1820/Temptations and Tonics

Temptations and Tonics
Date of Scene:	04 August 2017
Location:	Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis:	Mystique seeks out a new person on the chalkboard in St. Mary's Home For Wayward Girls to help her out with a little sumthin' sumthin'.
Cast of Characters:	Sublime, Mystique

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Sublime has posed:
    It's fairly well known (among a certain type of people) that there are places you go if you want to find people who, for a certain consideration, may be interested in doing a variety of dirty deeds. One of the most well known, if not infamous of those places is the bar known as Sister Margaret's (formerly Sister Margaret's Home for Wayward Girls, where only the worst Catholic girl offenders were sent), or more unofficially, as the 'Hellhole'.

    Here, people generally don't care much what you do or what you look like, as long as you register and you do the jobs you're hired for. Screw up too much, and you're off the board, and out the door, forceably.

    Today, it's relatively peaceful, with a few older mercs nursing their drinks, and a large man in a white suit chatting quietly with a pair of weasel-faced individuals. No, really, they look like weasels. Possibly mutants? And the one who keeps getting the attention (and the drinks sent her way, which she's accepted...but not the attention) is the young woman in the corner, her back against the wall under the TV, feet up on the chair next to her as she pages through a tablet, reading. There's a couple empty glasses in front of her, and currently, a gin and tonic with the world's saddest limb stuck on the edge that she's been nursing. She's wearing a thin hoodie, blue, zipped up the front, over a t-shirt with an image of a cartoon cat stuck in a blender as a mouse rubs his hands evilly outside, which reads 'Cat Daquiri'. She's wearing camo-patterned pants and military style boots.

Mystique has posed:
    Where Mystique goes - people notice. They notice because the woman knows how to project an air of casual sensuality with an air of indifferent predatorial nature. They look because here is a woman who would, quite openly, kill you as easily and as non-chalantly as she would engage in small talk with you. They look, because her entire skin is a bright blue, her eyes pure orbs of yellow without irises.
    She is not disguised, or shifted into anyone but herself, today. And, today, she's wearing a dark leather halter-top, and skin-tight pants, curb-stomping boots. Or, are they just shape-shifted onto her? It's hard to tell. In fact, generally, it's impossible.
    The red-headed woman never has had her name on the chalkboard, but that doesn't mean she hasn't frequented the bar before. Inquired. And tonight is no exception. Tonight she walks past the weasel-faces, and, without so much as a word, invites herself to sit at Rachel's table. One leg smoothly crosses over the other, and she signals for a drink. But only for herself.

Sublime has posed:
    Oh there are looks...not a lot of further attention. In fact, there's a bit of nervousness in some of the merc's eyes, save for the one very drunk one who starts to stand up and is promptly pushed back down into his seat by friends before he does something that he might regret. The three men chatting stop to watch you go past, a bit warily, before resuming their conversation.

    The blonde, however, doesn't take note of you until you sit, looking up with a vaguely irritated look, expecting another drunk inviting herself to her table, then blinks as she gets a better look at you. She tilts her head, then pulls her feet off the other chair, straightening up as she closes the tablet, warily studying you as the gestured-for drink is brought over and set down at the table. "...you don't seem to belong in a place like this." she says, archly. She's not the most experienced person here, but even she's heard rumors of ou, from the look of it.

Mystique has posed:
    "People like us," ventures Mystique, full of casual confidence, "Go wherever we want. But, please, don't sit up on my account." The yellow, inhuman eyes regard Rachel with that same casual air, considering her mildly before she further tacks on, "But, I don't think we've been introduced. I am Mystique." Rarely does she tell people her name, or let people call her by it. Further, she acts as if Rachel had never heard of her before. As if she had no reputation to precede her. She offers the blonde an elegant blue hand, followed by a smile.

Sublime has posed:
    At the 'people like us' comment, the other woman's eyes widens lightly before she can catch herself. "...Sublime." she answers after a moment of consideration, watching you closely now as she reaches over to take your hand, her grip firm as she shakes politely., then leans back in her chair. "I guess I should say more..." Her lips twitch in a faint smile. "What's a girl like you doing in a dirty gin joint like this? Given your rep." she tacks on at the end, reaching out to snag her gin and taking a long sip from it, before setting it back down. She doesn't take her hand off it, resting her index finger on top of the short glass, wrist on the table as she starts idly, tracing around the edge of the top.

Mystique has posed:
    "Considering the local talent." ventures Mystique, quietly. "I have a project in the works. Tell me, Sublime, just how good are you?" The other persons in the bar aren't even considered. She does not even give them the courtesy of a glance. A half-look. It's as if none of them are even alive in her personal paradigm.
    She adds, almost conversationally, "It may be a dirty jin joint, but it's a paradise when you consider the equivilient in, say, Taiwaan. Or Dominican Republic." She smiles, lazily, then picking up her drink and slowly sipping it.

Sublime has posed:
"Or Madripoor." the other woman comments, tapping the top of her glass with a frown, considering you. "That all depends on what you're looking for me to do. I'm better at some things than others." she says after a moment. "But...I'm very good at quite a few things..." she clarifies, slitting her eyes as she casually takes another sip, before the class rests again on the glimmering wet ring on the wooden table. "Not to be modest."

