Where Nobody Knows Your Name
Roleplaying Log: Where Nobody Knows Your Name
IC Details

Crush happens along Isa in a bar where no one asks any questions.

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: March 02, 2020
IC Location: Dive bar in Hell's Kitchen
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 02 Mar 2020 23:47
Rating & Warnings: PG
Scene Soundtrack: None
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

* OOC Time: Mon Mar 02 15:51:06 2020 *

* * *

Welcome to one of the roughest, toughest boroughs in New York City. Hell's Kitchen has managed to resist gentrification for generations since its construction, housing many of the city's poor and struggling. It also sports a number of establishments that ask considerably fewer questions than other establishments, like bars that are much more loose on identification. Smoky and shadowed, these places are where people go to forget, or to be lost.

Some people are good at hiding and blending in with the crowd. Some of them aren't. Some don't really give a care one way or the other, and only come to a place like this when they feel like a drink and a lack of questions. That might explain the single person seated in a shadowed corner, nursing something clear and acerbic-smelling from a dingy glass. It's a woman, a redhead, dressed in a beat-up old bomber jacket, jeans; combat boots. By the look of her she's probably carrying a weapon, or seems the type of person who would.

Where two eyes should reflect from the shadows, only one does; a patch covers the other, and even the bad lighting can't cover the horrific scarring that ravages one side of the woman's face, plunging down past her collar. She regards the room with a scowl, and while she doesn't seem particularly troubled, the way she scans the room every few seconds suggests she's alert for the potentiality of trouble… or perhaps recognition.

* * *

Crush tended towards places like this one. The bars that didn't even bother putting up a sign- you just had to know they were there. It is lucky, then, that Crush knows about this particular smoky bar. She steps inside without any care- not hiding a damn thing about herself. She's either the original KISS superfan, or something very different.

Once in the establishment she heads to the bar, putting down some money and a bottle of beer is delivered. She opens it herself- just popping the top off with a thumb. Not an easy thing to do for a base-line human. She turns, leaning on the bar- just looking at who's around. Sipping beer and just trying to read the room.

* * *

"Young for beer, da?"

The voice is from the one-eyed woman in the corner. Her tone suggests she doesn't actually care that much. She's looking directly at Crush, single eye the blue of a crisp winter sky, leaned back in her chair with her arms folded. Mostly, she seems halfway interested in seeing what the other has to say about it; expecting, maybe, a certain measure of defiance.

Her posture is relaxed, but her eye suggests she's ready for anything. Just in case. She watches Crush pop the cap without any evident trouble… with her thumb.

"Neat trick." She's speaking English, but it carries such a heavy Russian accent, and her words are so clipped, that it almost sounds like she's not. Her quick smile doesn't reach her eye. The scarred side of her face doesn't move much. "I do that, I break my thumb, maybe. So, how…?"

* * *

Crush first takes a long drink from her beer, not answering Isa at first. "I'm legal." is all she replies at first. Another sip of beer. Crush is relaxed, lazily so- just enjoying her beer.

"Probably wouldn't break your thumb. Maybe a nail. Bad scratch." she says after a moment, leaning still on the bar. "Just a question of leverage and strength, right?" she continues, another long sip of beer taken as she finds a stool not so far from that corner and just sits, back to the bar and entrance. Without a single worry.

* * *

The one-eyed woman drains the last of her drink, still watching as Crush takes a long drink and answers. A hand is raised to signal the bartender, and a point given at Crush's beer. She wants one, too. Money is exchanged and a bottle handed over, frosted with condensation. She sets it down with a clunk.

She seems to have a habit of turning her head just a little too far to the right, compensating for the blind side. At Crush's speculation, she snorts. "Maybe. Maybe not."

A forefinger is pointed at the bottle. It's her right hand. The skin is mottled; scarred the same way as her face. Whatever got her, it got her good.

The ghost of a smile twists the unscarred side of her face. She gestures to an empty chair across from hers, although the way she looks at Crush says she still doesn't fully trust.

"Show me. Useful trick to know, da?"

