Owner	Pose
Bullseye	There aren't a lot of places in New York where a sadistic psychopath can grab a drink in between jobs without getting hassled. This bar, however -- far from the prying eyes of law enforcement or those pesky capes -- happens to be one of those places. No surprise, this isn't your typical watering hole -- this is where the worst of the worst go to kick back and relax. Revel in their latest spree of violence. And sometimes, write their latest screenplay.     In the corner of this smoke-filled bar, a bald-headed man sits with his feet up on the table in front of him, turning a page from his newest book. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he lets out a small chortle before taking another drag. This would look completely normal for your average seedy bar -- except for the fact his shirt is spattered with blood.
Killer Croc	Although he's currently made his home in Gotham City, Killer Croc was well-traveled and had learned long ago of a place where even monsters like himself could go to have a drink or pick up information. Stooping to enter the door, Croc makes his way straight to the bar. A brief exchange ends with a large mug of something foul smelling in Croc's hand as he turns to survey the room.
Bullseye	The man in the corner, known throughout New York's criminal circles as Bullseye, briefly takes his gaze away from his book to gawk at the absolute monster of a... wait, no -- that's a monster -- lumbering into the bar. He instinctively reaches for one of his knives tucked away under his jacket, but loosens up a bit as soon as he sees Croc sit down to grab a drink.     "Who the fuck is that?" Bullseye asks under under his breath, reaching for his whiskey-filled shot glass. He pounds it down, his eyes fixated on Croc the whole time, before licking his teeth. Ever since returning to New York, the market's been flooded with pretenders to the throne. This could be competition. This could be a shot-caller. Either way, he thought, as he headed to the bar -- It was best to see for himself.
Killer Croc	Croc was used to being stared at. He knew pretty much everyone in here was looking at him right now. He usually didn't mind it here. This place was full of freaks. Some just wore it more openly than others. This was a place where it didn't usually matter. Most usually didn't comment on it and went back to their business after a good look at the crocodile monster.     He can feel lingering eyes, however and it doesn't take him long to find who they belong to. His own red eyes fall on Bullseye as the man begins to approach. He takes a long, slow drink from his mug and when he sets it down again, it's half empty. He wipes the back of a scaly hand across his face and burps loudly. When the other man is close enough, he cocks his head to give him a look. "Like what you see?" he growls; giving the other man a good hard look.
Bullseye	Whoa.     It fucking talks?     Perhaps wisely choosing to think before he replies, here, Bullseye takes a second to cock his head and mirror Croc's body language. Croc clearly wasn't uncomfortable, so why should New York's most murderous, card-flicking assassin? He snickers to himself before gesturing to the bartender to pour him another shot and confidently slips onto the stool next to the giant reptillian.     "I got no problems with you, big man," he says, putting his hands up. He slowly looks to his left and right, however, and clears his throat. "But, uh... this ain't exactly the kind o' place that gets new patrons just walkin' in. Not quite a tourist destination spot, if you know what I mean -- so forgive my curiosity, here." The bartender slides the shot over to Bullseye, who examines it with a nod before throwing it back. He then slams the glass down on the ground before leaning forward on the bar, shooting a glance at Croc.     "You from Metropolis? Jersey?"
Killer Croc	Croc grunts at the question. "Florida, originally. Gotham, currently." he says; lifting his mug for another drink. "And I ain't new. Been here a time or two. Not many places a guy like me can go have a drink." he says, gesturing to his monstrous form. "Can't find anything this good in the sewers." he says with a raspy chuckle as he lifts his mug once again.     When he sets the mug down this time, it's empty. He signals for a refill and turns back to Bullseye. "So what's your story?" he asks, looking pointedly at the target on the other man's forehead."
Bullseye	"The sewers?" Bullseye thinks to himself, nodding in acknowledgment and trying his best to keep a straight face. He does hear the mention of Gotham, though, and a smirk appears on his face. "Gotham, huh? Heard you got a bit of a bat problem." He sighs. "I swear, the day these mooks get a fuckin' clue about their place in the world just can't come soon enough." Flashes of Daredevil enter Bullseye's head, his hands on the bar slowly balling into trembling fists.     "As for my story?" he says with a snicker. "I kill things. And brother, I kill 'em, good. Now, based on what I'm seeing in front o' me, and considering where we're at? I'm guessin' you ain't exactly too far off from that line of work, either."
Killer Croc	Mention of the bat earns another grunt from Croc. "I've heard of him, but I ain't run into him yet." He pauses a moment to consider it and chuckles. "Might be a fun fight. Bet he tastes like anybody else, though." Yeah. Croc eats people, sometimes. Deal with it. Dominos might deliver to the sewers in New York, but that service isn't available in Gotham City.     "I kill things too." he says with a wide grin that bares his sharp, crooked teeth. "For food, mostly. For fun, sometimes." He takes his refreshed mug and tilts it back for a long drink.
