Satanz little helper was in trouble. Big big trouble. He ran as fast as possible, but they were still behind him. Then he teleported into an alleyway, in the middle of five Tsoo. Now he was in more trouble.
He popped out into the street and turned to see the howling masses, maybe forty supervillains bearing down on him. He ran, but he knew he couldnt keep it up. Finally, like Percival finding the grail, he saw the sign. Gals Place.
Everyone in Kings row knew not to mess with Gals Place. He teleported to the door, turned, stuck his tongue out at the villains and stepped inside. They all stopped across the street. A troll mindlessly drooled on himself while the Council Fists snapped their fingers and groaned in disappointment. A Tsoo dropped a sai to the sidewalk with a heavy TING as the group slowly began to disperse and return to their various evilness.
The curtain was just dropping, affording Satanz a brief look inside.
It was HUUUUGE. Tables up to your eyeballs, and chairs that came to your elbows. The coat rack would have to climbed in order to hang anything off of it. He did see one normal sized table before the curtain fell and this slightly red faced girl returned to the podium.
Satanz ran his fingers over his two tiny red horns and through his wild, black and red hair. He smoothed out the Devils jersey he was wearing and tugged at the front of his childrens sized black pants. His dark, soulless eyes looked out from his grey, impish face at the girl. She was huge too. She was maybe four and a half feet tall. Maybe five. Maybe even five and a half. Being only three, it was hard for Satanz to tell.
Not knowing what else to do, he did what he always did when confronted with authority. He used his pointed tail to fish his ID from his pocket and held it up to her.
Martin was just walking through the door, a small, laquered box beneath his right arm. Removing his hat, and absently plucking at a non-existent lint on his overcoat, he narrowly avoided colliding with the red imp. Unflappable, he quickly shed the heavy flannel, becoming the Maitre 'd once more.
"May I help you, sir?" It was odd, the young Beth was not to be found, and that was not at all proper. "I apologize if you have waited long. My name is Martin, I am the Maitre 'd at Ladies. Have you a reservation?"
He glanced at the ID, quickly gathering that the creature was a hero, and mentally checking that there was an appropriate sized table and chairs. Towards the windows, directly adjacent to the tables reserved for the Sisters.
"The Bar or the Restaurant, sir?"
((OOC: Never is correct, no one would ever consider bringing the street into Gal's Bar or Restaurant. A nice, quiet evening, good food and conversation are what await all in her place. Stimulating company, a warm fire and food from a true cook with not a hint of violence or insult. But we never doubted that...wink. Welcome.))
Falcon Kitiara looked sternly at Steve, and she pointed at the chair in front of her.
"Sit down."
Her tone was firm, her eyes hard.
"You are not cause of any fuss, and Martin said that I can dine here in the bar if I so desire, and there are no restrictions on clothing for dining here. Well, I do so desire. And I wish that you keep me company."
She now pointed at Steve's chest and, pointing it, touched it lightly with her right index.
"This working man is the man I want to dine with tonight. The dining room can wait."
She kept her eyes fixed on Steve, and added
"If you plan to go away, just so I can go and dine in the dinner room, I will leave Gal's place for the night, without dinner. So don't even think about it."
[OOC: She wants Steve's company more than an elegant dinner 
However, the main reason behind her leaving the place should Steve go away, is that she doesn't like dining alone in restaurants: it makes her feel lonely. And even if she's dressed elegantly this evening, she doesn't have a suitor to turn to if he goes.]
((what, you didn't think it was cute?))
Satanz looked at the man who entered with the box.
"Restaurant?" It only slightly sounded like a question. He repeated the word. "Restaurant."
Once Satanz was shown to his table, he sat down quite comfortably in the chair. The tables weren't condescending either, nothing childlike about them except for their size. Satanz had grown increasingly annoyed at the assumption that he were a child.
He sat for a moment trying to read the menu. It wasnt long before someone got up and paid for their meal. Thats when it hit him, paying. He began pulling wallets out from his jersey and putting them on the table, careful not to let the wait staff notice. Money clips and various other items also spilled onto the booth next to where he sat. He smiled at someone nearby with his sharp teeth before quickly scooping everything up.
