Owner	Pose
Talia al Ghul	Everyone needs a place to go to relax. Even the bad guys need somewhere to throw some drinks back. The Bar With No Name, the Villain's Pub.. Wherever it was this night, or any night (it tended to change a lot). Leave your politics, your weapons, your murder at the door. Talia Al Ghul is here, listening over to some exchanges of 'could have gotten them' going on amongst some various villains.     THe abscence of some of the Flash Rogues standing out. A group of adversaries of the infernal arachnid are swapping stories about the times they nearly stomped out that annoying bug-brain.     Talia takes a sip of her drink, paying them no mind while watching a game of darts between Bullseye and Boomerang rapidly turning into most of a hole in the wall with the poor, dead dartboard.
Mary McPherran	Titania pushes open the door in time to allow the velocitious exit of someone nefarious and notable. Just dumb luck she got to be an impromptu door woman. The slurred exchange is weathered well, and quite one-sided. Once the threshold is clear, Mary is manuevering herself in, turning sideways to give one last hairy eyeball to the departing villain. "...I think I'll have what they were having..." Straightening up, she peers over the interior. By word of mouth she sometimes hears of this place. It's a little unnerving to see so many not-heroes. The most recent being the Raft, which has her inwardly clench and flare her nostrils by reaction. Not exactly the kind of reaction she was hoping when going out to get a drink where she should be unmolested by authorities. Without a weapon to check at the door or hide, she simply makes her way to the barktender and plants her elbows while she leans against it. She's partially kitted out in her Wreckin Crew attire, perhaps fresh off a job of questionable success. A bit scorched, a bit ripped, but modesty is still maintained, so to speak. She holds up two fingers. "WhiskeyBeer." she enunciates with a low raspy purr.
Talia al Ghul	The place is full of the macabre - several bad guys that have faces for skulls, bodies made out of blades.. To the melodious in the form of a guy with a huge afro, a disco outfit, and a boom box next to him talking animatedly about TIk-Tok with a guy that seems to be mostly made out of a floating magical top hat.     Talia Al Ghul goes to turn in the direction of Mary while the big girl makes her way in. "Ah, Titania. I heard you were able to break out of the Raft. Pleased to see they haven't managed to haul you back in there. Something rather depressingly common as of late."
Victor Creed	Emerging from the rest room after what was quite a lengthy time ridding himself of the evening's previously consumed beer, Victor Creed makes his way over towards the bar. "Yeah, another," he says, as the bartender looks to him expectantly. He had completed a job earlier in the day and had thrown a few hundred dollars at the man and said to just let him know when those ran out. It was that sort of night. He adopts a lean at the counter a few down from Titania. "Any job you can walk away from, right?" he asks, raising his newly acquired glass to her in salute.
Mary McPherran	Titania reaches up to push a pair of fingers up against her temples, the sensory input of this place doing her head in worse than a double-axe handle by that jolly green giant on the steps of a Courthouse. A little pressure into some small circles. Her lips twitch at the R-word from Talia, and then catching Victor's hoisted greeting. She straightens after an exhale, her spine making the sort of sound suddenly popping buttons on a too-tight corset would. "If I'd managed to make it out with something of value..." she muses, and the comment could coincide with what both Talia and Creed speak of. But she gets more specific as she addresses Talia first. "I've had a few narrow escapes and dropped jobs, but I feel them closing in even tighter and quicker, like they got a tracker still up my hoo-haw." Her whiskey arrives and when she sees the bottle, she requests it keep them all company rather than just the shotglass, and save on washing up. She offers a small toast to Creed as she addresses him. "I gotta find better paying ones that's worth the risk, less Spiders, or one of those big mythical scores that sets you up for a long vacation. You make out good recently?"
