You know, you'd think a place as nasty as this would only ever see a few sad old stragglers, half-comatose by the stage, clinging to life and their half-empty glasses in equal measure. Not always the case. Right now? It's actually kinda busy. Meaning: a few of the tables are occupied, and the bartender isn't standing chain-smoking for once. Deftly moving from one customer to the next, the tall brunette doesn't linger anywhere overlong; just enough for a lascivious wink or a deadpan comeback to ensure the tip jar set at one corner of the sticky bartop doesn't remain woefully empty. There's a peeling 'label' of duct tape set rather squint on it, declaring the contents to be a 'Pizza Fund'.
Up on stage at the moment, a pair of relatively new - and as yet not entirely fubar - strippers do their thing, wearing matching cowgirl 'outfits', if you can call assless chaps a garment. Leonie pays the girls little mind, having seen them rehearse most of the afternoon, but she does sing along quietly under her breath as she saunters the length of the bar, replacing empty spots on the shelves with clean glasses by the handful before turning to meet the next drunk. Err. Customer.
By titty bar standards, it's still early. That's presumably why she's the only one visibly manning the place right now.
Hawker isn't one of those drunks; not yet. Kilo can confirm he isn't always a drunk, some times he has to be made to drink to get back down to earth from god knows what drug he's using. What might be weird is..he's in this strip club, not Bella's. Normally he's in Bella's strip club to be fair; but today he's in what he considers a total dive. Which means he isn't sure he -trusts- the bar stool he settles into to even not break. He assumes it's been bashed over people's heads more then once. "Got any fireball?" He'll ask, not yelling out, just enough to be heard if Leonie some how didn't notice him easing up to the bar.
It won't break. How hygienic it is, though, is another matter. And yes, she saw him coming. Or so one can presume from the brief flit of green eyes in Hawker's direction, and the accompanying flash of white teeth in a grin that's more malevolent than charming. Fortunately, for those sensitive to such things, the decibel level up this end of the establishment isn't too eardrum-threatening, and so the guy's request is met with a nod of assent. "One fireball. That straight up?" Deciding maybe she has time to break stride for this one, Leo braces the heels of her hands on the edge of the bar and studies the newcomer; an utterly unabashed down-up gaze taken in her own sweet time. Whether she considers the view pleasing is left to him to ponder, as following that initial grin she's reverted to resting bitch face, arching a single brow at him as she awaits an answer.
Over the sound system, the unmistakable intro of Alice Cooper's 'Poison' breaks forth, announcing the arrival of the next act to the stage. Anyone who bothered to cast their attention that way would be treated to the sight of one-legged Eileen in some sort of latex body-stocking thing, a matching black tassel decorating her stump. And is that a turkey tattooed on her back. Jesus.
Hawker isn't looking at the girl on stage; he's pretty sure Leonie is far more interesting, or dangerous. Though sizing him up just reveals he can look as predatory as she can, a mutual size up. Then a quick wink at her to try and confuse the situation. "Might as well just bring me the bottle. I tend to drink it like water these days. I call it a way to stay warm." He says suddenly and keeps studying Leonie..or is he more hoping she's going to have to bend over? Who knows. He's not exactly the easiest to read, much less sane! "I thought this club had the bartends topless as well. Not that much of a dive then like folk say."
Standing at a solid six foot, seven inches, most people would call this man -large-, especially as he ripples with corded bunches of muscle, and his neck always shows strains of tension, as if about to burst into a flurry of violence. His eyes seem half lidded, dark and stormy, and he has stubble beard going, and his dark hair is cut short. He often packs a whale motiff knife on his belt, and carries a magnum.
"You can't think of more interestin' ways to stay warm, Tall and Dark?" Leo's playing nice. Well, by her own standards. But she still doesn't add the 'handsome' part. On the plus side, hey.. Hawker's in a win-win. While the bartender doesn't have to stoop to one of the lower shelves, she does have to turn to fetch a tumbler from the rear of the bar, thumbing away a teeny smudge near the rim, fairly stealthily. And that reveals the devilish genius behind her otherwise innocuous attire. Those ripped jeans aren't just faded and fucked at the knees.. there's big old rips sliced across just just at the curve of her ass, too. Totally premeditated, yes, but hardly shocking in comparison to what's on stage right now. That swirling tassel has them good and rowdy, down in front! As for the rest, the brunette's tank top is well fitted and low-cut; emphasising her 'feminine wiles' without demanding attention. Well, until she's facing the main floor again and has to reach under the bar to fetch the Fireball. A slight forward drop of one shoulder aaaaand..
Those dark-lashed eyes snap upward, calmly levelling on Hawker's one dark hues, lest they have wandered. "Darlin', can you imagine the cover you'd haveta pay for a club where I went topless..?" There's a purring quality to the natural low timbre of her voice, and the teasing edge is unmistakeable. "..place would be empty. And that just ain't no good. Keep the quality middlin', easier to attract the right class of clientele." Aka, the drunks, druggies and pervs. Not that she seems to judge, one way or another. Straightening, she pours a healthy measure into the glass waiting in front of him, then scoots it closer with a nudge of her fingertips. "Enjoy." An extra shot is swung directly into her mouth with a backward tilt of her head, then the bottle is set back under the bar. She wipes off her lips with the back of one hand, then folds her arms atop the bar, finally deigning to shift her attention to the performer as she - and probably most of the rapt audience - nears her climax.
