10625/Bar Keepers Friend

Bar Keepers Friend
Date of Scene:	03 January 2020
Location:	A dive bar in Gotham City
Synopsis:	Rick Flag attempts to recruit Artemis Crock to the Suicide Squad, and she doesn't immediately reject the offer.
Cast of Characters:	Rick Flag, Artemis Crock

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Rick Flag has posed:
Late one night--not quite at last call, but not far from it--a man dressed shabbily but exhibiting the demeanor of a cop or military man walks into the bar Artemis is currently tending at.

He posts up at a stool, removing his coat, and attempts to get her attention.

"Excuse me," the man calls out. "You still serving?" He coughs, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket at the question, nodding as she slides it back into place. "Lucky you, fifteen minutes early," she answers with a faint smile. Rick may be able to get a drink, but the man at the end of the bar who's weaving in his seat gets his glass confiscated quietly.

"What can I get you?" Gotham's seedier parts of town don't really do much for friendly bartending, but she seems to be less crusty than average. Still, there's a sharpness in her gaze as she picks up on his bearing. And she's not the only one. There are a few tables of men in the back who shift in their chairs, murmuring under their breath.

Rick Flag has posed:
The man offers an indecisive frown. "Well," he says with a sigh, "I'm looking for a cocktail. Of sorts, at least. Got some real shit ingredients but, I hear, the end result is worth checking out."

"I know, I know," he continues. "Cryptic as hell. But the thing is ... I've got a job offer for you. Assuming that my cryptic statement sounds like it might hit close enough to home?"

The man seems to pay absolutely zero attention to those patrons who have been sizing him up.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis arches a brow, setting the confiscated glass into the sink behind the bar. "As you can see," she replies, gesturing broadly around herself, "I've got a job. Very exciting and profitable one even. Though hey, if there's a party you need worked, the holiday season's past and I could always use the extra money."

He may be ignoring the other patrons, but Artemis has an eye on them, leaning forward as she reaches down to pull a beer from the cooler. It brings her close enough to lower her voice at least. "This is a //really// bad place for those conversations when you look like you do," she notes. "Not sure where you're from, but I live here."

Rick Flag has posed:
The man offers a thin smile. "Sure, I get it," he says quietly in response. "But just 'cuz I'm from out of town doesn't mean everyone's got to be all impolite, right?"

He reaches for the beer. "And yeah, I see you've got a job. But I've still got a job offer anyway. Ever want to try to save the world? And not like any of that Superman or Iron Man sort of thing. I mean really getting your hands dirty to make the world a better place," the man says, leaning his head to one side to crack his neck, which he punctuates with a rush of breath.

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis sighs, popping the cap off the beer and pushing it his way before leaning over to give the men at the table in the back a flat look. "Hey guys. Last call's up. You wanna head out, or am I gonna have to chase you out tonight?"

There's some grumbling at the table, some looks between them, but the moment one of them starts to stand up looking like he might have something stupid to say, she arches a brow. "Yeah, yeah," the man grumbles instead. "You on Sunday? John keeps shit odds on the spread for the games."

"That's the plan for our entirely legal and not at all monetary just for fun betting system here," Artemis drawls flatly with a tip of her head in Rick's direction. That seems to be enough to get the rabble on their way, and once the door closes behind them, Artemis steps out from behind the bar to lock it, flipping the sign and pulling the blinds.

"Who're you with?" she asks as she turns back to the bar, wary.

Rick Flag has posed:
"Mmm," the man responds with a mouth full of beer, eyebrows rising in faux surprise.

As he finishes swallowing the liquid--about the time the last of the regulars leaves--the man sets the bottle back down on the counter. "The name's Rick Flag. I'm with a group called Task Force X. You probably haven't heard of us, and I don't mean that in a hipster way."

He rests on one elbow against the bar. "Technically, we work for Uncle Sam. Also, technically, we don't." He holds up a hand, palm parallel to the ground, and wiggles it. "There's a bit of wiggle room and plausible deniability in there, if you follow. It's the kind of thing that I think you might be well-suited for."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"You'd be surprised what I have and haven't heard of," Artemis replies, dry, as she moves back behind the bar, starting to clean things up there. Sure, they may be talking about a job opportunity, but she's //on// the job right now, which means it's getting done right.

"I'm...semi-retired," she says after a moment, grimacing. "I did the capes and masks thing. Which I assume you're aware of. But that life comes with complications. My mom needs help." It's not a no. Not yet.

Rick Flag has posed:
"Okay," Flag replies, nodding. "So then you have heard of us?"

He pauses for a beat. "I'm only asking because--if you have--than you might have heard how my boss likes to make deals. I didn't figure you'd be interested in this job just for something to do. You need some help. My boss can make that happen."