Talia al Ghul	Talia al Ghul would muse, "The thing of most value is our freedom. Our ability to go out and handle our own affairs. Make our own decisions." Even if little else than a moral victory of fleeing with their tail between their legs (metaphorically unless one was Cheetah). "Perhaps also it's that we're starting to lose our edge. Or getting sloppier. That we've kept up with this game long enough that it's becoming old hat. That while we play to win we've learned that failure does not necessarily have consequences. We play, we may get away, we may be caught, we break out.. The pattern can lend itself to sloppiness." Rather than admitting the good guys might be getting better, sure.. At the mention of 'tracker' she would glance over to Victor to be about to asks omething.. Then rapidly think the better of it before the phrase had even been vocalized. "Business is business. And at the end of the day we're here tomake a living." Or in the case of Creed, make most other things un-living.
Victor Creed	Barking a laugh, Victor shakes his head at Titania. "I don't think that's the tracker they shoved up there, but..." He raises his glass in salute nonetheless, and then downs most of the beer in a series of swallows without pause for breath. Slamming it back down on the counter, he considers one of the few villains that matches him for size. "Yeah, I did, corp hit job. Those are the easy money. Heroes don't generally both showing up unless you're messy enough to attract attention in the wrong way." He glances over towards Talia as the bartender refills his glass. "Speak for yourself. Other than getting flambed by a Bat that I still owe a hurting to, no one's put a tag on me in months."
Mary McPherran	"Let's see how sloppy I can get tonight." Titania half-jokingly muses and takes a slug of the bottle. It's not as apt a reply given the observations, but it'll serve temporarily. Thankfully she can still feel the tingle of alcohol on her dry throat. While it won't make her eyes water, it can provide that facsimile of heat and biological reaction. Thank cosmic whatsits for that. and other reactions. Licking at her lips, she eyes Talia, and her mind is trying to connect the dots on this and that. That and the concussion seeping away after she got her bell rung real good. "All I know is we're outnumbered and underfunded. Someone forgot to tell the Do-gooder fancy pants about putting on that smaller cowl for protection." Victor's comment makes Titania smirk and almost gigglesnort. She makes a point of pretending to need to gently seat herself on a chair, faux-wincing at a phantom no-no where the sun don't shine. "Half the Raft's funding probably devoted to just latex gloves. It certainly wasn't for the cafeteria." Yet another swig and she's offering a long groan as she tries to concentrate on making muscles relax and unknot. "I wonder if there's still money to made in feet picks. That's gotta be worth drinking money if not rent. Hey do a girl a favour and toss me a bone sometime if it's that easy. I did a job for some shady as shit paramilitary group. Planes and extra transport and everything. Gear was good. Timing was bad."
Talia al Ghul	Talia al Ghul would smirk over at Creed then and go to watch back and forth. "But it's never just about the money. It's about the fun. There are plenty of other, easier ways to get money if you're that desperate for it. But they're not nearly as enjoyable." She still watches Creed like a hawk. The man is among the most dangerous people on the planet for a very, very good reason. She goes to take a look over at Mary and chortle. "At least it sounds like you enjoyed yourself in the melee. That's at worth something." THey didn't all get to have that much fun in their lives. As Mary goes to chug her drink, Talia goes to throw up enough money to cover the round. "Paramilitary groups tend to be on two extremes on the spectrum. Extremely professional or purely fanatics. Very little in between."
Victor Creed	"If you run low, I've got plenty more ammunition for that." Creed reaches into his pocket and pulls another few bills, tossing them to the bartender. "Add her to my tab." He raises his new glass to Mary, drains it, and sets it down for another refill. It seems that he can handle his alcohol, too. "If you're really looking for some gigs, let me know. I got more than I can handle, business being the way it is, so I can throw you some of the ones I don't have time for." He looks to Talia, and shrugs. "There's fun in it, sure, but more fun to play in the money after. It's not sporting enough, taking out hired guns protecting fat cats and politicians."
