Owner	Pose
Patrick O'Brian	Superiors is as crowded as it ever is. This weird hole-in-the-wall jazz nightclub hybrid is just in mid-swing because it's never really in full swing. There's a few patrons here, dressed up as much as they can be and surrounded by the various 'super'-uniformed staff that're waiting on them and trying their best to get some tips. It must not be a live performance night because the bond's not here but there is soft ambience music playing in the background at the moment. This is just how things are on the slow nights at Superiors. Eel, that's what everybody calls him anyway, O'Brian is hanging out near the bar and sipping whatever drink he's been given. It doesn't really matter what it is because he can't actually get drunk but whatever. He's sipping and idly watching the handful of patrons that paid to get in here. He's really going to have to do something to liven up the place. "I gotta' do somethin' to liven up this place." Or he's not going to make enough money to pay his rent to his boss slash landlord. "Or I ain't gonna' have enough moolah to pay rent to my boss slash landlord." ... Eel blinks. "Hey!" Gotcha'! Eel rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his drink.
Thaal Sinestro	Thaal Sinestro has never stepped foot in Superiors. By his standards, there are -- if ''anything'' -- too ''many'' people taking up space here; making noise; dancing, in one astonishingly drunk case. But Sinestro's never been all that much of a people person, unless those people happen to already be extinct. "This..." Still: of late, he has felt inspired to ''try''. Thus a polo with horizontal green and black stripes, crisply pressed black trousers, and black leather loafers to go with his loud magenta complexion and black eyes with green irises: it is, after all, ''important'' to fit in with the locals. Currently, those faintly luminous eyes squint towards a martini glass straining to compete with the magnitude of his dubious glare, so brightly, ''nakedly'', artificially green as to practically radiate it. "... is a ''gross'' misrepresentation," he rumbles, flat beyond a ripple of disappointment. "You--" The guy across the bar whose job it seems to be to drink heavily and complain about business, which clearly makes him an employee. "-- where is your '''supervisor''', so that I might bring my misgivings with the... '''veracity''' of this so-called 'Lanterntini' directly to them?"
Patrick O'Brian	Eel raises an eyebrow and practically slinks down the bar toward the magenta complainer. He doesn't really judge because this is the land of the free and home of the brave or whatever so to each their own but Eel just kind of sets his own glass down on the bar and actually tries to do something close to his job. "Hah?" Eel looks confused as he looks from the magenta complainer to the drink and then back again. "Oh! I getcha'! Let me help ya' out there, Pinky." He probably shouldn't be giving this man a nickname without knowing him longer than the six seconds he has but he does also reach over to plant a hand on his shoulder. "You got the drink all wrong there, pal. It's a LANtini. Not LANTERN. LAN. Y'know, like Flan. Or Dan. Or Fran, the one with the nasaly voice, love her." Eel just grins through these quips. "So, first ya' gotta' say it right and then it'll taste right. Little trick I learned when I made it up twenty seconds ago." Wink. Fingergun. "Try it."
Thaal Sinestro	"....." Green eyes continue to narrow until they're slender ports for the overflow of energy coursing over and through his body. They roll from Eel to -- ''drink'' -- and back again throughout. "... what?" winds up being his best attempt at voicing the bemusement deeply etched across otherwise stern features, slowly pushed through pursed lips. This ''is'' the land of the free and the home of the brave complainers who have apparently never been confronted with the concept of ''drinking'' a bever-- "Fran..." Somehow, his brow manages to furrow another notch deeper while his eyes momentarily flicker. "...''Drescher''," he wonders. It doesn't -- quite -- have the tone of a question; it isn't that the concept of Fran Drescher is foreign to him ''either'', just... ''Why?'' '''''Now?''''' "I... ''trust'' that your supervisor is '''aware''' that you are so '''clearly''' inebriated while serving your shift," follows. Eventually. Without taking his eyes off Eel, he ever so slowly tips the glass to his lips and drinks.
