6227/Super folks walk into a bar. It might get dented.

From Heroes Assemble MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Super folks walk into a bar. It might get dented.
Date of Scene: 15 May 2021
Location: Greenwich Village
Synopsis: No description
Cast of Characters: Hyperion, Adam Brashear, Helena Bertinelli, Tynan Ireton, Sif

Hyperion has posed:
    After the events that led Blue Marvel and Hyperion to meet, a beer was suggested. It was literally just the act of Hyperion inviting Blue Marvel out in the hopes of getting to know him a bit, but also to try to head off any more angry retorts. Because beer has NEVER made anyone angry act more angry, right? RIGHT?! Okay, so....
    "Capes or civies?" asks Hyperion as he drifts down to land across the street from 'Jake's Tavern', a local hangout that happens to be run by something of a superhero groupie who has signed selfies of himself with about a dozen different superheroes on his wall.

Adam Brashear has posed:
'I dont want to be a big bright blue target for some angry drunks looking to prove themselves by fighting a super hero.' Adam thinks to himself as he arrive to the bar. He dressed rather well for the occassion black turtleneck with a chain a leather jacket black slacks extra shined leather shoes a hold over tendancy from his military career and tasteful watch.

The super hero memorbilia if more offputing to adam than anything else. but that was more his own baggage rather than his genuine thoughts on the level of tackiness.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
    Gotham's mobsters may be having an evening of sudden, unexplained ease of mind, as though a dark stormcloud overhead has faded. Of course, New York City's mobsters might be feeling the looming chill of stormy weather.

    But both groups have plenty of reason to rest easy, as Huntress is not on the prowl this evening. Because Helena Bertinelli, upstanding English teacher has been busy with far more mundane errands. She's spent most of the day going from open house to open house, working to re-establish her civilian identity after months of underworld hunting. Also, New York's just got better pizza than Gotham, even if she'd never admit it out loud.

    And after a long day of pricing and floorspace and granite countertops, she finds herself in need of a little salve to her aching head. She finds herself wandering into a small bar, eying the decor, dressed in a black leather riding jacket over a dark purple turtleneck sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans, flaring out just enough not to interfere or bunch up against the shin-height riding boots she's got on with a slight heel. She's not dressed to catch attention, but the problem with fitting firmly in the 'That woman looks like a superheroine' category is that it just tends to happen. But Helena's in a good mood beyond the real estate headache, so she lets it wash off her back like water off a duck, even as she starts sweeping her eyes over the bottles behind the bar, not in any rush to start her drinking, she's more savoring the ritual of starting a night.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Well, its been a long time, and Ty has finally got some money going from a few jobs that hero like people do not need to be worrying about. The young Asian Irish woman is dressed simply with a pair of combat boots, some black cargo pants, and a white midriff tank top. The woman does have an athletic frame with some muscle, but clearly nothing outside normal. She doesn't really need to hide herself too much.

    The woman doesn't notice the two gentleheroes coming towards the bar as she walks in. The woman's irish accent is pretty clear when she goes up to the bar. "Do ya serve Dublin Drops here?", she asks. The bar tender takes a moment to look at her. "Oy...its a Boilermaker on this side of the Pond, isn't it? Just make it with Guiness and whiskey, with some irish cream on the whiskey.", she says. The tender just blinks before Ty sighs. The woman shows her fake ID listing her true age of 23. And if he wants to check it, it does come back as 'real' since well, yeah, she has some underworld contacts.

Sif has posed:
The brunette who enters after Helena, almost immediately afterward, could easily pass as a superheroine, what with the tall, muscled, sculpted form poured into form-fitting clothing that shows it all off to good effect. There's just a problem. No superheroine would wear an outfit like this: yoga pants, a tie-dyed babydoll and ... canvas sneakers embroidered with daisies. This is no superheroine. This is just a genetically-gifted soccer mom.

The packages from boutiques hanging off her right arm that a practiced eye could spot as being from a roughly five block radius seal the deal, along with the tiny clutch in her left hand, seal the deal. This is some upper middle class trophy wife on a shopping spree, though perhaps if the dagger could be seen past the mass of packages opinions might change just a bit.

Which indeed it can be once she finds a seat up at the bar, the stool groaning as she sits in it and puts her packages down.

"Give me the best mead this public house has to offer!" she cheerfully says to the bartender. "And in the absence of mead, your best ale."

Hyperion has posed:
    A quick change faster than most eyes can blink has Hyperion melded into his self-image of the Daily Bugle Cartoonist. Mark Milton walks in behind Adam and smiles, "Just ease off the gas pedal there." he tells Adam. "Grab a seat. I've got the first few rounds."
    Of course, he's wearing a Daily Bugle tee shirt also, which is enough to get an eye from some of the staff. In fact, the bartender says, "Hey. No Spider-Haters allowed."... since the Bugle ... at JJJ's direction, keeps publishing anti-Spider-Man stories. But Mark lifts his hands and just says, "No hate here. I'm Milton, the cartoonist." A pause, and he pulls a small sketch pad out of a pocket before showing it to the bartender. "You know, the guy who drew Spidey sweeping the crime out of the alleys with a giant broom?"

