3851/Oh yeah, Well My Client...

Oh yeah, Well My Client...
Date of Scene:	10 February 2018
Location:	McNally's Bar, Gotham City
Synopsis:	Mariam meets Sam and they discuss events which lead them to their careers
Cast of Characters:	Loki, Mariam O'Shea

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Loki has posed:
    McNally's, Saturday Night, and the place is hopping. A traditional cop bar, with traditional cop clientele. Distinctly they're guys who tend to be on that side of the law, with a certain affection... or if not that then a certain reason for interaction with the boys in blue. For some of the people in there, the lawyers, the county clerks, the dispatchers, they're just the folks who have to deal with the biggest gang in Gotham City.
    Take Shelly for one, typical badge bunny, gal loves the boys in blue and hasn't dated a guy without a badge since... ever. But there she is at the bar, smiling, laughing, and giving as good as she gets from the usual ribbing.
    And then there's Wallace Nathaniel Greer, esquire. Assistant district attorney and perhaps not the most loved fellow in that particular office, but he buys a lot of rounds and seems to want to make be just one of the guys.
    But of all of them, one of the more easily gotten along with and charismatic fellas to grace the old doorway of McNally's is that PI, Sam. He did a solid for Patrick McNally, this one time the kid caught some trouble thrown his way, called up the boy's dad as opposed to the police so he could get his story straight and take care of a few things before having to go up in front of the judge. So really, he's good people.
    And hey, it helps he can tell a story like nobody's business.
    "Oh yeah, well this guy." The tall man with the smiling face gestures to the side, "This guy comes in. And seriously, I just get finished trying to hose it all down, right?" There's a round of laughter that comes from the men, "And he says, 'Something stinks in here!'" The laughter grows louder and one of the cops nudges the indicated officer.
    "So I'm like, 'No ma'am, really, you smell fine.' And I look at him like..." He turns and gives the target of his ridicule a /look/ with his eyes widening a bit and the inside curve of his lip lifting up as if he can't /believe/ the guy's thickness.
    But for Officer Brown, he's laughing along with them even though he was there. "And he at least then has the decency!" A light punch of a hand to the guy's shoulder as if annoyed, Sam turns back to the crowd he's addressing. "To look all suddenly stoic and remorseful and says, 'Sorry ma'am, really your husband doesn't smell that bad.'"
    Sam shakes his head, incredulous and then only then takes a pull of his beer.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    How she ended up in this bar? There's story behind that. Mariam isn't really one of the usual crowd but a few of the guys from security services swore by this place. So when they asked her to join them for a few beers after work, she opted to go ahead. She had been spending entirely too much time at a certain Manor with a lot of secrets filling every nook at corner. She only knew a little about her boss. The family seemed to all be good people. They just were different by most people's standards.
    Probably the money. Her exposure to the high society types was letting her know they were all a little odd and had their own secrets. It made her appreciate the more blue collar crowd. That's probably why she took the chance tonight when every other time she had refused only to go home and sit on the couch drinking beer and watching Netflix. No Chill since she was solo.
    The coversation had been fun, a few laughs, a few stories. Until they started trying to pry into information about her current client. That's when she realized their invitation had been a means to an end. THey wanted the scoop on Mr. Bruce Wayne.
    They didn't get it. She didn't talk about current clients.
    It wasn't long before they had finished up their drinks and headed on their way, needing to work early in the morning. She made sure to get them all safely in a cab and on their way before returning to the bar where she settled on a stool at the back of the room. It allowed her a good view of the exits and entrances. Lucky she managed to snag it in a room of cops who liked to keep their backs to the wall.
    She had been spending the last fifteen minutes nursing a cheap beer directly from the bottle, listening with half an ear to the table nearby. At the story from Sam, she smirked a bit and took another sip. A glance was given their direction, hidden behind her sunglasses. Even on her offtime, she was in her usual suit with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
    A few men had been sneaking peeks at her but she had this aura about her that suggested they keep their distance and thus far, it had worked.

