Pass Me A Cigarette

December 5, 2014: Veruca and Floyd meet in a bar, a lady gets kidnapped.

Ace o' Clubs

A bar in Metropolis



  • A Hooker named Lacie
  • A drunk dude

Mood Music:

First time in Metropolis, if you were Veruca, where would you go? To the bar that most call home, for a good drink and possibly a wild time with some random prick or a possible fight with another just to get the adrenaline flowing. Barbosa was gone now, she was no longer underneath his thumb and it was time for her to strike out on her own, to make her name finally /count/.

Living in the shadows for so long, years upon years since she was a little girl? It's not taking a toll, but it's making her want more. More than what she was getting being on the wrong side of the law.

It was fun there, yet it could be better.

She was completely unrecognizable, the blue hair was his bag, she was down to brown contemplating another color, set at the bar with her fingers lightly tracing the mug of beer, humming along lightly to the song that played on the juke with a tap of her heeled boot against the metal.

"Heeeeey.. Shuuuuuugg.." The drunken man murmurs, sliding up along side of her in a leather jacket three sizes too small and oil stains upon his shirt. His teeth were yellow, breath stank of crap, splotches of hair upon his cheek from a bad shave job. He was even balding. Old. And a large hand reaches out to grip her shoulder much to her annoyance.

"Yooou sangin this song for me?"

Veruca was speechless. All because he had the audacity.

Floyd Lawton has a shooter's eyes, of course. More than 20/20 almost, able to pick out the tiniest details. Changing hair color doesn't mean much to him. He spots Veruca from across the room, where he has his own table, leaning with his back against the wall and a glass of neat whiskey on the table. A hooker had been casually chatting him up, and he'd been considering the offer. She was a titless wonder and smelled a little like stale Cheez-its, but, hell, Floyd liked Cheez-its. Sometimes you gotta eat what's in the pantry, y'know?

When he sees Veruca, though, he rises up, ignoring the girl still talking, her stoned thoughts meaning she's still talking at first, not even realizing he's gone. He slips through the crowd with ease, about to say hello when big old Drunky Fatpants goes in for a grope.

Sure, he and Veruca had been trying to kill each other last time they saw each other, but Floyd didn't hold grudges about that shit. That was the business. And groping women unexpectedly was his bag, dammit.

Floyd reaches out and grasps the hand on Veruca's shoulder, grabbing the index finger and giving a sharp, angular twist that snaps it at the base, bending it backward.

"Only song yer gonna be hearin' is sirens, you don't watch yer manners, fatty."

Bibbo Bibbowski was in the back taking a phone call to stock up the whiskey that was about to run dry, if he would have saw with the man had done to Veruca? Shotgun would have been grabbed and Bibbo possibly would have tossed the man out on his ass.

It was no matter, for when she turns to set a narrowing gaze upon the man, he was soon rescued by the threat of a voice that she was all too familiar with. And it causes her to grin.

"Owh.. owow.. hey.. hey asshole.. I was..was juss.. talkin to the lady here!" He slurrs out, his large hand wretching out of Floyd, adrenaline causing him to ignore the fact that it was possibly broken.

"You.. you son of a bitch.." The liquor, it dulled and numbed the pain.. yet in the morning, it would swell and turn black and blue. He stumbles away from the pair, mumbling something about each other deserved the other as he stumbles out into the slums…

Veruca turns to face forward, taking a brief sip of her beer, the froth coating her lips which was soon wiped away by the back of her hand. "I wouldn't have pegged you the sort to rescue women from large creeps in a bar."

Floyd Lawton just stares the drunk down. He could see it, for a moment, that dumb bravado that horny assholes get, that 'this bitch belongs to me' territorial shit. There's a moment there when the scumbag thinks about it - and then he looks into the eyes of the scumbag who just broke his finger.

Dead eyes. Empty eyes. Eyes that would kill him dead and go right back to his drink.

