|Location||Sloppy Pony - Mutant Town - New York City|
|Summary||Ciel has a drink.|
From the look of her, Ciel has had a long day. It's not that she's a rare creature at the Sloppy Pony - she's a fairly regular customer. It's that she doesn't usually /start/ with the whiskey. Not unless it's a Friday, anyway. And yet here she is, slinging herself up to a barstool with the hot weight of her hair lifted off her neck with the scoop of a hand as she calls, "On the rocks, please!" She scrubs her hand back through dark waves, loosening them, and spins a little to take in the bar with a quick study. She's clad in dark jeans and a thin-strapped tank in deference to the New York summer, and she leaves the strap of her leather bag crossed over her chest in deference to Mutant Town residents with sticky fingers.
The Sloppy Pony isn't exactly a fancy place, though Finn has done what he could since he started working there to expand the repertoire of available alcoholic drinks. The collection of booze has slowly grown, and mixed drinks and wines can now be ordered (though they rarely are) along with the more usual beers and shots. Behind the bar, Finn McLowry is on duty, pouring beer from a tap to a frosty mug and setting it down in front of a fellow who looks like maybe this should be his last round. He glances over as Ciel arrives, flashing her a smile as he grabs down a lowball glass, drops in a pair of ice cubes and adds a generous finger of whiskey. "Long day?"
"Oh, you know," Ciel answers, breezy in smile and voice as she looses her hair to fall against her back. "Sneaking through dirty alleys and in back doors trying to catch the money shot to ruin some poor thing's marriage. Myyy favorite." She draws the word out, sing-song, and leans into the bar to scoop up the glass with a broadly grateful, "Thanks. How's the Pony tonight?
"It's a glamorous life you lead," Finn laughs as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the bar. "Pony's... you know. Still standin'. Got all for legs. Still sloppy. Insert-horse-joke-here."
"That's me," Ciel answers, humor dry as she lifts the glass in lazy toast, then tucks it against her lips for a testing swallow. "Mmm," she says, and then adds, "Most glamorous fucking job on the planet. Never wanna do anything else.
"Sounds it and all," Finn agrees, shifting his weight so he can stand more heavily on one foot and let the other rest. "How'd you luck upon such an impressive career, anyway?"
"Got sick of being a mercenary," Ciel answers over the rim of her glass. From the lazy curve of her smile and the light lilt of her voice, it's difficult to tell whether she's at all serious. "Knew the right people." Another sip, small, and she adds, "And you can't /beat/ the pay." That one's definitely a joke.
"See, me, were it me, I'd've stuck with mercenary," Finn confides. "You got travel, variety and there's the fun bonus of fighting for your life with regularity."
"Yeah," Ciel sighs in answer. "I do miss that." She gives Finn a lazy smile and lifts her glass, swirling it lazily. "You could always head over. Learn to shoot a gun straight, they're not that picky.
"Hmm," Finn muses, tapping a finger against his bottom lip as he peers thoughtfully up at the ceiling, "maybe I will. Forget cooking, it's headhunting I really want to do."
"Yeah?" Ciel leans back, stretching long legs beneath the bar. "What's the best part, do you think?/
"Same as any job, really. Satisfaction of a job well done," Finn replies, straightening to pluck the rag from his back pocket and wipe down the bar. "Well, that and the trophies."
"The trophies?" Ciel's smile spreads with lazy amusement as she draws her thumb along the curved rim of her glass. "Like what?
"Well, the... hang on," Finn squints over at Ciel, "are we talking mercenaries or cooking?"
"I was talking mercs," Ciel answers. She tucks her glass up, letting a thin trickle of liquor slide down her throat as she lifts her brows at Finn. "But I'd take cooking, I suppose.
"Well, cooking trophies aren't much. They're usually knives or spatulas or something," Finn confides. "I guess that mercenary trophies would be a lot more impressive. Gold teeth and pocket watches and things. Or is that pirates?" Glancing over to her glass, he asks, "Another?"
"Yeah, hook me up," Ciel says, and since it's coming, she lifts her glass to finish off her first with a quick swallow, throat working against the burn of whiskey. "Mmm. Shit." She shivers slightly, then tips Finn a quick flash of a smile. "Sounds like pirates to me. I don't think people tend toward gold teeth anymore. Or-- pocket watches.
"What do they tend towards, then?" Finn asks, collecting her glass and fetching a fresh one to add ice and another splash of whiskey. "I don't really know what I'd keep. Just memories, probably."
"Eyes?" Ciel answers, tilting her head in curious question. "Have you actually known someone with a pocket watch?" She leans forward, tipping into the bar to collect her second glass.
"My father has one," Finn replies as he shifts away to collect empty glasses and payments before returns to stand across from Ciel, again. "Eyes? Really? Like, in jars?"
Ciel spend a moment looking intensely confused as she tracks Finn's movements. She waves a hand toward her eyes, indicating the familiar rings of the electronic device fitted there with a flick of her fingers, "No-- /Eyes/. Secondhand market's good.
"Oh... /Oh/," Finn laughs. "Okay, that's way less gruesome. Though how would you know which was which once you had them?"
"Which was which what?" Ciel wonders. Her tone draws lazy and loose as the second whiskey starts to buzz its way through her system.
"Which eyes were which. If they're trophies," Finn replies, a corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile.
"They're not all the same," Ciel points out. She tips her glass toward him, then drags her gaze across the bar in lazy study. "Money's better than trophies. If you're a mercenary. Kinda the point."
"But something must be better than money," Finn points out, "if you stopped."
"Ah," Ciel answers, straightening with a quick grin as she finishes her drink in one long swallow. "Now there's an assumption." She gives Finn a quick wink as she finds her feet, then passes payment over with a quick command to her own Eyes.
"Guess I better make sure I stay on the right side of the law, then," Finn laughs. He collects Ciel's glass as the payment goes through and plunks it into the small, soapy sink behind the bar. "Take care. See you next go 'round.""As always," Ciel agrees. She sketches him a lazy salute, running her hand down the strap of her bag to check its weight before she angles for the door.