Loki has posed:
    She might have been playing it cool, keeping to herself. But there in the corner of the room in that triangular booth that was roomy enough for six people to sit in, that Sam fella was clearly holding court. Of course when he first started coming around they broke his balls, but he always seemed to have just the right thing to say at just the right moment to get the laughter going. And, eventually, even the people who were the butts of his jokes would join in since he always made it seem as if it wasn't them directly he was making light of. But life.
    "How the fuck do you manage to stay in business, Gwydion?"
    The tall man with the green eyes spreads his hands and offers in reply, "Beats me, doesn't help I seem to end up buying way more than my fair share of booze for you losers."
    Another round of laughter, each of the police are deep in their cups, or deep enough. But Wally Greer, he tends to just sip at his whiskey now and then, "So what's your story, Sam? C'mon, everyone has one. About time you spilled it."
    But he waves his hand to the side, "Hardly exciting. Good family, decent upbringing, asshole of a brother. Wasn't what dad wanted, ended up using my bad childhood to motivate me towards the great field of private investigations."
    A few snorts are heard, but he continues. "You're right though, everyone has a story. Wally can't stand his wife so he's here all the time, Brown likes to come in just to hopefully one day work up the courage to ask Dee out." He smirks at each man in turn.
    But then those green eyes shift to focus across the small distance to the next table, perhaps catching Mariam's eye as he asks, "But what's her story?"

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Hearing that musing question, Mariam watches as the various men at the table glance her direction. She lifts her bottle of beer and takes a sip to hide the smirk, not letting herself look that direction outwardly although the mirrored lenses allow her to keep an eye on the grouping.
    "Not one of the regulars."
    "Haven't seen her at all before."
    "She was with those guys from Wayne Tech. Good group. Can't drink for shit."
    As they each try to figure out the answer to the question, Mariam is far enough into her own cups to be a bit bold tonight. She turns her head to look directly at Sam, since it's his fault that the conversation turned her direction.
    "Her has a name and if you want my story, you could just ask. That's what private eyes do, right? Ask questions, take pictures, dig around for details?" There is a hint of amusement in her tone as she says it.

Loki has posed:
    "Oh yeah, definitely." Sam says as he looks across the way at her, "I mean, they do all those things, but only rarely do they ask them directly." Gwydion offers her that rejoinder with a wry smile even as he looks over towards Dee as she comes back, carrying the next round of drinks on her tray.
    "Heard she used to be into spandex a few years back, if ya know what I mean." She grins and nudges Officer Brown with her hip as she saunters on past and back, giving Mariam a wink as if to apologize for such an offered tid bit about her past.
    "Oh ho, now see there. /That/ is probably a story."
    "Yeah?" Wally looks over towards Mariam then back towards Dee, "Crazy. I've never met one of the costume crew. That I know of." He gives a nod.
    But Sam, he's still intent on the gal sitting alone, "So spill it, Wayne Tech Girl. You know the rules, gotta spill the beans or buy a round for the room."
    "We have rules?" One of the cops ask.
    "We do now, I just made them up." Sam says cheerfully.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    "Hmm, imagine if you tried asking directly how much simpler things might be," Mariam says with another smirk as she takes another sip of her beer. Then Dee spills the beans. She would wince but she doesn't want the men at the next table to see. Better to act like it doesn't bother her.
    Hearing the rules, per se, Mariam arches a brow and starts to reach into her jacket. A round for the room seems a little pricey but she can afford it.
    Something in her opts to go the other way. She tucks the handful of bills back into the inner pocket and raises a beer to the group. "Not much of a story really. Good parents. Well loved. No asshole brother or sister." She keeps looking right at Sam as she is speaking, making it clear by her words she'd been eavesdropping on their conversation the entire time. "Planned on doing one thing. Life had other ideas. Choices were made and I ended up working with a few of the costumed crowd from time to time. Until one of them decided to cross the line. Then I finally did the right thing for once in my life."
    That wry smirk is back as she shrugs. "Did a few years in Blackgate for my trouble. Got out and was...encouraged to keep out of those circles in the future. Offered a chance at a job and a chance to stay on the side of the angels. Worked my way up far enough I get to risk my life protecting a lot of rich folks instead. Life's funny."

Loki has posed:
    "But then I wouldn't get paid as much. Need to milk that per diem." Sam replies as he seems to shift to the side on his place with his feet on the cushion of the bench seat and his shoulder against the wall. It's an entirely casual posture to have in a place like this, but nobody's given him grief yet about it.
    Then she embarks on her story, telling them in her own bare bones way about the twists and turns of her life. The impact it has is varied from face to face. Wally seems still a bit gone to fully comprehend but at the revelation doesn't seem to care too much, brows lifting. When she finishes talking he'll offer his opinion, like so. "That's one thing you gotta say for Wayne Industry people, they'll take chances on people." He offers with a lift of his beer mug towards Mariam.
    But some of the other cops seem a little grumpy as they give each other looks and then eye her sidelong. "Think that's gonna do us, Sam. You got us, right?"
    "Yeah sure, free-loading bastards." Sam looks over at them but he keeps his eyes on the gal, shaking his head a bit. He gestures with his own drink at her, something looking like a rum and coke. "You assuredly know you can't just stop there. You must elaborate."
    Even as they're vacating the booth, one of the cops asks her, "Yeah, who did you run with?"