Patrick O'Brian	Eel just takes a seat. Right there at the bar next to this Pink Dude. It's all well and good because he's ordering up another round for himself. And even the Pink Dude. Because somebody has to have some fun tonight. "Hate to break it to you, Pink Panther, but I am the supervisor." Eel throws his hands up in very mocking shock and awe. It's almost uncanny how much he looks like the Scream painting for a hot second there. But he's still as normal as normal can be. Definitely. Just a weird supervisor guy in a red suit with yellow shirt and a black tie. So weird. "But on the plus side, how much better does that drink taste now? Is that a Green Lantini or is that a Green Lantini?" The bartender slides two more drinks onto the bar. "You haven't even said anything yet and already you've got another one? Sheesh. That's what I call willpowerless." Here comes another wink and a fingergun.
Thaal Sinestro	If anything, it's the idea of Eel being in charge of something that gets a startled look; weird, distended humanoid features, not so much. "There is no such '''thing''' as a Green Lan'''tini'''," Sinestro flatly declares after his first taste of one. Beat.         Beat.                 Beat. "But I '''will''' allow that what this ''is'' has been well-concocted. '''However:''' Here, Sinestro strokes his index finger into the air and gestures towards Eel as if he's about to call for an objection. "I can tell you - in no uncertain terms - that nowhere, in all the nigh-infinite pages of wisdom contained in the Book of Oa, is there so much as the merest ''hint'' of such a thing as a 'Green Lantini'. Thus: while your mixology is in and of itself ''valid''... the drink ITSELF is a lie, I'm afraid." After a deep, brisk breath, he sits a little straighter on his stool and explains: "I am an ''expert'' on such matters, after all."
Patrick O'Brian	"Uhhhhhhhhhh. Nuh-uh." Eel holds up a finger and then leans over the bar, almost knocking down their new set of drinks but he's got this, okay? He fiddles around behind it and comes up back up for air with a drink menu. Which he practically tosses in front of this patron the moment he's back upright. "Read it and weep, Pink Ranger." Eel leans back against the bar and grabs his own drink, a Superdickery, and gets to sipping on it. "Written in this really cool font I found called Doom Stone which, effectively, makes it written in Stone which, technically, kind of makes it about the closest thing to a Commandment we got down here in the Slum." Another fingergun comes from the manager of this establishment. "So, as I'm sure you're aware, the written word is about as law as it gets. It's like ten-tenths of the law or something, right? Or is it an amendment? Either way, existence, baby. Existence." Eel sips.
Thaal Sinestro	"Very little of what you've just said even ''approaches'' being true," is Sinestro's flat response. Followed by a far longer sip of the drink that should not be, savoring every moment of it. "But then..." First his eyes slide towards a petite young woman wearing a swimsuit with a printed Thing rock pattern, and then he gestures pointedly. "I am beginning to suspect that copyright and intellectual property are chief among the elements of human law that are a mystery to you." Another long sip, draining the glass as his eyes lid slightly. "... just ''how'' did ''you'' come to own a business..." "....." Sinestro's eyes slowly narrow until they are thin, faintly luminous slits. "... '''Stretch Armstrong'''?" He doesn't smile, but - somehow - he ''does'' look ''imminently'' more pleased with himself than he did a moment ago.
Patrick O'Brian	"Now hold on there a minute, let's not get this twisted. I'd never own a dump like this." Eel grins with a weird fondness for the place he just called a dump. "Couldn't afford it, first of all." There's a big grin on his features now but that's just because he doesn't want his bad mouthing to get back to his boss. That's how the rent goes up around these parts. "But most importantly, I ain't got the smarts, y'know? Nah, I'm definitely more of the middle management type." Eel grins as as Tonya Stark sashays past. "Ain't that right, sweetheart?" "Go flush yourself, Eel!" Eel turns back to the patron with a nervous look. "See? They love me here." Another big gulp of his drink makes all the pain go away. "But enough about me and my whole deal. What's yours? I mean, nobody comes to a dive like this unless they got some big problems. Or a really crummy GPS, you know what I'm sayin'?"
