Owner	Pose
Flatline	Flatline. The pale-haired, pale-skinned, pale-eyed disciple of LORD DEATH MAN. Yes. That is what he calls himself.     The LORD DEATH MAN stays in his minor crime ring in Tokyo. Flatline had been dispatched to the US moooonths agoooooo and was largely finding her own entertainment.     WOrd on the street was her first night in the states, she joined a fighting ring and in a single move dispatched her opponent with a casual flip, making him land just so to snap his neck.     Word has it that she stabs Bats and steals their weapons, consorts with the League of Assassins, and in general is a pain in the ass to deal with.     Which is so weird because she's a little teenage girl who last time she was up at karaoke sang girly K-Pop and had a pomeranian in a baby harness, who had the same style of sunglasses she was rocking.     So for now, she was at the Bar with No Name, some where in New York City, with an orange soda in front of her, a boba tea, and a big pile of french fries with plenty of ketchup as she muses over a tablet.
Victor Creed	One thing that people mistake about Victor Creed is his intelligence. They assume that his animalistic tendencies are a match for his intellect, and in doing so, they are often wrong. Victor is a savvy fellow, and he pays careful and close attention to those around him, both literally and metaphorically. So staying abreast of killer teenagers is par for the course. Of course, a sixteen year old sitting at the bar with no name would be remarkable in its own right, and perhaps that is what sets Victor cross referencing the figure against his mental databse of other assassins and operatives in the first place. Another venue, he might not have noticed her. Now, he stares intently from down at the other side of the bar, wondering what it is that she is up to. She must be here for a mission, right?
Flatline	IT's partially because they don't charge her for the orange sodas, and they let her bring boba teas in. The dog has a ban from last time -- Benji knows what he did.     Flatline, on the other hand, lowers her sunglasses as she feels someone staring at her. She looks around casually, as if she were figuring out from which direction someone she might be meeting might be coming, and spots Victor Creed. Her fine, dark eyebrows rise up, her pinkish eyes peering out from above the rims of her dark red sunglasses, and the teenager gives a bright smile and a finger waggle over to the massive and dangerous merc.     "Hi there big guy!" she calls out across the bar, giving recognition to him.     And then she pops another ketchup-drenched fry into her mouth.
Victor Creed	Spotted. Victor is not entirely sure if the girl is merely making small talk, or if part of her mission involves him. And he intends to find out.     Sliding from his stool, Victor slowly makes his way over towards where Flatline is sitting,m keeping an eye on the girl, and his surroundings, as he goes. Knowing that one never knows how capable someone is. Even if he knows he is unkillable. Or should be.     "Hi there." he echoes once he finally arrives at that corner point.
Flatline	Should be. And there are SO MANY QUESTIONS on Flatline's mind.     She pushes the basket of fries towards Victor as he makes his approach.     "Hey. So. Victor Creed. Sabertooth! It is SO GREAT to meet you! I'm a huge fan of how you've basically destroyed tons of people with your bare hands! I mean, wow!" she states, throwing her arms up. Her nails are painted black. Her pale skin isn't make up -- but the skull painted on her face looks to be.     "I mean you've basically been doing it forever. Even my GRAND DAD knew about you and man, your work in Soviet Russia?" she asks, and makes a chef kiss with her black lips shining.     "I'm Flatline."
Victor Creed	"Huh." Victor reaches out to claim a few french fries as he watches Flatline extol his virtues. "You know your shit."     He studies the girl a bit more intently, and then reaches up with one hand to hold it before her. "Not just bare hands." He lets his claws make an appearance, and then he laughs.
Flatline	"Oh man! Look at those things! I bet those babies can punch through steel like tissue paper never mind what it could do to someone's sternum!" Flatline gives a fangirlish squeal over seeing the claws up close and personal.     "And of course I know my shit. I'm one of the best fighters to ever learn from death!" she chirps happily. "Maybe someday I'll be as infamous and strike the same level of fear into people, but for nooooow?"     Sllluuuurrrrp.     "I'm just a sidekick."
Victor Creed	Eyeing the girl up and down, Victor shrugs. "I dunno. You look small and fragile, but I think you've got the skills. Why settle for being a sidekick when you can go out on your own?"     He glances around to see if a handler is around with her, keeping an eye out. But sees none.
Flatline	There's no handler. Just her. On her own. And she's not even causing trouble.     "Oh yeah you could probably rip me apart like a raspberry jelly donut and paint the walls with my viscera, absolutely, I don't stand a candle to you." Flatline points out with a grin, and she points a french fry at him.     "I would *appreciate* it if you didn't, though, since I'm so small and fragile. Really, hardly a threat to anyone." she gives a bright grin up to Sabretooth.     "But I am *dying* to know -- do you do all your best work with the claws or do you do other weaponry too? Like trying to leve a fake trail and frame someone? Like, have there been deaths that weren't properly attributed to you?!"
Victor Creed	Victor endures the barrage of questions, somehow. And he even deigns to answer a few. "I'm not going to kill you unless someone is paying me to." He shakes his head. "I use the claws a lot, sure, and I can't think of any times that I framed someone else."     Victor glances around, and then back to Flatline. "As far as attribution, I don't give a shit unless my client wants it for some reason. There are plenty of dead people around that were my fault, and just no one thinks or cares enough to try to connect it to me."
Flatline	"Sweeeeeeeeet." Flatline states, her eyes wide, her palms pressed to her chin and her fingers curled. She is OBVIOUSLY enjoying the conversation, the girl with the coffin and death motif hanging on Victor's words.     "Totally understandable when you're like, an S-Tier mercenary and that is *so freaking cool* that you're even talking to me. AH man my boss is gonna pitch a fit." she states with admiration to Victor. Which is probably not something he gets very often.     "Who's the most important person you've ever taken out? Can you talk about it? Oh oh oh if you can't that's totally cool, I can respect client confidentiality."
Victor Creed	She is a special one, alright. "Why wouldn't I talk to you? Never know who's going to end up good some day, so never hurts to be nice to people." Not that he is nice to people. Coworkers, sometimes. If he finds a good reason to.     "You know I can't say," he says quickly, buffing his knuckles on his shirt. "But he was a President, so there's that."