5212/Night out in Hell's Kitchen

Night out in Hell's Kitchen
Date of Scene:	20 August 2018
Location:	Hell's Kitchen, New York City
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Sabretooth, Riddler, Miss Moreau, Magik

---

Sabretooth has posed:
    It is the dog days of summer. The heat and humidity of the city can still be felt in the air punctuated only by a thunderstorm or two here and there. The sun is going down, and the shadows are getting longer even as the temperature doesn't move. Inside Josie's it is warm but at least the air is moving with the ceiling fans whirring above them. It is a Monday so the bar isn't weekend packed, but there is enough people in there to add to the heat of the place. THe lights are low so as to hide the peeling paint and the occasional spilled drink, but at least the place doesn't smell.

    Victor is in the back at the pool table. He is standing against the back wall with a pool stick in one hand and a glass of scotch in front of him on the pool table. He seems to be playing a couple of college kids who don't know better at the moment as he works on taking their daddy's money.

Riddler has posed:
The Riddler is on the police radar in Gotham City, after having found a new pupil to teach the art of criminology to. Batwoman is, of course, skeptical, the Riddler gathers, but he is sure he can show her many things. After all, being a lady in a town like Gotham City is hard, but the Riddler is of the utmost professional class and commodity, and will be sure to keep the distance between the two. He will, however, require time to ponder over Batwoman's set of mathematical qualities in her relationship to the concrete facts of Gotham.

So far, he's discovered that she's a talker. Hence why he's taken her on as a student; he's just concerned with her sexual harassment, at this point. It's rude to proposition a man you have no intent of bedding.

The Riddler steps into the bar, with his brass and copper question mark cane punctuating his entry. It taps on the polished floor, as he gazes out across the bar from behind his purple domino mask. He reaches up to his green jacket with a purple gloved hand, plucking the nape theatrically, before he loosens his purple tie and jauntily kicksteps over to the bar and swings about to crook his elbow atop the surface of the counter, letting his wrist dangle as he leans in, bowler hat casting a shadow over his eyes at the barkeep. His cane gives him an odd marionette posture.

"Riddle me this, barkeep. When is it Christmas, for a prisoner?" He grins. "I'll take a finger of midori, and the rest grenadine, in a tall glass."

Miss Moreau has posed:
A melodious voice drifts into Josie's bar as the front door is pushed gently open by a fuzzy head. In walks Miss Moreau, humming some sort of operatic song as she all but skips in, dress brushing a table or two as her guide companion pulls her up to the bar. Her humming stops as she feels about for the seat, politely hopping up to the bar as her four legged companion does much the same.

She might be getting a few stares, between the tattoos and exotic dress. Oh, and she has a seeing eye leopard. With stark white fur and deep red eyes. An albino leopard sways it's tail, black collar about it's neck as it settles in.

Why is this Gotham freakshow here? Part vacation from the Foot shenanigans in her slice of Gotham, and part to run down a few deals in her own merchant dealings. Plus, it seems she's not alone tonight. The sound of the riddler's kicksteps and voice have her giggling cheerily.

"Oh, dear, such lively fellows tonight! Isn't that right my sweet Prince." One hand crawls up and scritches the big leopard's ear. Ahem!

"Barkeep! Scotch, neat. Double for me, triple for my companion. Oh, and don't worry, he only bites people I don't like!" Smiiiiiiile!

Magik has posed:
    With classes back in session, Illyana Rasputin did not want to have anything to do with the mansion. There are too many students roaming about, too much action and attention throughout the grounds during the day. Instead of hiding in Limbo, where time moves differently than that of Midgard, the blonde Russian chose to go somewhere where she could have a few drinks.

    This isn't her first time at Josie's, sitting in a seat at the bar top, the furthest from human interaction, except for the bartender of course. There are two shots of Jameson in front of her and an imported beer, Dos XX Amber. Illyana takes one of the shots when Riddler enters, ordering a green liqueur with cherry flavoring. Dropping the shot glass on the table, Illyana looks back up to see the more familiar face of Miss Moreau.

    "Satan, help me," Illyana whispers, shooting the second shot.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Victor is drinking from his glass as the two enter the front of the bar. After the sip he just stops in mid motion watching the two. Not that he is a stranger to the world of the costumed, but they usually don't just walk into Josie's with a fah la dee da either. He isn't paying attention when the college kid he is playing misses his shot and curses. The kid looks at Victor and then towards the front and his mouth drops open as he is a kid from the midwest rather than the big city. Victor shakes his head, but doesn't approach anyone yet finally picking up his pool stick and moving around the table, but keeping his eyes on the new pair.

