Good Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
Roleplaying Log: Good Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Domino does some networking at Shakedown.

Other Characters Referenced: Colossus
IC Date: March 05, 2019
IC Location: Shakedown - Mutant Town
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 07 Mar 2019 21:48
Rating & Warnings:
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

Tonight combines two things which Domino is not a fan of. Hanging out in Mutant Town, and running around unarmed. What she already knows of Shakedown means going 'clean' is the path of least resistance and as far as she can recall Piotr's not scheduled tonight, so no free pass there. It's not ideal, but what else can a lady do but leave the hardware in the car?

To most people it'd look like some goth chick has decided to haunt the place tonight, though a few of the people that work here have seen her before. Whether they know her reputation or not is another story. It isn't the music or the dancing which draws her inside. Her interests lie strictly at the bar, and in a rare turnabout it isn't strictly about the booze.

The black-clad albino takes a seat and leans forward on her elbows, her head cocked to one side as her attention lingers not upon the server. Not the drinks. Those she can see just fine in her periphery.

"Heya, Ric."

* * *

Shakedown is the kind of place where no one really gets funny looks for their clothes or their mutation. Not if they want to continue to feel welcome, in any case. The different and the odd can close ranks when faced with hostility from others. Fortunately for everyone, there are infinitely more bars and clubs that cater to non-metas than metas.

Rictor tends to take the slower shifts so his staff can have the high tip ones. That usually means he starts out early in the evening, goes to take care of other things, then comes back to help close up. Tonight is not exception. He's got a line of gin and tonics he's finishing up on the bar that get nudged over to a waiting woman who ends up carrying them two at a time over to her nearby friends. He gives the bartop a quick wipe-down, then looks up when he hears his name. If he's heard about her from his staff or by reputation, he doesn't let it show. "What can I get you?"

* * *

"How 'bout a double old fashioned?" the pale lady replies with a half smile. "Then maybe we can have a sitdown for a few minutes, because rumor has it that you're the man to talk to regarding a fun non-profit hobby on the side."

Domino's made sure that the area around the two is clear of any prying ears. That's not to say that someone else in here might have super-acute hearing but what would they be doing in a place surrounded with loud noises? She's willing to take her chances there. Being subtle may not be her biggest specialty but she knows all about keeping secrets.

With that matter out of the way she grins a hint and speaks a little more freely. "Guessin' the big cuddly Russkie has the night off?"

* * *

There's a display at the end of the bar that one of the women with the G&T idly checks out. It's a stack of t-shirts with 'Registration is Criminalization' in big white bold letters, and a sign that indicates that all proceeds go to the Meta legal Defense Fund.

Rictor makes a bit of a face at the order. "We're not a cocktail bar. I can give you a double whiskey on the rocks? I mean, I could try to make you an Old Fashioned, but I don't think it would meet your expectations," he grins wryly, then starts on the double whiskey unless he's stopped.

The comment about a 'fun non-profit hobby' and also a certain Russian has him side-eyeing her. "Why does this interest you?" he asks.

* * *

Neena chuckles softly regarding the drink. "Straight and true," she confirms. Plain whiskey always does the trick for her! As does the sight of the shirts at the end of the counter. A black nailed thumb hooks toward the sign when she says "Nice touch."

That's about enough small talk for now, right? Dom's always kind of iffy about that part. Play with a little bit of caution, wait for the recipient to level with her, then it's business as usual.

At Rictor's follow-up question, one which she had been anticipating, she lightly raps her knuckles on the bar top twice as if the habit helps her to organize her thoughts.

"I'm new to town but not to the tactics. And I have been led to believe..that you are helpful in moving people somewhere a little safer..if they so desire. All I want is a little confirmation right from the source, that if I happen to come across any such individuals that maybe I can help them to safely relocate before things go sideways. Am I on the right track here?" she inquires with something of an expectant look.

* * *

"I wasn't planning on selling them, but a few people asked," Rictor goes through the motion of pouring the drink. He even does a little wrist flick for a miniscule amount of flare bartending as he slides the bottle back behind the counter. He sets it out on a napkin.

He considers her and her words, jaw muscles tightening. He seems to be measuring whether or not to open up to her. It helps that she looks visibly mutant - or just really committed to the art of face paint. "Depends why they need moving," he says after a moment.

