Owner	Pose
Mary McPherran	The bar isn't one that'll make it into any must-see travel Blog. It's underlit, and partially underground, one of those Cheers-style taverns that lurks in a basement rather than at ground level. The kind of place that still allows patrons to light up while they enjoy a drink, the haze lingering near the top of the ceiling making as if the place possessed its own micro-climate. And while some of the liquor may be watered-down, the prices remain just above the water-line. This is a place to meet up with others for business, and the clients enjoy darkened nooks and furtive looks.     This is the kind of place Mary unfortunately feels the safest from the law in. Beggers can't be choosers, and she's not one to be fiscally lucky or wise. Her stature at the billiard table had a good intimidation factor, but it didn't help with avoiding the sharks making a living earning with a pool cue. Scowling, she's just off to the bar to refuel and see if she can cool down her rage. The two jack-offs behind her at the pool table, give her certain ~looks~ as she departs them, the kind that are as moist and slimy as the underside of the chairs in this place.     "Whiskey straight up, and a chaser of draft." she huffs to the bartender." Holding up two finger together.
Laura Kinney	While it might be like Cheers in location it's very much the sort of bar where the patrons do everything they can to avoid knowing each others names. Which makes it ideal for X-23, with her love of privacy and covert operations, to meet up with a contact. Keeping on top of which corporation might be doing unethical mutant cloning experiments is a time consuming vocation. Not to mention the financial costs. But thanks to the (very unwilling) criminals of Gotham her off the books slush funds are usually well stocked with cash. Just don't ask why it's got blood on it. Dressed in shades of grey and a hoodie that makes it hard to see her face the petite mutant slinks into the bar. Her eyes flick around the drinks on offer and she pulls out a few crumpled notes and gestures at the selection of bottled beers. They might be lukewarm but at least they're not watered down! Besides who knows when they last cleaned the glasses & pitchers. Probably never.
Mary McPherran	The glasswear is definitely questionable in terms of hygiene, and the act of putting alcohol within them is a kind of public service in itself. One such is filled with two-fingers full of some amber whiskey while Mary leans her considerable height some, just so she can rest her forearms on the scratched bartop.     Mary's red hair, prodigious and suffering from the humidity of the bar, is a bit frazzled. The trucker's cap help keep everything around her scalp squashed while the rest spills down the middle of her back in a trio of french-style braids. Over her torso is a carnival cruise shirt that only covers a modest amount, the dolphin mascot distorted by how her chest stretches the fabric. The jeans she wears are torn, and it's not just some attempt for style. She's got a lot of swole. She also has a pair of sunglasses, but they're currently hanging from her collar, looking about as cheap as her shirt.     Mary lifts the shot glass and tosses it back. "Here's mud in your eye. Hey, why don't you open a tab. I'm good for it." she suggests, blinking rapidly at the burn of cheap whiskey. In the cracked mirror behind the bar, her eyes settle on the new arrival. Maybe she's on the look out for someone as well.
Laura Kinney	Laura takes a few sniffs as she hops up onto one of the bar stools. She gives the draft beer pump a scowl and glances at Mary "I hope you don't mind the taste of line cleaner." It's not just the glasses which need better treatment. No-one in a classy establishment like this has ever bothered to learn how you properly clean out the pipes the beer gets pumped up from! Although at least they tried which is better than can be said from a lot of places X-23 meets informants. There's a reason she buys bottled drinks. Well a reason other than paranoia. She pops the cap from her own drink with her thumb. A careless little flick like she's tossing a coin. The petite mutant makes no overt move to look around the room. Trusting her nose to alert her when the person she's meeting gets here.
Mary McPherran	Mary runs her tongue along her front teeth as the whiskey doesn't give her palate a gentle experience. She offers a grunt as she exhales and raises the shot glasses up before her eyes. "Is that what that was...?"     She's reaching for the mug that's meant to chase the whiskey down her gullet. And her expression goes a bit cock-eyed and sour. She can definitely see something floating amongst the not-exactly-white head of the brew. Is taht a hair or residue from the pipes. "Ooof. Slainte mhath." And she drains half the beer down. Wearing a bit of a foamy moustache, her eyes don't fail to notice the finesse Laura displays in opening her much more sanitary drink. An audible swallow of the rest of her mouthful and she lowers her mug, side-wise breathing out a collection of gas so it's not directly in the stranger's face she shares the bar with. There doesn't seem to be as many fellow broads in a joint like this. A bit of a topsy-turvy of her recent involuntary residences. Another grunt and she slides her fingers over the condensation of her glass. "Maybe I should have asked you what's best around here. But I'm just passing through before passing out."