He went through the wallets and looked for the pictures. The ones he remembered he would pull the money out and give it to charity usually, or stuff some of it away. The ones with pictures he didnt recognized went to passing police officers usually. Money clips were up for grabs. He took about $640 out in cash and stuffed the rest away in his jersey before the waiter came over.
He ordered the ratatouille. He sat quietly, looking around at everyone and realizing he may be a bit under dressed. Though never having heard the concept before, it was more just realizing that he looked bad by comparison.
Lacking any ability to be self conscious, he simply resolved himself to smile a toothy, evil looking, smile at everyone who stared at him. Hed seen others do it. Though he hadnt had much success with it, things change. Imps can atone just like mortals. He wasnt given any more of a choice than the mortals in terms of what kind of creature he was going to be born to be.
The frown on Wendy's face and the fact that his hello hadn't invoked the response he was looking for made him quickly change the smile on his face to a friendly one. "No, no appetizer, the bread will be fine. Thank you Gypsy."
Wendy was exstatic and quite pleased that Alex had managed to hold his tongue. She smiled up at Alex and once again asked him about his boxing. "So you were saying something about boxing in Maine."
Alex turned his attention back to Wendy. "Ah yeah, like I was saying... what was I saying? Oh well I've been boxing since I was fourteen. Now I was always a big kid, tall for my age, but it wasn't until I started boxing that I realized how strong I was. I would go in the gym and just pound away at the bags day after day. I remember my first match, I was fifteen and we had a match against another local gym." He absently reached for his beer and instead of grabbing it he hit the side and caused it to fall over. Wendy stretched her hand out and caught the glass with her telekinesis, gently bringing it back to its original position. "Oh, cra..." Alex trailed off as he watched the glass right itself. "Thank ya Wendy."
"No problem. You were saying about your first fight." she inquired.
Alex was once again brought back on track. "Yeah like I was saying we were in a little tourney against another local gym. Well the fella they matched me up against was a quick little guy. Really fast hands. Well I'm not that quick, I've just got a real heavy punch, that and I can take a lot of abuse. Well anyway that guy made quick work of me. I kept trying to get a good hit in and he just started tearin me up. See I wasn't defending the way I shoulda been. I figured get the big hit in early and just drop him, but I just couldn't land a good punch on the guy. I lost the match, but learned a good lesson. That's when I started working on building my body up. That fight is pretty much the reasn I'm indestructible." Alex finished, grab his beer and took a big swill.
Wendy watched him appreciatively as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She then delicately picked up her cosmo with two fingers and raised it in a toast. "To lessons learned."
"Cheers!" Alex clinked his glass against Wendy's and finished it off in one more gulp. Wendy just sipped hers.
"Yes, Ma'am..No, ma'am." Steve came back around to hit seat. That was a tone he could understand, so she was either royalty and toying with him or she was from a landed family, at the least. Even the railmaster's wife would not have spoken to a man so.
In fact, he thought, there was only one type of woman, in his encounter, that would have been so brash and forward. No, that was not so, this woman was no Cathouse girl. Most definitely not. Miss Gal, she could be the same. Perhaps women were becoming more forceful, it was these customs that had him confused.
He sat. "I'd no more wish ya to go unsupped than I would ta go away. I am at the lady's service, such as I c'n provide it."
His back was a little straighter, hoping he retained some of his manners. Eating alone was standard for an Engineer, or at least eating amongst other men, and that was generally fast and behind his gages.
Maybe she was lonely, he thought. It would be that way, a strong woman would likely have trouble finding a man to accept that. It was what he had looked for in a wife, if looking was what it was, all those years ago. Either too concerned with fashion or happy with a man that came and went, that was the women he had known. Never one that could step out in the evening and share the joy of a locomotive at full steam in the day, he had never found that one.
Then the effect dimmed, and another thought occured. A cold stream filled his veins and he looked quickly for a solution.
