6055/Bars Make Holidays

Bars Make Holidays
Date of Scene:	27 December 2018
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Typhoid Mary, Arsenal, Crossbones

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Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Holidays are when most people -- functional, dysfunctional, and everything in between -- gather together with their loved ones, family and friends, to exchange seasonally charged, festive emotions and create new memories, for good or ill. But, for people who have no family, friends, or loved ones...well, they end up in places like Luke's during these times of the year. Or worse.

    But, for Typhoid Mary, this is an everyday experience, no real special addition to it, aside from Christmas-themed drinks, some shabby decorations, and a lot more crying than she usually hears on a cold winter's eve. She's nursing a double bourbon, watching a re-run of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the big-picture TV mounted on the wall, her legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle as her elbows and the middle of her back rests on the bar, her glass clutched in one hand.

Arsenal has posed:
Yeah, well...this is where one Roy Harper also tended to spend the holidays. It was simple. He sometimes just got sick of the Arrow family and just wanted to enjoy the drinks. Plus, bars are usually popping on Christmas time. It's fun.

Roy enters wearing a red T-shirt with some nice jeans. A longcoat over his shoulders as he walks out to a bar. "Hey Jim, I'll take a whiskey. Spice it up if you want." Knowingly, the bartender gives him a full bottle and he turns his head to immediately Find Mary, he gives her a bit of a smile. "Well hello there." he greets, sitting near the bar.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Mary's profile is certainly an enticing one, what with the barely-there nature of some of her attire and the overtly feminine cast of her genetics... But, most of the regulars in this bar have witnessed her incapacitate someone for looking at her wrong, and the general vibe of danger that radiates from her tends to ward off the majority of others. But, not Roy. Roy's used to that aura of menace, with a darkness of his own.

    So, when he smiles and greets her, Typhoid's undershaved head lolls his way, her mohawk of unnaturally red locs cascading over her leather jacketed shoulder. Her white-orbed gaze doesn't show her giving him an up-and-down look, though her eyelids do kinda hint at that. She smiles slowly and gestures a bit with the hand holding her glass, "Hey, yourself." She turns her gaze back to the TV, taking a sip from her tumbler. "You got good tastes," she says.

Arsenal has posed:
Roy looks at Mary up and down, though not really as subtly as Mary does for him. She was a tall glass o' water, and Roy's eyes were all over her. He's used to such a menace. He's walked the lines more times than he can count, and he's been on both sides of the coin.

He drinks straight from the bottle, giving her a wry grin. "so do you. Doublin' down on the bourbon, hm? Mind if I sit with you? Name's Roy."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid Mary's not unused to such open appreciation of her form, her background darker than most and comprised of quite a lot of that sort of thing. She isn't shy and she's not shrinking from his gaze. She seems at ease, very relaxed, as he takes a deep plug of his whiskey. She glances at the tumbler in her hand as he mentions it with a grin, nodding her head. "Yeah, it's a warm up," she says with a crooked smile, drinking from the glass, again. She looks at the stool next to her and lifts a shoulder, "Looks like that seat's free, slick. Take it if you want it." She pauses a moment before adding, "They call me Typhoid Mary, 'cause I'm always runnin' hot. Not the most fitting nickname, considerin' the history of it, but I don't mind it."

Arsenal has posed:
Roy looks to Typhoid and he gives her a bit of a wink, leaning against the bar until she gives him permission to sit, which he happily seems to do. "Well, I guess I'm taking it then. After all, I have quite a good sight." he smirks at her. "Typhoid Mary, huh? Welll.." another once over. "Lives up to the reputation. So...you here alone?" he asks her curiously, tipping back his drink to keep himself continually on the roll. It was an innocent question...and not one that was meant to be imposing or demanding. "Becuase, in honesty, I would certainly hate it if some jerk would leave such a tall glass of water like you here all by yourself."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Mary isn't quite sure what reputation her nickname could carry that she'd physically live up to, unless she looked like an early nineteenth century cook. But, she figures it was probably meant to be a compliment, so she simply simultaneously clicks her tongue, winks, and gestures with her glass.

