1094/Dragonreaver Moltenbow Takes a Fall

Dragonreaver Moltenbow Takes a Fall
Date of Scene:	22 June 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Molly Millions

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Ares has posed:
    The Rabbit Punch in East Harlem isn't a place where the tourists know to go. It's not like the other place the man known as John Aaron often finds himself in. It's got its own customer base, its own clientele, and it rarely accepts new blood unless they flash around a good wad of green or bring something to the table to offer for the evening's entertainment. Sometimes all it takes is a big guy looking to dish out some pain, sometimes it's a beautiful gal who likes to be looked at, other times it's a small bit of distributable party favors given to bouncer and bartender to keep them going and let others ply their wares. But for most, what they need to get in is a good chunk of money they're willing to lose, and some bloodlust.
    Inside the place is roaring and raging with the white noise of hundreds of people all trying to reach over each other and be heard, or seen. Over at the long bar that runs the length of the warehouse's far wall, four bartenders move together like a well-oiled machine, satisfying the calls for that particular vice and occasionally a few others.
    Across the way at the deejay's station and what passes for a dance floor, winners'll sometimes congregate to celebrate and lounge in the VIP section, velvet ropes blocking them off from the lesser forms of humanity. The music thumps out from there, just a steady ooontz-oontz-ooontz that at times has an electronic voice overtaking it.
    But the main point of focus is the chain link cage in the middle of the central floor where most of that tide of humanity is slavering at the fighters still in the ring, still trying to crush each other with merely strength, flesh, and bone. Hundreds of people are in the crowd, and half a dozen bookies are still taking bets while the men are locked together, grappling and each trying to get an edge.
    Yet while all of that rages, beyond all the crazed sweaty mass of crowds, there's another place in the corner where there are alcoves with large chairs and ottoman. A few 'doctors' are moving amongst the few individuals there, seeing to the 'losers' of the night's fighting. And one such man, sitting there in the relative quiet and nursing a beer is John Aaron.

Molly Millions has posed:
Getting in the door was a bit of a hassle for Molly... her physique isn't impressive, and while she's attractive enough.. money and beauty isn't exactly her most stellar attributes. Add to that the fact that she's committing the unwitting faux pas of wearing 'sunglasses' in a place like this and it took an arm-wrestling side bet to get her through the screen. She watched the bout, alright, all of them, with an intensity best described as raptuous, not making a motion once despite the flashing cacophony of lights and noise to try and expose her eyes. And now in the shadows of alcoves she's easy to pick out because of them, quiet, confident steps carrying her directly towards John with a couple of beers clasped loosely in one hand.

Ares has posed:
    She'd seen him in the bout, the tall man with the broad shoulders. He wasn't the tallest fighter of the night, there was that bruiser from Mutant Town that definitely had him beat. And he definitely wasn't the bulkiest of them all, that honor went to a Russian that had gone early in the night. But what she might have seen in him would have been a precision, an ease of movement, and something akin to a natural awareness of the moment and the flow of conflict. In some other fighters it's a wild rapturous display, but he had this aura of control...
    Yet here he is with the losers, though the others are worse for wear. When he'd hit the mats there'd been a spatter of blood from his brow and his jaw though now that's been tended to, some surgical thread is knit into place above one eye and he has an ice pack settled on his knee.
    From afar, the data she gets back from him might just have him blur with most of the other people she's seen in the crowd. Perhaps he's running a little hotter than some, core temperature warmer than most. But as she draws near he doesn't seem to be in any pain despite the hammering she saw him take, nor is he groggy for when she steps into view, moving towards him...
    His brown eyes will meet hers and she'll see them narrow subtly.

