Summary:Hank introduces his dear friend Rogue to Luke's BBQ. Anya and Gwen were at work, and Becca joined in during her off day. *WIP* Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The weather is unseasonably warm for this time of year, dampened by occasional bursts of rain. So it's without a real coat that Rogue is roaming the city with one of her favorite people. The door will swing open, and the belle is sauntering in - jeans, beat up boots, and a henley with pushed up sleeves. Auburn hair is wavy and loose, the makeup limited to some cat-eye liner and tinted lip balm. Tiny little silver hoops ladder up her ears, and there's a broad cuff on her left wrist. "So this is the place, huh? It's different, I dig it."
Hank is dressed for the weather…and looking like he he stepped off the silver screen as a living gumshoe. Fedora, trench coat, slacks, oversized shoes, probably a button down shirt, vest and jacket underneath. And you know - considering how burly the guy is, he pulls it off pretty well! Ever the gentleman, he gets the door for Rogue, and lets her precede him into the best rib joint in the city. "This is the place, yes indeed." Hank confirms. He grins when she approves. "You think it looks good wait until you taste the barbecue! EVERYTHING is good. All of it."
The Latina behind the bar is wearing what appears to be a black, semi-sheer bodystocking; in truth, it's just another set of hose on her upper frame, cut and modified DIY'd back together.
Oh, you thought that's all she was wearing? Wrong kind of bar, X-People.
Black, studded denim short shorts and a ripped up Nirvana tee, stuffed into the shorts by a belt with a 'No Nazi's' symbol on the buckle; a red swastika, surrounded by a circle with a slash through it.
Looking up, she eyeballs the young woman entering, but her eyes brighten when she sees Hank.
"McCoy!" Anya calls out, then grinds mischievously. She deepens her voice and puts on her best Tennessee voice. "Dammit, Jim, I'm a 'tender, not an escalator!"
"You know, I will take your word on the ribs, if they have chicken wings. I've got a cravin'." Rogue will tease Hank, a hand up through her hair to try and bring a tiny semblance of order to it. Green eyes will land on the bartender, the barest flicker of lifted eyebrow at her ensemble - thought it's more Rogue is interested in that body suit sort of thing.
When Hank is greeted so warmly, Rogue will lift her eyebrow, a tip of her head. "A well known regular now, are you? Is this where you've been hangin' out? And here I thought you'd been hiding out in your lab."
"Well, they DO have wings, yes." Hank admits with a wide grin, and then removes trench and hat, hanging them up on hooks on the wall for that purpose. He definitely improves of 'No Nazis', and he grins to the girl as she greets him. "Not bad, Miss Corazon." He compliments her Bones impression. "I promise I won't attempt to walk up you, Anya."
He smiles. "Rogue, this is Anya, Anya - one of my dearest friends, Rogue." He grins and then nods. "Oh my yes, I come here all the time, alas, no torrid concerns, dear girl. Anya and I are friends as well." A HUGE toothy grin. "And I cannot possibly hang out /only/ in the lab. Even I have the urge for a beer now and again."
"A Hank-sized beer," Anya quips, and seems to already be going for one of the empty pitchers.
She looks to Rogue with a big smile. "Hey, Rogue, welcome to Luke's! Are you drinking, or eating the best not-good-for-you this side of the Hudson?"
She pauses by the tap, looking to Hank with a raised eyebrow to whether she approves of her filling him a pitcher.
"Hank sized beer? You mean a pitcher, right?" Rogue will ease her way onto a stool with a smile, hands resting easy on the bar. "I can't do both?" She responds to the question shot her way.
"I'll start with a beer, if you don't mind. Something mild, please. And is there a menu?" Sometimes there isn't, after all!
Hank tips his hat, then hangs it up, and should Rogue want her jacket hung up he'll do the same - assuming she has one, it IS nearly 60 out.
He smiles. "Beer." Hank confirms. "And the usual rib platter with fixins, please, Anya." A smile. "I have to say - your attire never lacks for interesting." And he's absolutely earnest!