Adam Brashear has posed:
Adam quietly orders a congac.

He notice the 3 woman come in he looks just barely long enough to acknowledge their presence but is soon distracted as the bartender and Mark's exchange. "Just because he works or support the publication doesnt mean he condones that conspiracy peddling old man slandering spider-man"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
    Helena takes in the surroundings as she looks from bottle to bottle, and takes longer than she might as she spares a glance to each entrant... and a longer glance to Sif. That top is a statement. And that statement is something along the lines of 'I couldn't find my emergency road flares'. But the tall woman pulls it off. Or at least looks like she could make anyone who -did- remark on it regret it.

    So instead Helena leans forward against the bar and waits for the tender to have a moment, "Gin and tonic, double if you don't mind." She busies herself with one of the pamphlets she's been shoving in her jacket all day, frowning and muttering softly, "I swear to god, for the price of the -parking space- at this place I could buy a mansion outside the city."

Sif has posed:
"I've always wondered," Sif says to Helena, having overheard the comment with her superior hearing and having the arrogance to believe that she can *gasp* talk to strangers. "Why it is that people choose their homes so haphazardously. Is it not common in this day and age for people to be able to do their work from anywhere with all this lorumancy that surrounds us and connects us?" She gestures to a patron on his phone. "Why not use this to live somewhere nice without bleeding one's funds dry to do so?"

Her beer arrives and she looks at it like someone has just handed her an interesting insect. "Do you not have anything larger than this?"

The bartender sarcastically replies, "Well, yeah, I guess we got pitchers."

"How big are those?" The bartender shows the implement in question. "Two of those then, if you please."

Distraction over, Sif turns a friendly face to Helena.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty gets her drink, and steps away from the bar. She pretty much flops in a booth off to the side, and starts to drink it quickly. The cream can really ruin the drink if you don't drink it fast. The woman slams the glass down on the table as she lets out a long sigh. The woman stretches a little bit in the booth. Several long hours laying prone, and then several very very long hours in a small plane back can make for a very cramped Tynan. She rolls her neck a little. "Can I get another?", she calls out.

    Tynan does start to watch the others. Something about the young woman's eyes. Something cold and evaluating. The woman is a hunter through and through, and something of a fighter. And something eats at her as several seem...odd to her. Something doesn't quite fit in the picture, but then again, neither does she...

Hyperion has posed:
    Nodding in support of Adam, Mark says, "Yeah. I gotta pay the bills, right? Can't always work for a saint y'know." That said, he settles onto a stool at the bar and as he opens his mouth to place his order, Sif makes her comment about needing larger drinking tools. His head turns her way, and he lifts his auburn brows.
    "Well, that's not something you see every day, is it?" he asks of Adam before he finally gets the attention of the bartender, "I'll just have whatever is on tap. Nothing light though."

Adam Brashear has posed:
Adam gives the Asgardian a nod and a slight smirk. "her drinks are on me"

"so how are things? we didnt really get to exchange any small talk in or last encounter" Adam says to Mark then taking a sip of his congac.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
    Helena seems to take Sif's question in stride, in fact, as her drink arrives and she buys herself a moment before she's expected to respond by taking a slow, drawn out drink, her eyebrows perk up. Shoulders give a little shrug before she swallows, "Well, it depends on the job, really. I mean, I'm an English teacher, and the private academies expect that in person touch."

    She snorts softly and shakes her head, "I swear though, I'm going to keep these prices in mind the next time I'm negotiating a contract."

And then Sif's dismissing that pint and ordering -two- pitchers. And Helena's eying her again, a lot more openly, "So... either you're about to be the most popular woman in the bar, or you have worked up a thirst."

    Eyes narrow slightly as Helena takes Sif in again, far more openly appraising her. Something tells her those pitchers -aren't- going to be put towards earning the good will of the rest of the patrons. Probably going to buy some respect. Hell, Helena's already feeling some respect growing at the mere thought of the attempt.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    For now, Ty decides to watch how things play out. The English teacher kinda saying what everyone in the bar must be thinking. She just quietly watches to see how the other woman reacts. Of course Ty is probaly the youngest person here, and has a bit of a smirk on her face. It never quite matches her eyes though.

Sif has posed:
Sif listens to Helena as she talks, pouring half of her first pitcher down her throat as she does so. "Ah, yes, instruction is best done in person. That is unfortunate. Fortunately valued instructors can charge high fees so this all balances out."

Because whatever fantasy kingdom Sif comes from has teachers who are paid very well.

