Date: April 1, 2000
Place: The Siren's Song - Haven
Cast: Fabio Rodriguez, Jenny Rodriguez, Jerry Rodriguez, Johnny Rodriguez, Li'l Imp, Machine Gun Marty, Nazi Nightmare, Polly Pubilos, Red Jen, Silver Dame Selene, Sister Vanora, Tara, Ty August, Ty the Mouth, Vert the Hurt, Wings Augustin
Scene: A whole host of memorable characters walk into the local speakeasy one evening.

The door opens quietly and a woman with a long coat and spectacles enters. Narrowing her eyes as she looks at the people gathered here, she makes a few strictly disciplined steps towards the bar. "Ein schnapps, bitte," Nightmare's voice rings at the barman.

Sister Vanora strolls inside, along with everyone else, looking perfectly comfortable in these surroundings. She even nods to a couple of other customers as she saunters her way towards the bar. For those in the know, this nun ain't as holy as she would like to pretend. No, really.

The barman nods, evidently not that deep in conversation with Jen he's missing orders. A schnapps is slid to the long-coated woman. Grins at the Sister."What'll it be, sister?"

Jen sips on a bourbon, watching.

Wearing a dress that would make the leanest, meanest floozy jealous, Wings Augustin strolls in. The red feather boa is looped around her neck, snakes over her slender arms and she twirls the end of it as olive-green eyes survey the crowd. All slick. All slim. That is, until her high heels catch on a raised splinter in the ground, on her third step. Wings' arms fly out as she crashes forward, as if that might help stop or soften the fall. Red feathers burst out of the boa and float gallantly to coat Wings, her floozy dress, and her momentarily-crumpled form. Didn't take too long for her to demonstrate how she got her nickname. 'Wings' sure doesn't have any on her feet, just seems to fall down every opportunity.

Johnny Rodriguez saunters in, holstering his double golden Barettas with a twirling flourish. He immediately begins hitting on some cute chica at the door, draping his arm around her. "Hola, chica. Whas a pretty lady like you doin' in a dump like this, eh? Let me take you away from it all..."

Sister Vanora slaps a hand on the bar as she gives the 'tender a smirk. "Vodka, rocks, if you would," she requests in her sweet voice, before settling herself comfortably on a stool.

Jerry Rodriguez follows his brother in, rolling his eyes as he watches him fall over that poor girl. Leaning close to the man, he whispers, "Save it, I'm the irresistible one, remember?" and takes the chica's arm, leading her over to the bar.

It's always somethin', when yer just gettin' around to havin' a quiet night. And it's always a broad behind it all, somehow. Ty shoots a look over at Wings as he enters behind her, and pauses as she falls down, and then rolls his blue eyes skyward. Or roofward, as the case may be. "Honey, lemme buy you a drink."It sure can't do anything to disimprove her co-ordination. He kneels, mindful of his trenchcoat (doesn't everyone have one) and with his battered fedora still on his head, to give Wings a hand up.

Fabio Rodriguez stalks in along with Johnny, leading his nasty-looking dog, who is currently engaged in eating a rat, on a leash.

"Comin' right up." One shot of Stoli. Ice.

Red Jen sets her purse on the bar, rummages in it, producing a mirror, and checks herself in it, patting a few out-of-place locks.

Upon hearing the word 'vodka,' Nightmare blinks. So, a spy! Right in the middle of the bar. She had heard rumors, but this would certainly get her in a high position, possibly Gestapo. "You prefer vodka, ja?" she asks looking at the sister. "That be most interesantish... was is your name? Ich bin Fraulein Nightmare... a name frequently used in my hometown."

Li'l Imp walks up to the bar, nonchalantly twirling a tommy. "Gimme a sodie. I ain't old enough to drink yet."

At least Wings is practiced at this -- being helped up. And she bestows upon Ty a brilliant smile, a coy tilt of her head and a wink. She probably saw someone else -- like that chica -- doing this and thought it might be a good way to, well... distract the world from her inevitable and on-going clumsiness. "Why Ty, I'd love that you bought me a drink." It's a fake, fake, fake, fake Southern accent.

"Sodie comin' up, shortstuff." Glass. Bottle. Ice. A well oiled -- no, try again... well lubricated... mmm, no... you get the idea, anyway... machine, is the 'tender.

Sister Vanora grabs the glass of vodka, rattling the ice absently as she turns to give Nightmare a raised eyebrow. "How quaint," the nun observes, before taking a swig of alcohol. "As for my own name, you can call me Sister Vanora." Another swig is followed by, "A long ways from home, aren't you?"

Silver Dame Selene and Machine Gun Marty step into the tavern from the docks outside.

Fabio Rodriguez kicks his dog until he drops the rat, and throws up what he already ate. "Dumb mutt..." he mutters, dragging the dog hard towards the bar, where he sits without ordering anything.

Ty August doesn't even wince; not yet, anyway. He holds out his arm in a gallant manner for Wings to slip a hand through, and escorts her to the bar. And in an undertone, "Just don't spill it, sweetie. It wouldn't be right, you takin' a powder on company time, you get me?" And it's on towards the bar, with Wings and her boa (which is shedding like a dyspeptic parrot) in tow. . o O (Damn if she ain't the clumsiest broad I know: she don't clean up bad, mind like a tack, but two left feet an' last in line when God was givin' out co-ordination.)

Vert the Hurt steps into the tavern from the docks outside.

Li'l Imp is a hard drinker, and he gulps his soda in one hit, sighing with satisfaction. "Gimme another one -- on the rocks."

Nazi Nightmare laughs demonstratively. "There ist no place where a true Fraulein be not in home," she states. "And you, mein sister. Was be you doing in such a place of..." she looks arround. "Such a place of disrespectable and corrupt Herr und Fraulein? Ist it not to sprechen mit one doctor Jones?" She then takes glass of schnapps and empties it with one action.

The door opens and admits yet a few more patrons to the Song. The dame, dripping with ice and clothed in silver from head to toe looks out of place in a dive like this, but she doesn't seem affected by it at all. A couple of goons with ugly mugs follow her, as well as her escort, a man with a bright grin, too bright. He must be up to something. The dame glances over her shoulder and then gestures to a smoky corner booth. The goons make themselves scarce, picking shadows for themselves while the silver dame and her machine gun pal continue onward.

