3567/Can I have some damn ice on my drink

Can I have some damn ice on my drink
Date of Scene:	25 September 2020
Location:	Iceberg Lounge
Synopsis:	Harley is having a nice drink at the Lounge when Bullseye comes swaggering. He wants to know about Chucky who works for no-good Sionis. So of course that Harley sends him to talk with her 'friend' Vinny at the dugout for info!
Cast of Characters:	Harley Quinn, Bullseye

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Harley Quinn has posed:
It may be a fair assessment to say that Harley being here could be considered ill-advised. Considering her falling out with the Joker, along with never having been seen with good eyes by some of the criminal society out in Gotham, some due to her own impredictability, others because, well, she did some rather bad things to them while she was still the clown princess of crime.. And even worse that she was recently involved in some tussle out on the Narrows with some gang that tried to take her out...

Not that it stops her from sitting here tonight at the bar and waving off at the bartender. "Hey, can I get some moouuh damn ice on my drink?!" she looks around. "I mean come on.., it's even on the name. Icebehg Lounge..!" a roll of her eyes. Some people!

She wiggles her whiskey glass up as if to show it to the bartender. A wide berth has been given to her tonight, noone having found the courage to come and talk with her. Just the poor bartender who has no other choice!

Bullseye has posed:
    If the Bronx hadn't claimed him as of its own, the psychotic assassin by the name of Bullseye would have been a Gotham kid, through and through. Rough? Gritty? Grimy? That was Bullseye in spades, which brings us to tonight. This was the place his contact in Gotham had suggested Bullseye check first for a "Harley Quinn" --- the Joker's former right-hand girl, and one of the few people who could help him with his current mark.

    Swaggering through the front entrance of the Iceberg Lounge, he shoots a disdainful sneer over towards the bouncer and adjusts his long coat. Yeah, he's in his uniform. Yeah, he's in his mask. "Do something," he mutters under his breath. Receiving no reply, the mercenary puts on a smug smirk and eyes the bar. Bingo --- looks just like she does in his picture.

    He saunters over and takes a seat next to her, offering her a nod. "Drinkin' alone, tonight, too?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
While the bouncer is quite the big guy he knows better than to try to intervene when someone on an uniform gets to stride into the bar. He can never follow on who the Penguin has hired or not! So nooope, just continue there on his spot as if nothing had happened...

As for Harley, well, she is getting her wish of getting a couple of rocks on her whiskey. She salutes the bartender. "Wasn't so hahd, heh?" but then she grins wide, leaning forward. "Annnyyway, how's the big guy been, is he still mad about...." but whatever she is going to ask the bartender is stopped when someone comes by.

Blue eyes turn to look up at the man in uniform, she blinking once. "Ok, yoh awhe new." she eyes him up and down. "Sohta not lookin' like one o' the bats, a bit on the weihd vibe. Sorta like Red? You got a sort o' Red look to yoh." she dangerously waves her glass close to Bullseye's face, clearly she having had a few drinks already.

"Whateva yoh think I did. Wasn't me!" Classic excuse! Not it!

A long pause after she finally answers. "Yep, tonight I am on my own."

Bullseye has posed:
"New? Yeah, you can say that," he says with in his low, raspy, voice, heavily affected with a Bronx accent. He eyes the bartender and motions his head towards a bottle of Jack Daniels on the shelves behind him. Harley certainly threw a bunch of words at him --- words that didn't mean thing outside of 'Bat' --- but a ditzy broad like this doesn't get the reputation she does, if she wasn't a threat. A dime like this sits alone at a bar for two reasons --- she's dangerous, or she's crazy. Bullseye gets the distinct feeling it's both.

"I don't know a Red, sorry. But what I do know, is that whatever you did, or didn't do --- that ain't why I'm here. I'm on the job, sweetheart." A shot glass is slid over to him by the bartender; one that he gulps down, before slamming it back on the bar and wiping his mouth. "Your rep precedes you, Quinn. And right now, I need some information on some of the shot-callers here in Gotham. Won't take up your time."

Politeness isn't typically in Bullseye's repertoire. But damn, is he trying.

Harley Quinn has posed:
"Ahhhh.." Harley taps a finger to her nose as if she had just sniffed something. "Yoh accent. Not Gotham." and she knows a thing or two about those! "So yoh awhe like a fish outta the watah heah.." a deliciously wicked grin comes up to the woman's expression as she now takes the man with more attention, not just the curiosity of earlier. She gestures with one hand around. "Ya know wheah you awhe?"

"Sweetheaht eh?" She could almost laugh again. "Yep, definitely not from heah! A while back ah woulda smashed some knees out because o' that. But ovah it now."

"Shot-callers, is it? And what's in it foh me?" She asks, a brow arching up. "I been tryin' ta leave that life. Not one side oh the otha. But people can't help but tryin' ta fuck with me. Well, not literally! Not all the time at least.."

Bullseye has posed:
Oh, Jesus --- she's THAT kinda broad. He blinks and shoots a quick glance at the bartender before meeting Harley's eyes again. "Forgive the ignorance, then. Look, whether you're in 'the life' or not, you been in it, and believe me --- I ain't tryin' to drag nobody into nothin'. I just need a lead, and word around here's that you've had your fair share of dealin's with the types of people I'm lookin' for." He tilts his head, still trying to get a read on how to approach this, but when she asks what's in it for her, he can't help but smirk.

"Got me there. Like you said, fish outta water and all that. But this fish is lookin' to put a real fuckin' asshole into the ground. And if you're serious about not wanting to be part of that life? Here's a part of that life that might not be around to fuck with you, no more. Chucky Fortino. Works with a Roman Sionis... the Black Mask or some shit. You know 'em?"