Laura Kinney	Laura drinks the first of her two drinks in a single pull, the bottled beers might be safer to drink but that doesn't mean they're good, it's not like she can get drunk after all. Besides, the quicker she drinks it the sooner the taste will go away. "No, that's what that was," She explains when Mary moves onto the cleaning fluid 'enhanced' beer. "The whiskey was just bad." She's not a regular here either, too paranoid to be a regular anywhere, but the nose knows. A simple sniff and all kinds of information becomes apparent to Laura. Which of the patrons is armed, where the shotgun the bartender has to encourage rowdy customers to leave is, and just what the mysterious sticky patch is that's probably been around so long the regular patrons have given it a nickname. "The best thing? Probably staying sober," She muses. Earning an obscene hand gesture from the bartender and a few amused snorts that probably count as laughter from further down the bar. "Although the tequila probably makes a good paint remover."
Mary McPherran	Some masochist has found a way to make the jukebox to work, and they've cued up Achey breaky heart. The song spins up like it's started at a low RPM and needs time to get up to speed. Mary's eyebrow arches and she peers into the mirror for a moment to try and make out the shadowy duo. The two that happened to snatch more than a few dollars from her pocket at the pool table. She glares and soaks back down the bile that's starting to rise.     Mary does take a small glimmer of mirth from Laura's throwing shade at the bartender, right there in front of her face. Ooooh, she got some moxie. And listening to her more, elicits a throaty chuckle from the taller muscled woman. "Heh, I bet it does." Mary turns her fist and raps her knuckles on the top of the bar. "Tequila." she requests and turns in her chair to get a better view of Laura. On the matter of judging books by their cover, she's not getting much other than some very surface reads. None may even be accurate. "I could stand to cleanse a bit. Good to be back States-side. A little toxic de-tox. Lord knows there's enough bacteria in this joint. Present company excluded of course."
Laura Kinney	"It could be worse I suppose," Laura muses. Sipping at her other bottle of beer. The extra one she got to while away the time. "Bars like this in Madripoor are considered classy. But then anywhere without an ongoing gunfight is considered a cut above the rest in that part of the world." But then Madripoor is a very unique city. Where the strong do whatever they like. And the law is more about who you know and what you can afford. So a lot like Gotham but without Batman and you can work on your tan. "That a part of the world you've been to?" she wonders. Sniffing a little more. Trying to pick up telltale signs about where Mary might have been. Scents unique to certain countries. Foods, perfumes or other clues like unusual fuel mixes. It's a wonder what the nose knows.
Mary McPherran	Mary gets a bit cagey, a few of her muscles, well-developed as they are, flex and spasm. In direct relation to the whole where-you-been vibe. Her lips stretch into a grimace that doesn't have much to do with the liquids ingested. Her shoulders hunch up a bit. "Bit of a cruise, to be honest." If there's lingering scents, they'd definitely be a buffet to sample: gunpowder smells, blood under her fingernails, tropical pollen, sea salt, and harsh chemicals that accompany either an environment that requires regular santizing. Incarceration, hospital or lab stuff. Definitely verging on the kind that is concerned with making someone's stay comfortable if closer inspection is made. Since then she's showered and whatnot, but some things stain for longer. "I've been all over. Can't stick around too long anywhere. Or I get bored. Need cash. What about you?" Tequila is poured, and Mary's hand rests over the serving hand. "Save time, leave the bottle." she intones with some substance, giving a small squeeze that promises a harder grip if not obeyed.
Laura Kinney	"Not a fan of boats myself," Laura admits with a casual what can you do shrug. "Last time I was on one a guy I know had got himself to trouble. Had to go bail him out. Expensive to get to a moving ship and back. Lot of hassle. Supposedly he was 'on vacation' but the guy never takes a break." A classic Pot/kettle situation. Laura complaining that Tim never takes vacations. She notes the smells. Gunpowder is pretty obvious. As is the blood. Smells she's so used to they may as well be old friends at this point. While the other scents merely confirm what she expected to smell. Mary was up to no good and she's washed the evidence off. Still she's not a cop and doesn't want the attention calling them would cause. "I go where I need to. Corporate head hunting. It's a cut throat business." In that anywhere in the world The Facility sets up shop she will go there. Hunt heads and if needed cut throats.
Mary McPherran	Mary uses her index finger to lightly nudge the shotglass towards Laura's position along the bartop. It spills a little on the way, leaving a moist trail. The larger woman takes the bottle for herself. She doesn't bother to swipe the rim before her lips are on it and she's swigging back an entire mouthful in a very unladylike way. When her mouth is clear, she grinds her teeth in a renewed grin. "Yeah, I can see where that would be a hassle. Typical though, right? There's always some ~pal~ or someone that needs hand-holding or pulling their testicals out of a fire." she brays a laugh. Resettling her hip against the nearby bar stool, she eyes the mirror briefly as a swarthy group of Bikers come in to wet their whistles. Keeping clumsy tabs on who is entering or leaving. She turns better to face Laura and purses her lips. "Sounds...I dunno. What, you go out and find the sharpest pencils or the longest ties? You work for those assholes in ivory towers or something?" She's trying to tease or jab. She adds, "Course...I've worked for more than a few mega Assholes with god complexes."