* * *

One of Domino's brows arches upward, then she's meaningfully finger-gunning right back to the pile of shirts. "Because this country as we know it is about to turn into a warzone and while -some- of us happen to find some appeal in that, it isn't everyone's jam."

The glass is taken from the table in the same fluid motion that makes an appreciable amount of whiskey disappear down to the albino's stomach before her next battery of questions are asked.

"How much do you know about our pal Piotr? Good sort, right? Looking out for the little guys? I'm subscribing to his newsletter lately. Name's Domino. He'll vouch for me. All I'm looking to do is lend a hand and occasionally do the right thing."

Even if her approach, and her methods, are a bit unorthodox. And more often than not quite illegal.

"If I do happen to find someone it's either I find a safe space for them or I drop them off at the docks and sweet talk the first captain that I see, and that can get a little pricey for me," she suggests with a slight shrug.

* * *

Rictor is, by reputation, not someone who is opposed to the illegal and unorthodox in principle. After all, he is with neither the X-Men, nor the Brotherhood - though rumour has it he has allies in both camps. He has a moral core, but has no love for human authorities nor faith in them to protect mutants and metas. But neither does he consider himself above humanity, nor is he quick to violence. It's a fine line.

He continues to watch her with a quasi-suspicious eye. "I will certainly check references." He doesn't take very much on faith. Too cynical. "If they can't get help any other way, we can help," he says cautiously, and quietly. Though no one is nearby. You can't live your life thinking people with super-hearing are everywhere, even though that's entirely possible. He just bets on said super-hearers being sympathetic to his cause.

* * *

Neena drums ghostly fingertips once..twice on the counter as she silently regards Rictor for a moment. During this time a hazy smirk never leaves her expression. She gets the suspicion, absolutely. This guy's in a precarious situation. Has to run a tight ship. It's the nature of the beast. She had been hoping to make a little more progress with the ammunition she already had to work with but it would seem that fell a -little- short of the mark. Still, she did break some ice here and has some of the confirmation she had been looking for.

Eye contact is only interrupted for another hit of whiskey. The glass comes down. An index finger drifts along the rounded glass edge.

"No hard feelings about the lack of trust. Maybe nothing comes out of this, who the hell knows. But if there's a shot that maybe we can save someone along the way, I'll be back. Otherwise I'll just stick around for more of your amazing double old fashioneds," she teases with a good-natured grin.

* * *

Tight, yes, but Rictor realizes he can't be too secretive. If word of a route out of the city doesn't get around Mutant Town, then the people who need it won't ever know it exists. But he knows he'd be naive to imagine that those who want to enforce legislation aren't also listening. Right now, what he's doing is not illegal. Most of the people he's moving don't have criminal records, or if they do, it's small misdemeanors. Technically not against the law to help them relocate quietly. They had a stay of execution with the delay in the enactment of the legislation, but it isn't much longer until it is against the law.

Then, the hammer might fall.

He continues to watch her with a half-squinting, half-suspicious look. "Mhmmm. That your way of asking for another?" he upnods to her glass.

* * *

Dom's smile grows just a little further at the offer. "Thought you'd never ask." As if that's all the reason she needed to finish the first glass the last of the amber colored booze is quick to disappear.

Then she decides to double down on tonight's meet and greet. Because why not? Pushing her luck -is- her biggest specialty! The empty glass is lightly slid off to the side as she hunkers forward again, hands catching opposite elbows as she regards the club owner. No sugar-coating this time around.

"It must really suck for you, being caught in the middle of this mess. Good guys, bad guys, corporate guys, government guys, maybe even some mob guys or thug guys for good measure," is suggested. "Your hands are probably well tied if you run into any dilemmas. Might happen to run into a situation where you want to do the right thing but you can't. Too many prying eyes..too much risk…"

She's fishing. It's not like she has anything to lose.

* * *

Rictor braces a hand on either side of himself, then leans forward, eyebrows lifting, longish hair drifting over one eye. "Are you offering to spread the word about my basement, or are you trying to sell your services as a mercenary?" He looks amused by the scenario rather than offended or put-off.

Then he half-squints, pushes back, and picks up a bottle of water from behind the bar. He swallows a mouthful. "I am not known for restraining myself when I see a situation that needs fixing." In fact, in his younger days, he was known for going off half-cocked. It's one of the big reasons he could never fully jive with the Xers.