Hawker has such a bad concept of money still in clubs. Since he views most of the money he blows in them as pocket change. "Ah..but I'd certainly frequent such a club where you were on the menu as it were." He says and goes to slug back his fireball..hopefully it -killed- any thing living on the glass right? Then he's flipping out a bill fold; he just assumes the strip club is going to be over priced. "Doesn't Kilo some times come in? Or is she to busy to stop in and visit us low lives?" Well he also knows Kilo it seems! But since she's distracted, he's going to let him self drink in her details, make note of the weird ..purring quality.
"Haven't seen her in a while.." muses Leo, well aware of but ignoring or permitting the roaming gaze. Her chosen posture did, in fairness, place her rather close to him - what's a boy to do? "Not since the last time I had enough cash to get some work done, anyway. How is she?" The song finishes, and there's a short period of silence while Eileen wobbles around gathering her take from those at the edge of the stage. Turning her attention back upon Hawker, the brunette simultaneously narrows her green eyes just a touch, and quirks one corner of her lips in a wry smirk that's almost, almost a half-smile. So close. "I'm on nobody's menu, cutie. I'm just part of the decor. Well, that and I have mad PR skills. Obviously." And in case there was any doubt what those might be, she shimmies her shoulders momentarily. Ahem.
Back to the safer ground of tattoos. Leo's pretty well covered in them herself, but now, up-close, she's studying the customer's with idle curiosity. If she had a tail, there's no doubt it would be lazily swishing back and forth. "..that her work?" Tilting her head a little askance, she blatantly tries to get a better look. One ink fan to another.
It's only barely discernible, but the mention of Kilo's name has thawed her a little. She doesn't even help herself to snagging a note from that bill fold, she waits for it to be placed down. Albeit lighting herself a cigarette in the meantime, having produced it from behind one ear. Must have been hidden beneath that mane of dark hair.
Hawker has little to hide about his Ink..there -might- be cam show he was involved in. Things happen when you know Skinners. "Naw..most of these I got overseas or in the service. I don't think Kilo overly wants to encourage me to get ink with out meaning you know? Because she has to deal with me more then once a year as a customer." He says snickering to him self, moving to grab the bottle and refill his shot glass as he watches Leonie. It's hard to tell if he's trying to gauge her for sex appeal, or because she's just..a bit different. "You'd probably make more money then some of the girls I've seen on stage in this town if you put your self on the menu." As for money? Hawker doesn't seem worried she's after it, or taking it.
If he's going to be pouring, he's going to pour for two. Another tumbler appears from under the bartop - probably there for this exact purpose - and is set down next to his without so much as a bat of an eyelash. Producing a lighter from a back pocket, Leo sparks up her smoke and inhales deeply, watching Hawker watch her. Yes, there's something innately... unsettling, about her. But one gets the impression that that something is, for the moment, reined in. "Ex military." It's a statement rather than a question. "What do you do with yourself these days?" Apointed flit of her eyes goes to the billfold, then back up to meet Hawker's gaze. "Somethin' a lil more lucrative?"
She doesn't bother to argue with his suggestion. Yes. She probably would make more money than the bedraggled types you see on stage in the Queen of Hearts. But that air of idle arrogance about her suggests she simply wouldn't lower herself to it.
Hawker is going to end up viewing her topless or the like as a challenge now, you can bet on that. Still, he'll readily pour her a measure of Fireball as well. "I own a gun store..bar..the weed dispensery..commercial fishing trawler.." And if you listen to just about any thing on the streets..Hawker -heavily- trafficks in drugs, hell it's like almost common knowledge. "Not to mention my family is rather wealthy, I could literally just live off stock portfolio and investments, that sort of thing." He says, still keeping an eye on her. Leonie is interesting, and he's waiting to see how she reacts to him not admitting he's a drug runner.
It's perhaps fortunate, all round, that Leo's not the mind-reading sort.
Flicking a little ash from her cigarette onto the floor behind the bar, the brunette arches a brow. The expression has just enough skepticism to imply that of course she knows what Hawker does. Come on, this place is a lighthouse for the wayward and chemically numbed. She doesn't push it, though. "Where would be the fun in that." This in response to the notion of living off someone else's money. Taking up the second Fireball, daintily keeping a pinky raised, she knocks it back, gritting her teeth and hissing softly through them after a beat. It's not her drink of choice, but never say never.
From further along the bar, a tap-tap of an empty glass signifies the need for a refill from another customer, and the brunette unfurls herself from her comfortable lean in order to unhurriedly attend to that. The door to the club swings inward, heralding the arrival of another in need of a treat for the eyes.. only it's swiftly followed by a sound of surprise, the bald-headed guy ducking his head instinctively as a pair of beating wings swoop narrowly overhead and into the bar. The sound draws Leo's attention sharply, though the momentary flash of.. warning?.. across her features smoothes almost immediately. She concentrates on pouring her customer another rum and coke. Hawker will have to entertain himself for a short while! But at least there's an unhindered view.
At some point, the door swings open. If it's the entrance of a patron or just a stiff breeze, it's hard to say. At any rate, the rather large raven takes advantage of that moment. Black wings rustle the still air some, disrupting the smoke and haze as it lights down in a chosen spot. Does it give a fuck? Probably not, because it attempts to land on the back of an empty chair near the bar. Black, shiny wings rustle as it seems to preen, the bird head lifting in a stretch and a gesture that displays clearly... what? Never seen a bird in a bar? It's beady eyes light on Leonie and it's black beak parts in clearly spoken words from the raven, "Pretty girl..." It croons.