Johnny Rodriguez and the rest of the Rodriguezes, except for Fabio with his lame mutt, take up a corner table of the Song. There rages a violent game of strip-poker.

Glass. Bottle. Ice. While pouring two shots of bourbon from two bottles with the other.

Jen puts her mirror away, pouts, and whines at the 'tender. "He's late again. Every goddamn time we have a date, and he doesn't show. A goil doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Jerry Rodriguez sits with his arm around the beautiful li'l chica he stole from his brother. He can't help but grin at the older man, who never gets any action. A whisper is shared between himself and the young woman, and she giggles. That's just Jerry showin' off for ya.

"'Ey," Ty greets the 'tender. By contrast to the Silver Dame, he looks right in place, his clothes those of a workin' man taking his gal out for a night 'on the town.' "Get the lady whatever she wants, and a whiskey for me. On the rocks." He gets Wings all settled on a bar stool and pulls out a lighter, cigarette already in the corner of his mouth -- a glance over at Wings, who is busy fumbling with her cigarette holder, having trouble putting the cigarette in the holder. God help her when she's actually got to get the thing lighted; Ty has brief and terrible visions of her setting that boa on fire. Thing cost at least a buck-twenty.

Sister Vanora eyes the German Fraulein askance, trying to work her way through the thick accent and not quite succeeding. Glancing over her shoulder at those who just entered, the nun then shrugs her shoulders and downs the rest of her vodka. "Just spreadin' the Lord's work," she replies as she bangs her glass back onto the bar. Another glance is tossed to Ty and Wings, and the holy sister looks them up and down with a faint smirk. Before looking around for something else to drink.

"Whiskey on the rocks." Clunk. Thop. Glug. "An' fer the lady?"

Machine-Gun Marty tails along beside Selene, one hand tucked in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He gives a cool gaze over toward the Rodriguez table, watches them for a long time. It's not a pleasant gaze. Most folks'd be wise to look other directions. He slips into a chair across from Selene slowly, leaning his back against the wall and watching the room with that same cold grin. "You let me know if you need anything, doll."

Dat's all right, though. Johnny replaced the broad. He sits with a hot little number in a red dress, a red-head, on his lap. This one ain't got nothin' else on 'er mind, and she ain't goin' nowhere.

As Wings hops off her stool to retrieve the cigarette she just dropped on the floor, holder in one hand and boa trailing all over the floor, Ty answers for his 'gal.' "She'll have a Bloody Mary." He crosses his fingers under the table. If Wings don't want that drink, she better speak up from under her barstool.

Jenny Rodriguez steps into the tavern from the docks outside.

Vert the Hurt strolls in a few moments after the dame and her little entourage, cracking his knuckles rather ominously as he glares around the room. Then, apparently satisfied, he saunters after the others, adjusting his crisp fedora as he does so. "Evenin', Marty," he greets as he slides up to the corner table, tipping the brim of his fedora to Sel as he does so. "Howz things wit' you?"

Tara comes down from the upstairs rooms.

"But naturlich, mein sister," Nightmare nods with the sort of expression that says a lot of things, but definitely not that she believes her. She does look over her shoulder every now and then, but as of yet there is no one of interest... at least no one she would think of as interesting or useful. "Und zo... was are you doing in life?"

With furrowed brow and certain concentration, Wings does achieve cig-in-holder mode. She then proffers the thing to Ty, for him to light it. And then she has to look around too, gaze caught by the silver-dressed woman. Wings leans over to Ty and nods toward the gal, "You think my boa costs, Ty, you take a gander at that."

Tara clatters her way downstairs in high heels and a killer blue dress, pausing a few steps from the top to seek out potentially rich, bored prey.

Machine Gun Marty speaks like a wind blowing across a frozen lake. "Vert. Good to see you." Oh yeah, he's cultured. Probably has to be to stick around the silver lady very often. He gives a nod and a tip of his hat.

Silver Dame Selene drapes herself over the chair, ignoring the slit up the side of her dress that exposes much of her leg, or perhaps it was the dame's intention. She gives Vert a dazzling smile to rival the jewels she wears and with a wink to Marty she replies, "Bourbon, straight up, sugar." Her foot kicks forward and pushes the nearest chair out toward the newly-arrived Vert. "Have a seat."

Sister Vanora looks to be running low on patience with her new "friend," but suffers through with pious charity for the less fortunate. I mean, the other woman is German. "In life, Fraulein? I'm a nun. See?" She waves her rosary in demonstration. "I minister to the poor and all that junk. Help those who ain't got too much. Or that's the theory, anyhow."

Ty August ganders. Boy, does he gander, unconcerned with the ugly mugs surrounding the Silver Dame. Now that, that there's a long drink of cool water after a dusty day. Lips quirk a little, and he lights Wings' cigarette for her with a flourish. "You ain't lyin', sweetie." So he's spreading the endearments on a little thick. So what? It takes an effort for him to peel his gaze off Selene and return it to Wings. A long, slow exhalation spreads smoke out of mouth and both nostrils, to mingle with the haze already in the bar.

"Bloody Mary for da dame..." V. TJ. Dash of that mysterious Limey sauce. And a bourbon poured with the other hand for Selene.

Wings Augustin doesn't look all that shocked that her 'guy' is drooling after another doll. But, his actions make it easier for her to not feel quite as terrible as she would, when the ill-fitted cig falls out of the lighter, just after it gets a good burn going, and falls on her companion's lap. "Oh! Oh!" Wings struggles out of her stool, upsetting that, and, well... She'd grab the thing from Ty, but it's kind of close to... To down there, you know. "Ty! Your...!" Hopefully bystanders won't think that Wings is just pointing out, in a very blond manner, Ty's reaction to his long perusal of Selene.

Machine Gun Marty unfolds himself out of his seat. "On the way, doll. You take care of her, eh, Vert?" Marty sort of slides across the room, and a few of the patrons part out of his way and find other things to be doing with their attention. He sidles up and taps his hand on the bar for some service. He fixes Ty August with a look. "Hey. Are you lookin' at something?"

"Ah, ya?" Nightmare crosses her arms. "When was the last time you hast been in church, mein sister? Was are the ten commandments? Was are your parents and where did they meet?" She asks at incredible speed, then stopping only to take a breath goes on. "Was is your relation mit Doctor Jones? Where hast you met him?"