Molly Millions has posed:
    Not sunglasses; study shows there's no bridge piece, no arms, the silver rising smoothly from above her cheekbones to seal her eyesockets completely... and in a room like this she certainly doesn't seem hindered by the darkness. She noted the control, as she notices the lack of pain. The tell-tale bulge of a weapon nestled under her left arm is probably obvious, as is the confident precision with which she arrows in on him and sets down the beer on his table without so much as a by-your-leave.
    "The question I ask myself." are the words that accompany the gesture, with a tap of a false, burgundy colored nail on the beer,"Is why."

Ares has posed:
    Looking at his own reflection for a time, he tilts his head to the side slowly, curiousity there in his gaze twinned with wariness. But then he cocks an eyebrow and eyeballs the bottle of beer. She may be strange, she may be curious, but a beer is a beer. He reaches out and slides it across the table with a languid glassy scrape trailing beadlets of condensation upon the surface of the table.
    But then his eyes return to his own image and he gestures towards one of the seats opposite him. "A lot of people ask themselves that," He'll play it vague at first, but then he tilts the bottle back and takes a swallow before he adds the question, "Why what?"

Molly Millions has posed:
There's a smile, slow and scarce as Molly settles herself in the offered seat with a swig of her own beer,"You had him, at least half a dozen times.. he telescopes with his left and relies too much on the high-low combination." she opines without looking towards the doctors or their charges,"So like I said, why?" it's not pitched to draw attention, though there's nothing of a conspiratorial whisper about it, either.

Ares has posed:
    She'll see him scrunch up one eye a bit, as if looking at her directly caused him mild consternation. Which, to be fair, in this moment it does. But he decides not to answer at first. Instead he takes another pull of that beer, then sets it down with a resonant glassy clink. Yet all the while she's watching him, gauging him, the subtle data feedback of her heightened senses keying into this man's features and bearing.
    Those dark brown eyes return to look at where he'd imagine her irises to be, and she can see the wound in his brow with the stitches though it seems to have closed at least somewhat. On the air she can taste the subtle tang of his scent, smelling of blood, steel, and sweat. Yet that hint of blood is not as strong as she would have imagined for someone who took those punches she saw get through.
    But then he lifts his head slightly and tells her, "I come here to feel something." He doesn't say exactly what, "There are no cares, no hassles, beyond what's in there." He points at the ring with the bottle. "Do this, and lose. No trouble. No questions." He eyes her pointedly at that last word, "I win... people remember me. Can't come back."

Molly Millions has posed:
    Though it's hard to tell where precisely Molly's looking, there's no shift of her neck to suggest she's doing anything other than staring at him, silent and patient for that answer,"These guys might be the next step up from a vat clinic in Nightside, but you sit here long enough at the rate your hardware's working and someone else is going to start asking questions." she grunts,"I had no yuen on it either way. But I got questions. A lot of them, and I'm... hoping, maybe you have a few answers."

Ares has posed:
    The tall man flares a hand to the side slightly, as if brushing her words away with his fingertips even as he takes another draw of his beer. He settles back into his chair and tells her levelly, "People have no eyes for a loser." He says simply as he looks around the room.
    And from where they are she might very well see that as they sit there in their small oasis of calm, that almost all of the eyes of the people around them are on the two men still clenched and straining against each other in the ring. The waitresses walk by, stealing glances even as they pass out drinks. Even the other losers are watching the fight, some even holdings betting slips for one or the other.
    It was only her that has turned her gaze to him, at least for now. But now his regard is fully upon her, his brow furrowing subtly. He's not giving her that second glance that she so often gets from a guy. There's appreciation for the lines of her physique assuredly, but not in the same lascivious way. He measures her as a threat, the reach of her arms, the subtle tension in her athletic build. She's dangerous. Or could be. But not right now, to him.
    "But ask what you will, I'll answer." Though as to the why he does not say.

