Owner	Pose
Luke Cage	Slow night. Patron's drifting in and out, brining with them the ever cooling fall air. Plenty of seats free as the local's opt to stay in, watch TV, do crossword puzzles on toilet until their legs go numb. Behind the bar tonight, Luke. Tall, dark, fairly handsome, and typically somber until you ask for a drink and then a flash of recognition delivered with your drink sets the tone. Why did you come, what do you need? Whatever it is, its either in the glass or it isn't.
Negasonic	Negasonic Teenage Warhead. Head with dark hair freshly buzzed short, hoodie with the grey hood flipped up onto the top of her head, black leather jacket, block leather pants, black kneehigh boots. And black lipstick. She, perhaps, knew this was one of those places that didn't card. Not that she really *drank* so much as just... wanted someplace to be. Where no one really knew her, and the teenager could just hang out and decompress from classes. And that was here. With a root beer, bottled, on the table in front of her. She never quite asked for alcohol, this one.
Logan	The weather is getting cooler, but not quite cold enough for Logan to start dressing to 'match' it. To paraphrase a certain Disney Princess, the cold never bothered him none. A fitted white singlet underneath a faded, worn denim jacket with an old and sun-bleached 'Peace Now!' badge on the lapel. He ambles past the bar, narrowing his eyes across the room at Negasonic before pausing in front of Luke. He raps calloused knuckles on the counter. "Gimme a bottle a Kirin if you got it ... or your cheapest whisky if you don't."
Luke Cage	Luke Cage lifted his chin to Logan and produced the bottle requested, popping the top off with a small chrome plated tool. He pushed it across the bar to Logan. "On the house." he said, voice rumbling deep in his chest.
Negasonic	Well, be that as it may, Negasonic's lips tick down into a deeper frown for a moment, before they settle back into that apathetic glance. A small snort leaves her, and she pushes her hand up from the table, grasping her backpack to sling over her shoulder, and that bottle of root beer. It clinks against the bartop as she moves to take a stand, a couple of arms length's away from Logan. She lifts her chin to Luke. "You gonna rat?" she says to Logan.
Caleb Dykstra	Caleb's just arrived himself, but not very long ago. He's at the counter, just finishing up a talk over the phone, about being there soon, wherever that is. Closing it, he looks at the man behind the counter, and asks, "Root beer, please." Now, a root beer might be off-putting against the way he's dressed: a heavy-duty biker jacket, complete with chains and everything. Hhey, not really his style, but it was a birthday present from a real heavy-duty biker; besides, he likes it. Man, if other bikers heard his request, they'd leer at him... Others might even think he'd be a sheep in wolf's clothing. He quietly looks about at those here assembled, and offers a slight, courtesy nod to them. Moody, somewhat?
Logan	"Well, shit," Logan murmurs, bottom lip jutting out appreciatively as he takes the bottle and enjoys a swig, "This a bribe to keep me from wreckin' up the place? I might look rough, bub, but this ol' Canucklehead is just lookin' to get fubar." He hears Negasonic approaching before she arrives, and doesn't immediately look away from Luke when the teenage mutant gothic warhead speaks. Broad shoulders roll casually as he sets the quarter-empty bottle down in front of him. "Nah. Jeanie's got bigger problems than this an' they'd probably just make me punish ya. An' there's only so much eye rollin' a fella can take before it wounds the warrior's soul." He tilts his head to look up at the taller Caleb, clocking him from beneath beetled brows and then turning back to Negasonic. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, picking out seven crumpled twenties which he slides across the bar towards Luke. "Gimme an' her a tab. If we go over, I'll square up at the end a' the night. Just root beer for her."
Luke Cage	Luke Cage glanced at Caleb, producing a bottle of root beer without complaint. He opened it and slid it across the bar. "Nobody makes trouble anymore, Logan." he advised or re-assured. He glanced toward Negasonic, having served them earlier, but not re-assessing as if the information that she was one of the super-school kids was news to him. "Rootbeer has more bullshit in it than beer." he smiled, but only with his eyes, "Just sayin." despite this he had no intention of serving the kids, not with Teach watching over.
Negasonic	"Fuck," says Negasonic with a roll of her eyes. The gothling looked irritated, tapping her black fingernail on the label of the bottle she carried. "All root beer. Not even one of those fruity IPAs - do you even serve those here, Luke?" she asks, pushing the bottle across the bar towards him. A beat more, and Ellie looks back towards Logan then. "Good," she says, her voice frowning more than her stoic features. She notes the cursory nod from Caleb, Ellie turning her head to glance over her shoulder towards him, and narrowing her eyes, her expression darkening. "Nice jacket," she compliments? Although the darkness in her voice might say otherwise.
Luke Cage	Luke Cage explained to Ellie, "Don't get much call for em." but he wagged his head over toward the cooler by the registered, silently indicating that he had a small selection.
Caleb Dykstra	"Great. I could do without some trouble", Caleb replies to Luke when he mentions nobody made trouble anymore. "And hell, I don't mind a root beer if that means I'm sober for the rest of the night." To Negasonic, he smiles, "Thanks. It was a gift for my twentieth." He too throws a compliment to her. "Nice hoodie."
Logan	"Good t' know," Logan says to Luke, propping an elbow on the bar so he can face Negasonic more fully and make himself a barrier to give their conversation a little privacy. "Well, whatever, I'm not your mom. Laws just against sellin' to or servin' ya. If I wanna give you a drink, don't mean nothin' for Happy here's license. Gotta love New York." As though to emphasize his point, Logan nudges the mostly-full bottle of Kirin across the counter towards Negasonic and gestures over his shoulder to Luke for another bottle. "You startin' drinkin' those, your reputation ain't recoverin'." When she moves to talk to Caleb he steps away, moving towards a table beneath the television and peering up at it. "We smoke in here?" he shouts across the room to Luke.
Negasonic	Negasonic makes a small sound in the back of her throat. "Thanks," she says, dourly. A small sound in the back of her throat at what Logan says, a small hiss leaving her as she pushes that sound through her teeth. She reaches out her hand to grasp the Kirin, bringing it to her nose to take a sniff of the same. "Japanese beer?" she hazards a guess, her brow curling. She didn't figure that out by scent, but the label, after all.
Luke Cage	Luke Cage shook his head silently to Logan, and then explained as he wiped some moisture off the bar with a clean rag. "Illegal. Clean Indoor Air Act, circa two thousand and four."
Caleb Dykstra	Caleb looks at that bottle of Kirin, "Yeah, where /is/ that from? Is it any good?" He ponders, "Is it something that would make the common man go giddily and happily home, or to the hospital on a coma?" He shrugs at the clean air law, "Don't bother me, either way - I don't smoke."
Logan	"Mother a' Christ," Logan says with a shake of his head and a sigh, taking the clipped but unlit cigar he's produced from his pocket and looking at it almost mournfully, "Some other time, darlin'." He tucks it back away. His own bottle of Kirin is the focus of his attention now, and whatever is playing on the television. He's never had much time for sports in his life. He moved around too much to have a home team, and that patchy memory meant he didn't remember the old players well enough to compare them to the new. Still, he liked the violent ones just fine.
Negasonic	In spite of her tough appearance, Negasonic does cough after taking a sip of the drink, giving her head a shake, the silver studs on her ears catching the light as she goes. Then the flush of crimson embarrassment in her features. "Yeah. Not for me," she says, pushing the beer bottle back towards Luke's side of the counter. "I'm going back to the mansion," she adds, shouldering her backpack, and making her way through the crowd back to the door, to push out through it and into the night beyond.