Hawker doesn't have -time- to be upset the pretty bartender has moved off. There's a fucking bird suddenly appearing! Hawker..doesn't actually seem shocked by this, instead he simply holds a hand out to let it hand on if it notices. Hawker clearly seems..quite at ease concerning animals. "Well, I have to admit no other strip club has a -bird- mascot in it.." He begins to say to him self, entirely distracted by from watching Leonie indeed.
"Friend of yours..?" In contrast to Hawker, the bartender looks fairly nonplussed, seeing off her customer and slowly reapproaching the far end of the bar, where he and the winged newcomer are seated. Green eyes flit over the raven in open curiosity; an expression that softens and lights within the habitual surly demeanour. There's another flick of her cigarette before she sets it down in an ashtray on the bartop. Quite why the arrival of a bird necessitates having her hands free isn't clear, perhaps not even to Leo herself.
And.. it spoke. Wait, it spoke.
"..I've heard they're some of the most intelligent birds.. didn't know they could talk, though.." The brunette lets Hawker be the one to extend a hand. she herself just regards the avian, drawing to a halt behind the bar a short distance away. "Well, you're pretty.." she offers. To the raven, sorry dude. The cogs are visibly turning in the young woman's head, that gaze lingering just a little too thoughtfully on the creature.
The customer, having gotten over his fright, tries to play it off cool and heads to join some friends at a table.
Hawker scoffs a bit; he's never had an animal like..not like him. "Well, they are. They also like to take shiny things. I've heard of them stealing spoons and such. I often wonder where they like..put all the stuff." Since the Raven doesn't seem to like him any, he's looking back at Leonie. "Though them talking is..also new to me." He admits, eyes blinking quite rapidly as he muses over this!
In spite of herself, Leo begins to grin as the bird quite firmly knocks back the man seated at the bar. "Dude, bu-huh-uuuuurn." Inherently predatory, that mere glimpse of white teeth is still idle enough for the moment; her curiosity taking the fore. Venturing another step or two closer, the bartender snickers softly under her breath at the wolf-whistle and the inviting posturing from the raven, her hand not even remotely tentative as she reaches it out to, perhaps, offer a smooth stroke to the glossy feathers. Worst case scenario, pecked fingertips. Worth the risk. "Well, you've got good taste, pretty thing, gotta give you that."
"You're an animal person, huh." Again, it's more statement than question that she directs toward Hawker. The instinctive way he offered a hand is a dead giveaway. And even if she's wrong, if he's smart he'll lie and agree, in response to the approving tone of her words. It's the closest she's come to warmth.
The bird waits, patiently, at least it's bowed head doesn't move. The folded wings rustle now and again but for the most part, it's eerie still. A little like a statue. However, those darting eyes give it's disguise away. The move between the gentleman and the lady, watching with something that looks a lot like amusement. As the woman reaches out with the hand, apparently she is in favor as she easily touches the glossy feathers without pecking. The reward is the bird's impression of a kitten. Comes a single sound of 'meow' and and the following is like the sound-byte of a cartoonish purr of a cat. Once the impression is done, it raises feathered head and extends wings a little, nearly flapping the man with a feather or two. Nearly. Shifting from foot to foot on the back of the chair, it does a little dance briefly and then settles down.
Hawker doesn't move away from the bird; even if he doubts it's strictly a bird..if it is some how a highly trained bird? Some times sudden movement leads to eye pecking painfulness. "Me? Absolutely. I like animals more then a fair few people I've met. You know what I mean? I've been asked to train dogs before..but I don't know. It's not a hobby of mine. I just like to be with animals. I have a whole pack of Sheps at my house, and a Black Panther. No one really likes it when I bring the panther into town." He says with a lopsided grin, like that is a surprise. Course now with two ferals here, they'll butcher him for keeping pets! "I wonder who taught the bird to talk?"
"Alright, that is fuckin' adorable." Yes, Leo is quite definitely taken in and distracted by the raven, particularly in the wake of that 'mew' and purr. Leaning in a little, stooping at the waist and folding her arms comfortably on the bartop, she studies those intelligent eyes with her own emerald hues for a long moment, as if searching for something in particular. "..I figure you for a double Jack kinda bird." Her lips twist in a slow smirk.. but then she looks up and aside to Hawker as he confirms her suspicions.
"Well, no wonder. Panthers are the schmoes of the cat world. Skulkin' around in the dark like they got somethin' to be ashamed of. There's a reason those tattoos are a laughing stock." Wow, someone is opinionated. And she pushes it a fraction further, too, her green eyes flicking from man, to bird, and back again, almost as if including the creature in the conversation. "..give me a tiger any day." Straightening her arms, she braces her hands on the bar's edge again, but this time hooks her fingers into a semblance of claws, digging in for emphasis and arching her back in a brief, fluid motion. "Now that's majesty.."
Eventually, she reins it back in. Just in time for 'Dead or Alive' to start strumming over the crackly old speakers. "..but whatever. Indulge me. How'd you come to have a pet.." Okay, she can't help the subtle curl of her upper lip even as she says the word. "..panther?"