Molly Millions has posed:
    There's that flicker of amusement again. Molly's lips quirk as she adjusts her position to appear outwardly more casual, even if it's likely obvious to him that the sacrifice of preparedness to appearance is minimal. Still she collects her own beer, her lensed face tracking over the room in some semblance of illusion that she's paying more than passing attention to the bout. There's no effort to preen or primp herself in his gaze, her athletic frame holds the functional elegance of a warplane's fusilage, most of the silicon and steel of the underlaying framework not outwardly visible bar for perhaps the glint of metal behind her ear as she makes a visual circuit of the room,"Why hide?" she asks, apparently not the sort to ask soft questions out the gate.

Ares has posed:
    A short chuff comes from him, just a brief exhalation that comes close to a laugh but isn't quite. He looks aside and eyes the room for a moment before his attention returns to her, his eyes hooded but his expression more of amusement than aught else for now.
    "I have a son," He says that simply, his baritone voice deep and sounding almost like a growl or a rumble. "And this..." John lifts a hand with fingers spreading subtly, "Isn't something I would have him be aware of. To him I work construction, come home, do the right thing. This... is not the right thing."
    But then he leans forwards slightly, resting a hand at the base of his bottle and looking at her over the rim of it. He shifts the flow of the conversation, "Now your turn." His blink is languid as he eyes her, almost reptilian in that calm regard. "Who are you that you could see that battle for true?"

Molly Millions has posed:
    A son was apparently not an answer that Molly was expecting, to judge from the tick of her brow,"Why..." she starts, but as he leans her gaze flicks back, not completing the question as he asks his own,"I worked the circuit for a while. Augmented featherweight." which is a true answer, and yet at the same time the sheer ease of the answer probably betrays it's 'tip of the iceburg' nature,"So are you a retired joeboy, then? Staying under the radar? Who'd you cross?"

Ares has posed:
    "Joe-boy..." John turns his head to the side slowly, his brow knitting with confusion. But he shakes his head, perhaps knowing that even if he does not know exactly what a joeboy is, that he is not one. "I'm a soldier." That answer is given, but perhaps too quickly as he then adds, "Or I was." He corrects himself as he tilts his beer back, still leaning partially on the table and looking at her. He's engaged at least, that much her senses can tell her as he watches his own reflection in her eyes.
    "You do not seem a stranger to conflict." He says this with such calm understanding that it's given as a fact, and for the next he maintains that tone. "But you also have shed blood. For coin, and self-interest. What else was your role?"

Molly Millions has posed:
    There's a furrow of Molly's brows,"I'm not.. familiar with the lingo around here." from the grimace that crosses her face it's not a fact that sits comfortably with her,"For which corporation?" she asks, and it's her turn to make a passing wave of her hand, the one with her beer as if dismissing the statement regarding conflict. The closing down evident in the subtle motions even if those blank lenses are used to advantage with a neutral set of her lips to try and mask it.
    "We don't..." know each another well enough, is the unspoken end, even as she acknowledges that one can't ask such questions without expecting something like it in return. There's a press of her lips and a low exhale through her nose,"I do what I am paid to do. Mostly these days that is to shed blood. Or was. Three days ago I woke up in a preserve under this ridiculous... sky, and I thought it was Freeside, or maybe a simstim."

Ares has posed:
    The corners of his eyes crinkle faintly as his gaze narrows. For all the gear she has that enhances her senses, that she is using to consider him and his answers, the scrutiny leveled at her in turn is no less intense. "No corporations," He turns his head slightly, as if trying to see her from another angle as he adds, "Nations. Or myself." If her senses are strong enough she may well tell that he is giving her... at the least his version of truth, or rather what he believes.
    But then she shifts away from his own question and she might even see a slight twist to his features as if he had expected some dissembling and was... disappointed in her? But then she presses on and he lifts his chin slightly as perhaps a faint touch of understanding lights in him.
    "Your perceptions of the world have changed, or it is not your world." His tone of voice signals an ease of believing such a possibility that she might find strange. And five years ago any suspicion would be wise to have. He then says levelly, "Or something else?"