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    That is ever the case when her history is shared. Many have problems with it. Cops? She's surprised when some of them /don't/ take issue. Honestly, Mariam expected them all to turn a cold shoulder her direction and she'd be able to go back to finishing her beer before heading home to a session of binge watching something.
    She takes another swig of her beer, a little surprised when she finishes it off. She thought there was more left. The question is should she order enough to escape while she can.
    "None of the big names and it's not something I'm proud of. Started with Baby Dahl. Managed to get away when Batman took her down. Then it was a few bit criminals like The Mad Hatter, the Ventriloquist and Mr. Freeze. He was the worst for costumes. Wearing a parka in the summer in Gotham sucks." She sets her bottle down on the table. "Last job was with Firebug. When he was gonna kill kids, I turned on him. Didn't make me popular inside. Having worked with the costumes made me not popular with you boys either. So I managed to alienate everyone." She shrugs and raises a hand, catching Dee's eye so she can get another beer. "I figured it was go big or go home. Make sure to cover all the bases."

Loki has posed:
    As his own table starts to clear out, Sam offers his farewells to the men who are heading out, even as he's listening to Mariam offer up her resume in her own concise way. Yet he manages to slide out of his own seat, dropping down to the ground as he hops off the back of the booth, still cradling his own rum and coke in his hand even as the ice cubes slosh around a bit.
    "This raises all sorts of questions." He turns and gives a nod and a wave to Wally as he heads off and to the side, even as he hands Dee his gold card when the waitress wanders back around. But after all this is done he sidles up to her table, turns one of the chairs around and straddles it, leaning against it as he sets his drink down. He rests his chin on his crossed arms on the back of that seat, green eyes meeting hers.
    "So did you have to wear costumes? Different ones for each? Or did you have a separate persona?" He tilts his head to the side, "And if you had a costume, is it still in your closet? You know, just in case?" His lip twists wickedly wry.

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    Despite herself, Mariam laughs. It must be the alcohol. Normally she wouldn't find someone asking questions and being so forward amusing. Instead, she'd tell them to go do something with themselves that was physically impossible but might be appealing on some level to some folks.
    "No, I do not have any of the costumes left. Only a couple of them insisted on costumes. Mr. Freeze with the parkas." She rolls her eyes even though he can't see the expression. "Mad Hatter let you wear what you wanted but you did need a hat of some sort that he provided. The others let me wear what I prefered, thank God. Since I happen to be most comfortable in my own version of a costume. It's my armor. My way to being ready to face the world at large."
    She gives Dee a nod as she arrives with the new beer, taking away the old bottle on her tray along with Sam's gold card. Mariam takes a sip as she eyes the man across from her. He can't see the look, just his own reflection in her sunglasses. "Why the curiosity? Figure all costume crowed hench folks are as crazy as the folks they work for? It's not the case. For most if us, it's just a job."

Loki has posed:
    "Knowledge is its own reward." Sam tells her in that mildly flippant tone, but he goes on to elaborate. "Now, if someone asks me why these people do these things they do, I'll have a small instance to share about the time I met a reformed villain who put away her spandex, top hat, and giant parka in lieu of a business suit and respectability."
    The private investigator leans forwards and takes up his drink, sips it, sets it back down. "But really, with the things that have happened these last few years, people dressing up in curious ways is perhaps one of the least remarkable bouts of weirdness to have been inflicted upon the world."
    "Did I introduce myself?" He seems to sit up a little, abrupt as if it just occured to him. "Usually I take care of that sort of thing early on in the conversation."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    "Yeah, there's been a lot of craziness in the world." Invasions on New York to start and the recent assassination of the President for more recent. Everything in between as well. People thought Gotham had the market cornered on insanity but they weren't looking at the full picture. "The world is going to hell in a handbasket and we all just seem to be along for the ride. Nothing really seems to be able to be done about it either."
    Mariam spins her beer bottle in place as she's speaking, just rotating it idly in her hand little by little with nudges of her fingertips. At his question, she gives a tight smile. "This isn't usually then cause you skipped it entirely and went straight for the interrogation." She does offer her hand though. "Mariam O'Shea."