* * *

A black-lined smirk is quick to return as Domino airily confirms "The second one. With a side of discretion. It's hard to make an appreciable difference without a bit of funding, you know?" She's playing on the fact that Rictor owns an entire club. Could he still do as much good for other mutants without such an establishment?

"I have been known to get my hands a -little- dirty from time to time, but I get that you need to keep this place squeaky clean. You aren't likely to look for some outside assistance unless it's -really- important. So..since you're offering to keep a door open for me, I'm offering to keep one open for you. Simple as that."

* * *

Rictor chuckles and bites the edge of his lip. He leans forward on the bar, a little more closely now. "You can leave the door open, but I can think of very few situations when I would need or want to pay for services. It may happen," there's a small headwobble. "But my friends can do a lot." Just his staff alone pack a good deal of firepower, which is probably why the authorities haven't raided him yet. "So I will say to you the same thing I say to people who come by looking for a job behind the bar when I am staffed up. Leave your resume and I'll keep you on file."

* * *

It's better than nothing. Yes indeed, the Shakedown does have some impressive security. But as Domino knows well, they can't always be the ones to take care of outlying problems. They work here, officially on the payroll. Their faces are well known to the clientele. Sometimes that kind of connection can be bad for business. It is perhaps amusing due to the complete lack of pigment in her skin that what Dom is offering is more about being a ghost than a simple gun for hire.

Now what she's offering is a business card, all glossed black with white detail front and back to make it look just like a playing piece from the game she shares a name with. The only text printed anywhere on it is a phone number, in a smaller font but large enough to easily make out. It gets neatly flicked down onto the counter between the two as if she's playing cards and just laid out a winning hand.

"For that one percent when your friends don't make the cut," she suggests.

* * *

That's giving Rictor more credit than he deserves for being even-headed, really. To think about the damage to the reputation of his business when he sees a problem he can fix himself? Not really him. Then again, he hasn't been a business owner for very long. Nor does he realize his growing profile as something of a community leader. It'll chafe when he figures that one out.

He picks up the card, turns it over, grins a little, then tucks it away in a spot behind the bar. It doesn't look like he scooped it into the trash, at least. "You should know that if it ever comes to me calling you? You are not going to have a fat payday if you take it. Do you have any idea how thin the margins are in a place like this?" He motions around. "I didn't until my accountant laid it out for me. I got drunk that night."

* * *

"I wasn't counting on it," Domino admits as her head drifts off to the other side for a while. This time it's followed by two fingertips sweeping a chunk of black hair away from an eye.

"Nothing in M-Town is rolling in the Bennies. I know where to look for bigger scores. The money is a factor..sure..but a gig around here involves community, and that's not often found elsewhere. This Registration ordeal is total bananas. I'm not about to warm a bench and wait for the fireworks."

"Besides. I also happen to be a fan of strong drinks, and this is the best joint in town to exercise that particular sin. Shame on me for wanting to make sure the doors stay open for a while longer."

* * *

"Yes, bananas. Not another word that starts with 'b'." Rictor whuffs a breath and chuckles humourlessly. "You sound like someone who should buy a t-shirt," he says wryly. "So why charge at all, if it's about community? Why not just help? I mean, I know we all need to feed ourselves, but if it is the right thing…" he trails off and headwobbles.

* * *

Neena is similarly taking on an 'amused-not-amused' expression here. "Operating costs," comes her response with a tone gone flat. Hands drift away from elbows in a 'what can ya do?' sort of shrug. "But, if you're in that tight of a pinch I -might- be willing to do some work in exchange for drinks. I've always believed in having a healthy relationship with the person who keeps the shots topped off. But, a girl's still gotta make a living."

Nevermind that she's recently signed up with the X-Men and doesn't have to worry about keeping herself fed for the forseeable future, but fuel and ammo still don't grow on trees.

* * *

Unless you meet some kind of reality-warping mutant who can make fuel and ammo grow on trees. Stranger things.

Rictor straightens up and glances around the club that's slowly getting busier. Business has been steady, because booze and community numb the feeling of impending doom. "It's nice to meet you, Domino. But I should get back to work. Feel free to stay and enjoy." He rocks back, then pauses, "…I locked up the karaoke machine, so no worries about that. I try to keep the singing to the open mic in the cafe."

* * *

"Oh thank god," Domino dryly replies while holding up her drink in mock-salute. "I picked the right night to stop by. Be seein' ya, Ric."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License