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Nations." there's something in Molly's tone, as if that word was so outdated she had to stop herself from scoffing at it, instead electing to clear her throat and take a larger swig from her dwindling beer before settling her gaze on him with something perhaps akin to relief,"It is... not my world." there's a reluctance to the words, a grimace to accompany them,"Here, in this place... you are the closest thing to something familiar I have found."

Ares has posed:
    There's a turn of his head as he looks at her askance, her words being puzzled out as he looks upon her anew. He does not hide his contemplation. She'll see him look at those lenses in her eye sockets, and the way his gaze follows the lines of her limbs. There is definitely something of the... otherworldly to her, something silvered and chrome that reminds him of an edge. For a few seconds he worries at the corner of his mouth and then gives her a nod as if she had passed some measure of a test. "Then, woman from another world." His tone is calm, almost formal for some reason.
    "Tell me of your story. And while you do I shall insure you are never thirsty." As he says this he lifts his head to catch the attention of one of the passing waitresses. A nod is exchanged and it's enough to send her to her task. That done he looks at her once again and says simply, "I am called John Aaron."

Molly Millions has posed:
    There's a furrow of Molly's brow, as if his acceptance of it nags at her at least slightly, but she sets aside her own empty with a small dip of her head,"Molly. Mostly... people call me Molly." the rooms largely forgotten at least on the conscious level, she's aware of it out there, certainly, but with the background white-noise hum of a threat unmanifested, those false nails drawn together on her side of the table as she clearly weighs up her options right now.
    "I come from the Sprawl.. the.. Boston-Atlanta Metropolitan Axis." she finally utters,"Razorgirl... street samurai, whatever they call them... here. Before that I worked the circuit to afford the wetwork. And before that I was a meat puppet. I suppose we still have... nations... but that word hasn't held significance in a long time. The corporations have soldiers, but I wasn't born into that."

Ares has posed:
    The waitress deposits a bottle upon the table equi-distant between them, then sets down two glasses with a small clink-ca-clink. She shoots a look at him, then at her before he holds up a hand as if to say that they need nothing else. But as she speaks he reaches for the bottle, a brandy of some kind? Whiskey. Something caramel in colour as he tilts it on its side and lets the drink gurgle into his glass. He fills the second one and offers it to her with the inclination of an eyebrow, but then takes his own drink and leans back.
    "Molly," Is his first word in response, seeming to roll it around in his mouth, "I would not have imagined you to be a Molly." Then again who is to say that he has any particular talent in the naming of things. Yet he listens to he and hms slightly at the end of her words. "Most people here who fight for hire are called mercenaries, in main."
    He takes a sip and watches her, "And wetwork..." He looks to her eyes again at those words, and that shine of silver along her ear. "Is not as advanced I'd say. Though many of the best warriors now have genetic advancement or modifications."

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Molly Millions." she offers with a flash of her teeth,"Or Sally Shears. Mistie Steele. Getting too attached to a name is... unwise." there's a slight shrug of her shoulders as she collects the offered glass to herself, offering it in his direction before she gives it a sniff,"Mercenary. Well enough." it's information that gets filed away, along with some of the whiskey, and from the lack of coughing... no stranger to alcohol is she.
    "But not unheard of. Cosmetic work seems to be the most popular. The Panther Moderns were always fond of physical modification, but I saw a guy with red skin, hooves and a tail fight a guy almost three meters tall the other day. It's been..." well, yeh, an experience,"Your work, where did you have it done? My chronometer has been offline since... I arrived here? Somehow? Not that right now I have the yuen to get it repaired."

Ares has posed:
    The incognito Olympian opposite her downs his glass in one tilt, and then sets it down to be refilled as he smiles a bit while not looking at her. He holds his bottom lip between his teeth as he weighs his answers to her, on some level disliking the idea of not telling her the full truth of the questions she asks, but then that truth is not something to be granted easily. Nor, perhaps, would it be something in her current condition that she would even believe. So he settles again on a half-truth, but offered with sincerity.
    "My talents primarily stem from... my family. Genetics, if you will." He lightly taps a fingertip against the side of his glass. "Everyone in my family has certain gifts, my talents lie in conflict." He meets her gaze levelly, "At the most I could offer you some training. But beyond that..." He mirrors the small toast she made to him and then downs his second drink.