    At his question, she cants her head to one side for a moment, squinting her eyes, as though she can't remember if she came here with someone or not. "Mmmmm, alone, I think. Yep." At almost six feet tall, she's definitely a tall woman, but that's not uncommon in the crowds in which she runs. So, for Roy to point it out, it makes her laugh a bit. "Ohhh, don't fret none, Roy. I can take care'a myself," she says reassuringly, draining her tumbler and slapping the bar for a refill.

Arsenal has posed:
Roy is just lookin' all over her. She was quite the beauty after all.

How could he //not//?

Roy finishes off his bottle and plants it down on the bar. "Hit me again, Jim." and the Bartender will get them BOTH their refills. "Well, I sure hope so. So then..." if she allows, Roy will be more...bold. His foot will reach out to nudge hers. Footsie, anyone? "So, any special plans for the night? Or are you like me, to just drink until whatever wind carries you away."

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow hadn't met up with Mary in a while. They both got romanced by that L1 jackhole for those sketchy jobs, but they didn't have much follow-up yet. Which ain't exactly unusual in the merc business. Unreliable and sketchy was sort of the name of the game.

He wears biker leathers, studded along the arms, a kerchief round his neck, his head shaved on the sides and tattoos creeping up his neck. He's wide-shouldered and radiates menace. He flicks a nod towards Mary as he bellies up to the bar, the smell of tobacco carried with him. "Can't smoke in bars anymore. God damn unAmerican," he mutters, winking at the dangerous lady, "How they swingin' tonight, Mare?"

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid Mary snap-points appreciatively at the bartender as her tumbler is refilled and she swings it up to her mouth for another deep gulp of the fiery liquid. She sucks air in through her teeth and exhales noisily. She grins over at Roy, lifting her brows as he gets a second bottle of whiskey in a short amount of time, "Whoa, slugger. You gotta spare liver somewhere, or a healin' factor?" She laughs, glancing down at his foot nudging hers. To his question, she lifts her shoulders, "No set plans. I texted my bud earlier, but he was grumpy and didn't wanna come out, so here I am. Drinkin' and soakin' up this atmosphere," she says, gesturing at the surroundings.

    About then is when Brock tromps his heavy-booted butt inside, kicking off sidewalk-slush and walking over to plant himself on the other side of her and gruffly greets her. "Well, now, Bonesy. I thought you said it was 'too damned cold outside' to come out," she says, narrowing her eyes with a playful expression. "They're heavy but perky, as always," she replies with a crooked grin. She looks to Roy, gesturing with her glass at Brock, "Look who said he wasn't comin', then decided to come!"

Arsenal has posed:
Roy laughs just a little bit. "Iron liver. I hear I'm a heavyweight." he winks at her, looking to her as it appears Roy has been flirting with Mary for quite some time. the two sitting beside each other at he bar. "Well, ain't that a surprise? I have no plans either. then perhaps after we finish drinking ourselves under a table, we could go someplace quieter?" he winks and clicks with his tongue, just like she did to him just moments ago.

Then Brock comes on in. Oof, he looks scary. Mary's humor makes him smirk. Well then. Roy gives a two finger salute to Rumlow. "She was just talkin' about ya. Speak of the devil, right? Name's Roy."

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow nods warily to Roy, cracking knuckles on the surface of the bar, "Cuervo shot and a Sam Adams," he says. "If you think Mary's lookin' fer quiet, you really did just meet her. Things usually get loud and stay loud when she's around," he says.

"Brock. Look, I grew up in Mississippi, ain't my fault the weather here sucks balls come Thanksgiving to Easter. Maybe it means God abandoned this place. Wouldn't blame him."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid laughs at Roy's joke, nodding her head. "I can hold my own, too, but it comes from years of practice, with just a weeeee bit of natural talent to push me along," she grins. At the suggestion of finding somewhere quieter, and Brock's quip, she nods and hooks a thumb in Brock's direction, "Bonesy's right. I'm not really the quiet type, except when I'm bein' paid to," she winks and tosses back the rest of her double bourbon. She slaps the bar for another! "Ahhhh, you know it's always warm 'round me, Bones. You don't gotta worry 'bout the cold when I'm in the room," she waggles her brows and the area surrounding her becomes *noticeably* warmer. For just long enough to prove her point.