Bullseye	Bullseye lets out a hearty laugh that trails off into a nervous chortle as he turns his head a bit away from Croc to unpack all that. Did this big, scaly bastard just say he eats people? Huh. Okay. Probably not a good idea to antagonize this guy, then.     "Well, we're a bit of a way's away from Gotham, Chief," Bullseye says, turning his gaze to Croc, again. "You on the job or what?" Heh. "The job." He looks down at his own blood-spattered shirt, slightly amused at the casualness of this particular conversation.
Killer Croc	Croc shakes his head at the question. "Nah, I'm not up to anything. Don't really have a job." he says with a rough laugh. "Just felt like gettin' out for awhile. See what's goin' on." He takes another drink before setting his mug down and turning to the man. "I'm Killer Croc. Or just Croc. Either works. What about you? What brings you out?"
Bullseye	Bullseye peers down at the bar pensively, his fingers interlocked with each other. "Got a gig this morning -- one of NYPD's finest who was on the take and got a little too comfortable with some of my associates." A wry smile snakes across the madman's face as he pulls out a deck of playing cards, fanning them out in front of him. "He was a gambler. And a drunk. Figured one of these bad boys to the frontal lobe would be... poetic." He nimbly reassembles the deck, shuffling it effortlessly with just one hand. "But only... after... I had my fun."
Killer Croc	Croc chuckles softly as Bullseye describes his job. "Heh cops almost always have pickled livers." he says, shaking his head. "Guess you didn't eat him, though." He pauses for another drink before going on. "I take jobs every now 'n then. I mostly keep to myself, but I like a little fun from time to time."
Bullseye	Continuing to shuffle the cards in one hand, Bullseye shakes his head at Croc's joke. "Hah, no -- I ate beforehand. Tryin' to watch my weight," he says sardonically. Bullseye then nods at the bartender in front of him and gestures for a beer. "As for fun? I can only imagine the kind of fun you get into, but that ain't here nor there. You REALLY wanna have some fun, though? Tear through some shit? I know some people... and the money ain't bad, either." Croc didn't have to be his friend. But he certainly didn't want him as an enemy.
Killer Croc	Croc perks as Bullseye mentions tearing through shit. "Don't have much use for money, but I'm always game for a little action." he says, tilting his head first left and then right; causing the bones to crack loudly. He was content to live a mostly quiet life, but it did feel good to get out and break shit every now and then. "Consider me interested."
Bullseye	Bullseye was smirking on the outside, but absolutely beaming on the inside. Having a massive, scaly heavy on your side probably isn't the worst thing he can do, after all. The psychopath places his deck of cards back in his jacket and extends a hand towards the reptillian colossus. "Bullseye," he said, popping his eyebrows so as to draw attention to the crosshairs scarred into his head.
Killer Croc	Croc had been wondering about that target on Bullseye's forehead, but he wasn't going to say anything. Who was he to question anyone's fashion sense when he walked around in dirty, torn up jeans? He takes the man's hand, engulfing it in his large scaly paw. "I ain't hard to get ahold of. I come here from time to time and I've got a place in the sewers beneath Gotham."
Bullseye	This was going better than expected.     And Bullseye knew it.     "Then, I tell you what," Bullseye says, casually taking a big gulp from the beer placed in front of him after Croc's handshake. "I'll talk with my employers -- see if we can arrange a meet, right here. Might take 'em some convincing, though, considering you're a Gotham boy. We don't know you, after all. But I got a feelin' they'll be on board once they see what you can bring to the table."     His eyes light up with a craziness that could put a shiver down your spine. "Deal?"
Killer Croc	"Yeah sure, that sounds alright. It's a deal." Croc says, draining his mug once again. "I can hang around and meet yer friends." he adds, grinning at the thought of some bigtime action. "I ain't got any fancy knives." He nods to Bullseye's belt. "But I can smash things up real good."
Bullseye	"And I don't eat people," Bullseye replies with a smirk. "Let's call it even."     *BZZZT* *BZZZT*     A text on his burner at this time of night? That's gotta be his most recent Mr. Johnson. Bullseye carefully pulls out his phone and smirks, looking at the message. The smirk curls into another unsettling grin. "Looks like my latest masterpiece is makin' the news -- money transfer, complete." He puts the phone away and nods at the bartender before turning to Croc. "Time for me to hit the dusty road, Croc. I'll be in touch."     He pulls out some cash from one of the compartments on his belt and flicks it onto the bar. "And if I'm ever in Gotham? I'm sure you'll be, too." He gives Croc another nod and slips his mask back on. "Take care, big guy," he says, readying himself to leave.
Killer Croc	Croc signals for another refill as Bullseye stands and begins to make his exit. "I usually am. If you're ever in Gotham, look me up." His mug returns full once again and he raises it as the other man makes his exit. "See ya soon, friend." he says, already thinking about what kinds of trouble he might be able to stir up with Bullseye and his connections. It might be time for the world to finally meet the Killer Croc.