2014.02.06 - Scotch Whisky pt 1

The Hell House - Chicago IL

A popular merc dive in Chicago. It acts as a bar, hang out and middle-man agency for mercenaries, hit men, assassins and criminals in need of some cash. Built out of a run down church it's rugged, raggedy and full of degenerates entertainment comes in the form of a jukebox, a dancing cage, plenty of booze and several pool tables.

A section of one of the ugliest most avoided parts of the city sits quartered off from the rest of civilization housed in what was once a church, around it high black fences normally overgrown with weeds, discarded paper and refuge has now collected a good three in a half inches of snow that just perches upon the man-made barrier. It's cold, it's dark and there is a crisp enough wind it cuts past the fabric to the bone but there is the sounds of life and the promise of warmth coming from that standing decrepit looking old structure. The Hell House. It is here that Rose Wilson-Worth aka the Ravager got her first assignments by a shadowy corporation known as Cyberdata and soon after that Cadmus and their NOWHERE Project.

Ravager took a flight to O'Hare, and from there hired a local limousine company to pick her up from the airport that was asshole to elbow people getting back home or to home from their holiday visits. Next time Midway, mental note, but at least the limo services ran prompt and wasted no time but it tends to be this way when the company is run by a Russian mob boss. Be on time or lose limbs, small to large.

Pulling up the bald and lean driver looks back at her and then the establishment, a single brow rising beneath a scarred lid. He -knows-, and he didn't take her for the sort, Ravager looks more like she belongs dropped off in Boy's Town or Clark and Belmont strip of Taboo Tabou. To which she just flashes him a grin, slides him his money and gets out, ensuring her Halo phone is powered down and the other is up and running, sending a text ahead of time to her contact that she is outside, shrugging that black and white furred collar up closer to brush along her cheeks.

The gates creak and groan as a chain drawn by a mechanical pulley can be heard that is about as welcoming as it gets here at Hell House. Through the dimly lit and treacherously icy footing of the walkway one single ugly yellow light burns and a man in a dark black and green parka to poncho like rag stands. His shoulders massively wide to the point they are inhuman one gleaming eye is visible under the hood and a tooth, "Ravager." The monsterously sized doorman snorts and sniffs all at once before the door is shoved open beside him the atmosphere suddenly morphing to that of an open warm lit up bar with bodies littering the place from one end to the other central to the room is a bar with a cage around it. Welcome to the party.

Several figures look up and over most of them losing interest quickly several linger. High profile faces to low they're all here and recognizable. Even several TYGER mercenaries, off duty HYDRA agents trying to make a name for themselves, a trio of deadly women sitting around a lone hooded figure, a cyborg with hunched over the bar using two stools to sit, it looks like modern day Mos Eisley on Earth, "A wretched hive of scum and villainy."

Rose is there for one purpose, though the environment is a tempting one as the door opens to her, with her name the calling card of permission. That coat only is sealed around her middle, corseted to her waist and dropping to flare out with each booted step forward, leather pants lacing up the sides and leaving glimpses of flesh beneath the x's and o's of tightly pulled strings. White hair is left down, veiling either side of her face and swept across, parted to the side to allow a flow of hair to cover the patched up side of her face, though here she did not feel like she needed it, another part of her called this -home-.

Lingering and mingling later perhaps, especially once Taskmaster is done with his Serpents, she had a few questions for him, but until then she had a meet and greet with Patch, the man behind the caged in bar - her destination.

Patch, short for Dispatcher isn't the man's real name and it at times conflicts with another Patch out of Madripoor but this isn't Madripoor and this sure isn't /that/ Patch the only thing this one shares in common with the other is an extreme amount of hair and a diminutive size. Otherwise, nothing a like.

The smile the Gnome fires at Ravager easily visible behind the bar hovering it's inch or so above the surface in one hand a bottle of Kraken the other an empty glass that he immediately sets to filling and sliding through one of the openings of the cage, "One of my prettiest VIPs."

Being a VIP at the Hell House doesn't award one much other than a bottle of choice that sits around waiting for them and dibs on some of the more difficult higher paying jobs. A man like Patch can't look bad by sending a bunch of newbies off after someone like Daredevil for the Kingpin. You lose business that way.

"I was wondering when you'd swing back this way. We've missed ya... " Bushy eyebrows that don't hide the squint and curious look given in regards to her new Pirate look. "Thats just on the side of eerie. Heard along the vine some things have been going down for you 'n' your pappy." A small smile and he tops off her drink just a knuckle from the top. "I'm guessing the other guy came out looking much worse."

Sliding into a stool, Ravager eyes the drink, a small smile creeping across lips that only takes one corner heavenward. She isn't supposed to be doing this, the drinking - any of it, but the lengths you go... Small sacrifices and all. Taking up the glass she lifts it in salute towards Patch before she downs it and sets the empty glass back on the counter. "You don't get tenders that recall your favorites in New York that often, they forget you after a week of being gone." Too many worn out faces in worn out places, but Patch got her the good jobs, the long term jobs, if she didn't go turncoat. No telling if it was the after burn of the alcohol or the thought of NOWHERE that made her cringe but either way she is sliding the glass back through the bars in a sign to keep 'em coming.