Bizarrely, she turns and actually seems to go about scooshing a double of Jack into a tumbler. Can ravens get drunk? Is there any writing desk reference in the answer?
Briefly, the bird looks away from the pair, bobbing it's feathered head to the sound of the music as it appears to observe the dancers and patrons. It's when Hawker mentions about it being taught to talk, that it turns back to him. A little ruffle of those wings, the motion giving the appearance of indignation in the beast. Ironically, it begins to whistle bits of the Spongebob Squarepants opening tune. Maybe it learned to talk from the TV? Then, as if someone turned the dial on the bird radio, it squawks out, "Your Mama!" as it looks at Hawker. Maybe that's the bird's sassy form of an answer to his question
When the woman leans in, observing the bird intently with arms on the table, the beast lowers it's head again. It gives another cute tilt of it's head, those dark eyes twinkling brilliantly as it seems to observe the woman with interest. When the drink is remarked on, wings are extended, the bird tilts, side to side, mimicking briefly the sound of a airplane. The crackle of something like a radio or a cb comes and the mimic of a male voice speaking in a barking voice, "Right on target!" Before it gracefully closes wings and settles once more. Now, it's watching Leo make a drink.
Hawker blinks his eyes slowly, shouldn't his purified sense be tingling? This bird is unreal. "Because I wanted one; but they can't just roam around, so I got it a fancy enclosure for the winter and stuff. It plays with my dogs when I let them. I even have this fox like, show up randomly, she plays with the dogs, hasn't tried to play with Kala yet. Probably because Kala isn't a dog." He just muses outloud before snickering quietly at the bird and what it's doing. "You might as well get the girls off the stage and put the Bird on up. This is better then most of them." He says with a cough to hide another fit of laughter. "Also I don't know if I can have a Tiger." Suddenly, he just puts that out there.
Poor Hawker. Unfortunately for him, it's apparently letting-out day at the zoo in Hell.
There's a ripple of amusement that trembles Leo's strong shoulders while her back's turned; the fact that the raven is handing the guy's ass to him in the insult stakes clearly striking a funny chord within her. Master of panthers, out-sassed by a bird. Snerk. With the Jack poured, the brunette returns to the bartop, setting the glass down, then as an afterthought scooping up a handful of ice cubes from the bucket and dropping them in. "Aesop's Fables. Well, that was a crow. But still." She plops them in one at a time, until the level of the liquid is more easily reachable for a graceful, sharp beak. "There ya go. On the house. Or on uhh.. Hawker here."
Meeting the guy's gaze, Leo offers him a slow-burning smile. Wait, did he tell her his name? Or has she just heard it around in decidedly unsavory circles? "..and I'd imagine you'd struggle to find a tiger you could tame, darlin'. Takes more than a cute butt and a twinkle in your eye. Maybe start small. Get a Persian or somethin'." Leaning inward a little, returning to that folded arm posture atop the bar, she adds in a confiding manner, "..an affectionate nibble from one of those doesn't end in you pissing blood out of a major artery." Withdrawing from the proximity as swiftly as it had been offered, the bartender casts a smirk toward the raven. "Right? Spongebob him again." Taking a step back, she sets to half-assedly 'polishing' a couple of glasses with a dishcloth that has definitely seen better days.
Hawker remarks on the bird occupying the stage and it shakes it's feathered head in a motion that clearly means no. It looks at him, tilts it's head and then leans close. Perhaps this intelligent bird will share some intense wisdom. Some Jedi level shit. When it opens it's beak, the sound is a mimic of Ludacris tune, a single line from the song Area Codes: I got hoes, in different area codes ... the bird croons. Like someone was flicking the channel on the radio, it cuts off after that and the bird straightens, looking back to Leonie.
Playfully, it puts out a single clawed foot out, raising it with dainty fashion as if wanting to come closer to the carefully prepared drink. Making it's way closer with care, the bird comes to the edge of the glass, lowering it's head to the surface, but then it's eyes turn up. To Lonie. The Bird now mimics a human southern drawl, female this time: "Thanks sugar, I often rely on the kindness of strangers." And with that, it takes a few gulps of the glass, raising head to gulp it down it's gullet with glee.
Hawker just..shakes his head, this bird can't be real right? "Eh? I could train a tiger fairly easily, but there is laws concerning such things, and then people claim it's cruel to keep them as pets. Most of them don't complain when they see them in movies, and stunt animals don't really ever do any thing but exist for movies. At least Kala gets to mostly do as she wants unless I need her to help me show off, or make her behave when she gets a bath." Also he narrows his eyes at Leo. When did he say his name? Must be the fireball! "Also this bird knows to many weird things. I bet we're on TV."
"Don't we all." Is it weird that Leo doesn't seem to find it weird? Chatting up a raven that's sipping a double Jack? Yes. It probably does seem pretty uhh.. unusual. But then, this is Fallcoast. There's a half smile playing about the bartender's lips as she watches the bird, a passing moment of serenity on features that all too often seem prepped for the next spar, verbal or otherwise. In any event, it's just as well that the rest of the clientele have their attention firmly on the stage, and their alcoholic requirements are being seen to by a scrawny waitress, all black roots and frizzy blonde ends in a too-short skirt. It frees Leo up to stay and.. 'chat'.