    Josie walks towards the Riddler and looks like she is about to say something about riddles and domino masks, but then Miss Moreau enters with her unusual seeing eye "assisstant". She also is no stranger to the city and all it entails, but is still a bit taken aback. She begins to pour Riddler's drink even as she answers with a shrug, "Same as Christmas for everyone else, I would think." She then looks to Moreau and begins to pour her requests. This time her eyes go to the animal next to her. "Just keep it under control, Miss."

Riddler has posed:
"Wrong!" Riddler says, scooping up his drink as he pushes off the bar and turns aside to take a sip from his drink, slowly drinking the saccharine substance.

"Christmas for a prisoner is when they get out." He sets down his drink, as Miss Moreau and her jaguar enter, and fiddles around in his jacket. He removes a twenty dollar bill, bound in a purple band and folded into a fifth of its length, so it only shows the sides, with a green '$20' across the middle, and slides it to the bar tender. "That's a beautiful beast, my dear," he notes of the jungle cat. "You must tell me how you teach them to sit on a chair, perhaps we could get a few together to play a game of Dungeons and Dragons."

"Satan is a serpent, dear," Riddler notes to Magik. "He only helps himself."

Miss Moreau has posed:
Haaring Illyana's voice, Moreau tilts her head and gives a vague little wave of fingers in her direction. Mmm. "What odd places people cross paths in." She offers cryptically, before her attention is stolen by the bar owner. She laughs.

"Miss Josie, I presume? Why, I should be insulted! Roll over, Prince!" The big white cat does exactly that...technically. The creature's head rotates one hundred eighty degrees, like a very odd owl's. Then it lets out a little contented purr as it's drink is poured.

Prince's tongue, forked, snakes out of it's mouth and starts lapping up the large slug of scotch.

"Isn't he such a good boy?"

Moreau, then, stands enough to take a bow towards the Riddler. "Ah, what a wonderful idea! But Prince much prefers playing Christians and Romans. Hardly a puzzle which side he prefers being on~! Miss Moreau, at your service! Miracles and mysteries, all for the right price!" Ever the saleswoman, this animal seller.

She takes up her drink, downing half of it, then frowns. It's raised. "To another day of life, filled with love, hatred, survival and ferocious urges unleashed! Here here!"

Magik has posed:
    The shot glass 'clinks' against the bar top once the whiskey is down her throat. The burn of the liquor soothes her, and chasing it with the beer helps even more so. Hearing the Riddler's voice, Illyana realigns her focus and her blue eyes travel back to the man. Blonde brows furrow a bit before a manicured middle finger rises as a gift to counter his comment. It lingers for a long moment so that she does not miss an opportunity for him to see it. When he does she the profane gesture, Illyana takes another swig of beer.

    She looks from the bar and out into the crowd, taking in the atmosphere and those sitting, standing, or passed out within it. The pool table comes into Illyana's sights and her eyes hover on the frame of Victor Creed for a moment. If their gazes were to meet each other, Illyana would not flinch or gaze away. Until she is ready to look away, and that is when Miss Moreau catches her attention next with her toast.

    "You two are made for each other," Illyana says, lifting herself and her beer from the bar. "Weird as always to see you again, Miss Moreau." The last time Illyana saw the other woman was during their secret social in Constantine's house. It seems the woman has not changed in the least. She gives the other mystic a nod and makes her way to the pool table.

    "I've got next," she says loudly, interrupting whatever conversation the students are currently having. Another look goes to Victor.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Victor catches the look of the blonde out of the corner of his eye, but his attention is on the pool table at the moment. He leans over and takes aim. He strikes the cue ball and sinks his last stripe into the corner pocket. He moves around and takes aim at the eight ball. "Kid, you better get used to seeing things like that in the city or some of the..." he pauses for a moment before continuing, "not so nice elements of the city will eat you for lunch. And in some cases," he strikes the cue ball and sinks the eight ball, "that is literal." He stands up smiling as he collects the pile of bills on the corner of the pool table with a smile as the kid walks away. Hearing Illyana's voice he turns his head, really noticing her now, and slowly nods with a smile. "Certainly," he says slowly.

    Up at the bar, Josie is a bit shocked, but recovering nicely. She raises an eyebrow as the drinks are consumed. "Another round?" she asks as she whipes down the counter top. She is apparently going with the theory that this will make a fine story at some point so why interupt.