Thaal Sinestro	"'Eel'?" ''Now'' he smiles, thinly; barely. "'Eel'." Sinestro's eyes slip back to Eel's. "''Another'' flagrant flouting of copyright law, by the way," he shares, leaning a touch closer and tipping his head towards Tonya. "But I suppose it's fortunate that it is your employer who errs, and not the man who merely defends his dubious grasp on creativity." Leaning back into place, his eyes flare briefly. The bar's POS system suddenly gets a new order, top of the queue: another Green Lantini. "My name is Thaal Sinestro," he then says, quieter. Tentative, almost. "I am a Green Lantern-- it is my responsibility to account for rogue wielders of Oan Power Rings, whether through confiscation or conscription, as well as seeing to the further education of the... ''rash''... of legitimate colleagues who have come to populate this sector of space." A beat. Another. Another-- "Your bar ''is''... a '''dive'''," he agrees, low and slow, "... but I have found myself wanting to get in better touch with these... ''people''. ''Humans''-- I have lived among them for two years, now, but saw little need to ''be'' among them... and I have begun to reconsider the wisdom of that decision, despite its obvious benefits in terms of efficacy." Once the drink is set down by a moderately confused 'tender, Sinestro draws it close without lifting it up just yet. "Who thought to trust you with ''running'' this establishment?"
Patrick O'Brian	"Eh, Eel's jus a nicknam. I dunno if it's because I'm skinny or slimy or because my face, who knows." Eel just kind of shrugs it off. "But the name that I think is on my birth certificate, I dunno I ain't ever seen it, is Patrick O'Brian." And with that little explanation, Eel offers a bit of a salute in actual introductive greetings decor. When Sinestro goes into the spiel about Green Lanterns, Eel just stares and drinks and drinks some more because all of that stuff goes over his head but he does have a question, "So I have a question. Seriously." Eel leans a bit closer in case this is like some top secret information. "Just how do you guys summon Captain Planet with those things?" Eel leans against the bar now, "Hold on a second. You wanna' learn about humans? On purpose? Geez. We gotta' get you some cable, stat. Everything you need to know is on a show called Maury. Look it up. Trust me, you won't regret it." This shrug sends him into the next bit where he keeps an eyebrow raised up. "Eh, I live upstairs. So it's probably more convenient than any actual faith in me as a managerial type." At least Eel knows his worth, right?
Thaal Sinestro	"I have seen Maury, Patrick," Sinestro replies with the utmost of toneless gravity, "and while it quickly became apparent to me that your species will do ''anything'' for a moment of notoriety... it was not particularly instructive beyond that. So it went with ''most'' of my preliminary research into your culture." Miraculously, there is no dismissive emphasis of any kind on 'culture', despite the circumstance. "Which is, incidentally, why I am not going to dignify your question about Captain Planet with a response." Another smile - still small, but warmer than the one Eel's nickname earned - flashes before he sips at his drink. "You are a singularly strange man..." he then murmurs, cupping the glass in his palm, "... but my instinct thus far is that you are -- ''perhaps'' -- a touch more of a colloquial fool than the other kind. You are not without your cleverness; your wit. Your... what surely must pass for 'charm', here," comes with a broad, circling gesture trailed by a couple tiny sparks. "Unfortunate nicknames aside."
Patrick O'Brian	"Me? Clever? Have you not been part of the same conversation I've been having? I haven't been clever since that one time I taped over Leave it to Beaver and blamed it on the dog." Eel grins having a momentary flashback of pride. "We didn't even have a dog." Then again, with the way this guy runs his mouth this could all just be hilarious and entertaining lies or something. Who knows. "Well, since you're already well versed in the ways of he Maury then I'm sure you've had a moment to check out his predecessor, a one Mr. Jerry Springer?" Eel is all too happy to just keep suggesting horrible television to his... alien? It's confusing. Whatever. "Classic stuff right there, my man." Finally, there's a moment for another question. "By the way, what kinda' name is Thaal? Is that like Brazilian or...?" Yeah. Clever. Right.
