4159/Cat-urday Night Fever

Cat-urday Night Fever
Date of Scene:	17 November 2020
Location:	The Sing Sing Karaoke Bar
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Barbara-Ann Minerva, Hank Pym

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Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
This was a bad idea. Barbara-Ann Minerva sinks low down in her chair, which is as far away from the stage as physically possible. Her left hand is loosely embracing a half-empty gin & tonic, while her right is supporting her slouching head near the temple. There are a number of empty glasses cluttering her table. On stage, a very (very, very) intoxicated lady is singing "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. Minerva is visibly cringing. You'd think she had super-hearing or something.

Hank Pym has posed:
Now on the stage a slightly buzzed, 40ish man holds sway. Blonde hair, clean shaven wit hard blue eyes. He wears a dark red blazer over a black t-shirt, fitted jeans and boots. He does a reasonable rendition pf a 3 Kord Down song: "If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?

If I'm alive and well, will you be there and holding my hand?

I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might

Kryptonite"

Not completely in tune but he somehow sells it, like it means something to him and passion counts for a lot in singing,

He replaces the mic and amid polite applause goes back to the bar and his drink. A beer.

His intense eyes fall on Barbara and grabbing his beer and walks over to his table with a stagger swagger. Annoying drunk? Entitled white guy?

"Excuse me miss... I'm not hitting on you, I just thought you were in some kind of distress. Do you need help? I'm a trained first responder." That doesn't begin to cover him but he doesn't like to brag to strangers. The eyes soften, while remaining alert. He smiles.

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
There's never a Kryptonite bullet around when you need one. Or a regular bullet, for that matter. By now, both of Minerva's hands are busy massaging the sides of her aching head. Through clenched, ivory teeth: "I'm. Just. Peachy." Not exactly rude, not exactly inviting, but certainly distracted.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym keeps smiling. He's dealt with a fair number of drunks and EDs, that description fitting a fair number of supervillains, and heroes for that matter. In Arkham City what he does next would be termed Detective Vision, well scientist vision. Lot of drinks consumed, speech seems clear, so drinking to dull pain. Migraine is his first guess, rubbing the temples. "You could have fooled me, in all honesty. Alcohol and head pains don't mix. The alcohol causes dehydration, which is a headache trigger. Let me get you a club soda or orange juice? Also I have aspirin in individual packets." Actually he has half a pharmacy miniaturized with a voice command dispenser. Again he doesn't brag to stranger. "I'm Dr. Hank Pym."

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
Minerva's posture straightens. Did he say 'Doctor'? Her emerald eyes make a quick assessment: relatively tall, blonde, well kept...the Superman shirt will have to go, of course. Spending your every waking hour plotting the demise of a demi-goddess is important, but one has to take time out for the little joys of life. Like gold-digging.

"Club soda," Minerva purrs. She 'unconsciously' leans forward to give Hank some extra encouragement. Well hello, Sailor. The cacophony of the karaoke bar is all but forgotten. "I'm Barbara-Ann."

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym has had a fairly rough week, month whatever. He can use some encouragement. Then again sometimes a guy needs no encouragement. Hank puzzles over this a few moments. Nah can't be flirting. It's Hank. Getting turned down by She-Hulk can leave you feeling less than attractive. Besides, she's way out of his league. Then again, all those drinks. She might not be choosey. Sometimes having a brain that works at light speed, is worse than one that chugs along. After a moment he says, "Club soda it is!" turns to get it.

It's weird when life changes way faster than your bipolar disorder can overreact to it. Maybe she's just on the prowl? Maybe she was playing distressed to get a guy's attention. One thing about being married to Janet, he did learn quite a bit about the club and bar scene. He returns in a moment with a can of club soda and a glass full of ice.

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
As Hank returns, Minerva cringes again. A large gentleman in a "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt is belting out "Billie Jean" on stage. His high notes are really...something.

Barbara-Ann gratefully (!!) accepts the club soda and empties the can into the glass full of ice. She wolfs this down and, for a moment, seems to meditate as the ice-cold concoction works its magic. "For the love of god," she mutters in her fine English accent. Minerva rubs her eyes with her cooled palms. If she's faking, she's doing an excellent job of it. "This is torture." And she would know! Don't ask why.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym nods and then says, "As someone who's tortured themselves a fair bit... then stop. C'mon get some fresh air and quiet. Please. I like leaving people better off than I find them." He extends a hand to the beautiful woman. Is there an Urgent Care around here? Hmm. His voice is insistent but firm. the right one for drunks and others with possibly impaired judgement.