Rolling her shoulders slowly back, the young woman - because she can only be in her early twenties - cocks her head in a quizzical manner at Hawker as she levels her contemlative gaze upon him once more. "..you don't ever truly train a wild animal. You teach it what it does for food. Sure, if it's easier to jump up, jump down, get a rib eye thrown in for you, of course you're gonna do that instead of going to the bother of mauling someone for supper." Straightening up to her full height, which is still a good foot shorter than his, Leo draws and looses a slow, steadying breath, as if she were gradually getting ticked off about something. Maybe she just doesn't like people disagreeing with her. "..unless they reeeeally piss you off. Then it's a good time at the all you can eat dumbass buffet." Shaking her head, she turns to place the newly polished glasses on the back shelf, treating all present to the not-unpleasant view provided by those ripped jeans, the brunette snorts in wry amusement, apparently dismissing the topic. Assuming Hawker has the sense to follow suit. Well-timed distraction, right?
"If there's any cameras in here, they're hidden in places I sure as hell don't wanna know about.." she remarks.
After a few gulps of the good stuff, the graceful bird settles there and observes Hawker as if it understands every spoken word. Ironically, it's bird head is very subtly bobbing to the beat of the music playing overhead. A tilt of it's head is quick and it sounds it's dialog again, directed at Hawker. "That's a beauty!" It remarks, mimicking the fallen Australian who used to work with wildlife. Raising feathers on it's head with a ruffle, it tilts it's head in opposite manner, bobbing comically back and forth now a few times, observing Hawker like a beast of some kind. "Oooh, it's dangerous!" The bird says with Australian glee that lovers of the Crocodile Hunter will spot immediately.
Looking away from Hawker, the bird is...oddly quiet as Leo seems to gain steam. Another ruffle of feathers and it takes a few awkward bird steps back from Leo. As the woman bends over, the bird bird gives a whistle. It's a wolf whistle, loud and clear this time, that is supplied with the mimicked southern accent of a female once more, "Come up and see me some time." The bird drawls with it's beak, and with that, it gives a fluttering display of feathers as it takes wing. Probably timing it just right to escape out the front door, as a tipsy local with a wad of ones stumbles in and begins to toddle towards the bar with some shit eating grin.
Hawker narrows his eyes a bit, he seemingly gets the sort of response Leo gave alot, and he mutters 'I know this' under his breath! He isn't as dumb as people seem to think! It also helps he can't actually die, but hey, not every one knows that part! "Oi! You start going all Aussie and Kid will detect it or some thing wonky and show up. He has an Aussie sense." Who ever Kid is! "I think you should check for Cameras..and if there isn't any, totally make the bird a Mascot. It drinks, it talks, and no one is going to believe us after it flies off again you know."
"What bird." Leo deadpans, watching the gorgeous raven swoop out of the doorway, leaving only a barely-sipped Jack and ice in its wake. "I didn't see a bird. That Fireball hittin' you too hard, sweetness..?"
There's a rueful sort of cast to the young woman's expression, those few backward steps having been noted. She hadn't intended to spook the bird. And that wasn't even a real glimpse of just how hot that temper can run. But, it can't be helped. And the parting offer from the winged beauty does, at least, rouse a smirk and.. was that a fractional nod?
Returning to the prior discussion, touching on it only briefly, Leo shifts those dark-lashed eyes to regard the man left sitting alone at her bar. "..look. I ain't tellin' you what to do. I'm tellin' you what not to do. I'm sure you treat your pets the best way you know how." Grudging concession, from this one, is an enormous victory. If only he knew. Stepping forward, she retrieves another cigarette and sets it between her lips, resting one elbow on the bar and delving her free hand into a back pocket for her lighter. "..another round?" She clearly means 'are you buyin me another drink, jackass?', seeing as both glasses are still set in front of him. Along with his billfold. The spark of flame reflects oddly in her eyes, almost an ethereal sheen that picks up flecks of vibrant gold within the green of the iris.
Hawker narrows his eyes a bit at Leonie when she acts like there was no talking Raven here! "I did say I was buying the bottle." He says, gesturing at it, apparently, he just has already assumed that Leonid just takes what ever she wants with out really caring if she has permission. "Well, she does get spoiled." He muses outloud about Kala. "I brought her into town once or twice. Though last time I had a few people panic and call the cops." He mutters.
Leonie most certainly does, he assumes correctly. "Takin' a break." She announces this over one tattooed shoulder toward another bartender, newly-arrived for their shift, then takes a grateful drag of her cigarette, blowing a plume of silvery smoke ceilingward. Beyond this, she doesn't actually move. She just leaves her fellow employee to deal with the stumbling guy with the shit-eating grin and chooses instead to remain with Hawker. And his Fireball. Plucking up the bottle, she pours them both a hefty few measures, sloshing into the glass. "This stuff's sweeter than what I usually go for.." she muses, to no one in particular.
"Well, yeah. The fuck are the folks of New England gonna do, they see a fuckin' predatory cat - even a panther.." she adds, gesturing toward him with her smoke, pointedly, "..walkin' down the goddamn street? Do you keep her on a leash? Ahh, the illusion of control." Speaking of? 'Freak on a Leash' thrums out over the club, one of the acts up on stage all prettied up in BDSM gear. Leonie doesn't even glance that way, however, fixing her eyes on Hawker while awaiting his answer.