Mystique has posed:
    One leg rises, slides over her other leg in languid, indulgent fashion. It's Mystique's turn to lean back. "And what are you -very- good at?" She could be sincerely curious. Or, she could be seeing just how trustworthy, or how full of herself Sublime really is. "There may be a place for you in some - activities I am lining up. But, as you may understand, I prefer to not work with pure amateurs." Her head shifts to one side, assesing. Anyalizing.
    "However. I have been known to take on new talent, from time to time."

Sublime has posed:
    Sublime bristles a little bit at that. She's been getting a lot of flak for her lack of experience...and her attempt to improve her rep at the recent fighting circuit didn't work out nearly as well as she was hoping. And well...considering how she looks, she doesn't get much slack to begin with. "I've got plenty of experience." she says evenly. "Mostly intrusions and muscule, most recently." she allows. "But I'm trained in more than that, and I have plenty of talents others...lack."

    She reaches out to polish off the last of her drink, setting the glass down, then stretches out her hand, before lowering it to the glass...then through it as she phases, resting her hand on the table, then bringing it back up, before resting her hand on the glass. There's a dull CRACK as she crushes it in her hand, squeezing it to fragments, then holding out her hand over one of the empty glasses as she lets it fall through her hands again, idly brushing it off. No sign of injury on the skin of her hand.

Mystique has posed:
    "A rather convincing demonstration. It is a good thing that they haven't placed a collar around your neck, yet. It would be a pity to lose such a talent," she observes, again, in that casual manner of the comment itself. She nods slow, as if appreciative, and indeed impressed, of the talent itself. The comment about her being caught, wearing a collar, is already, seemingly, forgotten about as if she'd just made a passing comment about the weather.
    Inwardly, though, Mystique is watching Sublime's reactions. Seeing what Sublime's motivations are. How easily the girl is pushed, or pulled.

Sublime has posed:
    For some reason, that comment hits much harder than it should have. Sublime gets tense, though she hides it well, a little tremor running over her fingers. "Do you find that to be a frequent problem for those who have...talents?" she says, forcing herself to relax again. Dammit Rachel, don't fuck this up with your issues. Luckily she's had a few drinks by now...and that makes it a bit easier to push down the edges of nightmare that surface in her head at the idea of being collared. Again.

    

Mystique has posed:
    "Only for those who get - caught. Or, framed accordingly. There are some people who would do nearly anything to make certain the public's eye were where they wanted them to be. And, it does not take much to sway public opinion, to make someone see, or believe, something that never really happened." With an almost mercurial movement, Mystique shrugs her shoulders.
    "If you're still around when I get back from Mexico, perhaps I'll have a very well paying job for you." Mystique is well aware of her own reputation, how mistrusted she is. But, there's another side to her reputation. How absolutely discerning she is. SUch could do well for Sublime's resume.

Sublime has posed:
    "I'm well aware of what goes on outside of the public's eye." Sublime says, a hint of bitterness entering her voice. "Or what it's like to be involved in something that -never happened-..." There's not just nervousness or anger, but a hint of repressed hate in her voice, briefly, before she shakes it off.

    She tilts her head, tapping her fingers against the table idly. "...but you can't tell me what job it is, yet?" she says, slowly, still a little wary.

Mystique has posed:
    "You'll know, before you need committ. Let's just say, there's a particular reason I sought you out, Sublime." Mystique smiles, warmly, leaning forwards to take her drink and finish off her own drink. "But, my dear, you will find there is a time and place for everything. And now is neither, for my particular desires. When I return from Mexico, I'll send for you. And, disclose more. You can decide then if you wish to - engage in a mutual beneficial partnership or not."
    Bright yellow eyes regard her tablemate and how well she takes to this news, and the measure of required patience. The mistrust? The wariness? Well. She'd be surprised if that wasn't displayed, most likely. Taken aback. Thrown off her game.

Sublime has posed:
    She does seem to have a certain level of control greater than most her age. If anything, there's a certain air of...abuse, in her reactions. Suspicion, mistrust, seem to be part of the wariness, not aimed so much at you specifically, but definitely...learned?

    "Alright." she says after a moment, then unzips her hoodie, reaching inside as it reveals a tight fitting if low cut top, before offering you a plain, cheap card with a number on it, and nothing else. "You can contact me here then. It's a messenger service, but I'll know if you call." she says simply, sliding it out onto the table for you to take. "And we can -discuss- things." she murmurs, leaning back in her chair, as she zips back up absently.

Mystique has posed:
    "I'm well aware of what it is," says Mystique, amused. She tips her head. Rises, languidly, fluidly, like a great cat streching, effortlessly and predatorily. A bill is placed onto the table to pay for her drink, and Sublime's. And then, without another word, another glance at anyone in the dirty pit of debauchery and murder, Mystique strides out of the doors, and into the night. By the time the door is pushed, and it's half closed, Mystique is gone.
    In her place, a rather gruff looking man with a wicked scar on his face glances one way, then another, down the street. And then begins to move down the street at a slow pace.