"Miss Gertrude, if Miss Gal has a moment, would you ask her to spare one for me?" He would need to clear this up before they ordered....
((OOC: Falcon, no need to worry, Steve will sit with you all evening. There is one small matter, which your character does not know, but it will involve the bill, which Steve will in no wise allow a woman to pay or even know about. That will require Gal's intervention. I tell you so you understand what is coming, not so that Falcon acts.))
Manion noticed Beth picking at the carpet with the toe of her shoe, and saw her face turn a little red. He started to blush himself and looked back at the table. He wondered how old she was. She was cute, no denying it, but his experiences around women were limited, so he was unsure of exactly how to react.
As he watched her walk back to the podium, the light bulb went off in his head. "Of course! The Mission..." He knew about the Mission, he knew where it was and what it did for the community of Kings Row and Paragon City. He had just been so wrapped up in the cloak and dagger side of bing a hero that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Now he knew how to solve two problems at one time. He made up his mind to stop by on Wednesday and offer to help. He would have to ask Gal about it when he got the chance. He didn't want to show up and have her mistake his intentions. He wasn't going so he could pay off a dinner tab, he was going so he could actually do some good without feeling bad about it at the end of the day, and hopefully clear the air between him and Gal.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt that this was something he had to do. For his own good, as well as others.
As he took another bite of the bread he thought, "There's more than one way to be a hero after all. Its just a shame it took you this long to realize it. Besides, my contacts won't miss me one day out of the week."
((To Satanz))
((Oh yes, I really appreciate that Gal's has such a reputation, and I had no doubt of you. ))
Gypsy approached the table, seeing one of the smaller people playing with several wallets. She was well associated with spirits and the dark arts, her father, the leader of the clan, had been known to use them. Little good it did, when the Column came...
She found it was best to deal with the "other ones" kindly, not offending them.
"Small Master, you should not be seen with your spoils, not here at least. I am Gypsy, of the old families, how may I serve you?" She did not bow, that would not be proper since she had not summoned him. She also knew if he meant ill he would not have announced his presence.
She offered the menu, and the specials, speaking as though he were another guest. Not all demons and "others" were on the plane by choice, and a good word from one in their home could bear many fruits.
((OOC: Ha, you picked a place with a certified Gypsy Dark/Dark. I hope I can do your very interesting twist justice, and someone of his stature would have a hard time finding a suit, so Martin is willing to overlook it. Don't be put off if Gypsy is mistaken or wrong, what would you think if a little devil walked into your bar?))
"Small Master, you should not be seen with your spoils, not here at least. I am Gypsy, of the old families, how may I serve you?"
Satanz looked at Gypsy. "Serve... me?" A tiny tear came to his right eye. "Food? Ratatatat...ouille."
Satanz frowned. "Ratotolainiloullie." Finally, in frustration, he pointed at the ratatouille on the menu.
Absently he took the money off the table and slid it under his right leg and looked around. He could feel the power coming off of her, and her powers were as dark as his. He heard her warning and took it as a favor.
"Gypsy, here safe?"
Kitiara smiled, her eyes became relaxed again, and her posture and voice did the same. It seemed that she wouldn't have had to leave the place or to dine alone after all; unaware of the tension that her tone had put in the man, she waited for him to pick up the menu.
"As I was saying, Martin has advertised the house's special for the evening. I think I will try it, perhaps before that I will eat a mushroom appetizer." she looked at his face while he picked up the menu "What do you plan to choose? Fish or meat?"
She said good-naturedly "The service I require from you is just your company for the night, provided it's something you are willing to give me." Since she said that without a hint of malice, it was very difficult to think she had meant something sexual in nature.
She didn't mean to force him to do something he wouldn't want to do.
But if all that worried him was the thought he wasn't enough well clothed for her, she wanted to put it out immediately. He should've seen her with her battle clothes after a long day of fighting in the sewers, sludge and blood and sweat mingling on the leather. She wasn't the kind of girl to turn away a man just because of his clothes.