Molly Millions has posed:
    Molly's not quite sure where her limit is, though likely the whiskey is better than anything Ratz might have served her over the years, so she doesn't go drink for drink,"So you're money, then." there's no envy in her tone, to her it's a simple statement of fact, endeavoring to somehow fit him into her worldview,"If that's where your talent lies, seems even more of a shame to hide it. Granted, Freeside types probably wouldn't be too keen on their sons fighting in a place like this, either." there's that dip of her lenses in the direction of the room,"This place acts like it's a dirty secret. The guys at the door were all kinds of not interested in letting me come in at first. I could fight again, sure... but I don't lose real well." she sets down her glass on the table and splays her hand out upon it, the double-edged scalpels housed beneath those false nails sliding out,"And if they're not keen on augments, it's not going to take them long to work out I've got a few."

Ares has posed:
    "Hmm," John's eyes never leave her lenses as she speaks, watching, listening, trying to pick up the subtle hints of her mannerisms. But he twists his features slightly as she makes that assumption of him. Really he should let it lie, but instead he offers this small insight. "I've turned my back on my family. Disagreements. S'why I'm raising my son without their influence." He gestures lightly to the room in general, "Why I don't want him to know about this." All of which is true, to be fair.
    But then her blades come out and he leans forwards as he considers the artisanship in such precision instruments being housed in her flesh. One hand lifts as he reaches out instinctively, but then he looks up into those lenses and asks of her, "May I?"
    Should she allow him to do so he'll lightly take up her hand in his, palm to palm and letting her extend her fingers to curl over his wrist. Close enough that she can feel the warmth of that touch and his slow steady pulse just a scant millimeter beneath the flesh and the curve of her blades. "So small," He says at first, turning her wrist slowly and cradling the back of her hand with his other hand.
    Then, very faintly, his fingertips drift over the edges of those blades. One lightly creases his skin, a small crimson beadlet welling forth though there was no pain. "It was so strange. When I first saw you Molly I thought you were a blade in its sheathe." He looks at her lenses, "And it seems that you are."

Molly Millions has posed:
    Molly's a woman used to control, over herself, if nothing else,"I've yet to meet a family that doesn't have problems." the drily offered response as she collects her glass with her opposite hand, dipping her head in acknowledgment regarding not wanting his son to know. He leans forward, but she leaves the hand there, perhaps aware at least that not everyone's sight is as good as her gilded gaze, though the question merits a loft of her brow before she dips her head in acknowledgment, downing her glass and setting it aside as she allows him to pick up that bladed hand.
    There's no fingerprints, those fingertips too smooth for actual flesh, and the nails themselves definitely false, if perhaps surprisingly feminine in their length and that bloody burgundy color. Conscientious is the way she furls them, aware of just how sharp those slender implements are. A shift in the pulse of her wrist evident despite the effort made to keep her wrist loose in his grip as he examines them.
    There's no warning from her, with regards to the sharpness, though the creasing of his skin with it causes her to flex her hand as if to draw it away,"The advantage of being a... mercenary... is the option of deciding when to unsheathe it. Not knowing the players in this place, or the rules that they play by, is a disadvantage. I'm not ashamed of what I am... John, even when I was a meat puppet, it was to afford these tools. But you know this dance, this place, and I don't. And I hate not knowing."

Ares has posed:
    He draws his hands back but still looks at hers. It's a moment of silence that stretches between them before he eases back into his chair, taking up his glass again with one hand. Then his brown eyes find her gaze again and he tells her quietly, "You should not show them to others, Molly." His brow beetles faintly as if he were trying to see her eyes past those lenses, something about not being able to seems so disconcerting in a moment when you are trying to grant another insight.
    "You should not draw them lest you intend to take another's life. Here, now, they will draw unwelcome attention to you. And there are beings who would steal your freedom and take you apart if only to see the ways in which you work."