With the harasser leaving, Floyd turns back to Veruca, "You ain't just any woman, though, are you? And you don't need any rescuin'. Frankly, I did that guy a favor. Better a broken finger than a glass knife in the gut,' he says, knocking on the bar and holding up three fingers for how full he wants his glass of whiskey.

"You are blendin' in a bit better'n usual, though. Looks good on ya. You here to rain hell on somebody, or just feelin' the urge to sit on an uncomfortable stool in a smelly part o' town?"

"Of course not." Was her answer to both of his statements. She finishes off the last of her beer, leaning forward to set her mug upon the small recieving tab, and with a turn upon the stool and a comfortable cross of her legs, she gives the man her undivided attention. Surely, she has seen him up close, he could use a little cleaning up, but the rugged look works for him, and for her. Not that she was 'lookin'.

"I'm here to reign hell on everybody." She states plainly. "I'm just waiting to see who and when." She had her feelers out, whomever she was looking for wasn't in this city, but it wasn't going to stop her for giving a little hell before she goes. "But, I am a little surprised. This city is like a playground. Bright blue skies, decent weather, nearly clean streets. People walk and hold hands and laugh and are generally happy even though this place is disaster prone. And yet.. you are here amongst the mewling and blind few, sticking out like a sore /thumb/."

Her fingers brush through her brown hair, fluffing it along leather covered shoulders.

"So why are /you/ here."

Floyd Lawton laughs, "Came for business, stayed for pleasure. Thing about a big rich place like this, some of the goods are of the highest quality. Worth goin' out of the way to get, puttin' in the effort, y'know? Plus, I got a debt or two owed and I'm payin' 'em off. I ain't able to quite pay 'em off the way I usually do, so I'm finding…alternatives."

"As for spreadin' some hell around, I'm happy to stay outta yer way. Far as I know, my boss' business was just with your old boss and since he's some sort o' cosmic marmalade at this point, ain't no use in holdin' grudges. Not that I ever hold grudges 'gainst pretty ladies. I'm a forgivin' type, if ya got nice legs and pretty eyes."

Hence whey Midnighter would never quite get back on Floyd's good side. Not that the wannabe Batman ever had been.

"Elaborate." But she was so very sure that he wouldn't. So sure that she glances towards the bartender once he returns with Floyd's drink, and gestures for one for herself as well. "But from what I remember, you're the type to shoot and not ask questions later." A hand reaches up to lightly tap her shoulder. A shoulder that wasn't shot at, but a duplicate, which was grazed instead of her. "Thank you for that, by the way."

Her fingers wriggle towards his jacket, the other hand reaching for a lighter to place upon the counter top as she waits for him to up the goods, one brow raising and other lowering as she lets out a soft sigh. "Not one of my greatest conquests. The man had ideals, he had promise, he had potential to take over the world but he was /so/ so worried about the dealings of others. And he died /fast/." Once her drink was placed in front of her, she took it and sipped, her eyes cutting towards Floyd as fingers tap along the glass in thought.

"The offer still stands Floyd, it may not be him making the deal, but.. if you join me, I promise you one /hell/ of a time." Perhaps, all she needed was the pretty eyes and great legs.

Floyd Lawton draws out his smokes and, indeed, keeps his Metropolis business to himself. Some things, not even Amanda Waller needed to know. He certainly wasn't going to share it with Veruca. Technically, smoking inside is illegal in Metropolis, but, hell, Bibbo had a cigar stuck in his mug all day, you couldn't really expect him to enforce.

"I appreciate the offer and, truth told, I'm more tempted than ya might think. You can raise some mighty hell. But the gig I got…security, good pay, get out o' jail free card…kinda hard t'match. Plus they got the resources t'turn me into beef jerky if I went too far off the reservation. Nah, I'm okay with stayin' on my leash fer now," he says.