Riddler has posed:
The Riddler tilts his chin upwards at Magik's rude gesture, smiling deviously, as he holds his tall glass in his left hand and his cane in the right.

Wordlessly turning to Miss Moreau as Magik departs in Sabretooth's direction, as Miss Moreau introduces herself.

"My name is Edward Nygma, but you may call me the Riddler. I am a humble crook, but one of the highest caliber. Arrogance is often the accusation I face, but pride is something I sorely lack. I prefer to call my chief personality trait, an abundance of confidence."

Miss Moreau has posed:
A hand goes to her chest. "Weird!? Ahhh, you simply do not appreciate the exotic and rare! Miracles they are /miracles/! I am an artist you know!? Not like those filthy, genetics-tearing /ruffians/! Ruining beautiful creatures for their base, utilitarian needs! Horrible, it really is!" Illyana's pulling a rant out of the odd magess.

"What good advice! Beasts stalk the shadows of many cities. Mmm, if one has not claws, then play the predator is always good survival, I think!" She offers to Victor and his pool playing friend.

By now the cat has righted it's head, and has the drink in both paws. He tilts back the drink, downing it entirely. The glass is sat back down.

"Mrrrowwwww!"

The cat taps the glass insistantly at Josie.

Moreau's smile brightens from 'cheery' to all but luminous. "My, my, my! Lack of pride indeed Mister Nygma! How could I, a lifelong resident of our fair dark city, not know the name of the Riddler? You make a mere merchant and trinket snatcher such as myself joyous! Ah, I think this is cause for a celebration! Miss Josie? A round for everyone!"

With a bit of a nudge from her cat she leans in the Riddler. A subtle finger to her lips and a whisper. "And a party needs dancers~!" She'll slip him a card with a number. Villainous networking. And then she steps behind the man. One hand touches the bar briefly. Her free hand runs along the scarlet tome ensconced in one of her pockets.

The room goes chillier by about ten degrees. Nothing happens for a moment, but there's two young men sitting at a table by the bar. Two ants, foreheads glowing, stick sharp mandibles into nerve endings precisely.

Their eyes glaze over, and suddenly, they're on the tables doing an irish step-dance that's both graceful and dangerously quick. Increasing in speed by the second.

"Much better."

Magik has posed:
    The cue stick is offered to Illyana as the student wanders away to lick his wounds. Grinning, she walks toward a block of chalk and lines the muscle between her thumb and index finger. She tests out the cue, rolling it against the table to make sure it isn't warped. It slides up and down her fingers just to make sure she has enough chalk on her hand.

    "Rack them up, big guy," she says, her Russian tone evident. Her attention shifts for a moment, sensing residual magical energy, and she turns to Miss Moreau instinctively and then to the dancing men. Illyana says nothing to that. She isn't the power police, and she surely isn't going to judge the other woman for overwhelming someone else. That would be hypocritical.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Josie begins to ready the glasses as she pours the next round for the bar. There are a lot of cheers from the crowd as free booze trumps the fear of dancing ants. Josie, on the other hand, almost drops the bottle as the ants begin to dance. "Please don't scratch the word," she manages to say with some wide eyes.

    Victor laughs slightly at the line about a predator without claws. His own hands grip the pool stick, twisting it slightly, as his own claws tap at it. He breaks his gaze from the front of the bar and the ants when Illyana takes up the pool stick. "Sure thing, Frail." His own voice is rough and any Canadian accent is long gone from him. He pops quarters in the table and collects the balls as they pour out. He puts them in the triangle, rolling it back and forth to even them out, and adjusts the balls accordingly. He lifts the rack and says, "Ladies first is how it is supposed to go, I believe."

Riddler has posed:
Riddler accepts the card and slides it into his pocket, before he observes the dancing men, frowning in shock.

"Well, I've misjudged this one." He sips his drink, cocking his head as he looks up at the two men on the table doing the Irish dance, before he snickers and laughs.

"Of course! Batwoman thinks I'm straight because she isn't!" He slams his drink back to his gullet, before depositing the glass on the counter. "Thank you, Josie. That drink is called a sugar plum. It's for a psychiatric patient that's readjusting to life without medication. Popular with us boys and girls from Arkham." He tips his bowler upwards, as he jaunts out.

Now, he's got the final piece of the puzzle. Batwoman isn't a detective, she's a soldier. She never figured out his riddle to trap him after tracking him last night, she cheated. She's been using signals intelligence.

But the question is: what organization is feeding her the electronic operations sequences? Time to visit a workshop, and put together some frequency tapping material.