Molly Millions has posed:
    The blades slide back into their housings before she flexes the hand and elects to pour herself another whiskey,"So talk to me John. As ridiculous as it is, right now you are perhaps the only friend I have in this place. Why are they so fanatical about the sanctity of life in this place?" there's only that silver gaze to meet his, the way those lenses are inset is surgical, flesh to chrome without gap or even the space for tears,"Who are the players that I should be aware of? I'm uncomfortable with flying blind in this." there's a bitter little laugh,"To the point that I am having to trust someone I just met. Soldier to ra... mercenary."

Ares has posed:
    "Law enforcement is strong here to a degree," John looks at her as she asks him of this, "Life is valued. Morality is held in high esteem, though here..." He lets his eyes wander, "Less than some other places." He looks back, "But in this country, life is cheap, it's just not free yet."
    He spreads his hands, "You have no reason to believe me, but on the other hand I have no reason to lie to you. I would derive no amusement from your confusion nor your demise. I want nothing from you, for I have my own resources." He considers the fight that has ended up there in the ring one victor striding around, then looks back to her. "And if something happened here and I lost access to this place, I would simply find another."
    But then John looks at her intently and tries to offer what he can, "You have an opportunity here, Molly. Your past is gone, and your future unwritten. If you had no concerns in your life, no pressures, what would you do?"

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Law enforcement, I suspect, is different here than home." Molly murmurs drily with a dip of her head,"And all of that, is why I'm rolling those dice." on trusting him. Which is why the honest answer,"I am what I am, John. I chose to become a razorgirl, and I fought hard to get good at it. To buy what I needed to be better at it. In a perfect world, I would still choose to take contracts and meet that challenge. I suspect you understand what it's like to feel like somethings missing without it." the glance towards the ring is pointed, even if her expression is placid.

Ares has posed:
    He can understand that, and he looks across towards her. Every Olympian has a faint touch of feeling where it comes to fate, recognizing turning points in the world, where decisions can be made and they carry the weight of import with them. So he looks to her curiously, and seems reluctant to speak without thinking. A deep breath is taken and then he says, "Then there are those here who will still value the aid of someone who can fight, and who does not flinch at conflict."
    John cants his head to the side slightly and continues, "If you wish to stand on the side of the supposed angels, to not have to live with a cloud hanging over you, then there are agencies that will employ a gifted individual such as yourself." He refills his glass now with a slow steady gurgle of liquor before setting the bottle aside. "A group known as SHIELD would probably find your talents useful. Though they would wish to know the secrets of your equipment. They will not, at least, rob you of your freedom inn the examining of them."
    He then spreads his hands, "If you'd rather make your own way, and find more comfort in the criminal underground, there are various bosses who would appreciate your aid. A man known as Wilson Fisk is both stern, dangerous, but values loyalty and some have done well by him. Yet there you will be called to kill without remorse, and to enjoy taking advantage of others."
    He stops again and watches her for a time before he adds, "There are other options, countless ones in fact. Opportunities lie before you in great numbers. But those two I have told you of are the most likely not inclined to take your life immediately." And such a low bar that is.
    But then he furrows his brow and grimaces faintly. "There is a third option, however. I could put in a word for you with those I work with, and you would gain a position that would not use your talents, but would give you the means to sustain yourself. And if you find you must test yourself against another to feel alive..." For such is the feeling he must exorcise, "Then there are those who would willingly help you hone your skill."