While he spoke with Gertrude, an idea came to Falcon's mind... Something for the end of the evening.
[OOC you'll see... it's something nice ]
((TO Satanz))
"Small Master, as safe as I can make it to you. You come in mortal guise, yes? None shall pass the threshold, that could cause harm to you." She spoke earnestly, as one to a valued friend, reassuringly. "This place is safe for all who mean no harm, Old Races or Young. I shall bring you food."
She could not bow, as one would to an old race in her home country, as she served another now. However, the old ones did not make idle visits, and this was a portent. Even her dark heart could feel the small one's power, and lack of malevolence. Perhaps a spirit summoned to perform a task who's master had perished before it was complete.
She ignored several other tables to place the food order, this was royalty of a type her people understood.
((OOC: Gypsy's family had dark magick users, but she is wholly good. Sometimes a little stiff, but she is mistaking Satanz for one of the imps known to her people. That means he will be shielded from unwanted attention, treated like a guest, but not pandered to. If he wishes to enjoy it, all the well. Gypsy will not betray Gal or the like, her service belongs to the Sisters and directly to Narshawn.))
((To Falcon))
Gertrude returned a moment later with Gal, a somewhat worried look on the tanker's face. The message had been that Broady was calling and sitting with Falcon. Gal realized he was awkward in this new world, she was trying to help him adjust, but he had peculiar questions at times.
Steve stood when he saw Gal, and took his leave of Falcon for a moment, they walked to a less crowded corner, out of her earshot ((hopefully)).
"Miss Gal," he said nervously, "Miss Falcon has asked me to dine wi' her. I told her I ha' no decent wear for tha' dinin' room, an she insists I eat wi' her in the bar."
"Why, you are doin' great! Very pretty lady, I tol' ya..." Gal began, truly pleased.
"No, Miss War, I ha'nt the money ta' pay for a decent dinner for us both. You le' me eat here fa' free, an' I thank ya', but I can'na ask ya for this! Wha' shall I tell her? I'm out of my wits 'ere, twould be mortal ta' refuse such a lady." He was distressed, even Gal could see it. It insulted his manners to refuse to eat with Falcon, but he would not ask her to pay.
Gal considered a moment, this man's honor was deep and rooted. "Steve, whatcha got planned for tonight after close?"
"I ha'nt planned anythin', Azuria is till ma' only contact," the question threw him out of his worry, off his stride.
"Then you'll be doing dishes here tonight, and Gypsy will go home early. That's a deal. I'll tell Martin not ta' expect you afore three." She held out one enormous hand, and shook his. That was gesture that had stood the test of time.
"Ah, not one more word about it," she chastened him when he started to thank her. "Now, get back to the lady, afore someone else invites her to dinner." Gal turned, a wise smile directed at Falcon, but whether she would see it or not, well.
"Sorry Miss Falcon," Steve said as he took his seat, a load off his mind. "I...had to ask about...the menu."
Falcon had the nicest smile.
((OOC: Being level four, Steve would have limited funds, but Gal will make sure he can get along. Her partner, Sibling, is quite well off, and the restaurant is doing a booming business.))
((TO Basilisk))
Martin had the red imp seated, there might be trouble there, but it would be handled if needed. Miss War had spoken about arranging for more help, and he was glad for that. Order, and with too little staff, guests were not treated properly, water glasses half full, wine and beverages going empty. It would not do, he told himself.
The laquered box safely under his arm, he walked to the bar. Tuck and Sole was the finest Men's accessory house in the entire city, and had a humidor that served several heads of state when they visited the capital. The Portagas were by no means cheap, but a gentleman could appreciate such things.
He caught sight of Gertrude near the Pool Room, and walked purposefully over.
((OOC: Hoping someone saves the day here, otherwise Beth will have some explaining to do...))
((That was the most gentlemanly/romantic thing I've seen in quite some time. Mind if I borrow the convention? It begs to be used again, and I'll happily attribute you.))
Issue 23: All your base are belong to us?