"It has been quite a day," Sif says, gesturing down past her wicked knife to the packages, bags, and parcels that she'd set down. "I am mildly fatigued and yes, very thirsty. I probably should have had some at the midday repast, but it is fiendishly difficult to find places that will serve mead or ale at midday. I'm not certain I understand why."

It's probably at about this point that the people who are Sif-watching will spot something potentially problematic.

Helena is hearing what's being said in perfect Sicilian. Indeed dialect pegged to the village her grandfather came from.

Adam is hearing it in what today would sound like stilted, overly formal English.

Mark is hearing it in gutter English from his old neighbourhood.

Tynan is hearing it in pure Gaelic.

And nobody is seeing her lips move in the same way as the words are coming out.

The bartender chooses this time to lean across and murmur something to Sif, gesturing to the pitchers, then to Adam. Sif glances, surprised, at Adam, then raises her (still first) pitcher in a toast, paired with a brief flash of a guarded smile his way, downing the second half as part of the toast.

Hyperion has posed:
    All speak has its uses. But it can also be really annoying. Especially for someone for whom a lot of their power comes from psionic control over their bodies. Mark lifts a brow and then takes a gulp of his beer before he glances over towards Sif. "So. To answer your earlier question." he says to Adam... "Things are as well as can be expected. I'm kinda stranded far from home with no way back. But at least I have a job and a roof over my head. Could be worse." Yes, it seems Mark is that most annoying breed of human.. an Optimist.

Adam Brashear has posed:
Adam is only a little taken aback by what just happened. "I guess that explains the get up. Enjoy the drinks I hope it makes you day a little better."

Adam now turn to Mark "thats all we can hope for unfortunatly. to be able to feed and shelter ourselves on whatever we can find for work"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
    There's a good fifteen, twenty seconds before Helena realizes she's hearing perfect, fluent Sicilian. But, then, she's a little distracted by Sif draining half a pitcher the way she's managed a sip or two of her gin and tonic. "Yeah, it's... not quite like that here. I mean, unless you want one of those cushy jobs where you're really just being paid to rubber stamp the kid's grades."

    It's about the time Sif gestures that Helena clocks into the quirk of language. And the knife. The bags she'd already noticed on arrival, and yet they still take most of her attention for a moment. After all, Sif's not -going- for that knife. And clearly she's a special case, so no matter how wicked, Helena instantly pegs that the knife's not the real threat if things go sideways.

    She laughs out softly and perks an eyebrow, "Well, it's Friday. If you want early drinks it's usually got to be a Sunday, and even then it's just mimosas and the like. I mean, that or dive bars, but dingy biker hangouts aren't an everyday destination, right?"

She frowns thoughtfully and murmurs dryly, "Well, maybe here in New York they can be. Gotham-wards they tend to wind up exploding into brawls in my experience. And who wants -that- drama on their lunch break?"

Not that Helena's hitting up bars for cheap liquor on her lunch breaks during the school year of course. But now she's a little more on edge, that appraising look that's washing over Sif less admiring and curious, and a bit more wary. She's heard New York's got a lot more... out of towners... than Gotham, and sure, Dinah's part of the Justice League and Helena's heard some second hand gossip. But this is... closer. Best to be careful.

Sif has posed:
Sif smiles and sends a strange gesture Adam's way, looking much like it's intended as a salute. Then, seemingly (and that may be a key word now that Helena is getting her alarm bells ringing) unaware of Helena's suddenly ratched-up tension, nods enthusiastically that latter one's way. "Yes, brawls are really a nighttime activity. For some reason brawls in the day time always struck me as very low-brow. There's a time and a place for everything, and brawls are really just not suited for an afternoon of shopping."

The second pitcher gets its start at this point, though this time it's just a few glugs. Barely a quarter off the top.

"And don't get me started on how grabby people in those sorts of places can be. It's just not lunchtime behaviour any way you look at it."

The screams as their fingers get snapped really harsh the vibe. Fortunately she didn't say that part out loud.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty shoots up from her seat, and getting into a fighting stance already. Her eyes are very hard at this point. This point, she is speaking with a very heavy irish accent. "Oy! Dats my dah's langauge, and only spoke by him and his mates. He taught me to speak in when I was a lass.", she growls. "And only they speak it when they have to! How in the hells do you know it?", she growls. Yup, Ty's a little pissed.

    "He said only those from the Land know that language, and he uses it as code cause of that.", she hisses. Ty starts to move towards Sif. Little human girl...Goddess of War...Yeah...this may not be pretty. Unless somebody gets her a pint...