Loki has posed:
    Accepting her hand over the tabletop, just above that slowly rotating bottle, Sam seems comfortable enough with the contact, giving a single firm shake by leaning forwards against the chair and causing it to rock forwards on its front legs. Then the back legs click upon the ground as he rocks the other way, settling down. "Sam Gwydion. PI." His lip twitches upwards at the last, usually the pronouncement of his full title gets a reaction one way or the other.
    "So how does a former anti-cape end up spending her time in a cop bar?"
    He glances over his shoulder across the way where some of the police officers still lounge around at the bar itself, the hour having drifted on. "Took me a few weeks and a huge bar tab."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    "Wayne Enterprises," is Mariam's immediate answer. She continues to fiddle with the bottle idly, not even looking at it. Her gaze is locked on her table companion. "Rent a cops like to hang out with real cops. Makes them feel better about themselves and their jobs sometimes. I mean, they are kind of doing the same thing just on different levels." She shrugs again and leans back comfortably in her seat.
    "I came her to join some of the Sentinel Services guys for a drink. They're the regulars. I don't know if I've ever actually been in here." She glances around the room then, as though trying to trigger a memory. There won't be one. She's not come here in the past. She tended to avoid bars in generally. Alcohol wasn't good for the body.
    Not that her mind cared right now. She smirked at her own thoughts and lifted her bottle in a mock toast. "To new experiences."

Loki has posed:
    A small exhalation that's akin to a laugh slips from him, barely audible as he lifts his own drink and leans forwards just enough that if she meets him that distance there'll be a 'clink' between glasses. Either way he'll take a drink of his rum and coke, then set the glass down upon the tabletop.
    "Now you are considered one of my contacts." He gives a single nod as if to himself and that she had no choice in the matter, even as he lets those green eyes slide over the rest of the room, gaze lingering on each individual as his smile grows a touch before he looks back towards her. "You are clearly beholden to answer when I call, to give up important details, to point me in likely directions as I work a case."
    He reaches into his glass and casually takes hold of one of the small remaining ice cubes, tossing it into his mouth and proceeding to crunch it. He smiles around the ice and adds, "You have no choice in the matter, I'm afraid."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    The buzz has improved her humor. Mariam giggles slightly at his summation of their newfound partnership. Or contactship. Some sort of ship.
    "Oh? See here I was convinced that I had my own mind and got to make my own decisions. Quid pro quo. Reciprocity or you get nothing. Course, you might get nothing anyway depending. I don't reveal information about my clients." She makes sure that is covered right up front. "Much to the disappointment of my co-workers who were hoping to get some dirty details." She rolls her eyes again and shakes her head.
    After his glass and her bottle clink, she takes a quick swig then sets the brown bottle back down in the exact spot it had been moments before. "So what's your real story? I mean I believe the family stuff but I don't think that's what led you to becoming a PI. What was the trigger?"

Loki has posed:
    "I'm sure if I asked you about your client, we'd dance a lovely little dance around the truth and you could maintain your sense of honor while I might come away with some mild tidbits I could perceive." He offers back to her as he reaches for another sliver of ice from his glass and nibbles on it before crunching it between molars. "But luckily, I have no interest in your client. Whomever it may be, for now at least."
    He then lifts his eyebrows up at her own advance of curious queries, hmming to himself as she asks him of himself so directly. "My 'real' story."
    Sam lifts a fingertip to scritch at the side of his cheek, the almost invisible stubble there making the fainest of sounds. He eyes her sidelong, one eyebrow higher than the other. "Well, really there's not much more to it than what I said earlier."
    His chair creaks a little as he leans forwards, elbows resting on the edge of the table, "My family had different expectations for me, of course. No one slaps the ass of their newborn babe just before they cry their first and then say to themselves, 'I want my son to spend his nights staking out hotels with a camera and eating fast food.'"
    He then spreads a hand to the side, wiping light at the beadlets of sweat from his glass, "I think I was meant for bigger and better things, of course. And so did my family. But I didn't entirely fit the form they had in mind. My brother met that criteria. But unlike the rest of them, I could see what was in front of my nose, and so I made use of that talent. And here we are."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    "Ah, let me see if I have this right. The perfect golden brother who was willing to take up the mantle as the head butcher at the shop when your father retires, following in his footsteps to cut the finest steaks and pork chops that money can buy." Mariam is smiling, her tone light and teasing. The butcher shop probably isn't right but the rest of it sounds like it fits with his tale. "You preferred to find out where the cow came from instead of just chopping it up. Asked too many questions." She gives a nod, agreeing with herself.
    It fits that he would be someone seeking answers if he became a private investigator. Unless, he just likes being a peeping Tom. There's always that aspect of his chosen career.
    She looked at him more closely as she lifted her bottle to take another swig. He was handsome. Charming enough when he wanted to be. It seemed like there was something more to him. Perhaps it was a depth of character that she was picking up. She wasn't really sure. It wasn't something specific. He just carried himself a certain way that gave her that impression.
    "I'd think staking people out and taking pictures would get pretty boring. You mainly deal with insurance claims and cheating spouses?"

