A New Job

February 28, 2017:

Peter Quill meets Catwoman at her place, and might actually do something there he has never done before.

Get a job.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

"I don't know about you Miss Kitty, but I feel…" The skylight into Tin Roof pushes open, more like swings! open to the point it clatters against beams and cracks, the backdrop cry of feline crescendo going mute as they scatter.

"Shitty." The stagger is with-held as a clawed grip braces her over the ceiling opening while lights below flicker and the show goes on, the bass and blare muting that arrival almost, unless you're paying attention.

Dropping down into the scaffolding, Catwoman takes a bit of care… More ginger in her slide down to the side of the stage beside the bar, landing upon lacquered surface with a crouch, the surface reflecting the cracked goggles, road rash on one cheek and the pieced together vinyl body suit broken and some seams, revealing the bruising and battering beneath.

The whip still remains coiled around one hand, the other holding up two clawed fingers…

No, "Jeeves" not one drink, -two-. It's been a long night.


The one problem with inviting people like the Guardians of the Galaxy to a place like a bar is that they actually show up. Peter at least isn't one to cause trouble. Lucky for him Rocket and Groot haven't showed up yet, though he totally did tell them how to get there.

Rocket would kill him if he didn't.

And Groot likes stage shows.

However the show he is treated to is a surprising one as Catwoman slinks in the skylight looking like she just lost a fight with a bus. Sitting at the corner of the bar he has a good view as she settles herself against the bright wood of the stage. A glance at the bartender, then back to the woman before he sighs and reaches over to grab a drink.

No fear, no hesitation, no worry as he pushes himself to his feet and strolls in her direction. One gloved hand reaches down to offer her a hand up, just an offer as he smiles down at her. "Lady, you look like you got a train really upset with you." His voice smooth, not mocking but as usual with a hint of carefree amusement tinged in there around the edges.


"My outfit is not purple, I'm just covered in that much blood…."

The stage show going on behind them though, would Groot like? The women dancing are in more of a Mardi Gras burlesque theme, masks on faces, beads basically the only thing covering them, one even bearing a dress of transparent netting laced with beadwork. But this is the red light district of Gotham, although mostly by invite only.

The Alley Cats had seen the offer extended to Peter and so his entry may have been met with a grunt of a "bull sized" bouncer, but he was allowed in once the cameras relay was seen and the radio voice called "Invited on the bridge, two days ago."

So when he is standing before her with a hand extended while she braces herself at the cusp of bar-met stage she rights, a motion slow, but deliberate while she steps from the shadows to the light and the drink the tender slid across the bartop to her, a flame licking over slotted spoon and melting sugar cube into the Fee Verde.

"And look at you, all polished, down to the scruff." Claws and barbs! But her tone is one that does not give away anything even as she looks his way.

Your friend the same?" Redirection for the win! A woman's best friend.


"Well the last thing most people call me is polished," Comes the drawl as he helps her up. "I mean growing up with pirates that would soon eat you as look at you knocks most of that off you. But…" Peter raises his glass towards her. "…I'll take it as a compliment."

His grin never seems to fade too much, even when he's in the middle of a fight. When the bouncer had stopped him he has just sized him up, waiting to either get let in or swung at. It seemed he was fine with either.

"Friends not here, but I might meet a few others here. Since you so kindly invited me. Of course they aren't usual." By that he means human. "So I thought I'd come by and scope the place out first."

His own drink isn't anything as complicated as hers. Whiskey, simple but effective. There is a tilt of his head as her flaming concoction. "Interesting choice of drink." He drawls out as he looks over the damage done to her.

"Not gonna tell me about the rest of your night?" A grin, bright as the lights of the bar, is turned towards her. "No stories about how 'you should see the other guy'?"