Hawker lets his eyes fix on Leonie as he goes to take the glass and knock back the Fireball. "I'm not fucking ordering scotch in a strip club. You can't even try to upsell that idea. Strip clubs are not a place for scotch, nor Burboun." He muses after letting the fireball sear it's way down. Ahh he enjoys that Cinnamon though by god. Still he is musing how to respond to Leonie. "Harness and all, there is laws and regulations, and I am fairly certain if push came to shove, I can control her by raw strength." Mostly because he's punched out werewolves and shit when they were all raging monsters. A normal Panther isn't that scary any more! "They're afraid of Miska too, and she's just a dog." A Russian Bear dog sure..
"Do I look like a scotch drinker to you? Jesus." All said, that vehement outburst seems only to rouse detached amusement from the brunette, who takes her own glass and knocks it back. A short ways down along the bar, Drunky McShiteater has managed to procure himself a Bar Mat. That is not going to improve things, and Leo pauses a moment to calmly watch him totter toward a vacant table, noting his place for no doubt near-future reference. "You look strong." The almost compliment is handed over amidst distraction, those big green eyes only belatedly following the direction of the comment and drifting back to Hawker. "..you could maybe handle a well-trained panther in a bad mood." A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, silently emphasising that that is not the same thing as taking on a tiger. And we're talking a normal tiger. Not even one the size of a car. But hey. Why burst his bubble, he's here for a good time, right?
"I'm not a dog person. Fuck, I'm barely a people person." Way to go, Captain Obvious. "Which is why I don't go to places where either of those things are in abundance." Propping both elbows on the bar between them now, Leo flicks ask actually in to the ash tray, at last; visibly mulling over the words before she continues. "So I gotta ask, Hawker. Why come to a titty bar and ignore the fuckin' stage? What, you got a thing for bartenders who insult you and drink all your booze? 'Cause hey, if so, you feel free to hang out." She's perfectly at ease, by all accounts. And yet.. there's a distinct shift when she looks up at him. One of those 'hairs prickling up the back of your neck' sensations. She can't be doing that. But well.. he either likes it or it freaks him out. No skin off her nose either way.
Hawker is used to predatory people; he has shifters living with him, or visiting often. So the sensation is pushed aside, he seems to take note of the man as well. Like he fully expects her to end up telling him to toss the guy out..or into some thing. Like a door frame, Hawker likes to see idiots bounce their melons off door frames. "Yes, I am." He agrees when she mentions he seems strong. He does come across as the strong and stupid type! "As for the girls..you are by far better looking then most of them..you also ply booze on me. So I'll take my chances of trying to get you drunk and maybe get you topless behind the bar over watch a wash out has been with fake tits." Then again for all he knows, Leo isn't like all naturale either. "Sides, I don't exactly -need- to be in a strip club to get a dance or two.."
Once again, in contrast, Leo doesn't look physically powerful. She's all long limbs and lean muscle. But there's a grace in her movements and lithe frame that suggests she might well surprise you.. and seriously, working in a place like this, she's surely seen her fair share of barfights. "He's alright." Noting Hawker watching the drunk, she literally handwaves the situation with a flick of fingertips. Dang, that Fireball, for all it's sweet and poncey, is actually going down good. There's a languid quality to the young woman that wasn't there before. But, judging by the total non-reactions of her fellow employees, nobody is really expected to stay sober here. Hell, it's a good day when Leo sees out her shift at all. "Fair enough. I think most of those tits are from the eighties anyway. Still don't mean you're ever gonna see mine, but you hang onto that hope, sweetness, if it makes you happy." There's a swift wink, echoing his own gesture from earlier, despite the unsettling facets of her presence.
"I've never understood the fascination with breasts." she continues, conversationally. "Every second person on the planet has them. Your mom had them. What is it that's so interesting about them?" Drag, inhale, exhale, drink.
Hawker seems to pick up the man she observed isn't a concern and he's back to fully watching her. "Ahh but it's a good hope, and some day you'll get bored and just name a price because you want to. I'm sure of that." He says bobbing his head a bit, maybe more to him self before she's actually asking questions. "Mmm? I don't know, why do women like to giggle and look up well hung men? And if they aren't such a big deal, why do you all hate showing them off then? I don't bloody well know."
"Again.. do I strike you as the 'giggling and looking up well hung men' sort? Don't you know me but at all?" Snorting with amusement at herself, Leo shakes her head, dangling her glass between a thumb and forefinger. "Oh, that's right. You don't. Heh." Ash is flicked, at least in the general direction of the ashtray, and the brunette pushes herself up to a proper stand, setting her own glass down under the bar again, presumably next to a sink. "Women don't hate showing them off. Smart women just know that's where the power is. Fuck, we could govern the goddamn universe just with the power of these.." She bounces gently on the balls of her feet, to great, emphatic effect. "..and I guarantee you the world would run a whole lot smoother. But you don't show your hand too soon. Or you end up.." She gestures vaguely in the direction of the stage. Hey look, a one-eyed stripper doing something fascinating with a pole.
"Aaaanyway.." What, is she off her break? Oh, no. False alarm. She's just leaning her hips comfortably back against the rear counter. "..it'll take more than boredom for me to name a price for my weapons of mass destruction, darlin'. And more'n stock portfolio and investments.." She grins at Hawker around her smoke. "..for you to purchase, if I did. But ten outta ten for persistence, sugar. Shame. Ours is a doomed romance, what with all the disagreein' and you hallucinatin' birds and shit."