* * *

"I don't see how you'll do it. Gotta be strong to do it." Crush says as she shifts from her spot to lazily join Isa at her table, sitting in the seat. "I don't think you're strong enough to do it." she then states plainly.

Crush takes another sip of her beer, before grabbing the bottle and showing Isa how she does it. The steel cap on the bottle is like puddy to Crush- just pealed away and flicked with a decent amount of force. The beer is then placed again in front of Isa. "More likely to cut up your hand, though, than break a thumb." she explains, leaning back in her chair to continue to drink her own beer.

* * *

"Am strong." The woman tilts her head, single eye hooding as she regards the other. No defiant protesting, no mettle to prove. This woman knows her own strength, and apparently that's good enough for her. Whether she's strong enough to pop a lid with her thumb, though, she doesn't specify.

Her lone red brow arches as the lid is peeled and flicked aside like cheap tinfoil, and she can see by Crush's wrist that the strength the girl is using isn't trivial. Okay, so she gets the point for that trick, and is probably some kind of metahuman. That, at least, doesn't seem to bother the woman. She doesn't move to get up and leave. Instead, she pushes the glass aside, reaching for her bottle.

Rather than try to peel the thing off with her thumb, she reaches into a pocket, producing one of those old-fashioned steel openers and cracking the lid. "Probably." She sighs. "Worth asking." That blue eye drifts back to Crush. "You have name?"

* * *

"Crush." The young woman answers, as she sits back with her beer. "Yo, you got a smoke?" she wonders over to Isa. "What about you, your name?" she wonders as she leans back on the back two legs of her chair, just trying to keep her balance there- that, too, doesn't seem particularly difficult for Crush. Although, that may just be practice versus any real ability.

"You're not from around here, huh? What, Ukraine or somethin?"

* * *

The question seems to take the woman off-guard, but she does obligingly pat her pockets down, producing a red carton with a yellow stag on it. One is tapped out and offered to the girl, along with a match, rather than a mechanical lighter. One is tapped out for herself, and she pulls a dingy glass ashtray over, lighting it and puffing on it contentedly.

"Isa. Reichert," she adds. It's not very Eastern European, but she offers it unhesitatingly. Ukraine? "Something like that." She doesn't confirm; she doesn't deny. The accent is Russian, but she doesn't bother to enlighten the other. "Been here in city, maybe six month." She taps ash into the tray, taking another draw. "Is like any other city. Just smaller. Dirtier. More crowded."

* * *

Crush takes the cigarette, lights it up with the offered match and takes a few puffs. "Full flavor, hrm? Most people smoke lights." she notes, inhaling slowly on the cigarette. She exhales. Blue-grey smoke joining the haze of the bar.

"Isa Reichert." Crush says the name again, just letting the name run along her tongue and across her naturally black lips. "Sounds German." she remarks, "But, I don't know much about that stuff."

"I dunno. New York is pretty big for a city. Bigger than most around here. Too many people, though. Yeah. It be nicer with less- but that's life, ain't it. Always going to be some shit you don't like."

"So, what you do around here, Isa?" Crush doesn't seem bothered by the scars- she keeps her eyes on Isa's eye. Those red eyes just focused there.

* * *

"Hint of clove. Strong flavour." The carton was written in Russian, but if Crush can't place the accent, she might not notice that detail. Isa doesn't seem inclined to enlighten her. The one-eyed woman puffs contentedly, eyeing the cigarette as she holds it. "Imported. Don't like American cigarette."

Sounds German, Crush observes, and Isa seems disinclined to specify. "Something like that," she answers again, affably.

"Da. Is big city. But look at map, and is not so big. City on west coast, much bigger area. Several European city, too. Paris. London." Another puff, and she sets her cigarette to smolder on the ashtray, just long enough for a pull of beer. Isa makes a face at the taste. "Horse piss," she asides under her breath, before glancing back to Crush. What does she do for a living? "This and that." An unconcerned flick of her scarred hand, which takes up the cigarette again. "Odd job, mostly."

…Something like that.