((OOC, Alright everyone, Gal's is open Thursday through Tuesday, but I need to get some game time in too 
That said, The restaurant and bar will close tomorrow at 4AM PST and be closed until the evening. I will not be posting, but you are all welcome to carry on, using NPC's properly. Gal has to get to the Mission, looking for you there Manion, and I need to game!
This is a wonderful thread, my opinion, and I thank every one of you. My characters are shadows compared to yours, please continue to keep me straight and fill my dull life with your wonder!))
Beth carried the steaming pot to Manion's table. The goulasch was served in an earthen bowl, large enough for most appetites and extra. Her smile was wide, and her voice somewhat timid.
"Manion, I talked to Gal, and she said all is good. She just likes her guests to feel that way, like guests." She was blushing, for no apparent reason.
"Can I get you anything else?" She asked with a hopeful look.
[ QUOTE ]
I cleaned up my home, now I plan on doin the same here. How about you?"
[/ QUOTE ]
"You're a true hero Miss Jo...err...Isis. To do right, when you know the odds are against you...that's a hero." he said, still full of awe.
"Isis Jones...asking me about my story." he let out a booming laugh. "Wait til my friends hear about this."
Well, I grew up right here in Kings Row. My mom came up here from Atlanta to find work back in the 70s. The Garment District was prosperous back then. A person could get a decent wage for a hard, but honest days work." he sat back thoughtfully as he spoke. "She was single and met up with a guy who payed attention to her...until he got bored with her simple life. He was a leader in the local chapter of Skulls...a Bone Daddy. People say that the Bone Daddies are the highest level in the Skulls. They are wrong. He got his mojo from someone higher up in the organization. It was some kind of drug induced magic that made him tough. Being a leader meant that someone was always gunnin' for his position. I came along months after he was sent to the Ziggurat. She raised me alone, sometimes working several jobs to make enough so we could get by." he looks upward at the ceiling, and smiles. "She was a good woman, and a great mother.
I was a big kid growin' up, but that didn't stop other kids from teasin' me about my father. I'd endure constant jeers of Bone Daddy, Bone Daddy. They knew he was a thug and sent away for life in Bricks.
When I was 16, I wanted to earn some cash so my momma wouldn't have to work so hard. I entered a local toughman competition. The rules stated you had to be 18 to enter, but shoot...at 16 I was as big as a 28 year old man.
I filled out the forms and went in...not knowing what the heck I had got myself into. The first few matches were easy, I outweighed the men and just had to knock 'em out.
I was on top of the world until they put me up against a monster of a man. He had a military buzzcut and some kind of symbols tattooed on his massive forearms. The fight commenced and he rushed me, I swung wildly and knocked the tattoo man out. Everyone was yelling and clappin' for me. They kept sayin' the only name I gave the show producers. SweetThang! SweetThang! SweetThang! It's a nickname my momma always called me.
Now, the other guys I had fought were mean, but they always came back to shake hands after I had bested 'em...but this man was furious I had knocked him down. Out of the corner of my eye I say him reaching near the edge of the ring. He had a gun! I froze dead in my boots. I had seen guns plenty times in the hood...but not aimed straight at me. He pulled the trigger and time stood still. The bullets bounced off my chest and ricocheted into the air, tearing my shirt all to shreads. I flew across the ring with super speed and landed a punch that sent him arcing up and out of the ring. The crowd went crazy. Someone in the audience threw a shirt up in the ring since mine had been ripped to shreds by the bullets. It was a pink shirt with a purple heart in the middle. It became my gimmick...my trademark in the ring.
The shooting incident was done by a member of the 5th Column. The police had to invesigate everything and when they told my momma she grounded me for a month. The competition people agreed to pay me the prize money, and I was given a contract for an international tour. All I had to do was pass high school and turn 18.
My momma passed away before the Rikti Invasion. She saw the changes that heroes had made in Kings Row...and all of Paragon. She also saw her little boy grow up to make a difference. To make right. On her gravestone it reads.
"My mother. My hero."