Hawker scoffs at her last words about the bird. "Naw, it was real. Neat thing, still wonder who taught it or what not." He muses and moves to refill his own glass again, since she removed hers. "Sides, maybe it isn't doomed, tis only beginning..and fuck if I know what you look up." Hey, he knows -Skinners- looks and all can be deceiving,some of them are educated properly! "I'm sure I can bribe Kilo into giving me a glowing recommendation for some thing. Other then shooting things and trying to blow up bank vaults." Wait, what?
In all honesty, Wolf Casanova should have been well into his shift already. The Queen of Hearts is the sort of place where at least a couple of assholes (or people so far removed from being assholes that they're a danger to themselves by being present at the place) need to be tossed right the fuck out. But sometimes Wolf Casanova doesn't show up for his shift. Or sometimes he shows up for the last ten minutes, like right now. That's between him and Mama Candy, and he knows the score. So when he bursts into the lounge, air-guitaring and headbanging and looking for all the world like he's just climbed out of a Slayer moshpit, the first thing that drags him out of his reverie is the lounge owner's withering gaze. Yeah. He knows the score.
That look straightens him right the hell out, knocking the fun right off his face, save for the lingering little bit of smile that so stubbornly clings. He'll pay for that part, too. "Leo!" he calls out, before he actually even lays eyes on her, and then he hits the bar and claims a stool and climbs up on it and he says just loud enough for the people close to hear, "Leo, I need you to get me so fuckin' shitfaced I ain't going to remember how hard Mama's gonna kick my ass later. Harder than I just whooped those other pups, at least." He doesn't sound thrilled about the prospect of it, but he's also not bright enough to be truly scared of anything in the way the intelligent are.
"Why would you try to blow up a bank vault.." Leo is clearly giving this considerable, if somewhat blurry, consideration, frowning a little. "..wouldn't you blow up the money? Imagine the class of titty bar you could open with that.." Her eyes roam over the godawful lounge and its dregs of society, onstage and off. "..still no topless bartender, though. Well, not me. One legged stripper, cha-ching..." The sound of someone entering the lounge in other-than-sedate style draws her attention, though not so sharply as before. "...drunk-ass bouncer, check.." Setting down her smoke, just on the edge of the rear counter, with the ash overhanging, Leo cups her not insubstantial bosom in both palms and bounces, just to make her point a little clearer. "..priceless."
Now that that's out of the way, she picks up her cigarette again and sets it to a dangle between her lips, grinning across at Hawker as a rowdy demand comes from elsewhere.
"Evenin', Wolfie." The brunette doesn't bother asking what it is exactly the tousled bouncer wants, she just sets about making it. And dear lord, it's some concoction. "Havin' a rough night?" There's little to no actual concern apparent in her tone. "This is Hawker." She doesn't have a free hand to thumb at the guy seated at the bar seeing as she's now vigorously shaking a cocktail, so she just tilts her head in his direction. "He bought a bottle of Fireball. Or, well, he's gonna buy it once I've helped him drink it." Ruh roh. Drunk Leo. Wolf may have to work extra hard on his shift tonight. Thankfully, the waitresses and another bartender have taken over, while she's 'on a break'.
Hawker blinks his eyes a few times when she mentions opening a strip club. "I considered that, buy this place, take those worth taking, then buy out Matteo's joint, move the decent quality ones from here to there..then raze this place and set up some thing else. Like..a pet store, fuck if I know." He murmurs, watching Leo clearly tease about and side glances at the bouncer. "Maybe Kilo stopped showing up because ya'all nuts." Apparently, to him a Bouncer not being a proper bouncer is nuts!
"Raze this place? It's supposed to be on the damn ground! The Queen of Hearts don't need to be a tower!" Wolf Casanova notes, slapping the top of the bar to better make his point, before reaching up to unwind his sleeve a little and pull a cigarette from the pack that's twisted up there. "Might be somethin' to it though. I do get a person I'd like to toss out a fifth-story window, now an' again. You know, bein' thrown out a door is just too good for some folks." He's kind of a loud sort, or maybe he's just pumped up at the moment from whatever altercation he's come from. He catches the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and grabs the bar and wheels his seat around on two legs until he's better looking at Hawker.
"You're one of them big idea guys, ain't you? Let me tell ya, this place is already a zoo. It don't need to be a fuckin' pet store." He segues from that, real easily into the next thing, "Why you givin' Fireball to Leo? She is a mean drunk on that sweet stuff. It's all the sugar. I'm probably gonna have to spank her later. Or die tryin'." He clears his throat, shoots the brunette a quick look, then stands up on the lower rungs of his barstool and peers at what she's making. "Aw, hell. She's makin' that poison again." Wolf sits back down, giving Hawker a dreadful look. "Cancel that. I ain't gonna be alive later to spank her."
Leo leaves it to the bouncer to address the notion of razing this seedy little house of worship, concentrating for the moment on mixing up that hellish concoction that Wolf emphatically did not request. She does interject one thing, however. "I think Kilo likes the crazy ones.." There's a smidge of fondness in her throaty voice, at the mention of the absentee. Then it's back to the sort of focus one needs when past the point of tipsy to perform a relatively simple task. Dropping a couple of ice cubes on the bar, she smashes them with a solid *thump* of a balled fist, then slides the crushed pieces into the shaker, setting it down by Wolf's elbow as he retakes his seat. "It's called a Zombie. Traditionally, it's a hangover cure. Personally, I find it's a good cure for uh.. consciousness." An uncharacteristic and blatantly feigned sweet smile is offered to the bouncer. "Not that I don't enjoy your company, darlin'. I just enjoy it a lot more when you're comatose. Plus, you promised to hang yourself in the restroom. I call bullshit on that."