Red Jen tsks, lights up a cigarette with slightly more style than Wings, lets smoke and holder hang from her fingers. "I mean. Y'd think I didn't matter to him. Me." That Noo Yawk whine could grate after a while.

And as the cigarette burns a hole in Ty's good, two dollar pants, he swears, and jumps off his stool, cig rolling on the ground as he claps a hand over his groin. A well- placed stomp sets out yet another smoldering fire waiting to happen. Painfully reseating himself, the 'working man' sighs. . o O (Wonder if our client'll pay for these damages....) "Yeah, doll, it's awright." Poking two fingers through the hole in his 'fine blended wool weave' pants, he adds, "A little bigger'n normal..." You'd think this has happened before? Let those who are listening in think what they will!

Tara teeters her way across towards the Rodriguez boys. Now, lessee. Which one of the two is easiest to muscle in on when you're cute, blonde and stacked.

Whoo boy. This is going to require a lot more vodka. Sister Vanora lifts a hand to signal the bartender -- rather frantically -- for another vodka rocks, before leaning back a bit to give Nightmare a little frown. "Who's this 'Doctor Jones' you keep jabbering about? The name doesn't ring a bell with me. And my parents ain't none of your business."

Probably the dumb, blond and well-dressed one. Fabio Rodriguez tends to his stupid dog, until the numb mutt goes howling out the door and into the street. A few second later, a gunshot, then silence. The big idiot grins.

Vodka. Ice. No comment.

With a muttered curse, Jerry withdraws his pistol, holstering it, but giving his brother a menacing glare. His attention returns to the shot glass in front of him, and in one gulp he downs it. Bloodlust still holds this man, apparently.

Machine Gun Marty lets out a laugh. A short laugh, and a harsh laugh, as the "working man" finds something else to be doing. The bartender slings him a bourbon, and Marty takes off across the room, back toward the silver lady and the goons with her.

Wings Augustin leans over to peer at the hole until she remembers, belatedly, just where she is. A blush highlights her cheeks, hiding for a moment the un-doll-like freckles on her face, that she couldn't quite cover with hours in front of a mirror and far too much makeup (and he said that she 'cleans up' well -- after she's put on all sorts of refined mud!). "Oh, Ty. I'm so sorry." There's that Southern accent back again. Wings remembered. Then she leans closer and murmurs, so that only the nearest can hear, "Is that the one we're supposed to be watchin', Ty?"

Johnny Rodriguez chuckles at his brother. "Jerry! You gotta get out an' shoot someone before you freakin' blow, man! Go find summa Al's boys, take it out, eh?"

A small revolver suddenly appears at the bar... held by the Library Nazi and pointed towards the nun. "Ich am afraid that it ist mein business, mein sister," her voice is more then determined. "Zo... you tell me all I ask and I not kill you and burn up this place... and kill all ze witnesses, ja?"

Vert the Hurt drops into the chair and leans back slowly, giving both Sel and Marty a wide grin as the other man returns with the bourbon. Silver teeth glint in the dim light. How attractive. "You're lookin' as gorgeous as ever, doll," he comments to the dame. "And you, Marty... you ain't lookin' so bad yourself. Life is good, I assume."

Jerry Rodriguez snorts, his sharp gaze sweeping across the crowded room. "May as well do it here... this place stinks awful. Wretched people..." He continues to mutter quietly to himself as he pours himself another shot.

Li'l Imp's gun is at the idiot German's temple immediately. "Drop ya toy, sistah."

Another Rodriguez enters the building. Shorter, thinner, with more bosom. Long, wavy brown hair bounces around her shoulders as she steps lively towards her brothers. Dressed in a peach-colored dress with a tight waist and a low V-cut neckline, she passes a casual glance at the other patrons before coming up behind her 'tense' brother Jerry, and laying her hands on his shoulders. "Heya boys. Behavin' so far, I see."

Never mistake a guy's idea of a 'cleaned up gal' to actually be clean, either morally or literally. Ty himself prefers his girls over easy and with a clever hand at making themselves up. "Nevahmind it, honeybunch." Ty's scraping the bottom of his rather limited barrel of endearments. "No harm done." Except to his two dollar trousers, which will go on the itemized bill along with August and Augustin's hourly rate. And in a much, much lower voice, "That's the one. The ugly mug that looks like first cousin to a gorilla."

Silver Dame Selene leans forward and places a kiss to Vert's cheek. "Thanks, sugar," she teases, following the kiss with a playful pinch of that same cheek. That gesture is followed by a giggles from the silver dame as she leans back in her chair to survey the room. Her eyes wander over each patron, delivering a sly wink to any whose eye meets hers, but she makes no move to join any of their tables. Instead, she accepts the drink with a blown kiss to Marty. "Either of you boys got any cigs?" she asks eyes sliding between Vert and Marty

Jerry Rodriguez's eyes light up with hope. He may get to kill someone after all! A devilish grin finds its way across his face and his hands cross under his coat, reaching for the pair of Golden Baretta's holstered within. He doesn't pull them out yet... but watches with an intense interest.

Tara plonks herself on a corner of Jerry's table, displaying about a yard of thigh up the split side of her dress.

"I don't touch 'em, doll. Maybe Vert can help y'out." Marty drops into his chair again, props his feet up on the nearby chair and keeps a close eye on the Rodriguez clan. He reaches over and gives Vert a nudge with his elbow. "I think we got trouble coming." He turns his cold gaze over on Selene, and it warms up a bit. "You may want to watch yourself, doll."

Johnny Rodriguez raises an eyebrow to the dame who just sat on his table. "Can I help you, chica?" he queries in his Latino accent.

With an arrogant shake of her head, Jenny Rodriguez stares at the hunk of human flesh on the table. "Got yaself 'nother of those cheap whores, Jerry? Ya gonna shoo her 'way, or can I?"

Red Jen sighs. "Every damn toime." She nods to the bartender, who's reaching under the bar for something. "I'm getting tired of cleaning this place up."

Vert the Hurt smirks at Sel's kiss, rubbing his stubbled cheek with one hand while reaching into his pinstripe suit with the other. "I gots some right here, doll," he murmurs, pulling 'em out and tossing them across the table to her. Then, at Marty's words, he lifts an eyebrow and turns in his chair, looking for the source of this trouble. "Where at, Marty?"