Magik has posed:
    Illyana smirks at Victor's choice of words. If she was the type of demon to laugh, she would have; instead, she stays quiet as her opponent sets up the game. A small glance goes to The Riddler as he makes his way out of the bar, and then Miss Moreau. Illyana hears the ruckus from the two enchanted men, letting out a large sigh.

    Focus on the game before her increases as Victor offers her the opportunity to break. "Are you sure you want to do that?" Illyana asks, a devious grin against her features. She walks to the head of the table, moving the white ball a couple inches to the right, and then takes aim. Pulling back, Illyana pushes the stick forward with a combination of physical and magical force; the white ball hits the side of the triangle formation, knocking balls in every direction. Balls one, twelve, and three enter the pockets.

    "Which is the last ball?" Illyana asks.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Victor just watches the balls break and bounce across the table. He holds his own stick in his right hand with the butt on the floor and he sort of leans half on the stick and half against the far end of the table. "Impressive, Frail. Maybe I'm the one being hussled now. Think that young welp would have gotten you a couple more rounds before he figured it out." He looks over how the balls have played out, thinking ahead even as he moves so Illyana can find a new spot to shoot from. "Eight ball is the last. Sink it before its time, and I win."

Magik has posed:
    Illyana chuckles slightly, shaking her head at Victor's response. She takes this opportunity to take a swig from her beer. An index finger points at the window on the side where the rough-voiced man is standing.

    "I was speaking about the balls that I sank," she replies, taking another swig and then placing the empty bottle on a surrounding cocktail table. "But I remember now. I am solids." With the balls enchanted, Illyana takes aim once more, purposely missing a solid seven cue ball.

    "I'm a dangerous woman, yes. A hustler? Not so much."

Sabretooth has posed:
    "Any predator should be a hustler. Goes with the danger," Victor says with a laugh as he moves around to take aim at the 15 ball. "Got to lure the sheep in some how." He pauses as he takes aim. His whole body is still for a moment as if hunting before taking the shot. He doesn't have magic helping him, but he manages to sink the 15. He stands up, walking around the table, looking where to go next. "Forgive me for underestimating your knowledge of the game," he chuckles.

Magik has posed:
    "I am not a predator either, I'm afraid," Illyana replies, standing to the side and leaning against a chair as Victor shoots. She takes in the man's features, allowing her memories of the past to cross paths with her knowledge of the present - and future. Of course, Illyana knew who Victor Creed is. Just like the game they are playing, unfortunately, Illyana has more of a mystical hand involved. Limbo makes the perfect study area when people are involved.

    "It's quite alright. I'm a walking misperception, it seems."

Sabretooth has posed:
    "Apparently so," Victor says with a nod. He takes aim at the 9 but misses that shot. He stands up and backs up against the wall to make room for Illyana to shoot. "Maybe you just haven't accepted how dangerous you could be." He glances over the younger woman. He doesn't know her as she knows him, but he can't help but make the Russian connection. "But it could just be my own views getting in the way."

Magik has posed:
    As Victor misses and moves to the side for Illyana to take her shot, she regards his words for a second. She places the stick against the table. Figuring out the correct angles took some effort, playing into her own manipulation, and she takes aim when it all comes together.

    Concentrating, Illyana hears Victor's statement and then the ruckus of the dancing men behind her. She looks back for a quick moment and a devilish grin forms on her features, "Oh, I've accepted how dangerous I am." A pool of golden light appears underneath both men and swallows them whole, closing immediately afterwards. Appearing to hit the ball with a lot of force, the white ball flies through open space on the pool table, knocking balls two, four, five, and six.

    "What about you, Victor Creed, isn't it?" Illyana asks.

Sabretooth has posed:
    Victor nods and smiles. "At your service. You are a Rasputin, right?" he asks with a left eyebrow raising in question. He turns to watch the dancers disappear into the light disk and then back at Illyana. He whistles at the shot of the pool balls. "Yeah, you could be a great hustler, Frail. Just seem to be selling yourself short. As for what I do, I just work as it comes to me. Being dangerous and being a predator just makes me more money so I have embraced it."

Magik has posed:
    "I see my last name precedes me," Illyana replies, moving around the table and taking aim at the last ball she needs to worry about on the table. The eight ball is positioned unceremoniously around stripped balls. There is no imaginable shot available. Illyana simply taps the black ball into another ball, just light enough for little momentum for either balls.

    "That's a smart move, though. I bet people pay good money to bully other people," Illyana offers. She knows humanity enough for certain people to stoop so low.