"Can never stay gone too long, some things have changed and I've needed time to... " Ravager pauses to note he noticed and is focused on the patch. "Adjust." Nodding lightly she smiled to Patch, one that narrows her eyes. "He's dead." Now that cold numbness is coming back, behind a Mona Lisa smile.

"That was probably his best option, I'm sure." Patch teeters back no his heels so he can look upwards at Rose an almost bird like cock of his head happening, "So, you here for a line or you after other information? You know my fees." Pleasantries aside it is straight to business now. Give to get. It's the way the game is played.

The cyborg at the bar releases a mechanical shuddering sound before looking over, half of his face exposed and metallic with crocodile like robot teeth exposed. "Another."

Patch grins and holds up a hand to pause his conversation with Ravager to sling the man a drink, "That'll be your last one friend if you interrupt my business again."

A grunt is the response but the half-man half-machine doesn't pursue it beyond that. This is Patch's house.

Deep laughter can be heard from where the Skull faced merc and his trio of Bad Girls sits. A pool table behind them breaks out in loud shouting but it is all ignored it seems a red skinned mutant didn't like one of the shots a TYGER mercenary pulled off.

"New Year and Holidays are busy." Patch informs her. They always are. Some are just here drinking off their New Years drunk amongst their own kind. Some.

Rose tilts her head, a slight motion that makes the white hair fall in a wave over her fur cuffed shoulder and down to hit the bar top silently - this angle so she can gain a full view of the man-machine. A simple gesture that would have been more conspicuous before her mishap.

Once Patch tends to him and returns to their business Rose drops her hand into her pocket and withdraws cash, setting it down on the counter beside her glass. "I know your fees. I'm looking for work again, Cyberdata I heard is back out and about. Figure since they are so close to how NOWHERE operated, they'll be looking for someone of my caliber and experience."

"Cyberdata is a risky one, Rose. You know they have you flagged right?" How did Patch know such things? It's what he does. Information brokering and setting up his clientele in both directions is how he makes his bread and butter. This little slip for Ravager is how far it goes, that is beyond a personal curtiousy that is straight up looking out for someone else. He must like her. Ask what exactly /flagged/ means... it means she is not on their list of hirees and very even possibly a prospective mark. Only the ins know such things and clearly he is one of those. "Or we in the middle of some game?"

Patch asks quizzically, his bushy white brows shooting upwards as he takes a quick glance over his establishment. The dwarf of a man knows how this works and if a major player like Cyberdata wants someone offed they don't generally spare expenses.

Rose pauses then, the fingertips on the only curl in on themselves but leave the money there, a clear sign for Patch to take it anyway. "I'm not playing you Patch, that much I can say. Thank you for letting me know." Her tone drops at the end, her drink taken in hand and knocked back as she simultaneously stands, casting one more glance back towards the skull faced merc surrounded in his den of /snakes/.

Crystal clear.

"They just moved faster than me." Not surprised in the least there, though she had not been out and about openly with her team, sometimes guilty by association is all it takes.

"Getting soft with your new crew, huh?" Patch teases and advises a little all in one swing. The serpent fixated skull pays no mind to the young mercenary and her current plight, clearly the man has other things on his mind and she ain't one of them.

"Final word of advice... when you leave here, leave hot." Looking around once more Patch leans forward and dumps his elbow over the money she laid out, neatly taking it off the table unseen (relatively). "if you catch what I am saying? It's cold as a Yeti's balls outside."

Soft? Rose deadpans at Patch, the look is utterly indifferent, placid - but the moment alone could be to blame. Blinking slowly it is like a veil lifted, and with the rise of exposed lid the smile begins to form, one that is all teeth and something ravenous lays beneath.

"Does caring make us soft, Patch?" She leans in as he slides forward for the money, her lips pressed to his forehead and then gone, turning with the widened slap of leather talks from her jacket catching up to the motion. With the parting around her legs the glimpse of weaponry strapped on thighs can be seen. Only the beginning.

"I may have soft spots, but I only get hotter to make up for it." Talks the talk...

Patch gives a warm and knowing smile at the question but doesn't gift his own response even as she touches lips to his forehead which causes his cheeks to rosy up and look like some miniature Santa Claus. Jolly and all. "Good luck, Rose." It's apparent that is all she will be getting from the micro-info-broker. She's on her own from here, even Taskmaster in the corner is preoccupied and showing little to no interest in what could be the plight of Deathstroke the Terminator's offspring. Hell, he paid his dues; the slate is blank and clean. Time to step on outside and in to the chilly embrace of Jack Frost.