Tara pouts. "I ain't cheap." That's a real Southern accent, as can be told from the fact that those three words took fifteen syllables.

Jerry Rodriguez blinks... that woman. His hands lose their grip completely on the weapons as his eyes fall upon her bared flesh. There's more than one way to get rid of a bloodlust... he reminds himself. His sister's comment, though, ruins his little fantasy.

Fabio Rodriguez guffaws stupidly at this new entry. "Hiya, dame. What do ya say you an' me finds us someplace... uh, quiet."

Sister Vanora lifts her eyebrows at Nightmare's revolver, then at Li'l Imp's timely rescue. "Finally," she mutters to herself as her vodka materializes. You'd think she has guns pointed at her all the time. Taking a slug, the nun then gives the German a sweet little smile. "Go question someone else, sugar. I'm busy catchin' up on a week's worth of solitary prayer." Raising her glass, her smile widens. "Amen."

Machine Gun Marty jerks his head over toward the Rodriguezes. "Over dere. The one guy's got a thing for pistols. He don't look too stable, if you know what I mean?" He pushes the brim of his hat up a bit, scratches at his forehead idly. And if he's really that worried, you'd think he'd be a bit more tense.

Johnny Rodriguez hears Marty's comment. He throws one of his own Barettas into the air, and catches it behind his back. He begins polishing it quite meaningfully, as he lays four clips out on the table.

Tara attention is drawn. A giggle. "Oo. I like a man with a big... gun."

Ty the Mouth and Polly Pubilos step into the tavern from the docks outside.

Li'l Imp would cock the gun against the Nazi's head, but hey, it's a tommy; they don't cock. "I suggests youse finds a seat an' cools down, sistah. I don't wanna get my new suit mucked up."

Jerry Rodriguez chuckles and grins at his brother. 'Yes yes yes!' his mind rages. His own Barettas are drawn, and laid out crossed on the table. His grin only widening he sits back casually in his chair, hands not even near the pistols.

"Das isn't gut fur you," the Nightmare says sharply. "In minutes the entire place vil be full with SS," she then adds, her tone quite loud. "Und you know, mein damen und Herr was will happen when the SS comme? You all are defenseless und vill undoubtedly be killed, ja?"

Fabio Rodriguez picks up on the cue, and lays his own colt and two tommys out on the table, along with various clips, and starts reloading.

Silver Dame Selene runs her fingers through the thick stole of silver fox around her shoulders and slides her cheek across the soft fur to quietly regard the table of brothers and chippys. She doesn't appear impressed with Johnny's display of bean shooter acrobatics. She laughs and turns back to Marty and taps his leg playfully with her toe. "Aww, just a bunch of thugs, Marty, they ain't so much trouble." That said, she claims her drink and swings it back in one motion.

Vert the Hurt eyes the Rodriguez clan for a moment, then shakes his head slowly. "Doll-face is right, Marty. Just a bunch o' thugs. They won't give us no trouble. They know better'n that."

Ty the Mouth strolls into the join like he thinks he owns the place, he spins a very nice pocket watch by his hip (Wonder who he nicked that from, eh). Wearing a shiny new spiffy zoot suit with the normal overblown hat, all in a rather obnoxious shade of bright purple -- which he obviously thinks is quite the fashion statement. He scans the room for just a moment before dismissing the others present as petty crooks and useless blowhards, he makes his way to the bar.

Ain't so much trouble eh? Jerry wants to burst out laughing, but he contains himself for now, satisfied with a broad and evil smile of smug superiority and contempt. His arms are crossed, mimicking the guns laid out on the table and he yawns, visibly and audible so Marty notices.

Machine Gun Marty gives Selene a wink. "Yeh, y'right. Not worth the time." He yawns, slow and wide, and covers his mouth with the back of his hand. "'Scuse me. So Vert, what's news?"

"Gee." That giggle again from Tara, and she plonks herself in Jerry's lap. "Hi, sugah."

Red Jen snorts, gestures to the 'tender to go back to serving drinks.

Johnny Rodriguez raises an eyebrow at having been called a thug. There's such a thing as family pride, and the Rodriguezes have enough of it to stock the whole city. His gaze meets Vert's evenly as he switches the clips in his Barettas.

Sister Vanora shakes her head at Nightmare's antics. "Have a drink, doll, and relax yourself. Though you sound like you've had more than enough to drink already," she mutters to herself. Adjusting her habit to make herself more comfortable, the nun glances around the room, swirling her vodka absently with one hand.

Another schnapps materializes in front of Nightmare, unbidden.

Looking so completely out of place, Polly enters anyway. She isn't one of those "petty crooks" and girls of her doubtless moral character don't come to joints like this one often. She crosses the room towards the bar though, clutching her purse tightly, at least it looks like she's prepared to pay. As she weaves her way through the establishment, she looks around, nervous face beginning to lift as she spots a nun -- this place can't be all bad, then.

Li'l Imp slowly lowers his gun, and sits back down. It's under control. He tries to order a real drink, and the 'tender laughs at him, giving him another soda. "Take it easy on the caffeine, kid," he says laughingly, "Wouldn't want ya stayin' up past yer bedtime."

Jerry Rodriguez chuckles and wraps his arms around Tara's waist. The evil smile never leaving his lips. Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes he looks in to her own. "Mmmmmm."

Vert the Hurt returns Johnny's level gaze with one of his own, then turns away to glance at Marty. "Not too much these days," he replies, stretching his legs out under the table. "You know. The usual. What's happenin' with you two cats?"

Tara wiggles, provocatively, and drapes her arms round Jerry's neck. Either she's as dim as she's blonde, or she just likes dangerous men. The giggle would suggest the former.

Jenny Rodriguez stands up with disgust. "The stink of whore makes me sick! Just don't be 'specting me to coddle ya when ya come back home itching and sweating." She stares a hard look at the woman at the table and turns around, heading back out towards the door.

Ty the Mouth picks his way across the room toward the bar, following the conversation in the room with some passing interest as he reaches up to catch his watch, and stuffs it quickly into a pocket. Leaning on said bar, he tips his hat up and looks to the 'tender, "Somethin' with kick, an none'a yer watered down hooch."

"Somethin' with kick, huh?" muses the bartender. A glass. Three bottles, two in one hand, one in the other. Ice. "One Mule. Comin' up."

