to tell her that? Seriously. But then he adds with a small smile, "You're different than a lot of these people."
    And as he says that he starts to ease toward the edge of the seat, "How much do you get for a job of two hours and some?" His hand slips into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Rachel Leighton has posed:
    The talk of how Screaming Mimi -- who Diamondback had written off as a Joker fangirl -- is now Songbird the super-hero seems to make Diamondback visibly uncomfortable. Some people don't do well with praise, and others don't do well with being told that they could turn their lives around and do some good.

    "Yeah, maybe," Diamondback says, having to work to keep from saying it too tartly. "For now, though? I got stuff going on. So, yeah, this was really nice and all, and I hope you learned what you wanted. And the job pays based on what I'm doing, not hourly. I... look, just call it a grand. If you don't have a grand, well, as close as you can get to it."

    Upon receipt of payment, Diamondback stands up, once again revealing to the world how unusually tall she is for her demographic. "...and if you need me for a REAL job, you do it through a broker, okay? Word of advice. That's how you get a job you want done actually done, and not just you bankrolling some crook's trip to Tahiti." And on that note, Rachel is off, to go... do something, somewhere else. She's not even sure what. She just knows it's time to be somewhere else for a while.