Adam Brashear has posed:
Adam and Mark exchange polite small talk breaking the ice before Mark suddenly says he has to leave after getting an urgent meaasge. After the hero leaves to do his hero things Adam just sits back turning his attention to the ladies discussing the virtues of meal time manners.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena's bringing her drink to her lips again, eyebrows lifting, lips quirking in a grin of approval at Sif, mouth opening to make a glib remark. And then Tynan's damned near exploding into action, and dark eyebrows shoot high. They go from warm, friendly English teacher to something decidedly colder in an instant, sweeping from Tynan to Sif and back as that glib remark's cut off in favor of a low murmur. "I think you touched a nerve with your... whatever that trick with the Sicilian was."

She frowns and murmurs even softer, "You might want to find a way to defuse this. Tie dye and a half ton of shopping bags is a -pretty- memorable look for a bar fight."

She sighs and shifts to face away from the bar, jacket tugged from quarter-zipped to open, shoulders just barely shrugged loose. Just in case this charming little joint -is- like her usual haunts where people are just looking for an excuse to jump in on the fun.

Sif has posed:
Ty's outburst certainly attracts attention. The Soccer Mom with the Beers turns her head Ty's way. Helena's preparations don't go unnoticed either.

"There is no need for intervention," she says quietly to Helena while her eyes, now sitting above a hard face of her own, though this one tinged with ... Interest? Excitement even? Anticipation? ... rake over Ty appraisingly. Stance. Physique. Size. Movement. It's all being visibly analyzed with expertise. "There is no threat here."


"Sicilian? What is that?"

Whatever the trick is, she doesn't appear to know the name "Sicilian"...

The analytical eyes still dominate, but a smile (which entirely fails to reach said eyes) breaks out over Sif's face. "Come now, friend, I don't know what I did to cause such great offence, but please, let us crack a cask together instead of turning this into something unbefitting this establishment."

And she's still talking the forbidden Irish Gaelic. (Or Sicilian or ...) And her lips again are not matching the words.

"I'm really more interested in physical strife later in the eve after a long bout of strong drink."

Not. Helping.

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty's form...relaxes as she moves her left arm behind her. She changes her stance sideways, hiding her arm from sight. Now clearly anyone whose watched her can tell from her outfit she doesn't have any weapons on her. Yet...after a second, and a slight smell of something cooking, Ty seems to be moving shifting her weight to more of a offensive nature. Yet...her bare left arm now has some sort of gauntlet on it.

    "Aye, not a threat.", she growls. "Unless one makes me one.", she says. Just where did the woman seem to produce a tech guantlet from nowhere? And yet one can see she's not a cyborg either. "You're speaking Irish Gaelic. Thats an old langauge thats only spoken by a small group of people...There's like only a million people in the world that know of it, and most of them are family to one another.", she growls. "How do you know it, when I can tell you're not from my home, and not from the land my dad lived in?"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena sighs and takes a slow sip of her drink, eyebrows lifting as Ty moves closer, Helena stays loose, continuing to work on her drink, she's not really slowing down, but it's keeping her from escalating the situation.

Still, one eyebrow lifts as she shakes her head, lifting her free hand with one finger uplifted, "Wait, you think she's speaking Gaelic? She's... definitely speaking... oh hell..." she pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales slowly, "It's... hocus pocus. You're hearing her in... the native language of your family or something. I'm not hearing her in Gaelic."

Gaze locks onto Sif again, a little less cold, a little more openly curious, "So you're... what? I mean, I don't think it's a mutant power..." She narrows her eyes and her gaze drops back to that knife. That's not cosplay. Now that knife gets more attention given to it. Helena's not sure what it means, magical knives not really being typical for the sort of organized crime she normally deals with. But hey, she -literally- wears a cape sometimes.

This lady is Cape business, hundred percent. And Helena left hers back in Gotham. Her crossbows too. And she'd really rather not fall afoul of New York's stringent laws about not carrying guns. So maybe she'll just... -not- do anything.

Sif has posed:
"It is not 'hocus pocus'," Sif corrects Helena, though her eyes are fixed on the sudden appearance of a manica on Ty's arm. Her eyebrow shoots up and her eyes scan back up to Ty's face. Her own face is far more ... interested now.

Not the healthy form of interest.

"It is called Allspeak and it is how we rule the Nine Realms. You hear it from our mouths and your minds turn it into whatever is most comfortable and familiar to you. It is not an enchantment." She frowns a moment. "I don't think? I'm not a magus."

Hopefully that gets Ty less riled when she realizes that it's her own mind filling in the language. But... just in case, Sif also does something else. She reaches behind the bar, pulling up two glasses, filling each with ale from her final pitcher. One she slides Ty's way with an inviting gesture. The other she downs.

And then starts eating. The glass.


"There is no..." she starts as shards of glass crunch under her teeth, interfering with her pronunciation. She pauses to swallow and then continues, "...need for conflict, my excitable friend. If you wish it, naturally, I am all for it." She takes another bite, grinding the glass to powder in her mouth before swallowing and continuing. "It is, after all, what I am known for. I am Lady Sif of Asgard, Goddess of War. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

Soccer. Mom. From. Hel. (Well, actually, she's not that fond of Hela and stays away from her domain, but still.)