"Hola there yourself chica." He grins, supplying another mmmmm as Tara wiggles on his lap. Those razor sharp blue eyes stare the girl over... Definitely more than one way to deal with a bloodlust.

Killer, a vicious beagle, trots back into the room, carrying what appears to be most of someone's pants.

Ty the Mouth tilts his head and looks to the side, where the primpy Polly is making her way toward the bar, "She ain' much, but a mule?" he turns back to the keep, "Say, what's the score on the Fifth at Pimlico? Had a rousing night and want to see if my luck's still in."

Jenny Rodriguez shrugs her shoulders and walks out the door, murmuring something about white whores.

Tara pouts, big blue eyes welling with convincing tears.

An arid chuckle passes Marty's lips, and from somewhere inside a pocket he produces a toothpick to slide in the corner of his mouth. "Eh. You know. Keepin' the ladies safe." He winks over at Selene and moves the toothpick over to the other side of his mouth.

Unfortunately, this particular nun is every bit as bad as the rest of the people in here. Sister Vanora's lips curve into a smirk as she looks Polly over, before lifting her sweet voice to remark, "Out for an enjoyable night on the town, my child?" Yeah, that's just water in her glass. This is gonna be good.

Red Jen returns to grumbling. "He's doin' another deal. Like always. Never toins up on time."

Jerry Rodriguez growls a curse and decides to follow his brother and sister. Lifting Tara off of his lap, a finger taps her nose and he winks. "Another time, chica." Then grabbing the golden pistols, he holsters them with a flourish and makes his way out.

Fabio Rodriguez tries to fight the fabric away from the disgusting... dog? All he gets for it is bitten, but no fabric. "Damn mutt," he grates, kicking the thing sidelong.

Silver Dame Selene casts a sideways glance to Marty and comments with a dry chuckle. "Yea, all you goons think a dame can't take care of themselves. You strut around, proud as peacocks thinking you're doing something useful." Her hand drop to her exposed thigh and pulls a small .22 from her lace garter and watches its silver exterior glimmer in the nearby light. "I can blow one down if I need to," she says, eyes falling to Vert with a smirk to her lips as she replaces the piece.

Polly Pubilos sidles up to the bar, much more hesitantly then others, she glances to either side of her looking at others are getting to drink. Ty's words completely blow over her head as she stares at what the 'tender's fixing for him, and then she swirls around, was that someone talking to her? She relaxes again seeing that it's the nun, and moves away from the bar to head over to the woman's table, "I- I - yes, I thought 'd try somethin' new... my brother says 'e comes here, and so... I thought it couldn't be bad.

Ty the Mouth takes ahold of the glass of... whatever, and gulps down a long pull, then promptly starts turning various shades of red and gasping for breath. His attention seems fixed on not dying on the spot.

Tara pouts some more, a briefly forlorn figure sat on a table, displaying a shapely leg (by accident of course). You never know when it'll attract a sucker... um... customer... um... companion.

Red Jen smirks. "It's called a mule, sweetcheeks, 'cause it has a kick like one. And I distinctly hoid ya ask for a drink with a kick."

Sister Vanora gives Polly a comforting sort of smile. Is that alcohol on her breath? No, it couldn't be. Though her smile is decidedly crooked. "Is your brother a rough sort of man, my dear?" she asks the other woman from her seat at the bar. "With... large hands, perhaps?" How odd. She sounds a little... eager.

Vert the Hurt watches Selene for a moment, then shakes his head admiringly. Either at her gun, or her leg. Maybe both. "No one's doubtin' that at all, sugar," he assures her. "We just like lookin' out for youz. Makes us feel important and all that." He gives Marty a wink as he says that, grinning.

Evidently, Wings takes so long in the Powder Room that Ty August heads on out. So when Wings comes back out, a new cig rammed fiercely into her cig holder, and her boa re-sensuously-wrapped around her arms and neck, she doesn't see her escort. And in this place, that could be bad. Wings, teetering on her high-heel shoes, just heads on out. Like she meant to do that. And she doesn't look left, she doesn't look right. She just heads on out.

Ty the Mouth blinks slowly, his eyes tearing from their close association with his breath, which is 1 part air to 5 parts 'kick.' He rasps out hoarsely, "Wow!"

Tara hides an ill-concealed smirk. "Might make y'all's breath smell decent at last, Ty sugah."

Li'l Imp leans in close to the bartender. "Can I get one'a dem der 'mules'?"

Machine Gun Marty props his hands behind his head and leans back against the wall. "Vert's right, dollface. We gotta do something with ourselves, else we start doin' dumb things." His teeth show in a wide grin. "You don't want that t'happen."

Polly Pubilos blinks at the nun, as she slips into a seat across from Vanora, her eyes all wide and innocent in her disbelief and complete idol worship of her older brother. "Rough? Malky? No! He's so sweet and kind... just has kinda rough friends... you know?" She sighs at that, "I wish he wouldn't spend so much time with them. His hands? I don't understand, but I suppose so."

"Though you was underage, shortstuff," observes the 'tender.

Ty the Mouth turns at Tara's comment, and makes more of an effort to get control of himself as he tugs his jacket back inta place as he sends a grin toward the leggy one, "Well, if ya don't look all hopeful, ain't rotted me brain enough ta let ya find out, Tara, doll."

Li'l Imp shrugs. "What's ya point? What's it to you if I'm underage?"

Silver Dame Selene picks up her empty glass and decides she should display that independence she's just mentioned by getting her own drink. She rises and tosses her stole to Marty, catching up off-guard and with a face full of fur. "Watch that for me," she instructs with a wink before she sways over to the bar. Her gown shimmers over her slender form, revealing a bit of pale flesh each time her left leg strides forward. She slides the glass across the bar's top "Bourbon, straight up," she says to the barkeep, giving him a wink as well.

Sister Vanora mmms into her glass before taking another sip. "These rough friends of your brother, my child... do they come here often?" She turns on her stool, scanning the room as if hoping that one of these men will materialize. That only lasts a moment, however, before she clears her throat delicately and murmurs, "Because if they do, they might not want to see you here."

Tara slides, sloooowly, off the table, and makes her way, hips asway, to the bar.

"Comin' up." It would be bad to get the bourbon and the 'mule' mixed, and of course the tender doesn't, by neatly serving them with crossed arms.