Harley Quinn has posed:
In a stage-whisper that would make any clownette proud Harley states back to Bullseye, "This is Cobblepot's turf.." she drains the rest of her whiskey in one go, hitting the glass on the counter. "I think it depends on who ya lookin foh, I mean, Bane? Shit, I wouldn't mess with that guy. He can be sohta sweet when he wants to though in a 'raaa, crush ya' kinda way." she rests her elbow on the counter, hand now keeping her chin up.

"SIONIS?!" She says the name in a louder tone than perhaps she meant to. But clearly there is some kind of past between them. She lets out a grumble. "I know that no good piece o' shit liah. Yea.. And Chucky?" she considers Bullseye for a moment.

"He into some heavy shit, and when I say heavy, well, not the kinda guys you want to go around messin' with, specially bein' new. But you don't really seem the vigilante type. Got a name to ya?"

Bullseye has posed:
There's a loud scoff from the mercenary upon hearing the word 'vigilante.' "Fuck no," he replies emphatically. "If I wanted to be an angel, you'd catch me at the nearest church's bake sale. As for Chucky and Sionis, people who deal in heavy shit don't get to make mistakes, you know what I mean? And Chucky, well --- he likes to throw his weight around with the wrong fuckin' people. So, I'm here to make sure he gets what's comin'."

She soon asks for his name, and he gives her a devilish smirk. He taps at the white target on his forehead. "Name's Bullseye, on the account I don't fuckin' miss." There's a moment he just stares at his hands --- not a pistol, not some fancy machine gun gauntlet --- just his hands. He turns back to her and let out a small, self-satisfied sigh, "Ever."

Harley Quinn has posed:
"Funny that ya'd say that.. I know just someone who claims ta be one and ... ah, nevahmind.." Harley shakes her head at the man but finally offers some words for advice, "Look.., if yoh wipin' out Chucky I got no beef with it, hell knows he's done murderous shit that deserves reckonin'. But you gotta be careful out heah with the bats. It involves *not* goin' around on yoh suit because that's just callin' foh trouble. Unless yoh are actually doin' the deed, see?"

When Bullseye introduces himself she arches a brow. "Hey, just like Deadshot! I am sohta friends with him! He claims he never misses too." keyword 'claims'. And the little brow arching at Bullseye probably means she thinks he may not just hit all the time either!

"But anyway, how about this..." And she leans forward, that wicked little grin still on her expression. "There's this place on the narrows, the dugout.." she explains. "It's a place foh crooks and people like us. Well, you now, I am tryin' ta reform myself.." a beat. "So yoh go theah, up to the bar. Talk to the tendah and ask for Vinny. Tell him I sent ya. He knows about Chucky's whereabouts." Gifts from a clown. Would it be that easy? But there's always a catch where Harley is involved..

Bullseye has posed:
"I ain't scared of a goddamn bat!" Bullseye suddenly exclaims through gritted teeth. Uh oh. His psycho is showing. But he slowly tries to reel it back in, adjusting his coat with a smile and straightening up his posture. It reeks of the kind of confidence that just borders on arrogance, and he licks his teeth with another scoff. "If anything? He should be scared of me. And if it's true? That he don't fuckin' kill? Big fuckin' mistake as far as I'm concerned." It's here he looks to the bartender for another shot, and he instinctively cracks his neck out of frustration, particularly as Harley prattles on about Deadshot. He doesn't even dignify that with a response.

"Anyway, the 'dugout.' Alright, sounds solid, I'll keep an eye out for it. Tell you what, Harley --- you ever in New York, you let me know if you need anything. And yeah, if you're done with doin' dirt? Fine. It's your life, kid. But between you and me?" He slams down another shot of whiskey. "You're leavin' all that fun on the table."

Harley Quinn has posed:
"Heh..." Harley handwobbles a little at the mention of the dugout being solid. "Sorta.., think it may just fall down one day with all the shit that goes on in theah. But yep, Vinny. Say I sent ya. He will help ya out." she finger-gunning Bullseye with one of those wide, expressive grins of hers, blue eyes with just that twinkle of mischief. "And remembah, *don't* ask foh the house special theah." friendly word of advice.

When the man goes on a tirade about not being afraid of the bat Harley just winces, another look around the room and then back. "Lotsa guys had those as their famous last words. Just sayin'. And I got enough experience bein' heah that you nevah underestimate 'em.." she then saying in a low tone. "Besides, they awhe ninjas, nevah know when one is lurkin' around the cohnah.." and she says that very seriously. What?! Five years of crime in Gotham she can be somewhat paranoid! And .., crazy.. Let's not forget that.

Bullseye has posed:
Bullseye offers Harley a small nod and puts some money down at the bar, responding to her friendly advice with a healthy dose of narcissistic skepticism. "Again, thanks for the help, but no offense? Them famous last words? They might be from folks who are good at what they do. Fuck, they might even be GREAT." He arches an eyebrow, himself, and gets up off his seat, adjusting his long, black snakeskin duster before stepping away. He's got his back to her as his words ring out, confidently --- maybe for everyone to hear.

"But they ain't me, Quinn! They ain't magic!" And thus begins Bullseye's first real (mis)adventure in Gotham. Chucky Fortino was as good as dead tonight, and Bullseye's got Harley goddamn Quinn to thank. But what's the catch, indeed? No idea. All he knew was that he wasn't going to cross her --- not right now, at least.

That'd be suicide.