He nods approval at the pitcher, and then bellies up to the bar. "You can and SHOULD do both." Hank confirms to Rogue.
A quick nod, and Anya is filling that pitcher. "Exactly," she answers Rogue, before looking from one to the other. "What the Doc said," she agrees, before going squinty eyed at Hank. Did he just… oh, the belt buckle! That squinty eyed look turns into a smile. "Good choice," she complements him, and slips him the pitcher and a pint glass.
Another pint glass is snatched up, and she goes back to the tap, filling up a drink as ordered for the newcomer. "No menu; Hank's having THE special here. We do have chicken wings, but they're from a spot down the street that'll deliver over here for free. Oh, and there's shitty nachos. They're not really that shitty, kinda… kinda Jersey shitty, si?"
For the last half hour, Gwen Stacy has been in the back room, on break. Well, if you can call rapidly cramming a burger while just as rapidly cramming a biochemistry textbook 'a break', but there it is. Such is the life of a university student, even after Christmas break, when you've got one of those two-semester courses. Or, if you're like Gwen and you've got a hankering for knowledge couple with drive and ambition, two of them.
The reality of holding a job is that you actually have to do the job, however, so at twenty-nine minutes and fifteen seconds, Gwen is back on the job. A black crop-top with an Autobots symbol on it, bare midriff, black knee-length skirt with slits up the sides and knee-high boots are her outfit today. she meanders up to the bar, and takes a moment to evaluate the situation, and make sure there aren't any fires she has to help Anya put out.
The southern belle ponders, no menu, no in house wings… and The Special. "What, exactly, is the special?" She glances between Anya and Hank, curious. "Jersey shitty? I know Jersey Italian food, but Jersey shitty is something new." There's a hint of a laugh, shaking her head.
She will give a quick turn of her head, a sharpness and awareness coming over her that relaxes when she looks Gwen over, recognizing the entrance from back area and her dress without showing damp or cold logics out to employee. A quick nod in Gwen's direction, before she's looking back to Hank.
"Ribs, corn on the cobb, cornbread, collard greens - I always have mine with malt vinegar, and of course there's baked beans." Hank answers readily enough. He does take his pint glass, and pours it from the pitcher. Yes, he COULD just use the pitcher like a glass, but that's uncouth. Hank is seldom uncouth, very very seldom.
Blue eyes are bright, and he offers a wink when Anya catches on to what he meant. He definitely approves of the spider gal, though he's not going to reveal she is one, in fact the demographic tonight is curiously balanced between spiders and mutants!
When Gwen arrives, Hank offers a friendly smile, and man /the dude is frickin' huge/. Blue eyes zero in on the autobot symbol, and he grins. "More than meets they eye." He states with a solemn looking nod.
Anya snaps her fingers at Hank and points at him. "That special. You won't be sorry." She sets Rogue's beer down before her, and then leans an elbow on the bar, eyeing the newcomer with a grin. "Should we make two of them?"
A side eye is given to Gwen. "Will you tell the boys to fix us up the barbecue? Maybe two."
Gwen has only been out in the bar for thirty seconds, and already someone is ordering something! Good stuff. That's how you earn tips. Or something like that.
"Sure thing!" Gwen flashes a grin at Hank and Rogue, and she nods. "definitely," she replies, "Though I don't transform into a car, but I'm sure it'd be cool." She meanders back into the kitchenm "Two specials on the barbeque, guys! Definitely two. Anya said maybe two, but it'll be two."
With that message delivered, she meanders back out, and back up to where she was at the bar about ten seconds ago. "Anything else need tending to in the next eight seconds?" she asks of Anya.
Eyebrows lift, and lift some more as Hank lifts off the special. "I may just have to go without nachos or wings, with a platter like that." Rogue will give Anya a quick smile. "I'll have what the big guy's having, yes." Her beer is picked up and sipped at.