Catwoan just watched him as anything she said seemed to roll off his back like raindrops on treated boots. Figures. He knows when to run and when to have fun, she knows the type well enough. A snort in that light laugh as she slides into a stool, she still remains that sleek poise with a lean… Pause… (One, two, thr—)

One leg crosses over the other with the subtle moan of attire that has had enough, but so has she most nights. Deal with it synthetics! The whip is set down on the bar just to her left in a serpent's coil but not far. "Tradition, especially after a long night." Is Catwoman's response to his statement about her drink, a claw tip flicking the handle of the spoon to knock the flame and sugar within the green, igniting it higher until she presses lips close.

The green reflects of broken lenses, those eyes behind a Verde their own, but blue in splices.

"You define usual and we'll discuss semantics." A snappy rise of hand in a waffling gesture, fingers curling into up-ended palm, dimpling claws into it, although skinned flesh is already revealed beneath the peeled-aside opening.

"…Bat-mobile lost a wheel…" and the Joker got away, Punchline and all? "The girl from the other night? Not a good idea."

A lean back and Catwoman's lips thin, but the smile fights and wins a bit! "So this place, may not be safe anymore."


"That is definitely a tradition I can agree with," Peter replies as he watches her move with that slow grace of hers. He can't help but watch, its just who he is. Love him or hate him, one can never say that he isn't true to himself. That is a think about Peter Quill, he doesn't really change for most anyone.

Leaning his back against the bar he watches his host out of the corner of his eyes. Elbows braced against the smooth wood as he sips at his drink. Ice blue eyes glittering as he smiles. "One is a talking raccoon who has a knack for explosives, and the other is a walking tree with a limited vocabulary." He finally replies to the question of his friends. The /safe/ thing to do would be not flaunt the fact that him and his friends weren't from around here, but that's no fun in the least.

A raised eyebrow though as he notes the cracks in her outfit, the bruises and damage to those goggles. "Huh, tall, pale, and green haired did this? And she seemed like so much fun. Why she go after you anyway?" A wince at the mention of the bat though. "Urgh, tall dark and angsty got involved. Did he do that low gravely voice and tell ya ta get out of town? That's what I got from him." He takes a long pull of his drink at that, letting the liquid burn down with a pleased half-smile on his face.

"Eh. Safe is boring, I'm not really worried." A grin passes again. "I might should be, but I'm not."

A glance again towards her, the damage to her suit and herself is obvious. "You got some kind of doc round here to patch ya up? Just curious you understand." A pause again. "…I mean I know someone that could patch up your outfit pretty well, but don't know any docs round Gotham yet. I'm kinda new in town."


Catwoman just. remains. still, no, save for the rise of glass and extinguishing of flame before she downs it with a lean back of neck. No sipping tonight. When he agrees with her tradition she flicks a wrist to the tender and orders two more, despite her second already burning in front of her as the first had.

No look back to him as he watches her openly, it is better then trying to play coy, she is not that kind of girl and her expectations are just as high as her own value. "So… You take a lot of hallucinogens?" Though her tone seems dry, the smile is there at the corner of split lip, a scarred brow rising over the rim of goggles, splitting manicured hairs in twixt perfectly. "It is fine, all I ask from any creature that walks through these doors is they treat my people with respect and my girls with the same, if not better."

Her second glass is taken up then, the repeat process quicker this time as her posture goes from careful and tender to more lax, to not feel it now but the morning is going to suck -!

"She's a creation from those Mists, made by an even darker creation of an age old accident and different…. Depths." A small narrow of eyes and Catwoman's head shakes. "He and I go way back, but no, tonight it was small, slim, and aircycle, and likely just as hurt, but she flew off. Bats.." A huff of a laugh and the empty glass is tipped and circled in her clawed grip.

"Then you and your friends will be bored, as those who wish to leave and be safe are going to be sent away tonight. The same show may get repetitive." A smile then and the goggles are slid up and off her face to perch upon her head, forming an effigy of feline ears upon crown but fully revealing her face in part, but not whole.

"I got someone." No names, no assurance. Just another sip! "If it was that bad I'd have gone across the bridge we met on."