Mary McPherran	Mary gestures at Talia, swallowing and giving an emphatic nod. "What you said." The whiskey feels like it's having a beneficial effect, improving her mood and loosening things here and there. "What is in this stuff...feels like it's warm enough to make my freckles come back..." she absently murmers and gives the bottle a cock-eyed brief survey of the label. She should have eaten but it wasn't top on her priorities nor was her planning ahead. A bead of whiskey tries to roll down her bottom lip, but doesn't get far before she dabs it with her tongue. To her credit, her eyes don't bulge a lot when money is tossed by Talia and Creed like it ain't no thang. It takes style to throw bills like her companions do, and they make it look second-nature and practically cinematically cool. Gawd, maybe she still does have a concussion the way she's fixating and dazzled by odd things. "Hell yessss." Titania hisses. "Especially if it involves throwing things. Oh hell, and if a bunch of bureaucrats are potential friendly fire, that must have been just the cherry on top of a big ol fudge sundae payday." A pause as she considers something said earlier. "What's that they say? If you enjoy doin what you're doin, you're not working a day in the life? A day of your life...I wonder what a mattress of bills feels like."
Victor Creed	A shrug from the fanged one. "Who knows. As long as it melts your face, it's doing the job, right?" Victor picks up his new glass, watching Mary for a few moments as she briefly displays a drinking problem, but then seems to cure it quickly enough. "Some involve throwing things, some people, but that's the general way it goes." He turns a bit to face her a bit more. "Something like that, yeah." He laughs at her last, though. "Been there. Done thought. Thought it'd be cool. Just a lot of paper cuts in uncomfortable places."
Mary McPherran	"It's not an optic blast but it'll do." Mary murmurs and regards Victor with eyes that want to narrow into a considering expression. "Oh yeah, I wouldn't want to make a messy pile of greenbacks." She nabs the bottle and slides along the bar with her elbow to invade more of Creed's personal space. "I blame Scrooge MacDuck or whatever his name was for implanting the idea in all the kids' heads." She takes a brief moment to cast a glance around the bar-that-resists-a-name. The absolute buffet of baddies is still a bit bizarre to her. It doesn't verge on a Convention because of how serious some of the Names are here, and the legit-ness. But it still feels like a potential Powderkeg, and she's recently very, very leery of those. "What's the last fool you really got to sink your claws into?" she asks sweetly.
Victor Creed	Seemingly not to mind Mary's space invasion, Victor nods to her. "Yeah, that and a few too many movies about making it rain." He shrugs, and drains the next glass, before placing it back down. "The kinda thing you do once to say you did it, and that's that." He considers her question for a moment. "Most recently, some thief who could control water, was falling a bit behind on her payments. I bought out her debt, though, because the guy who sent me after her was a real dickwad." He nods to the bartender as his glass is refilled. "Before that, lady bat. She was a fun one, I gotta say. Fucker tried to drop a burning building on me. Still owe her for that, actually."
Mary McPherran	Mary's eyebrow raises as her cheeks pull inward, her lips tugging on the neck of the bottle as it temporarily upends to deliver the goods. A wipe of her mouth with the back of her wrist and she's smirking. "I keep a Tally as well. I gotta say the names don't move position much, so my mental to-punch list could be written in permanent marker rather than chalk. But..." She offers up a small shrug. "Yeah, the memorable ones have a special place in my heart as well. Some are pretty fiesty even though though they're so fragile. I guess that's how they get so inventive or they croak." She muses, "Bit of a soft bit inside, is there? She must have been special, or cute, to go from prey to protected."
Victor Creed	"Yeah, I got a list too, but it's...pretty small." Victor shrugs a bit. "I shrunk it down about as far as it can go. Now it's just..." He grins. "An endless cycle of killing the same ones and they keep coming back." He drains his glass, and knocks down the next. At her question, he just laughs. "Ha, I ain't protecting her. She's just my prey now instead of his. Haven't figured out what I want to do with her yet." He pauses to think about it. "There's not enough cute in the world to make me start being responsible and shit."