"I'm just another person trying to keep up the good work." he says to Isis. His eyes are misty, but he's not about to go cryin' in Gal's Place.
((OOC: sorry it's a bit long, but it's Sweets origin...complex and simple at the same time.))
Falcon Kitiara didn't want to listen to what Steve and Gal were talking about; she fully concentrated her sense of hearing on the music coming from the juke box, that by now was giving out a slow, romantic song, "Stand by me" she thought it was the name.
Her eyes watched a bit Steve's form, his clothes, his head, his moustaches. It was the first time she dined with a bald man, but it wasn't an unpleasant experience.
Screw that, it was the first time she dined with any man at all. She didn't want to think too much about it though, it made her feel... inadequate. But she had always been too concentrated on her revenge to care about such things, plus in the woods there isn't much choice of partners, unless she wanted to dine out with a reindeer. She never felt the need to have a private life, her revenge was everything she needed.
Or should she say, her revenge had been everything she needed. But now her revenge was over, and her white aura spoke volumes about the peace she had reached.
She stopped her daydreaming when Steve came back. He was apologizing.
"Don't worry. So, have you decided what you would like to eat?"
[OOC: Falcon is lvl 33 but she has 4.000.000 influence (is a celebrity of course), of course she could pay for them both and buy him an elegant tuxedo or such. But he's proud, so she won't.
By the way, is it just me or Sibling's avatar isn't visible?]
Steve had yet to pick up the menu, and didn't appear about to, leaving his hands folded on the table. His gaze was steady, watching Falcon's expressions and listening closely when she spoke, as though there were little else in the room to care about. His right hand would wander now and again to the pocket where he kept his watch, a nervous habit.
"Miss Falcon, I will ha' what I usually do. Since I came back, I find tha' few things sit well wi' me and stay well to wha' I know. 'Tis a shame I thin', many say tha' Miss Gal is a cook wi' a talent." He smiled, enjoying the chance to sit and speak with Falcon, and realizing, for the first time, she might actually be comfortable with his presence.
Still unsure of his powers, his appearance and his place here, Steve knew that some, like Gal or Narshawn, would deal with him because they too were physically different. An eight foot tall African, and a four foot tall ice woman? Even in his day, those would have been freaks, like a steam-red man with glowing blue eyes.
When first Martin had brought him to this table, and he had seen that his table guest would be an elegant woman of means, he had felt very obviously like a thing on display. A curiosity. She had excused all his obvious differences, not paying attention to what was odd. Oh, he had seen glimpses of her inner personality, a natural intensity, wild nature hidden beneath a well mannered exterior, but this woman truly seemed to accept him as a person.
He sighed softly and relaxed almost imperceptably in the chair. So much had changed in this time.
"Miss Kitiara," he had seemed unsure which of her names to use, but never failed to use the young and most proper "Miss", "If you would pardon me for sayin' so, they could serve me stones an' leather an' I would thin' it a king's feast. Your company would make it so."
Steve wondered if they had dances, in this day. Proper, partnered dances that a man could rightly ask a woman to with decency. He had heard about some Dance Party, but from what he had heard, that was far too intimate for a man trying to make a good impression with a lady. He would ask Miss Gal, he decided.
"An' you, mi'lady, what would please you?" He asked as Gertrude came within sight.
((OOC: Steve is a traditionalist from the 1900's, early, so his manners are very slow about women. Falcon, even though the thread is being suspended for the day, I wait for Falcon's response with nervous excitement, and will resume with Steve this evening. The night has to draw to a close sometime, but Steve would take no notice if the building were afire, unless Falcon told him. Please, continue to post!
Pesky Avatar, sometimes on, sometimes off.))
"Thank you very much. And thank you for talking to Gal, I appreciate that." He looked at her and smiled. A light in his eyes.
He quickly weighed his options and tried to choose his next words carefully. "I might like to see the dessert menu later, and, if its ok... err what I mean to say if it's not too forward is..."