Red Jen takes a pull on her cigarette. "Ain't no-one seen Gussie tonight?"

Yeah, Marty watches his employer cross the room. Just 'cause he gets to see her every day don't mean he don't like to watch her. He slips the stole back off his face, and bundles it up neatly. So that it doesn't touch the ground or anything. "Dames, Vert. What are we gonna do with 'em?"

Li'l Imp blinks. Oh, wow. He just got served a drink. He grins widely, real, real widely, and takes up the shot glass. He's quite a drinker, Li'l Imp, and chugs the thing in one hit. The next hit, of course, is his meeting with the floor. He doesn't stir.

Ty the Mouth lifts a brow as Tara makes her way over. Propping himself against the bar with an elbow on its top, he reaches up and taps his hat down a bit further over his eyes as he waits for the rejoinder which always seems to come from the young lady with the red light dancing in her eyes.

Tara fans air across her face. "Whooee. Y'all could get a girl drunk by breathin'..." she deftly sidesteps the falling Imp, "...in her face."

Now that's a thought... Poor Little Polly looks towards the door nervously, and luckily enough, she doesn't see her brother or his friends striding through, not just yet. She shakes her head, fluffy brown curls bobbing up and down as her head moves side to side. "I don't know... just that he comes here sometimes."

Vert the Hurt smirks at Marty. "Do you really needs me to draw you a diagram?" he inquires, smirk widening into a lewd grin. "If so, you ain't been spendin' enough time at joints like this, Marty."

Ty the Mouth chuckles as he takes a small sip of his 'mule' and watches the Imp fall to the floor. As Tara speaks, he returns his eyes to her, not mentioning the view the Imp would get if he opened his eyes, and murmurs, "Ya sound almost hopeful, Tara."

Li'l Imp comes back to wakefulness not long after hitting the floor, and gasps. An amazed grin spreads throughout his face. "So that's what it looks like..."

Sister Vanora nods absently as she listens to Polly, eyes wandering the room. When they eventually return, the nun swallows the last of her drink before remarking, "Now, about your brother... does he have large feet, my dear? Large hands and large feet are very important."

Tara sits on a barstool... check those legs. "Might dull the pain enough to survive kissing you, sugar." One foot, and heel, land, just by accident, on Imp's sternum. She might apply a little weight to it in a moment.

Silver Dame Selene takes the drink and pauses near the bar to give the room another once-over as she leans against the bar. No one in particular catches her eye, as if anyone might in this joint. She shrugs to herself and saunters back to her table where the two men wait, one still bearing her stole in his hands. She sets the glass down and crosses behind Marty and reaches over his shoulders to reclaim her fur. "Thanks sugar, I appreciate it," she purrs, giving him a kiss to the cheek as a reward.

Machine Gun Marty gives Vert a good solid nudge with his elbow. "'Ey now. None of that talk round the lady." Oh whoops. She's back. And that's the one thing that warms up the ice water in his veins, that kiss on the cheek. "Anytime, doll. Anytime."

Li'l Imp doesn't care. He can die a happy would-be mobster... He's drunk off his tiny ass, and he's just seen the best view of his life. He sighs happily.

Polly Pubilos unfortunately doesn't hear that question, so when she glanced across the bar to the door she spotted that kid that's in here, and her eyes take on a worried look, as she glances back to the nun, "Should that kid be in here? Where're his ma and pa?" Nope, she didn't hear the question at all.

Vert the Hurt taps his grizzled cheek with one finger. "Now you owe me one, sugar," he says to Selene. "Can't let Marty have all the fun. C'mon. I'm an old man." From the way he's eyeing her, he's also something of a dirty old man.

Ty the Mouth grins lopsidedly as he glances down at Imp and his predicament... but hey, gotta get out of your own messes. "Now now, No need to let your true colors show, eh doll?" Once more, he tips his hat, "Youse know full well that Ty don't dally with common wenches."

Silver Dame Selene awwws with a dainty tilt to her head and smiles down at the cheek-tapping Vert. "Of course, sugar, I certainly wouldn't want to leave you out." She leaves her position behind Marty's back and circles around Vert's chair, landing herself in his lap. Her stole snakes its way around his neck and with a gentle jerk she pulls his wrinkled cheek to her lips in an exaggerated kiss. "Better, Vert?" she asks with a twinkle in her eyes.

Johnny Rodriguez kicks his feet up onto the table, ruining the Rodriguez family card game, which had been drawing to a close besides. "Eh, someone tell me a story or sumting, eh? I'm bored."

Sister Vanora barely glances at the kid. "The Lord will look after him," she replies vaguely, waving a hand towards the ceiling for emphasis. "He usually does. Now. If you happen to spot your brother or his friends, you let me know. I'll take care of them." Adjusting her habit again, she mutters, "Is it just me, or is it getting warm in here?"

Fabio Rodriguez blinks and begins, "Duh, once der was a whore..."

Johnny Rodriguez snaps, "I heard that one."

Tara stretches her leg. Nice view for Tybio, a little pain for Imp unless he moves. "Last I heard, sweetheart, y'didn' dally with anyone with any taste."

Jerry Rodriguez mutters as all his winnings are kicked off the table. "I've got one," he growls angrily. "It's about an annoying older brother who took a bullet through his head when he made his younger one lose a fortune in money!"

Johnny Rodriguez smirks. "Ey, I got one too, li'l bro. Ees called sit down and shush yer damn mouth or I have Fabio take you outside, eh? Get something to drink an' calm yourself down."

Ty the Mouth watches with a somewhat amused expression as Tara toys with the boy as he responds, "You put to much stock in bar room gossips, Tara, I don't dally with anyone you'd hear of at'all."

Vert the Hurt's eyebrows lift in pleased surprise as Selene lands in his lap. "That's the stuff," he murmurs approvingly as she lands a kiss on his cheek. "You know, you're one fine dame. And I would kill any bastard who put his hands on youz without your permission. You know that, right?"

Polly Pubilos looks towards Selene's direction now, and un-de-sensitized little eyes widen with dismay, She turns back to Vanora quickly to ask about that display "Should they be..." she stops again, finally giving the nun a second look, and now she seems all concerned rising from her seat to feel the woman on the forehead, "Warm? Are you sick? You don't look very well at all!"