Loki has posed:
    A small snort slips as he's drinking from his glass but he sets it down. "Well, to be fair he is a decent hand at the butcher's work, but the family business was a little more robust in scope." He gestures aside with a wave of his hand, as if trying to get past the burden that is his brother. "And our legacy comes with certain entitlements so the both of us are ne'er do wells ultimately."
    He then nods to her, "So thus, I confess to you that I have chosen this profession even though I ultimately am not... forced into it. I just find I have a certain talent for it."
    He looks towards the still gathered police officers, then meets her gaze. "Which is why, now, having stated that... that you may understand why I can tell you with sincerity that I am not forced to take the cases that would not be too terribly engaging."
    He pushes his empty glass away and adds, "I try to find something about what I am doing that is interesting. It's just that even when that is the case," He pauses for a moment, smirks, carries on. "That they are still ultimately rather dull. Until things start to happen."
    A moment of reflection is perhaps seen in those eyes as they hood slightly and he looks away. "Though you do get to meet many people, learn from them. That helps one's perspective."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    No insurance claims or cheating spouses. Maybe cheating spouses. Being able to pick and choose cases instead of having to take anything that comes along? He's got money. Plenty of it. So his family is well off although she doesn't have enough information to piece together more than that. After all, lots of rich people. She's been meeting so many of them lately, at least in a passing fashion. Not actually chatting with them but she gets to hear their conversations due to proximity.
    "Helps ones perspective?" That's one way to put it. "It would. If you are used to being around say, cops and then you are talking to a reformed felon. Or you are used to having a silver spoon in your mouth but get to talk to someone that is homeless and learn their point of view on the world." The rotation of the bottle starts again and she glances to it, seeing the ring forming on the table from the condensation trailing down the sides. "Or vice versa. Being the one used to living in a rat trap then finding yourself able to brush elbows with the rich and famous." She smiles a bit and her head shifts, showing she is looking to him again.
    "You get to learn that everyone has problems. Everyone has demons. Some people just hide them better than others."

Loki has posed:
    "Like seeks unto like," Sam tells her when he now, having pushed away his glass as empty, reaches for her bottle to take it for his own. Even if she protests. He'll twist it a bit, still a few small swigs to it so he tilts it back and drains it, then turns to look over his shoulder and gesture at Dee as she's still circulating amongst the remaining customers for the evening.
    That bottle is then set back down for her to set spinning again as she wishes, but he smiles wryly back at her. "In a city this size everyone has a story of their own. Cliched, I know, but cliches are such for a reason."
    He rests one hand upon the back of his chair and then the other over top it, settled there for now. "But it's one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you. Now, if you were an accountant or a real-estate agent, I doubt I would have wandered over. But is that fair? I am sure you'd have some interesting tales to tell even if you tried to sell me a split-level ranch."

Mariam O'Shea has posed:
    "Sounds tacky," Mariam decides. Split-level ranch indeed. She was quite content with an apartment or condominium. No yard to keep up. In a good one, the walls were thick enough there was no worries about hearing her neighbors. It had taken a while to reach that level but she had. "Course if I was an accouant, I could talk you about your deductions and tax opportunities." The face she makes shows it's about on par with perhaps manure sales person. Not high on her list of fun things.
    "Considering my work, you probably figured out I prefer things that require physical effort. Instead of sitting on my butt crunching numbers."
    She picks up the bottle and sets it upright again before any weird spinning of the bottle ends up with it pointing in a certain direction and prompting commentary or suggestions. As Dee approaches with a new one, she frowns a bit and shakes her head but the server just puts down the fresh beer and heads off to the next table.
    That many beers is way above her limit. She pushes the full one over to Sam's side of the table.