Molly Millions has posed:
    Molly takes another swallow of the whiskey as she listens to him,"Secrets of my equipment." there's amusement in that for her at least,"That... will be hard to get used to. Aside from my blades there is little that is not easily obtainable in Chiba." she makes a hand gesture in regards to the question of her morality, a '50/50' wiggle right up until he gets to 'take advantage', and there's that microscopic shift in her that suggests that Fisk's not likely to wind a wandering cyborg on his doorstep in the near future,"What of this organization..." she reaches into her pocket to produce a slightly rumpled business card,"I had assumed that much like the Lo-Teks or the Panther Moderns that usage of the word 'Evil' in their name was ironic... but it sounds as if this world is perhaps a little more... literal about such things?" it's a business card. From Carmen Sandiego.
    There's amusement in the expression that flits across her face,"Such as yourself. I admit my curiousity. But what do you mean? Because if I wanted simply to sustain myself, I am certain that somewhere there is an equivalent to meat puppet's here, but it ended poorly last time, and the software for it doesn't play nicely with my other augments."

Ares has posed:
    The tall man leans forwards to consider the business card. He shakes his head towards her and then says simply, "I'm not familiar with them." His smile slips into being for a moment, just a ghost at the corner of his mouth as he murmurs, "I am not hugely connected as you might hope." But he takes another drink from his glass before he replies to her again.
    "Well, here, evil can be more literal as there are beings from other worlds, and even dimensions that would seem... antithetical to what we know. But those I have mentioned to you are perhaps more like the things you are used to."
    But then she presses him as to what he meant about the third option and he rubs a fingertip along the stubble of his chin. He levels his stern regard on her but she'll see a faint smile that at the least reaches his eyes as he murmurs, "I told you, I'm in construction. But there are always open with the Union that I work with, the group of people. I could get you a job that is... unglamorous. But it would be peaceful for the most part, you could rely on it, and nobody would shoot at you while you do it."
    He sits back in his chair and waves a hand to the side, as if brushing his words away, "I used to be..." He watches her for a moment, then decides to continue. "I used to be a man who fought against all who would stand against me. I reveled in victory, in personal perfection. The rush of exerting your will upon another who defied you. But now... I do what I can to get beyond my nature. It's difficult, and sometimes I fail. But if that is something akin to what you face, then you do not have to be alone in facing it."

Molly Millions has posed:
    "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king, no?" Molly motions towards him with her glass before polishing it off and setting it aside,"So it is... not uncommon then, for people to wind up here? Somehow? That... might explain a few things." she rubs her temple without getting close to the lense itself,"My world, suddenly feels a lot less... complex."
    She's trying, real hard, not to grimace when he talks about peaceful jobs,"I suppose it's good I caught you on a good night then." she grunts,"There's always someone bigger, and stronger. Faster. Better. And one of these days, I'll wind up in the vats. It's not about... exerting my will on others.. I've been on the other side of it and I've got zero interest in doing that again." pause,"Except for the corporations.. working them for every red yuen was a pleasure." the card goes away again, at last, forgotten about for the time being.

Ares has posed:
    Another small smile is seen as he finishes the last bit of his drink and then pushes the bottle towards her, a good half of it left should she want it. "They're just options before you Molly." He places his hands flat upon the tabletop and then pushes himself to his feet. And when he's standing she'll see that... yes he's pretty tall. Deceptively so. "I can't tell you how to contact those others."
    He reaches for his bag at the side of his chair and slings it over his shoulder even as he starts to unroll a few bills to put it on the table, covering his drinks, and hers, and the tip. Then he adjusts the hang of the bag and looks back at her, "But if for some insane reason you want to find me again, I'm not hidden. It's in the book or on the web."

Molly Millions has posed:
    "Thank you, John." Molly's lenses cant up as he rises, and she follows suite, dwarfed by roughly a foot by him,"I'm no decker, but well... I'll find you again I'm sure. Thanks. For the conversation. And the alcohol. And the help. Hope you and your son stay safe." she doesn't offer her hand, perhaps for obvious reasons, and given he's got his bag, she doesn't head towards the door but rather elects to melt back into the crowd for now. Might as well try to get a feel for the locals.