Her elbow finds the bar, so her hand can fit under and support her chin. Those big green eyes fix on Anya, with a slightly impish expression. "I have to ask, where did you get the body stocking? I could use a few of those."
She turns to look in Gwen's direction, laughing after she hears the blonde ordering the two specials. She will just smile into her beer.
Hey, not like Hank doesn't drop by a few times a week for it, sure, he'll probably get tired of it someday - but that day ain't today! He snap points right back at Anya, though…it has a very different feel when you consider how big his hands are. "Two, definitely." He confirms right as Rogue does.
Tips, for lack of a better word, are good. And Hank is very much a good tipper.
"I have never transformed into a car, but I must admit that the thought of MAKING one that transforms sounds fun." Hank grins at Gwen. "Considering a flying car though, so maybe adding some transformation to it might not be totally out of the question." Because: Nerd.
Hank finishes his first pint, then refills it from the pitcher, as he relaxes, lets his (short) hair down in the company of folks he likes.
"I can even give you nine," Anya tells Gwen, before fixing her attention back on Rogue. "If you walk outta here without a doggie bag, I'll be seriously impressed."
She grasps a towel and begins wiping down the bar, when Rogue draws her attention back at such an interesting question. "Oh, I made it," she says proudly, and lifts up the Nirvana shirt to reveal where the two sets of hose clearly had their waistbands clipped off, and were seamed back together. "The ones you get on the internet are all overpriced garbage, and always have these stupid frilly looks. I wanted mine to be more, y'know. DIY."
"DIY is way cooler anyway," Gwen affirms. "I keep meaning to get a denim jacket and DIY it into something seriously punk. I really ought to do that before the band does another performance." She might've been about to say more, but another customer sitting at a different table is busy *aheming* in an aggressive fashion, so she moves like she's got a purpose. Turns out all he wants is a refill of water. …Who drinks water in a place like this? Weird.
"Has anyone ever finished the Special all in one sitting before?" she asks Anya while she's busy filling the water glass, which she takes over to the grump, who promptly tells her 'no' and goes back to his Sudoku on his phone when she asks if he needs anything else.
Oh dear. Rogue will give Hank a look, the mischief in her gaze. Hank knows she can never resist a dare -spoken or implied. Of course, Hank has also seen Rogue eat like there's no bottom to her stomach. It's the habit of the once homeless belle, who once would eat until there was no food, no time, or someone took it away.
Her head tips, looking at where the waistbands were joined. "Hnh. See, I woulda thought sewing like that would make the nylon run or somethin'. But needlework isn't my strong suit, either. I couldn't discuss fabrics or.. uh.." Her hand makes a lazy circle in the air. "You know, other stuff." There's a shrug, as she reaches for her beer again, a small sip. "I save all that room in my brain for engines."
"Ten on a good day." Hank chimes in after after Anya's quip. "Oh, don't challenge her, Anya. Her other power is a hollow leg." He's teasing of course. A snicker. "Frilly? I bet you could do frilly were you so minded, Anya. Frilly, pink, cute little bow…" Oh man is Hank asking for it.
"DIY is always much more fun." Hank agrees readily. "I have tons of costumes from when I'd Cosplay at conventions…you should see my Klingon war regalia and batlev." Yeah, nerd quotient plus!
He grins then to Gwen's question. "Me. Several times." He offers a hand then. "Hank McCoy, by the way, very nice to meet you, miss."
He grins at Rogue. "I did warn." He says with a pious look. "And you're an excellent mechanic, my favorite assistant when I'm working on Bessie." His car.
"Oh yeah," Anya assures Gwen and the others. "Luke. Hank over there. Handful of others. And yours truly." She pats her zero body fat belly, but it sounds as if she's absolutely not joking about that.
"Oh, it's a real pain in the ass," she tells Rogue. "But if you have the right tools, you can do anything."
Hank gets a look. If they weren't in mixed company, he might've gotten webbed in the nose.
It doesn't last long. "Oh my God, do you know any Klingon? I only know, like, Qa'pla!"