* * *

Crush chuckles, "Wouldn't know what horse piss tastes like myself." A tease, perhaps. She takes another long pull at her beer and then a few puffs on her cigarette- letting the smoke escape as plumes from either nostril.

"You don't look like you do odd jobs." Crush notes, "You look like you do something dangerous." Crush shrugs at that, clearly not all that interested in pressing the issue.

"Not that it's any of my business." The young woman adds as she just lazes and enjoys a free cigarette (with a hint of cloves) and the beer she's purchased. "Looks pretty big on the map to me, though, I ain't never looked at maps of them other places."

* * *

"Don't know literally. But would probably be this." Isa doesn't quite scowl, but she doesn't need to. The scarring of the right side of her face lends her something of a natural half-scowl any given day of the week. Fortunately, the jab seems in good humour. Her tone is still light as she taps ash into the ashtray; lifts her cigarette for another drag.

She doesn't look dangerous? Isa's mouth twists into a thin smile. "Odd job can be dangerous. Depend on what you do. But, da. I do." Dangerous things, that is. "This city is dangerous… but you are right. Is none of your business." Her dismissal is not angry, though, so that's probably a plus. "This city… smaller than most." She makes the shape of the island with her hands; one scarred, one unmarked. "City built up instead of out. Island."

"Still." Isa draws long and slow on her cigarette, watching the smoke trail from the other side of her mouth. "Is… interesting. Can find anything, here."

* * *

"Yup. Everything is available here. If you know where to look." Crush says with a chuckle, "Just gotta know what to look for, too." The teen finishes her cigarette, just putting the butt into the ashtray to let whatever's left burn slowly, a twisting shoe-string of oily smoke rising from the still lit tip.

"Is that why you're here? Looking for something?" Crush then wonders quietly, raising her hand towards the bartender, another beer brought out for her. She pays. The cap is again just flicked off as if it were wax paper.

* * *

"Depend on what you want." Isa has to hurry a little to finish her own cigarette, but she does, stubbing the remnants out in the ashtray. "Can probably find it here, though." She crushes the cherry down a little more for good measure, and doesn't let up until it's completely extinguished.

Isa seems to consider the question, mouth thinning in evident thought. It would, in a manner of speaking, not be incorrect; it would also not be a lie to say that. Her mouth twists. "Da," she says, after a second or two of hesitation. Then, she adds, "Yes." That blue eye settles on Crush again, thoughtful. "Don't think you can help me find it. But some time I ask for your help, maybe."

The ashtray is pushed aside, and she reaches into a pocket, putting down enough crumpled bills to cover all of their respective drinks, including the one Crush had already paid for. "And maybe some time you ask for my help, maybe, if you need something." Her mouth twists again, this time in a sour-looking half-smile. "I come here sometimes. You find me here, maybe." She twirls her beer bottle by its neck. "Don't come often. But sometime."

* * *

"I'll keep an eye out." Crush states simply, "I'm here often enough. Bartender knows me. Probably could leave a message with him." Crush states as she just stays where she's seated with her lounging form. She's clearly unworried in a place like this, although perhaps a young woman should be.

Of course, most young women can't bend a steel bottle cap like it was made of puddy. "You have a nice one." she offers to Isa with a nod up of her head.

* * *

"Will leave message, then, if I need something." Isa's acknowledgement is nonchalant, and she flicks her scarred hand in a gesture of dismissal. This is provided there's anything she even needs from the younger woman, but one never knows in a city like this. It pays to have contacts high and low; contacts, especially, that are held at a cordial distance from any personal details.

Isa pushes herself to her feet, draining the rest of her beer and setting the bottle down on the table with a quiet clunk of glass on wood. Given Crush's handling of the beer bottle cap, she probably doesn't have much to worry about in a place like this. Anyone who gives her trouble is going to have a Very Bad Time.

"You too." The scarred woman flicks a casual mockery of a salute before turning, and provided Crush has nothing else to add, makes her way out and back from whence she had come. A few sullen patrons watch her go, but nobody gives her any trouble.

…This time.

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