So We Meet Again...

March 25, 2017:

Ravager meets with Morien again.
Wtf is a nuptial?

Club deVile - Metropolis

Also known as the Midtown Nightclub, Club deVile looks and operates just
like a typical higher end club. Unlike most others, this one happens to have
a secret which many never come to realize. For those fortunate enough to
have 'back room access,' deVile is also a functioning safehouse for some of
the city's villain figures.

In order to maintain this secret there are very strict rules regarding
conflict within the club proper, the last thing the owners want here is


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It is midnight at the Club Devile, Morien enters the club in his casual attire. As he makes his way to the bar, he takes the time to take notice o the different people gathered here. As he makes his way to one of the private booths in the back, he takes heed of the different exits and how many steps it might take to reach them. Morien settles down in his booth and peers down, and pulls up his sleeve and gaze down at his watch.
Morien lets the "powers that be" that he is expecting company and doesn't wish to be disturbed.
Why is Morien looking at his watch?

He ran later then Ravager, but then again, she had nothing better to do, so why not have a drink… or few. It took quite a bit for her to get here, let alone the transmission, and before she left Belle Reve she dropped all communications on her person and hopped multiple transits. Coming here was perfect, fitting, and truly not suspect.

From behind she is not able to be recognized from last meeting, hair is longer, a trench coat covers her back and drops to ankles laden in boots more meant for their current scenario, a club - heeled to alter her height an additional 5 inches with platform and stiletto laced tightly around ankles.

When she turns, though, the attire is not too unfamiliar. Black body suit, belted at points by orange and silver eyelets holding 'tongues', but in the shadows of the coat that coating of metallic scaled additions can be glimpsed in reflection of light (if looking close enough).

The shot is taken, cigarette brought back to lips and when Morien takes a seat the butt bounces like a timing pendulum just before she moves to join him at the booth, a bottle placed upon the table - withdrawn from her coat.

Fuck his 'Do Not Disturb'. Evidently.

"Back again?" That unpatched eye lifts to him as she pours glasses.

"Do you roll you own cigarettes?" Morien pulls back the hood of his cloak and says, "My great-grandfather used to roll the cigarettes for some of his buddies in his tank division. He never took of the habit. He preferred a pipe, but I digress." Morien looks at the bottle and raises his left eyebrow slightly, "Do you normally carry a bottle in your coat, or you have been so enthralled by our first meeting that you are about to propos to me, and we are going to celebrate with this bottle?"

Morien leans back in the booth, "I have to warn you I really need to have you sign a prenuptial, but I guess I have to think of it as not gaining a bride, but losing the requirement to have to carry around a security detail. Morien looks her over a few times, "I think I might have to fire my entire security department."

The glass is slid to him once filled with the Viking Fjord. Expensive, but she not sparing it anymore. When Morien lowers his hood and speaks her way, Ravager rocks back, that spiral of split plumes curling before her face, plucked from lips and spun 'twixt fingers, inspected by single frigid gaze before it is held to him.

"Likely not rolled in the way pappy did it, nor with the same leaf." When it is held before Morien he'd likely smell it fully then. There's tobacco in it…somewhere. Amid the fume of marijuana and… something else?

Leaned forward over the table, holding the cigarette aloft by the butt before him, Ravager smiles.

"Propose?" A snort then and the glass is downed swiftly, refilled, and downed again as she chuckles, but right now it is with held in her chest unbirthed.

"It'd be cheaper on you in one regard, Mister." A pause and she points at him with the lift of one finger from the grip on her glass to point at him.

"But I do not sign, shit. Also do not do nupilles. Nup-itals. Whatever." She takes a pull from the bottle this time. He just blew. her. goddamn. mind.

"I am not Nipp-ittles material." Nipples, what? No she is not drunk, totally, but holy crap, she is about to get there, now.

Thanks for that.

"Anywaaayyy…" A look around and she takes another quick drag before re-offering. "What is it?" And that look from single eye even as the other bears the patch, seems to steady.

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