Gwen takes Hank's hand and shakes with.. surprising strength, actually, for her size. For anyone, really. "Pleased to meet you both," she replies. "Gwen Stacy," she adds, withdrawing her hand.
"Also, all of you are weird," Gwen adds, waggling a finger back and forth between all presentm because calling the patrons weird is a good idea. "I thought I had an appetite and there is absolutely no way I would be eating all of that in one go." She pauses, and smirks, "But then, I'm pretty sure I'm also the shortest and lightest person here, so I guess that's fair. Eat away, larger people, stay larger. I'll just be over there, waving the hobbit flag. Vive La Shire."
She grins mischievously, and backs off to the kitchen to check on progress. "Should be ready in five minutes," she adds, sidling back up to Anya. "So… you two have a lab?" she asks, looking back to Hank and Rogue. is it possible she thinks they're an item? It might be the assumption.
Rogue stiffens, a tiny catch in her breath when Hank is saying 'her other power' - which of course insinuates she has a first one, and well… Rogue -despite her not real name- doesn't generally bandy about that knowledge in public. She has a glare for her formerly fuzzy friend, before she's just drinking down her beer. Maybe if she doesn't say anything, or draw attention to it, no one else will notice.
"A lab? Me? Lord no, not unless you want shit blowin' up. I'm a mechanic, not a scientist." She will put her empty pint glass forward for a refill.
"PongwIj'e' Hank McCoy, jIH Qel." Hank answers in a VERY harsh, very guttural tone. Yes, he speaks Klingon. "My name is Hank McCoy, I am a doctor." He says with a huge ass grin (patent pending, too many claimants). He continues. "Anya legh adorable neH bow Doqqu' 'ej wov." Once again the Klingon is guttural, and he has the pipes to really make it sing. "Anya would look adorable in a pink bow."
Definitely going to get some web up the snoot!
Oh, yeah, secret ID. "Her first power being her stunning smile, of course." Hank adds with surprising poise. Not a bad cover!
"I have a lab, yes, though access is highly restricted." He shakes Gwen's hand. "A pleasure, Miss Stacy."
"Large and weird, we're weirdly large are largely weird. Which is different from a wyrd of course." Yes, nerd. "Nice grip." He comments. And his own shake is pretty solid, though VERY carefully regulated - he has a lot of respect for his strength, even though Gwen's like several times stronger. Anya too. Still and all, Hank's hand is massive, fingers thick as sausages, his span sufficient to palm a beach ball.
Rogue's glass is taken and dunked in favor of a fresh one, and she gets another pour. It looks like she may need it.
As for Hank, he gets a wide eyed stare when he officially outgeeks everyone in the room. She looks to Gwen, then back to Hank, eyes still wide until he translates.
Eyes narrow, and the next thing he knows, a quarter is glancing off the lip of his pitcher and headed to bean him in the temple.
"Only on Sundays," she quips.
It's about then that the door opens, and Becca Gadison walks in. She's not on shift, Anya and Gwen have that covered, obviously. So she's showing up at the bar, when she's too young to actually order a drink, on her night off. Apparently she must really love the place, Or at least the people she works with.
Maybe both.
It may be unseasonably warm for New York in January, but it's still chilly by suburb-of-Dallas standards, and Becca's wearing nicely-fitting jeans, caramel suede ankle boots with low chunky heels, and a grey hoodie unzipped over a black T-shirt with the cover art of the 'Roll the Bones' album on the front. Rush fans, represent for Neil.
"Hey, y'all," she calls out, cheerily.
"Well, I also think Anya would look adorable in a pink bow," Gwen agrees, "But then, I'm just a fan of pink in general. I'd probably ye my hair that color if it weren't for the fact that last time I tried it, I looked weird for three weeks." She watches as the quarter goes flying off the pitcher, aimed for Hank. Well, she's certainly not going to stop it; especially as she's wearing a short-sleeve shirt, which sort of makes wearing wehsbooters not an option.