If anything Catwoman is a good bluffer, thief, and deceit is as good as her lock-picks. They both can sit here, drink, and share their poker faces.


Watching the pair of drinks slide down the bar Peter just has to smirk slightly. "Those for me, or are you just really wanting me to carry you back to wherever you call home tonight?" He quips before he throws back the last of his own drink and settles the glass back down on the bar with a soft tink.

"Rocket will care about the booze more than the girls, and Groot will just care about the music. The'll be fine, as long as no one calls Rocket cute. He objects to that." A smirk as he slowly turn to lean against the bar, facing forwards now before he slides himself into the stool next to her.

"Made by someone else…how many of you all /are/ there in Gotham? I mean is there like a phonebook? Or a list of some kind? I mean every time I round a corner its like someone new is popping up in a mask, or a cowl, or with super punked out hair. No offence to present company meant of course."

He watches her a moment and then shrugs slightly. "Fair nuff, figured you did." He gets the feeling that she doesn't need coddling, especially if she's survived in Gotham for a time. "…but you're thinking of closing this place down? That would be a shame, since I just found it. Here I was gonna see if you could use a bartender."


"One is for you." That would be three for her, and in saying as much she slides it before him, leaning forward a bit more languidly, but there is still a stiffness to motion, catered to in the support of a prop of elbow upon the eave of the bar, her other arm placed beside her drink while claws *tink* upon metal spoon and the clatter comes from it plunging within the Absinthe, flame and all, the sugar cycloning in the depths, but all the while she is watching him to see if he is following along, if he even needs to!

A quick motion and it does not even seem like she blows the flame out until it is already on lips and tasted - then drained. Painkiller consumption to the max, she has to get up the stairs somehow, his offer ignored (as expected!).

When the glass hits the table though it spins upon base and slowly circles to a stop her own body slightly wavering, not as bad as the cup, but close enough. "I'll be sure to let them know not to call the baby bear cute…" *hic!* "..and keep the beat up. Latter will be easy." Stated over the already blaring music, lazer-spread of lights and crescendo of beads clattering over skin in the backdrop, or in the suspended cages above, in fact a necklace gets looped around him as a girl passes, tugging him back a bit just as he claims the stool and plants a kiss on his cheek before she shimmies off.

"This being asked by the man with a raccoon and tree as besties? You hang around you'll meet the products of an Abyss that stared back and came out to bite." A smile then and it's evident she is not feeling much at this point due to the potent import.

From behind a tall 'Queen comes forth, bedecked in disco-beads, a boa, and a lot of heavy makeup to touch off the burlesque affair, slapping the boa aside towards Quill while he chides at Catwoman and the tender. "How many choo give this hooker? You know damn well she can't do more then one. point. five after a night out. Tch!"

A shift on heel and Rodaga is rocking back to size up Quill with a wry grin/frown from beneath extravagantly large faux lashes… tipped in glitter. "You the bad influence of tonight?" Accusing is cut off by a grip from Catwoman on Rodaga's arm.

"Meet… Peter, new bartender if he stays after tonight, but he said he likes it rough… Or danger? Something…." Trailing off Catwoman is placing a clawed finger between lips, caught in teeth and peeling the glove off her hand that is a pretty shade of black and blue.

"What tha hell choo get into now?" Accusatory assault shifted with hand on hip, Catwoman using that bare hand to wave at Rodaga dismissively. "Yeah what I thought. I'll get your men in monkey suits to get che ass upstairs." The Brazilian accent clipped, but there's an evident care there.

A spin on heel back to Peter with an up-down and a wry grin on painted lips. "Welcome to the Car-nee-vahl." A flippant wave of manicured hand and the 'Queen is gone.

Catwoman just watches and then back to Peter. "They'll shoot tall dark and growly for you if they like you enough." Sliding from the stool it almost looks as if it would be fluid but the damn floor is elusive!

Peter better know what he's getting into!

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