Flag folds his arms across his chest. "So what's it going to take? Most of my offers, I'll admit, occur in a very different set of circumstances, so ... talking to someone who's not figuratively cornered is a little strange."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"I've heard...things. Rumors. Individuals." Artemis gives him a long look as she cleans, brows furrowed in the faintest of frowns. "Deals," she echoes. "Yeah. For people who manage to get caught. Sometimes repeatedly. Not the sort of people who have great reputations on the other side of the fence in the first place, if you get what I mean."

Out of busywork, she steps back to lean against the back of the bar, arms crossed loosely over her chest in an unconscious mirroring of his posture. "Are we talking a specific mission, or is this more of a...riding herd sort of thing?"

Rick Flag has posed:
With a shrug, Flag reaches into his jacket to procure an envelope. "I'm authorized to make you an offer for help with a particular mission. My boss believes your skills would make you an especially valuable asset on that mission. Once it's over ... well," he says, placing the envelope on the bar and pushing it slowly toward Artemis, "then you're free to do whatever you want to do. Come back to all this and its dimly lit comforts."

Flag takes another swig from the bottle. "Of course, I can't promise the mission's going to be remotely easy. But I think the real question will be whether it's worth what you're getting out of the offer."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"I've got..." School. Artemis doesn't even finish the sentence. She knows how that sounds. "Responsibilities," she says instead. That sounds a little bit better at least. "I've got one more semester to graduation, and I'm //planning// on going to law school after that. I had this crazy idea that maybe, just maybe, I could contribute to society without kicking someone in the face."

And yet, she steps forward, reaching for the envelope. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't have my duobts on that front," she grumbles. "Easy's a lie anyhow," she adds. "Anyone who tells you something is going to be easy has something else to get out of it."

Rick Flag has posed:
"Indeed," Flag says, watching Artemis take the envelope. "Besides, you can always defer a semester. Or get your work done after the mission's over. I don't know about you, but I've always found it hard to get work done when the world's on the verge of collapsing and destroying itself."

He takes another drink and sighs. "But that's me. You take your own approach. Law school sounds just as productive." Flag stares at the bartender for a long moment before continuing. "Might find it does wonders to clear the air about the sort of legacy you're carrying on. Or establishing."

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis snorts, looking up from the paper with a dry look. "Low blow," she mutters. "Just tell me it doesn't have to do with him. Because if it does, this offer better include a licensed therapist with several years to spare." Hey, at least she's //aware// of her issues. Some of them, at least.

Rick Flag has posed:
"It only involves him if you want it to. Or if you let it." Flag downs the rest of the bottle.

"You probably have some sense of the types you'll be working with. Some of them might try to use him--the idea, the memory of him--against you." He shrugs. "You might be used to that. If not, it's a good time to get used to it."

Flag retrieves his wallet and slips out a ten, placing it partially under the bottle. "I get shit all the time from them for being a soldier. They think it's an insult, but I don't need a threat to do the right thing. That's what most of them don't seem to get."

He offers a more genuine smile than before. "At least you'd have an opportunity to take out any built-up anger you might be storing in there."

Artemis Crock has posed:
"I can't imagine what would give you the idea that I've got pent-up anger," Artemis replies with a smirk that falls well short of innocent. The departure of a table full of rough characters looking for a fight was probably a hint.

After a moment, she lets out a slow breath, folding the paper back up and slipping it into her back pocket with a single nod. "Do the right thing," she echoes. "Yeah. I got out partly because I needed to do other things. But if we're being honest? Partly because I wasn't sure if I could be a part of the capes and the masks. The parts that are supposed to be hard were starting to get a little too easy. But maybe it's time to test that theory."

Rick Flag has posed:
"True enough," Flag says, standing and slipping his coat back on. "Isn't the saying 'better the devil you know'? I suppose testing your theory can let you know which devil you're working with in there."

He chuckles softly. "I've got a crystal-clear vision of mine. I know that."

Adjusting his coat, Flag begins toward the door. "There's a number in there to call when you've decided. Then we'll get in touch when it's time to be briefed." He pauses before exiting. "Give it some thought before you decide. You're in the rare position to be able to do so."

Artemis Crock has posed:
Artemis nods, taking the empty beer bottle from the bar and tossing it into a recycling bin. A recycling bin, in what has to be one of the seediest bars in the seediest parts of Gotham. She may talk a good game, but it's the sort of thing that shows she hasn't completely given up hope.

"I'll think it over," she agrees. "I assume you know how to reach me. Wouldn't try this place on Sunday," she adds, a faint smirk tugging at one corner of her lips. "Gets real full of people all too happy to pick a fight."