"Well," she adds, nodding to Hank, "If you ever need any help in your highly-restricted lab, I'm learning biochemistry at the university. I plan to take it all the way to Doctorate level. We'll see which ways I branch out as I go." She shrugs lightly, and looks up as the door opens and Rebecca walks in.
"Hey Rebecca! We gotta talk about making a gig happen sometime, with our bandmates." She grins, giving the newly arrived a thumbs up, before looking back to Rogue. "You're a mechanic?" she adds, "That is so cool. Do you do heavy duty mechanics, or fix cars, or something else? If you don't mind my asking, that is.""
Rogue will flash what is a rather stunning smile Hank's way, a bat of lashes. "You've been hanging out with my Remy too long, sayin' such things about my smile." The drawl is thick and teasing the man. He knows she's relieved he understood that glare - that is one of the upsides of brothers in arms - one learns to communicate without words.
It's that drawl that compares to the more Texan twang, but Southern recognizes like, and Becca will get a sharp once over. She will reach for her newly filled beer, a glance towards the kitchen as she feels her stomach about to get grumbly.
Then her attention is jerked to the blonde hobbitsy one, brows lifting lightly. She will nod once slowly, as if she looks askance at being called /cool/ for being a wrench turner. There is a slow turn upwards on one side of her mouth. "I fix all of it. I've worked on bull dozers, tractors, semi-tractors, cars, trucks, motorcycles, lawn mowers, even an old tank once."
Being a good sport, Hank lets Anya bounce the quarter off his head, though he does then catch it - dude this big should NOT move that fast - and then dances it between his fingers, walking it across until he pitches it into the swear jar. "Pre-emptive." He says with a toothy smile for Anya, and hey, nothing but net - the coin swishes!
"Actually, Miss Stacy, I'm a teacher at the school I work at, and often speak at the universities." A smile. "And I've a few sills in the biochem arena." Actually, she might have heard of him, Hank is pretty famous for that. "Unfortuantely I'm not sure I could get you access to my lab, though I am working on securing a facility in the city." At which point he could totally consider a lab assistant.
Rebecca's arrival draws a glance from Hank and a faint smile. "Good evening, miss." Wait, did he recognize her? There definitely seemed to be some recognition there.
He smiles almost as brilliantly back to Rogue, happy to have been able to get out of the dog house!
"Watch it, Gwen," says the woman in almost entirely black; Anya shoots Gwen a look that is both dangerous and also totally joking at the same time.
Hearing a sound from the back room, Anya sucks out for a moment or two, only to return with two giant plates filled with barbecue and aforementioned fixings. She sets them down before Hank and Rogue, grinning as she adds a bottle of malt vinegar.
"It -" She turns to Becca, and then to Gwen. "Wait. You two are in a band?" she asks, sounding baffled before looking back to Rogue. "It's better with the vinegar."
Becca steps around behind the bar and pours herself a diet Pepsi, adding a wedge of lime to the rim of the glass. She looks to Anya, puzzled for a moment. "I could've sworn you knew," she replies. "Gwen plays drums, an' she's the one who put it all together. I sing lead, an' play guitar. An' we got some damn good others with us."
She eyes the plates as they're set in front of the two patrons at the bar. "An' now you're makin' me hungry," she adds with a smile.
Watch it? Watch what? But, joking or serious, Gwen knows well enough to trust what Anya says. So, she just grins at Hank. "Well, I hope I get to attend some of your lectures, then," she replies. "And hey, if you get a lab that I can safely ask questions about and you want an assistant, I'm your girl." She winks, and nods to Rogue, "Everything except planes then, hunh? That's cool." She takes a step back, and bounces off for the moment while Anya's busy serving.
"Yeah, I drum like the devil taught me, or so my friends tell me," she adds to Anya, flashing a grin before she goes to check on some other tables; and for the next few minutes she's busy fetching drinks, giving a couple orders to the kitchen, and collecting a tip that gets put in the jar to be shared.