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Tynan takes a long moment to look at the glass before lifting it up, and drinking it fully. "Well, its the first language Dad taught me, then Mom taught me chinese.", she states. The woman watches as the being in front of her eats the glass. She seen a few tricks like that back on Madripor where mutants or other types try to impress by doing feats similar to that. "I'm Dark Caliber. Mercenary.", she growls out a little bit before slamming the glass down. Ty has had a few dealings with the Triads and the Russians. Small time stuff though. Mostly dealing with somebody who wanted a bigger cut, or demanding a bigger piece of the pie. All her targets have had their hands dirty in something.

    The odd thing is, how did DC get to the States though? She normally was working in Southeast Asia. And this young woman looks nothing like a normal merc. She looks...normal in a sense. Though rumor has it that DC can make weapons appear out of thin air as well. And make them disappear. "Can't you just turn off the Speaking, and just pick a langauge, instead of messing with our minds?", she asks. THe woman is calming down a little bit, but she's still very much on edge.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena's mouth opens, she's going to argue that. Allspeak? That is a -total- hocus pocus term. This is the hociest pocus. She kind of wants to look around for a talking cat.

Especially because Sif speaking to her in a language she grew up with and hasn't used outside of interrogating mobsters in years is just... unsettling.

And hey, the tall, dark haired lady's offering the angry one a drink! Drinks totally calm down situ-whatthehuuuuh?

Helena throws back the last of her drink, and taps the bar to get the bartender's attention, which it turns out is both easier -and- more difficult when you're standing next to a goddess just chowing down on a glass like it's a tortilla chip.

"Well... it's... huh. Nice to meet you, Lady Sif. I'm Helena Bertinelli of... well, Gotham of late. Teacher of English."

Okay, Teacher of English and shooter of crossbows and sometimes killer of gangsters. But no need to bring that up.

Especially not when Tynan's street name registers. Not as a local mover or shaker, in fact, as something very non-local. Still, if she can be hitting a bar in NYC, she can't let a merc showing up there instead of Southeast Asia count as a peek at a vast conspiracy or anything. It's just something she's going to have to start looking into now.

"So... I guess Asgard explains the whole mead and ale thing. I just figured I'd... missed the latest health magazine about how mead's good for you because of honey's anti-bacterial properties or something."

Sif has posed:
"I ... don't mess with minds?" Sif seems baffled by the accusation. "I am a warrior, not a magus. My only wizardry is with blades and spears and other such affairs. Allspeak is ... a language. We learn it as children. It is how we speak. It just seems to be something all beings can understand."

She frowns a moment.

"Allow me to reverse this. When you speak your language, whichever one it is you choose, I hear it as Allspeak. Are you 'messing with my mind'?" She shrugs then, and places the half-eaten glass down on the bar. "It is just the way of things."

"Dark Caliber, Mercenary." A nod Tynan's way. "Helena Bertinelli of Gotham, Teacher of English. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." And her face breaks into a genuine grin, slightly sheepish. "And yes, it explains the mead and ale," she adds with a chuckle.

Her eyes fall on the half-eaten glass. "I will naturally pay for that," she says to the bartender who is definitely NOT wanting to get involved and yet somehow keeps getting dragged in. And yet also wants to be involved because that's what this place is: supers-friendly. Kind of an uncomfortable position at the moment. She purses her lips a moment and then decides something.

From out of her clutch she pulls out a large roll of bills, 20s and 50s by appearances, with most of them 50s. "To help clear up this misunderstanding and unpleasantness," she adds. "I will pay for all drinks of all customers for the next ... hour you call it?"

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty just blinks a little bit. She just looks at the Tender. "Redbreast, 15. Just leave the bottle.", she tells. Its a good whiskey, though a bit pricey at about a little over $100 a bottle. The woman just watches Sif a moment. "That depends. If I spoke 3 or 4 langauges at once, does it work on all of them at once?", she asks. "Like where I grew up, you had to know 4 languages to walk down the street without getting shot or stabbed.", she tells.

    The woman opens the bottle, and drinks form it. The smooth whiskey goes down easy. The big thing is that Ty gives a little hic at the end, and her cheeks are starting to flush a bit. "It can't possibly work on all things all the time, or else its either magic or screwing with people's minds. Isn't that right, Gotham?", she asks Helena...Yup, Helena is now Gotham!!

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena is a little occupied ordering another gin and tonic, before she shakes her head quickly and points a finger at Tynan, "Nu-uh, I'm not even trying to guess. It's probably some weird 'We speak the source code of the universe' thing. That's how these always work out probably. That's the world we live in now. Weird space robot guys shrink cities, and... tall war goddesses hang out at cheesy cape themed bars and... just.. like... eat glass."