Thaal Sinestro	"'Clever' and 'intelligent' are not the same," Sinestro rebutts. "Your oft-inane banter thus far betrays a quick, creative psyche; what you say is calculated - however consciously - towards a precise balance between the rational and the absurd -- you do not speak in non-sequiturs. For the most part," the anthropologist deliberately observes, maintaining a level, thoughtful gaze on Eel the entire time. "Nevermind a clear degree of comfort in the knowledge of who you are, and what you are capable of-- classic marks of a man with a well-developed mind." With that, he looks away, both sparing Eel from the intensity of a stone-faced space cop's faintly radiant grin and himself from looking another person in the eye for too long while his walls are lowered. The glass lifts for a slow, measured sip. "It is Korugarian," he then says, soft and more than a little pensive. "Which is another planet," he supplies before Eel has a chance to slip another guess in. "'Patrick' is not a common name there, either, you will be doubtlessly enchanted to learn."
Patrick O'Brian	"A well developed mind? You should see me in my underpants." There's some brow waggling from O'Brian in that next moment. But no moment like this can last without another little dig coming from someone else. "Don't listen to him. I've seen his underpants. Batman." This is, of course, said by the woman in a horrible Poison Ivy costume. It's just, it's just leaves man. Horrible. "Hey! Come on! They're officially licensed!" They're not, they can't be. He couldn't afford them if thy were. "It's Nancy Korugarian? Crazy. But I kinda' like it." O'Brian grins. "Yeah. It's like Eel. Thaaaaaaal. Eeeeeeeeel. Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel. See?" This is probably not even a real thing but he's trying to make it work. "Well, listen, Thaaly Baby, if you ever need another crazy person to run around with one of those Plant Saving Rings, all my fingers are available." Eel even holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers while humming the Single Ladies tune.
Thaal Sinestro	"Why are you wearing ''leaves'', madame?" is all the bemused, squint-eyed response Sinestro can offer ~Poison Ivy. "There is a ''twig'' jutting from your shoulder--" The alien dips his gaze into the Lantini glass and his frown deepens. He contemplates its radioactive-green contents for a long, uncertain moment. "I... appear to be ''drunk''," he declares with the utmost severity. "... not drunk enough to find your foolishness ''amusing''... but drunk." The taut little smile that almost looks as if it ''hurts'' a little because the muscles are so disused lingers while he sips from the glass, but he doesn't look Eel's way. That would be a bridge ''too far'', obviously. "In any case: this is not a recruiting journey, Patrick," he states with a sidelong look. "But I ''will'' remember you, should the Corps ever devise a ring powered entirely by cleverly spun, tactically deployed idiocy." -- the momentary widening of his eyes. The way his inflection actually ''shifts'', upwards, partway through. The smile that is -- '''still''' -- there, small and taut though it may be-- ... could this be... ... a '''JOKE'''? '''With''', instead of '''at''' Eel? (''Kind of''?) "Your... ''Kardashians''," he lowly says afterwards as the smile mutes. "Briefly, I acted under the assumption that their ubiquity in your culture -- this ''slice'' of it, the one gorged upon in this particular country -- translated to some measure of import-- of ''nobility''... but try as I might, I could find no ''proof'' to back this. Surely, a man of ''your'' varied knowledge must have some insight...?"
Patrick O'Brian	"Y'know what? I'll take that. That might be the nicest thing an alien has ever said to me. So I'm gonna' hold ya' to that, alright, pal?" Great. Eel's going to try and actually become an Idiot Lantern. Well, depending on the color. But that's neither here nor there, to be perfectly honest. Either way, having a magical ring could be pretty dang awesome so he's going to remember. "Oh. The Kardashians? Yeah, they're just super hot. Also super plastic. But mostly hot." Eel motions to the club and all the hot people walking around dressed up like superheroes. "There's just something about hot people, Thaal-Mart. Something about hot people." Patrick shakes his head because he doesn't understand it one bit. "And Mary too. But she's also Cameron Diaz. Who is super hot. So we're back to Square Hot One again. See what I mean?"