"Looks fine t'me," mutters Jen, nodding towards the Rodriguez boys. The barman's gone fishing behind the bar again.

Jerry Rodriguez grins very evilly over at Fabio. Right now he could take on the whole police force by himself. "That's not a bad idea..." he whispers in a low, menacing voice.

Machine Gun Marty, for his part, looks a little miffed. All that warmth that had started to melt him goes away real quick. He finds something else to look at. Gotta be something else to watch around here that isn't his... co-workers. He studies the fingernails on one hand. That'll do.

Fabio Rodriguez grins dumbly. "Yeah. I'll take you outside," he says in his stupid-sounding monotone.

Tara calls his bluff. "Who do y'all dally with, then, sugar?"

Johnny Rodriguez grins at Fabio. "Damn straight you will. Calm down, li'l bro. You had your action for today, an' then some, man. Jus' cool it."

Silver Dame Selene laughs gaily and drags her stole back from around Vert's neck to her own. "Big Daddy would be much displeased if you didn't live up to that promise, sweetie. I know it well." She rewards him with another quick peck. She glances over to Marty who now looks positively bored, studying his fingers. "Don't pout Marty, I can't see your pearly whites when you do that," she teases.

Ty the Mouth's attention is taken over by the developing situation between the three brothers moronic as he responds absently to Tara, "Anyone but the likes 'o you, Tara doll."

Jerry Rodriguez turns to Johnny and growls, but just to prove his point, a golden Baretta flashes from its holster, barrel pressed right to Fabio's head before he can blink, and then twirled and brought to rest again. Narrowed blue eyes seem to laugh merrily as he relaxes back in chair. "Get me another drink."

Sister Vanora attempts to look dismayed at Polly's pronouncement. "Quickly, my child... ask the nice man behind the bar for a tall glass of bourbon. On the rocks. It's the best thing for me, as God is my witness." Leaning back and fanning herself with one hand, the nun looks ready to pass out. Though she manages to give Polly a darting glance or two to see if she's buying it.

Johnny Rodriguez snaps a finger about his head, loudly. "Eh, 'ten'er -- get my brother a drink. Something strong -- whatever that kid had, eh?"

Tara decides there's only one way to test that statement. Lands an absolute scorcher of a kiss on the distracted Ty the Mouth's um... mouth.

"Mule. Comin' up." The same flash trick, and the drink's delivered.

Ty the Mouth blinks, his attention drawn back to Tara with a vengeance as he is kissed... resoundingly even, his arms fall limply to his sides as he almost seems to freeze for a moment.

Johnny Rodriguez gestures to Jerry. "There's your drink, man. Now shut up and get drunk, eh?"

Fabio Rodriguez dumbly feeds his dog vodka, grinning and chortling like a big idiot.

Well... Alcohol? Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. "Are you sure that's the best thing..." Oh dear! The woman's about to pass out. Polly spins and hurries to the bar, don't question right now, just do. "Please! I need a bourbon, quickly!"

Jerry Rodriguez lifts the drink slowly to his lips, and just before downing whispers, "Don't tempt be brother" A mocking emphasis is placed on that last word and he belches noisily in the man's face.

Boring. There's not much flash you can do with bourbon and ice, but a tall glass of it is heading down the bar for Polly.

Johnny Rodriguez stands roughly and delivers a smashing punch to Jerry's face. "Yo, learn some manners, man! You're gross!"

Tara grins. Waves a hand in front of Tybio's face. "Anyone home, sugah?"

Jerry Rodriguez grins all the more after the punch, he doesn't even seemed fazed. He actually laughs! "Sit yourself down. Makin' a fool out of yourself."

Machine Gun Marty flickers a glance at Selene, and as asked, he smiles. Gotta keep the lady happy. "Any time, doll." His further reply's cut off by the sounds of fisticuffs. You can see the look in his eyes. Eh. Thugs. They can beat each other to pulp all they want.

Ty the Mouth blinks, bluster... yeah, that's what's needed now, bluster and cover, duck and run! Something like that anyway, "Huh? Sorry, doll, I zoned out fer a moment there. Did somethin' happen?"

Johnny Rodriguez's face contorts with rage. "Yeah, I'll show you a fool, man." A flash, and his cocked Baretta is right between Jerry's eyes.

Polly Pubilos takes the cup in hand and heads back to the nun slower and carefully, weaving her way through the crowds and squeezing past the Rodriguez table, with a high pitched little eep as she sees the gun, hurrying back to her table to hand over the bourbon.

Sister Vanora accepts the drink from Polly with a little sigh, then gulps back more than half of it without pausing for breath. As she lowers the glass, the nun sways a little on her stool, then coughs rather indelicately. "Saints above, that's just what I needed," she gasps. "Thank you, child. You have saved me."

Jerry Rodriguez laughs all the more, leaning back in his chair. "Oh? You gonna shoot me huh?" Just as quickly both of Jerry's golden Barettas are drawn. He does not seem the least bit angered however and the guns, though pointing at Johnny, are relaxed. He's enjoying this.

"I told ya boys, common thugs," Selene says through laughter as she too watches the brothers arguing amongst themselves in the booth. She leans over, still in Vert's lap and gives Marty a quick kiss for following orders. For a gangster's girl, she sure does seem to dole out her affections easily to those around her.

Tara picks up Jen's forgotten bourbon, and very slowly, very deliberately, pours it over Ty's head. Some will, of course, drip on the downed Imp.

Johnny Rodriguez's other gun is out, and buried in Jerry's stomach. "Don't tempt me, man, don't tempt me. You been pissin' me off all day, an' you don't know how much I'd like to shoot you right now..." Sweat runs down his reddened face.

Ty the Mouth sputters a bit as he is doused in bourbon and pulls his hat off to slap it dry on his leg, causing both the lower half of Tara, and the Imp to get spattered by booze as he looks to Tara's eyes and says quite brightly, "I didn' know ya cared, Tara."

Polly Pubilos looks a little nervous as she gives a bob of her head, leaning closer to the nun as she whispers in an anxious little voice, "Sister... there are some men over there with a gun. Shouldn't you do something?"

Jerry Rodriguez still laughs, not the least bit nervous or scared. "Me tempt you? Ha!" He twirls the gun in his left hand once, then aims it carefully at Johnny's head, giving him a wink.