Arsenal has posed:
Hmm...wow, she really can make things hot. 'typhoid' is appropriate nickname. "Oh? an exciting one? Well, I'm slowly learnin' that one." Roy laughs just a little bit to Brock's explanation and his perhaps over-dramatic statement about the cold. "Well, some people like the god-awful weather. I think it makes good use for people who enjoy brooding." he downs his bottle of whiskey until it's about half-way before he sets it down. "So, I take it you two know each other rather well? Co-workers?" putting some deductive reasoning to use.

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow flashes his teeth, which isn't exactly a smile. "Something like that. Mutual interests and hobbies," he says. He drinks his tequila with a quick shot, wincing a bit and then washing it down with the first half of his beer. "Keep 'em comin'," he says to the bartender.

"But yeah, we're what ya might call familiar. She's gotten me hot under the collar a time or two before," he says, winking at Mary. "I ain't much for broodin'. Sounds like whining to me, and I don't got time for neither. When I'm unhappy with my lot, I change it. Usually the hard way. That way it's more fun."

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid Mary leans in tooooooo close to Brock with a big, big grin as he's put on the spot, wondering what he'll say. She laughs and relaxes back into her original position and nods, "What he said. Co-workers plus, or somethin' like that." She exhales blissfully, recalling when she did that job with him. "Bones, you 'member that time when I made that ceiling-mounted autogun backfire on itself and it exploded? Ahhhh, good times. Is this what they mean when they say 'holiday cheer'? Those warm fuzzies?" She grins at Roy.

    "Personally, I like a good brood," she says, pleasantly contrary. "I like it when it's gloomy and cold and wet. Then again, I don't ever feel the cold or the damp, really, if I don't wanna. Otherwise, this mode of dress wouldn't work for me year-round," she flaps her leather jacket to prove a point. She smiles and rocks her legs back and forth a bit as she starts in on her fresh drink.

Arsenal has posed:
Roy chuckles to Brock. He kinda likes the rough and tough demeanor. "She's getting me hot under the collar now. I can't imagine what being friends might be like." he winks to Mary, before he looks to Brock. "Well, usually a good kick to the ass fixes that problem." hey, best way to solve a dispute is to kick the shit out of hte other guy, in Roy's opinion. let skill decide who's right and who's wrong.

Though then he looks to Mary. "I think so? Haven't felt that holidy spirit in a long while. "and wouldn't that be a shame for my eyes." he is just all flirting with Mary tonight.

Crossbones has posed:
Brock Rumlow grins, "Nobody 'bout to complain about the way you dress, Mare, except maybe church ladies and eunuchs and jealous bitches afraid you're costin' 'em scratch," he says. He pounds the rest of the beer. "I remember, Mary. You're a bad bitch in every imaginable way, not the least the kind the leaves cold bodies in the wake. I never liked Christmas much, myself. The old man would get cranky this time of year. All that god bothering shit in his head, plus plenty of grudges at anyone he didn't like. Which was pretty much everybody. He and I got that in common," he says.

"See, you got me broodin' all against my damn will," he says. "I prefer a steel toe to the throat over a kick in the ass. Some people like hittin' 'em in the balls or goin' for the head shot. I like the throat. Somethin' special about that little gurglin' noise they make. Warms my god damn cockles," he says.

Typhoid Mary has posed:
    Typhoid looks like the cat that ate the canary under all these compliments from two fine looking men. She just smiles it up as Brock and Roy trade comments about her, letting her eyes take in the scene in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer where the Bumble is bouncing with Yukon Cornelius. She sucks her teeth and wags her brows, then takes a deep swig of her bourbon. She tilts her head back and orders tequila -- which is what she drinks when she *really* wants to party. "A bottleeeeee," she says in a sing-song voice.

    Mary's brows rise and her eyes lid a bit as Brock describes beating people up, hurting others, being violent, in general...and murder. "You're trying to get me excited, Bonesy," she shakes a finger at him playfully. "You know just the kinda things that push my buttons, don'tcha?" she admits without shame. 'Course, it's not every day a girl openly admits to the fact that the idea of hurting and killing someone is what pushes her buttons.

Arsenal has posed:
Roy knows the feeling pretty well about killing somebody for just pleasure purposes, but he seems to keep on drinkin'. He even chuckles a little bit. "I can see that pretty well myself apparently." he chuckles more. "Somethin' about hurting people seems to be a classic turn on via adrenaline."

Roy looks then to Mary, giving her a wink. "Woah, busting out tequila? Guess it is gonna be a wild night, huh?"