She eyes that glass again and just shakes her head, "It probably just picks whatever your mind settles on. I mean, it'd be kind of interesting to find out what happens if you -try- to interpret it in another language. But... I am neither sober -nor- drunk enough to grapple with that."

She eyes Sif as that roll is displayed, one eyebrow lifting as she murmurs dryly, "Well. you must be one helluva war goddess. I mean, your skills clearly -literally- pay the bills."

Sif has posed:
"What, this?" Sif looks at the roll of bills in her hand. "I'm just very good at picking winners in fights. These were my stakes. I got fifteen more back after the bout."

(She doesn't mention the paired Asgardians going to town on an illegal underground fighting ring, though Helena, of all people, might actually have heard of that little incident.)

To illustrate this she pulls out a couple of more rolls of cash, some of them smeared with blood, EACH ONE seemingly just barely able to fit into her tiny clutch yet, she's pulled out three and has hinted she has 13 more to go.

This causes more than a little attention to go her way, and more than a few changed orders to top-shelf items "leave the bottle".

"This just happens to be some of the local coin I hold," she continues. "My estates are naturally in Asgard."


Back to Ty, she adds, "It matters not what you say or when you say it or in how many ways you say it, I hear it, or read it, in Allspeak."

Now she's ... writing. She can read all writing. And is claiming it's not hocus pocus.

"It is something anybody can learn, though it takes a long time to catch on to its subtleties."

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty hics once more. "...I'm not drunk enough, and definitely not sober enough to follow along. As far as I can tell, Allspeak is just like pig latin.", she says. THe woman hics again, and yeah, she's finally hitting her limit. Drunken Ty kinda swaying a little bit. "I probably should have eaten first...", she says. "Or is all speak like violence? Everyone knows how to fight. There's just better ways of it.", she hics again...Ty looks close to nini time...The tender tries to take the bottle away, but Ty is latching onto it.

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Well, Helena's not going to argue you cna't take money from the illegal fight rings, drug operations, or general criminal enterprises you break up. A girl's got to eat, and those school supplies don't pay for themselves (Literally!).

But it's a fight not to snort as Sif denies her language ability is 'hocus pocus' while she's doing some prime pocusing of that hocus with her clutch.

Helena just nods solemnly and lifts an eyebrow slightly, "What about all the other.. ah... skills you've got? I mean, I'm assuming there are some concrete limits. Like, I don't think I'm going to be able to hit the gym until I can lift a tank up or anything."

Helena quirks an eyebrow... well, the gal did hit the prime hooch with -gusto-, and if she didn't eat, yeah, that's probably genuine liquor hitting and not the merc playing possum.

Helena's kind of glad she's been going slow herself. It's enough she's relaxed, especially now that there's no imminent threat of violence while she's rocking her civilian side. It's difficult enough coming up with excuses for kicking ass at dodgeball when one of the gym teachers at a school gets his britches up. Throwing down in a fight with an Asgardian and a mercenary? That's the sort of thing that gets noticed.

Sif has posed:
"A tank?" Sif looks a little puzzled. "You mean an aquarium? Surely that would depend upon the size, though yes I could lift a much larger one. That is physique. There is nothing more mysterious about that than you being able to lift more than ..." She tries to think of an appropriate simile. "A bird."

Yes, ladies and gentleman, that was the best simile she could come up with on short notice. Humans are to birds as Asgardians are to humans. Or something.

"But Allspeak is not this way, I am certain. We are not born to it. We learn it. Like you learn your multitude of languages." She gestures toward Ty, nodding her way in agreement. "That could very well be it, yes. Everybody can do basic fighting, but there's better and worse ways of going about it and Allspeak may just be the best possible way. Or at least the best known."

She waves off the tender trying to reclaim the bottle. "I said I'm paying for all. I meant it. And give her something to fill her belly with to help ward off the drunkenness," she adds with a mischievous grin. "She won't be able to keep up with me otherwise." Or at all. Even though Irish...

Tynan Ireton has posed:
    Ty hics again. "Yeah well, I havn't met anyone yet that I couldn't beat or cheat out a win against. Not gonna change anytime....soon...", she says. THe woman just falls over! As she falls over the gauntlet on her arm just...disappears. The tips of her fingers though are burned pretty bad. It seems though that they're healing though. It may be time for somebody to put a blankie over the girl. And a lot of people likely are not going to pick up a strange mercenary back to their place. Bad things tend to happen when hung over mercenaries wake up. But until next time!

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena bites her lower lip and shakes her head, "Ahh... it's like... it's an armored vehicle. You know, something too heavy for a human to lift on their own. Sort of thing that Hulk guy throws around when the army and him have disagreements." She clicks her tongue and sighs. Of course you can't learn super strength, Helena. Besides, dropping crossbows for throwing around tanks would be like dropping English to teach Statistics. You made your choice, girl.