Vert the Hurt half-turns in his chair, bringing Selene with him, to glance over at the thuggish brothers. "With any luck, they'll blow each other away and do us all a favor," he mutters to the others at his table.

Machine Gun Marty waves a hand, "Hey... stop that. I don't want the boss getting all upset or nothin'. I like my job, doll." He lets out a snicker at Vert's comment and nods. "Yeah. Let's hope, huh?"

Johnny Rodriguez grimaces, and there's a cold light in his eyes. Then he brings the butt of his pistol down hard on Jerry's forehead, putting him out cold. He holsters his pistols with a flourish. "Bitch," he spits as he retakes his seat.

Red Jen sighs, shaking her head.

Bourbon. Ice. For Jen. Without being asked.

Silver Dame Selene glances down at her gown and suddenly pouts. "Well, let's hope they take it outside, this dress is new and we all know nothing gets blood out of satin," she laments, perhaps knowing this from first-hand experience. She strains against Vert's hold on her to leans forward to claim her yet untouched bourbon from the table.

Jerry Rodriguez rolls back up in his chair, still grinning. "Ya know I got a hard head." he winks again. Slapping his brother on the back, he laughs and downs another drink.

Tara says, "Ah don't." A sweet smile at Ty.

Johnny Rodriguez grins, his good mood somehow restored. "Ya you're stupid," is the best reply he can come up with, and he downs another drink.

Sister Vanora blinks owlishly at Polly, before throwing her head back and laughing hysterically. Going so far as to slap her knee, the nun slowly reasserts a measure of control over her hilarity, wiping tears from her eyes as she shakes her head. "I'm a nun, not a freakin' miracle-worker," she replies, still giggling occasionally. Then, realizing her language is a little inappropriate, she covers her lips with one hand and looks vaguely surprised. "The demon drink has corrupted my tongue!" she gasps in feigned dismay. "I... should finish it off, so it won't tempt some other poor soul." True to her words, the sister quickly downs the rest of her bourbon, then drops the glass onto the floor beside her. "Much better," she wheezes.

Polly Pubilos looks at the nun seriously, with a surprising amount of solemnity in those big, girlish eyes and face. "You're right, you're too sick to handle this, but someone has got to say something." She musters up all the courage she can as she rises from her seat, "I'll go say something to them."

Jerry Rodriguez could take care of that dog. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head briefly. "And you say I'm the stupid one... he's who keeps that smelly rat of a vermin around as a pet."

"Another bottle, comin' up." Deftly spun behind his back before it's landed on the bar, waiting for Fabio.

Johnny Rodriguez chuckles, grinning widely. "Hey, I never called Fabio smart, li'l bro."

Fabio Rodriguez gets up rather dejectedly and goes to get the bottle. Halfway there, he trips over his dog and goes sprawling.

Johnny Rodriguez explodes into laughter again as Fabio goes down.

Jerry Rodriguez returns his brothers grin and nods. "Hmmmm." Tilting his head and closing one eye, his hand takes on the shape of a gun and makes the illusion of shooting the animal. Just then, Fabio trips over the wretched beast! Jerry looks at his finger for a moment, then too joins in the laughter.

Sister Vanora nods complacently. "What a wonderful idea. I'm sure they'll listen to you, dear. Off you go." Rather unsteadily, she slips from her stool and tugs her habit into place. "I think I hear the Lord telling me to sample some more of that bourbon. And you know the Lord. He hates to be ignored. So I'll be over here..." Pointing vaguely in the general direction of... well, across the room, the nun wanders off, mumbling to herself.

Fabio Rodriguez pulls himself slowly and stupidly up, and retrieves the bottle, carrying it gingerly back to the table. This time, he watches for passing dogs. "Here's your bottle, guys!" he says companionably. What an idiot...

Jerry Rodriguez pulls out his gun, holds it to the bottle, aims downward and fires, shattering it in to pieces, the golden bullet flying harmlessly in to the edge of the table. "Awww, you broke it. Get another one."

Ty the Mouth's grin remains in place as he offers Tara a wink, "I think ya do, doll. I think ya care more then yer willin' ta let yerself knows."

Beginning to doubt herself, Polly crosses the room back to the Rodriguez table none the less, after all, if the nun says it's a good idea then really, it must be. She's makes it to the table when the gun is fired, and she jumps and gives a shriek of dismay. She closes her eyes, trying to gain composure as she smooths back her brown curls, speaking up finally, "I-I don't think you should do that."

Johnny Rodriguez sneers at Fabio. "Hurry up, too. I'm thirstly."

Red Jen doesn't flinch at the shot. Calls across to the Rodriguez boys, "Youse paying for that table?"

Johnny Rodriguez looks curiously at Polly, and then turns to Jen with a grin. "Talk to Jerry here, chica. He's the one puttin' off lead."

Jerry Rodriguez arches an eyebrow at the approaching woman, twirling the smoking gun is his hands then bringing to point at Polly's head. His head tilts over it and he appears to take careful aim with an open eye. "Oh?"

Jerry Rodriguez chuckling through, he twirls it back in his hands, slapping Johnny on the back and setting the gun on the table. "Where's that damn drink?!"

Fabio Rodriguez, having been halfway to the bar again, taps Polly on the shoulder. "I don't thinks you oughta to do that, miss."

Vert the Hurt lifts Selene off his lap and sets her back on the floor. "'Scuse me, you two, but I needs to split. There's a couple of thugs across town I needs to rough up a bit. But I'll see you two later," he murmurs as he rises to his feet.

Red Jen tsks.

Chuckling through, Jerry twirls it back in his hands, slapping Johnny on the back and setting the gun on the table. "Where's that damn drink?!"

Tara laughs, although she does jump at the shot. "Drink's getting to y'all, sugar."

Polly Pubilos stops eyes wide, and then tries to duck her head down, out of the aim of the gun at least, "I-I think you should just put that gun 'way, now... this 's a public place..."

Silver Dame Selene sinks into the chair left empty by the departing Vert and her lips fall into a pout once more. "Take care Vert, and don't come home in a bodybag," she calls out to him before downing the rest of her bourbon.

Sister Vanora doesn't seem to notice the gunshot. Or Polly's precarious predicament. Instead, the nun lurches her way out the door, shouting blessings and benedictions as she does so.

FIN  

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