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
In some not-too-distant corner of Minerva's mind she ponders Hank's words; why on Earth would you want to leave someone better off than when you found them?

Absent-mindedly, Barbara-Ann slips her soft fingers into Hank's open hand and rises gracefully to her feet. If she's a lush, she's a darn coordinated one. Barbara pauses just long enough to retrieve her purse. The one containing the pay-off she received from the designated envoy of a grateful client just moments before Hank arrived at the bar. Arranging "accidents" for people is a lucrative business.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym takes Barbara firmly by the hand and walks hher out of the bar. Hmmm. Obvious partiher. Holds hher liquor well. Probably just tried to self-medicate with the alcohol and did hherself more harm than good. She didn't give her last name which he can respect. Women have to be careful. But yeah a vetheran partiher. Oh shit...

Hank says vhery cautiously, "You're not one of the van Dynes... are you?"

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
Barbara permits herself to be led by Hank toward the exit. It's often helpful to let men imagine themselves in the driver's seat. They pass by the stage enroute and Minerva's shoulders rise up in a vain effort to shield in poor eardrums.

"The Van Dynes?" Barbara-Ann makes a face. "Never heard of them." The gall to think she might be Dutch!

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym notes some women urge guys to yell, "Good job!" Simply by getting up and walking.

Barbara-Ann is such a woman. A walking testament to intelligent design.

"Sorry, just a shot in the dark. You don't even look... never mind. Ooh!" When she flinches he instinctively puts an arm around her. "Hang on, we're almost out. Sorry." Ten they are out and he removes the arm. "Better?"

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
Barbara-Ann smiles discreetly to herself at Hank's protective display. This is proceeding wonderfully. Once outside the bar she pushes an errant lock of red hair behind her ear. "Much better. You come in rather handy, Dr. Pym." The smells of the city assault Minerva's hyper-acute nose. Thankfully, she's grown accustomed to hiding her displeasure. There are bigger fish to fry.

Minerva folds her arms across her chest and peers at Hank in mock suspicion. "Are you really a doctor?" Yes, let's get that out of the way before we go any further!

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym looks affronted. "Of course I am. Here, look. As I said I'm not a medical doctor, but I am a first responder. I... look!" Apparently he is not one to be questioned or have himself questioned at least in terms of credentials." As he speaks he fiddles in his blazer and then finally pulls out a wallet.

It is a very high tech little wallet. It looks like the type people put their magnetic card to keep them from being copied. It opens with a snap and the first card is displayed as a holo-gram:

******Avengers' ID******

Name:Pym, Henry Joseph Title: Doctor: PhD, MS

Background:First Responder Training. Paramedic Training. Alias: Ant-Man, Giant-Man, Goliath, Yellowjacket, Dr. Pym. Clearance: Full Clearance.

Status: Active

Marital Status: Divorced.

I.C.E. Nadia Pym-van Dyne.

"There we go, would you like to see my SHIELD ID card too?" Hank says with a grin.

Barbara-Ann Minerva has posed:
Minerva's skilled glance takes in the wallet, the visible contents...and the Avengers' ID. Now, that was unexpected. Outwardly she remains unphased. Being a sociopath has its advantages especially when it comes to stressful situations.

Barbara-Ann leans forward and squints at the ID. This is entirely for show. "That's not real," she smirks. This is followed by a less-confident sounding, "Is that real?" She looks to Hank with an expression approaching "starstruck". This, too, is entirely for show. Cheetah knows a legitimate Avengers' ID when she sees one, but there are definite advantages to keeping up the charade. Like not going to jail.

Hank Pym has posed:
Hank Pym's face darkens. Okay he hasn't been active for a while, but he was fairly well known once. Or did she mean... was he still active after what he'd done?

His face darkens further and even a sociopath might take a moment as he shuts the wallet and pockets it. "I. WAS. REINSTATED. A long time ago. All right Barbara, I have to get going. I want to check on my daughter. Good night. Get home safe."

Like that he's gone. Well, not gone but merely about a centimeter tall. His flying ant waiting he is whisked up to hover near Barbara-Ann's cute nose.

"Dr. Henry Pym, Ant-Man!" Then they fly away.