Flitting a sidelong look to Hawker, she raises and drops one shoulder in a shrug. "Don't mind him. I'm mean sober, too." Brightening as a semi decent song begins to blare over the speakers, the brunette wanders a short distance to emulate a grind-dance behind her fellow bartender, who plays along, much to the amusement of those she's currently serving. Take me down to the Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty..
Hawker knows the song at least, even if he's resisting the urge to snicker at Leo's antics. "Why not just roofie him and make up terrible stories about what he did at the gay bar instead?" He's going to help Leo come up with ideas as he watches Wolf. "Wait, if I get you drunk enough, mean or not..I can pay to spank you? I read that in the bathroom." He says off handedly as he watches Leo intently to see how she reacts. "And I didn't truly help her drink Fireball, I think she took it upon her self to drink Fireball."
Wolf picks up the shaker - he's not good enough to waste a glass on, and he knows it - and he tips it back, drinking about a third of what Leonie's cooked up to try and put him down with. He gasps at the taste, or maybe just at the burn, then he cuts his chocolate eyes over to Mama Candy again, before looking back to Leonie. "The way you make it, they ought to call it a fucking Knock Down Drag Out. Maybe you ought to double the hard shit in it and call it that. God damn, I'm a genius." The thought of Candy's inevitable ass-kicking isn't far from him. He hits the shaker a second him, getting most of what's left inside in a couple of skilled gulps.
Some of what's bothering him melts off though under Leonie's brand of therapy - namely, giving him things to laugh at and sparring with him verbally- "I was gonna hang myself, but if I had a nickel for all the women who said they liked me better stiff and quiet, I'd own this place before that guy does." He cocks his arm, jabs a thumb at Hawker. "And I ain't gonna give 'em the satisfaction." The bartender's a hard one to take eyes off of. But Wolf does, looking at Hawker instead. He did say he didn't have much sense. "They love me at the gay bars. I toss their trash out too, time to time. Just a lot more fuckin' glittery. Not like the drag queens, though." He leans in a little, and his hand goes up, and he tells the other guy, "You oughta call some of those numbers in the bathroom. S'like playing the damn lottery. But let me tell ya, you won't believe the sort of shit you can get into in that stall, with a phone."
"Hey. Hey." Drifting back up toward the two men, the bartender raises both palms in a gesture of innocence. Or what she supposes innocence ought to look like. "That was a service. If he drank that whole bottle on his own, you.." This she jabs at Wolf with two cigarette-wielding fingers. "..would have to carry him out. I'm just bein' employee of the month here. Stoppin' the trouble before it starts." Drag, drop, toe-smoosh. Buh-bye cigarette. As to Hawker's evil-genius plan, she offers him a smirk as she draws to a halt. "I could do that. Easily. But the stories I can make up are never as colourful as the truth. Sad, but true. I must lack imagination."
That curve across her lips is just a little bleary-eyed. But she wears it like a champ, resting an elbow on the bar and gently tapping a fingertip near his elbow. "..you wanna settle up so I can go? Sooner I get to bed, sooner I can dream of a prince charming payin' to spank me, based off the prophect he stumbled upon in a bathroom stall."
In fairness and reward, she does deign to snicker at Wolf for his banter, green eyes sliding his way beneath heavy lashes. "Quiet would do well enough for me. I live in hope. And I think Mama would have a problem, I start servin' shit that would put a normal man in the E.R.." she adds, watching the bouncer glug down her cocktail. "..in one gulp." She remains leaning where she is, all nonchalance.
Hawker taps the bill fold when Leo mentions pay; seeing as she never really mentioned price. "Take it out of there and another twenty as a tip. You need a lift home Miss Drunk On The Job?" Now he will openly banter and tease back with Leo before glancing at Wolf. "Man just pound some 151 and forget every thing for a day. Except the bruises, they don't go away." Well, his do, rather quickly actually. But he doesn't need to mention that!
"Well. Y'know. The truth is real." Wolf offers in response, the epitome of a philospher in that moment. Eat your heart out, d'Holbach. Sartre. Descartes. Maybe the poison Leonie cooked up is the sort to hit back quick, when a man hits it a little too hard. He still hasn't even bothered to light the cigarette he pulled earlier. And he doesn't even seem to notice yet, waving it around in one hand, having never replaced it after his quick fight with the shaker. "Shit. You're leavin'? Who is coming on shift next? I might have to get the hell out of here too if it's who I'm thinkin' it is. Already missed my shift. I bet Molly put some extra miles on them new shit-kickers she got. Third shift I missed this week. She ought to get herself a new act. Shit-Kickin' and Strippin."
Wolf Casanova abandons his barstool, letting the adults do their exchange of funds, and he pushes the shaker across the bar to where someone can come along and pick it up. He pays for it, too. A hand dives in his pocket, pulls of a crumbled wad of cash, and he picks out a couple balled up bills to drop onto the bar." He does grin at Hawker though, just a little, at the mention of the 151. Now there's a conversation he can contribute to. "I drank a lot, man. Maybe drank ten or twelve in a night. But I ain't ever drank a hundred and fifty-one."