He paused for a moment as the events of the last few days came back suddenly, unbidden and unwelcome. Looking back up at her, he quietly said, "Honestly, if you'd like to sit and talk... well, I think I'd like that very much. If thats not asking to much, of course, and if," he looked around the room for Gal and Martin, "no one else will mind."
((OOC: Curse my need for sleep, and the 4 hour time difference. Must... beat... deadline... <runs around like a squirrel looking for a place to bury his sunflower seed> ))
Her face went red, ears lighting up. She laughed softly.
"I would, but I don't think Martin would have me, and Gal would throw a fit. She's working harder than all of us. I really appreciate it," she said with earnest eyes, "but I can't sit down while everyone else works. At least not on my work nights..."
She paused, very surprised and excited that such a nice man would show any interest in her. Thin, always wishing that she had some of the endowments Gertrude or the other ladies had, and sure she was just the ugly step-sister.
"My shift ends about one, but that's pretty late," she hoped it wasn't asking too much, but screwed up her courage and figured it was worth the risk. "I live a ways from here, across town, but if you wanted to see where the Mission was, so you could get there easier, of course," she blushed again, "you could walk me home.
"I'll get that menu for you," Beth hurried away as the sinister eye of Martin scanned the room, watching for a particle of bread or uncentered tablecloth.
((OOC: Beth is just a simple girl with some rough spots in her past, and while not beautiful or ample and flirty like Gertrude, she is attractive and slim, not anemic. Gal likes to watch over her, watch over everyone she cares for.))
"What d'you mean the odds are against me?" was all she said before listening to Sweet's story. As he finished she smiled at him and patted his hand, "You mama musta been proud. I wish I coulda had a son like you." she pauses, "I donno how much you know 'bout me but let's just say my time's come an' gone. I might look alla that but I'm old enough to be your mama. It get's a lil' wierd at times.
So which is your favourite movie a mine? Mine would have to be the first Isis Jones. She was always cleanin up the 'hood where I grew up. It was always a special thing t'me that. They call it blacksploitation now 'cause they think we was bein' used, me, I saw it as bein' empowered. I was cleanin the streets of the gangs an violence if only for a lil' while. I was helpin make life worth livin. I was also makin bein in a gang look bad.
I heard a story from a mama of a boy who'd cover his mirror after seein' one 'a' my movies. You tell me who's bein' exploited there? I don' think it's me, sir."
When Steve made the stones and leather remark, Falcon's eyes went wide, and her pale cheeks became tinged with red.
Her parents had taught her how to behave properly, how to speak european languages different from Norsk, and the rules of politeness. But they had died before they could've explained to her other things, like dating, or how to react to men's flattery. This was completely new for her, so her reaction was quite different from her other ones.
"I... eh... what? Really?"
She was aware of her cheeks' warmth, and that wasn't helping her a bit. She tried again, her voice less firm than usual, while her fingers fidgeted nervously.
"Why thank you... I mean. It's... the same for me."
She took a deep breath and ordered herself to regain her composure and snap out of it.
"Why do you think I would've asked you to stay here with me, if that wasn't so?"
Her cheeks were still of a darker pink than her usual shade. But her eyes had stopped wandering around and got back on Steve's face.
Then Gertrude arrived, and Falcon answered Steve's question: "Mushroom appetizer, and the Special of the day. I'll let you decide the drinks".
Then she crossed her legs again, again relaxed, even if perhaps a bit embarassed about her early reaction. She hoped she hadn't made too much a fool of herself.
"I'd like to know something more about your life a hundred years ago; reading about it in history books and hearing something more about your past are bound to be very different things, I'm sure."
She was wondering about horses. In Paragon City one couldn't have a horse, and in Trondheim she didn't have the money to afford one; but she had always been curious about the sensations of such a ride.
[OOC: It's no problem if his manners are slow about women. Should he be more "actual" and ask her to have sex at the end of the evening, she would react rather badly. Since this is her first experience, her shyness sets the pace for her, and it's as slow as Steve's pace, for now.