He lights both their cigarattes, giving a tight inhale and holding before finally letting plumes spill from his nostrils, "Which ain't to say there's any rules about private association. I can be friends with who I like, s'long as I don't cross the boss."

The cigarette was taken and lighted by his hand, a deep inhale pulled, along with a roll of her eyes towards the drink that she soon set down. She exhales from her lips, a little lost in thought. The words she says however, suggest a hint of a joke even though no smile plagued her lips. "I believe you're tempted for different reasons that we won't speak about in public." Which gives way to the hint that they may or may speak at a future date, some place that wasn't here.

"Just let me know when you want to get rid of that leash.." Slender fingers lightly tap at her temple, and soon a smile is flourished with a tip of her head. "But friends? People like you and me don't do friends. Unless you see friends pulling bullets out of one anothers backs."

Floyd Lawton raises an eyebrow about the leash. He wonders if Veruca really does have the power to take the bomb out…and if he could ever even begin to trust her enough to let her try. Fuck, trusting people at all pretty much didn't make sense to Floyd. Where was the benefit to it? You could only be disappointed.

"Guess not. Just say, then, I ain't got no reason to kill you, yer nice to look at an' you know who I am an' ain't runnin' screamin' for the hills. Ain't a common combo for me. Most people I meet are of the disposable sort. Hell, I'm o' the disposable sort."

"Mm." Is all Veruca could utter, finishing off her drink in one fell swoop without the struggle that most would have. The empty glass was lifted, cigarette tucked into her mouth as she reaches into her top to retrieve a 20, then lays it upon the counter top next to the empty glass and ash tray. "Me and you? We don't run screaming. No matter what."

She hops down from the stool, her heeled boots making a loud thump as she stands before her nightly 'rescuer'. With a slight lean in and a grip of his shirt, the cigarette was tossed into the tray as she leans in, blowing smoke against his ear with a smile. "We're all rushing towards the same end, Floyd. It's just a matter of who gets there first or who does it the best." Did she just challenge him?

Possibly so.

Floyd Lawton grins, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Dames an' their games. Bitches an' their itches. One thing about bein' in prison, shitty as it was, much as you missed the feel of a nice pair o' tits in yer hands, you didn't miss the mindgames. Ain't nobody or nothin' could fuck a man's head up like a woman. Even gay guys got their heads spun around by women, only it was about…shit, Floyd didn't know what it was about. Shoes, probably. Girl shit's always about shoes.

"You say so, V, I ain't gonna be the one t'tell ya otherwise. Seems to me any race that ends up with worms in yer eyes, don't really matter how ya cross the finish line." he says. He adds his own money and then nods to the hooker he'd lead on, who still sat forlornly at his table. Floyd was scum, true, but the girl didn't deserve t'lose out jus' 'cause she couldn't compete. Plus, Floyd might like to come back for a visit another time, "Put 'er on my tab rest o' the night," he says, slapping down a fifty and going to follow Veruca into the night.

"See.." She leans back, a slight click of her teeth given. "That's where you're wrong." But, this debate was going to go somewhere else. She glances back towards the hooker, studying her for a moment before she steps aside and casually strolls her way out of the bar, Floyd in tow.


Lacie found someone else to hit on, drunken promises and whispers of a good time played upon the mans ear, fingers lightly stroking his chin as she gains a look that speaks of her becoming green around the gills. A promise to return a moment later has her stumbling towards the bathroom, the drunken wobble she possesses has her taking her heels off in favor of her carrying them within her hand.

Bathroom door is pushed open, and she enters with a drop clop of her shoes to the ground and a press of her hand towards the sink, the water soon turned on to dip hands in and press against her cheek and chin.

She gazes up towards the mirror.. but the reflection was not her own. Could she be seeing things? Those icy blue eyes were not hers, her hair was blonde, not brown. And.. was she smiling?

"Hi babydoll.." Veruca in the mirror coos, her hand striking out from the reflective surface to grip the woman by the hair to snatch her from the grips of this plane and into the next.

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