One eyebrow lifts as Ty sways, slurs, and then topples over. "Uhh... so... i don't -know- her, but we ought to try and get her a cab or something. I don't think she's keeping up with you tonight, goddess. Going to have to find a challenge somewhere else, huh?"

Sif has posed:
Sif is already in action as Ty slips down to the ground. She stifles a choking laugh, and then, with experience born of a thousand years of doing this, quickly scoops Ty up and places her in a corner booth far from anybody else.

"Make sure she is not bothered," she instructs the server. "She has had too much. Leave her bottle near her so she can find it when she awakens."

Because hair of the dog seems to be a universal 'cure'...

"Can she not simply rest here?" she asks Helena at her suggestion. "It seems comfortable and most people like to wake up either near where they slept or in familiar environs. I don't know her home, so this seems best to me. Is it different on Midgard?"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena looks around the bar slowly, lips curving in a thoughtful frown, "Well, this place -is- classier than most bars I'm used to people passing out in. So yeah, you're probably right. She should be fine."

Hell, there's not even any sawdust on the floor, and the light fixtures haven't been smashed over anyone's head, it's practically a four star hotel by her standards.

Helena lifts an eyebrow and gestures to the bags Sif brought in with her, "So, are you planning to eat, drink, and be merry all night? Or take these.. uh... to the embassy or something? I don't know, how's it work as a Goddess of War? I'm betting you don't have to shack up in a converted closet with a shared bathroom at the end of the hall."

Sif has posed:
"I have a room off of a home in a portion of this mighty burg called "Chell's Sea" or some such." Sif parenthetically adds, "I don't understand its name to be honest; there is no sea within any reasonable walking distance." She gestures at the bags. "Since I find myself living among mortals, I thought it best if I would adapt myself at least somewhat to mortal clothing and lifestyle."

Because yoga pants straining to not split at the seams and tie-dyed, too-small babydolls are all the rage.

"I took it upon myself, thus, to do some shopping and dropped by here only because a thirst overtook me. Having found comfortable companionship, however, I decided to stay longer."

Because people threatening you with magical cyber weapons are definitely comfortable, right?

"I did not have plans after delivering my packages back to my room, however. Perhaps, given my consumption here tonight, I might find myself doing some strenuous practice to help keep my figure and tone."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena nods in understanding, eyes drifting from Sif's outfit to the bags... and she thought all those scenes in TV shows and movies of the aliens and time travellers dressing like a thrift store attacked them were unrealistic. Shows her.

She finishes her second drink off, teeth worrying her lower lip as she glances past the bar to the bottles. "Well, I'll admit I don't really know much about New York, but I think it's called Chelsea, maybe it's named after a girl or a guy, not a sea?"

Shoulders shrug helplessly. Hey, she's not a geography teacher, and the capes and cops in NYC have kept the mob quiet enough she's never taken a 'professional' interest in the city.

Eyebrows perk, "Oh, you have a gym around here? My go to one's back in Gotham." And sure, her usual workout buddy's shorter, blonder, and has one helluva warcry, but Helena's happy enough to offer a shrug, "Need a spotter? I think I'm just going to stick in the city for the night, wasn't really planning on having more than one drink, but that turned into two doubles, and that's a little too irresponsible to ride my bike on."

Sif has posed:
Spotter. There's a certain blank look in Sif's face at that word.

"I was thinking of going out to find evil-doers and stopping them. The movement will do me good, and if I find some I will stop them and at the same time keep my skills in conflict well-tuned. I'm not sure what a 'spotter' is in this. Is this like those 'news' people that take pictures of my kind at work?"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena snorts involuntarily and shakes her head quickly, "Oh! No, no, I thought you were going to the gym. Lifting weights and the like."

And Helena can't help it, that mask of respectable, innocent teacher slips for a moment as she reflexively continues a thought into speech. "I mean, as far as stopping evil-doers, a spotter would be a partner for a sniper. But you don't strike me as the long range engagement sort."

She snorts again and shakes her head, "I mean, it'd be crazy for someone to want to spar with an Asgardian, right?" Yes Helena, yes it would. So why are you thinking it's just stupid enough to be a good idea? It's stupid enough to be a -stupid- idea.

Unless you get a hit in of course.

"Ahhh, no, I mean, I've always figured stopping evil's really more of a... non-media event. Quietly professional and all."

Sif has posed:
"I am called Goddess of War, not Goddess of Individual Combat," Sif says affably. "Warfare is not about 'fairness' and 'balance'. When I command armies I am always ready to unleash the archers or the magi or any other tool at my disposal to win the battle." She shrugs. "My personal skills are personal combat, that is true, but I value all my warriors under my command with whatever skills they bring. I would not object to having an archer watching over me while I engaged evildoers in person."

The comment about the media event does bring a smile to her face. "Ah, you aren't a glory hound then."