Laura Kinney	Laura Kinney glances at the shot glass and raises an eyebrow. Then puts her bottle down, nods to Mary, and slugs it back. "Or they're getting kidnapped," she notes. "I have a place in Gotham. Every three months someone seems to get kidnapped. It's exhausting. I should get everyone I know there chipped. It'll save me time in the long run. Stop me having to track down second rate goons who're holding them captive." She gives a little tilt of her head at the comment about her 'job'. "I freelance," she clarifies. It's technically true too. She doesn't work /for/ anyone. "I don't work for anyone but myself. It's just that most of the people I track down work for corporations." She doesn't seem especially easy to tease. It's hard to say if she's even aware she's being teased. "But I find particular people and make them offers they would be foolish to refuse."
Mary McPherran	The large woman raises one of her eyebrows. "You sound like some sort of hero. Almost, but not quite." The polish she puts on the ~h~, the enunciation attempts to spin it like Laura may be inhabiting a grey zone rather than completely on the side of Angels. "But then you also sound like you're closer to having ties with ~The Family~." Mary leans in to give Laura a closer inspection. It's a lot of looking down her nose. Hard to tell certain things with the clothing being worn currently. Her breath would be detectable even for someone without super senses at this proximity. "You...make offers? Like, what, little thing like yourself?" She cocks a grin and tilts her head to the side. "You drop a scary name or pull a piece on them or something?"
Laura Kinney	Not quite a hero. And connected with 'The Family'. It's pretty spot on for an observation. Except she's connected to the Bat Family and all her mob money comes from raiding criminal gangs. Laura herself only responds with a narrow smile as she puts down the empty shot glass. "I'm very persuasive," she notes. "It's all about how you deliver your message." And in her case? It's silently passing through all of the expensive security measures someone might have in place. And simply appearing out of the darkness with a whispered word and an extended claw. If that doesn't convince someone not to do illegal mutant cloning then nothing will. "I have a collection of firearms," she concedes. An understatement. She doesn't collect she /stockpiles/. "What about you? You don't seem very nautical. Hired to wear a bikini and pull up the anchor on an oligarchs superyacht?"
Mary McPherran	Mary feels pretty proud of herself for thinking she's almost got Laura all sized up. Though she's still not sure the vibe she's getting is gelling with where her mind bounces back and forth from. She nods along with the firearms comment. "Yeah, I mean, if you're...you...having a weapon is a good idea. Girls gotta take care of themselves. Specially if they don't pack these guns." Yes, this is a unsubtle way to allow herself to raise an arm and flex. Bulging a big bicep that makes the fabric pull back from the muscle and stretch the fabric of whatever doesn't get out of the way. She purses her lips. "Ooooooo." like she's impressed with herself. She catches the cut of Laura's jibe, and purses her lips into a smirk. "Honey, I've done a lot of things, but no one makes me do nuthin I don't wanna. Ain't many who can twist my arm behind my back." She takes another drink. "I'm pretty persuasive too. I deliver it with gusto. No one can't get the better of me in a fair fight." she boasts.
Laura Kinney	Laura Kinney raises an eyebrow. "I had a sensei who used to say the only weapon that counts is in here," she picks up her beer and gestures at her head with the bottle. "Besides the bigger a target is the easier it is to hit." The gun show doesn't seem to intimidate her. Laura's been up against weird Kryptonian clone things. Ancient beings in metal hotpants that burst out of long buried tombs. It's a high bar to impress her! "Ah that's the difference between us. I make sure I'm never in a fair fight."
Mary McPherran	Mary huffs out a laugh at the mention of a Sensei. "Wax on, wax off." is the garnish she adds on with a dollop. She starts to shake her head and stands. "Nah toots." She lifts the hem of her shirt to show off some insane abs. She taps just above her navel. "I don't need to avoid a punch." She reaches to drain the rest of the bottle, giving it a little swirl to give some centrifugal motion to swirl the alcohol out faster and plaps the base of the bottle to the counter. "I bet your sensei never had to go up against the strongest gal on the planet." Forgetting herself, she grins with some relish. "I like your 'tude, but I bet I could learn you a thing or two. Come up against someone like me, I don't care how dirty you get, it's a done deal. I hope you got taught some ~really~ crazy tricks." She does not pay as she prepares to leave. She doesn't pay cause she's out of cash. But in her head, she's already got a narrative of why she doesn't have to.