I have devised a new system to play COH and post at the same time: first, as soon as I have time for myself, I check the posts, and answer if there are some for me. Then I play, I do a mission, then alt+tab and I click the refresh button. If there are new posts, I reply, if not, I keep playing, and so on. It works for me ]
Manion tried not to look too disappointed. It was the answer he had expected to get after all. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't embarass you." he said, once she paused, noticing her blush again.
The next statement caught him completely off guard. "Walk you home? I... well... that is... of course." Not once had anyone ever asked him that before. Even when he stopped a purse snatching or a shake down, none of those people had ever asked him that. It was kinda nice.
"Yes, it would be a pleasure." he finally managed to get out. "And no, its not too late."
He waited until she left before taking a bite of his dinner. He wasn't uncomfortable eating in front of others, he just didn't want to seem inconsiderate eating when he should be listening.
The bowl held the heat of the meal in, and he enjoyed every bite, first to last. "Shes right, the lady does know how cookin' is done."
As he sat back in his chair, letting things settle and waiting for Beth to come back, he had an idea. He thought it was a good one, and he smiled.
Seeing Martin enter with the box of cigars, and having overheard the large woman's coversation with Gertrude, Basilisk took a moment to consider his options. For a moment, he decided that it might be fun to watch the man get angry over his wild goose chase. However, he reasoned that a) they would likely take any discussions into a back room, where the clients wouldn't be disturbed b) Rock-hopper or Corvus would take the bullet, and spoil his fun, or c) Someone would tell the man that he was the one who had ordered the cigars. Deciding that it was inevitable that the cigars would come to him eventually, he walked over the man with the cigars.
"I believe you have a cigar for me?" He slipped a quick glance at the label on the box. "Partagas, if I'm not mistaken."
My story arcs: #2370- Noah Reborn, #18672- The Clockwork War, #31490- Easy Money
Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." What does that make an MMO?
Fingers scarlet from wiping the sticky blood on his forehead, Magnus tramped towards the restaurant. The young man was exhausted, injured, and famished.
I knew I should have bought more health inspirations from David, he muttered to himself before reading the menu posted on the window. Magnus scanned the listed items and made like a Pavlovian dog as his mouth watered at the thought of some home-style cooking. Resting is always good, but nothing takes the place of some real food in the stomach, he thought to himself as he pushed open the door and looked around.
Magnus surveyed the dining room and noted the number of heroes about. He glanced down at his muddy clothes and bruised muscles, and grew self-conscious. I must look a mess, he thought. But Im so hungry, I could eat a spare part from one of the Lost.
Standing awkwardly, Magnus wasnt sure if he had to wait to be seated, or if he should find a table by himself. He finally decided to sit at the counter and slumped down in obvious fatigue. He asked for water and drank the entire glass in a few seconds. Magnus smiled at the person behind the counter and said, Thanks. That really hit the spot. Now," he continued as he raised one eyebrow, "What do you recommend for a hungry hero hailing from the horrific Hollows?
Beth blushed, for all the world looking like a little girl, looking down at the floor. She was leery of relationships in general, not having good experience. Gal was watching over her now, and her partner, and they seemed able to be there whenever needed. She knew Gal's temper, after all that the huge black woman had done for her, she had offered to work for free as payment. That was not advised, she found out.
"Hardly, Manion," she said from under her eyelashes, sheepishly watching him. "Gal, Gypsy, Nar, they all have powers. Me? I'm just a girl, and I doubt I could handle being able to toss people around." She had noticed his habit, but paid little attention. He was handsome!
"Yeah, I better get back, Martin's still out and Vegas will find me if someone doesn't watch the door. You want to show Gal you care, that you would pay, you should look up the Mission over near the Garment Works. She spends Wednesday, her day off, volunteering there. Makes it part of the employment agreement, everyone has to spend a day there a month."
She fidgeted a little, then headed back to the podium, still blushing.
((OOC: That's where Gal found Beth, and it's part of her contract with the investor that set the place up. She hires from the Gang Recovery Project and the Mission, public service that strikes close to her heart.))