And the look in Sif's eye.

She knows. And she's smiling.

"While boasting is a valued part of Asgardian custom, it is a subtle art, knowing when to boast or what to boast about. Some of my greatest exploits are known but to a handful of people. It is good to know that there are those in Midgard who understand this."



Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena's eyes narrow. Not during the speech on tactics, or skills, or the concept of total warfare.

No, it's when it dawns on her that Sif knows. Of course she knows.

Of course.

And those narrowed eyes glint, hand lifts, single finger points accusingly, "Now -that's- hocus pocus." Sure, it's probably more the attitude. And the fact that English teachers aren't usually fit like her. But Sif's not guessing. She knows.

So it's gotta be hocus pocus. But she gives a nod and a wink, "Yeah. I've heard that criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot. That they need a symbol to fear."

Her shoulders shrug, "But sometimes they need to fear the consequences other criminals have suffered more. Plus there's probably some poetic line about fearing the unknown I could look up. But some asses just need kicking."

Sif has posed:
"What's hocus pocus?" Again Sif seems genuinely confused, as she replays the conversation in her mind. She starts as the realization hits.

Lowering her voice to a barely-heard murmur, she explains, "Your stance. Your willingness to enter into battle on my behalf. The nature of your investigations of my person; where you looked and for what. It has been long clear to me that you are a warrior of some form. And that you did not openly identify yourself as such..."

She shrugs and grins.

"...Well, that is the part where I recognized that you knew the wheres and hows of boasting. Almost as if you were Asgardian yourself."

OK. She doesn't KNOW know. She knows... very generally.

"So I am to take it from your reaction that I struck unnervingly close?"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena nods slowly, and sighs out, unable to fight back her grin. "Yeah. I do a little... late night costumed vigilante activity. God, it sounds almost -silly- saying it out loud."

She shakes her head quickly, "I won't bore you with my life story, not now at least. And hey, I was just admiring that you look like you could run down a horse. Admittedly, I was -pretty- sure you could do that literally even before you drained a pitcher. Or the language thing."

She shrugs lightly with a wide grin, "Uhhh, I don't know how it works for the high end costumed stuff, if there's like business cards or something, but I'm... well, okay, I guess my 'codename' or whatever is Huntress. You can just call me Helena. It's easier."

Sif has posed:
"I am just Lady Sif, or Sif to my friends. There's a long string of titles that get called out by the chamberlain when I go to Court, but they don't matter here." She furrows her brow a bit. "High end costumed stuff? I'm afraid I do not follow. This is not costume." She gestures to her soccer mom outfit. "This is just comfortable. My battle garb and courtly garb is too ostentatious for day to day wear even in Asgard. When I am at my estates I wear an embroidered frock, mostly. Unless I am hunting, naturally, in which case I have hunting garb."


"So... costume? Do I need special clothing for combatting those who do evil?" She glances down at her parcels and picks one up, revealing what looks like ox blood boots with an asymmetric crimson and cream leather catsuit. "I was thinking of wearing this while doing my exercises. Would that do as a 'costume'?"

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena bites her lower lip tightly. Pensively. Oh, this is not good. This is like... if she tells Sif the wrong thing and she winds up looking foolish, it's going to be like a diplomatic incident or something. And she's just important enough to get blamed for it.

"Oh yeah, for sure... I mean, your attire being too ostentatious and all. I mean, it works for some of the powerhouses, the whole armored figure from myth and legend thing. But the costumes are mostly for like... hiding your identity."

She gestures to herself vaguely, "I show up like this with a crossbow and kick the teeth out of a bunch of mobsters, someone recognizes me on the school website, and then everyone's in danger. I show up in a purple armored body suit and a cowl and cape, and it's distracting enough no one wonders who the badass brunette kicking those teeth in is."

She drops her gaze to the parcel, head tilting, gaze flicking up to Sif's face and back down to the catsuit a few times, "I mean, it's not really my colour scheme, but it'd look good on you. And beating down criminals is probably close enough to 'exercise' for you to count. I mean, you could totally get away with your most ostentatious armor too. It's not like there aren't people wearing gold and robot suits and... I mean, Zatanna fights crime in a top hat and a tuxedo jacket."

Sif has posed:
"Well then," Sif says, closing the parcel and replacing it in the pile, "I shall use that for my exercise. That way if you see it you will know that you're welcome to join in." Her eyes twinkle in amusement. "I'm to take it from past conversation that you're an archer of sorts then? I do truly appreciate the input of archers in battle. One cannot win without them."

Helena Bertinelli has posed:
Helena nods slowly with a crooked smile. "Well then, I'll keep an eye out for you. I should probably give you my number... if you use a phone, I mean." Her shoulders shrug lightly, "I use a crossbow pretty often, sort of my calling card you know? But I do hand to hand, some pistol work if needed. I find it good to stay flexible."