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It's the early evening in the Black Cat, so the place is not yet full of people looking for hookups. There is some of that, surely, but the atmosphere for now is still low-key (and not as smokey as it will be later). In one booth sits a tall man in a a well-tailored suit of dark charcoal with a red tie over a white shirt. He has a bottle of an elderly single malt on his table and he's poured himself a glass that he toys with now and then. Brian Falsworth puts on a smile now and then when people pass by but it turns off again when they're gone.
*
A fairly well known regular to this place, Lois enjoys the Black Cat. It's a place for those who are… Different. Not mutant different, but 'artistic'. Or with weird preferences. Or beatniks. Or something else. Lois was many of those things at once, paid enough that nobody paid much attention when she brought out the special pipe, and even met a few good stories in this place. So, she's here to drink her dinner for the Sunday night, before some rush comes through. She's still in her vaguely inappropriate outfit, revealing bare stomach and low cut, tied off Hawaiian shirt as she shrugs out of her fur trimmed denim coat. She doesn't bother taking off her tinted glasses as she sways up to the bar. "…uh… you got any of the Absinthe left back there? Don't need the sugar. Otherwise, two fingers scotch, dash of water…" Her husky, velveteen voice half purrs.
*
Brian's gaze drifts to the bar, as likely a number of other eyes do. The lady there cuts quite the colorful figure. He unconsciously reaches for the bottle on his table as the lady mentions scotch, but all he does is touch it before he draws his hand back. "Hmm. She has that look sorted, somehow." he says to himself.
*
While Lois doesn't have super hearing, she's nothing more than a regular person (physically, at least), she does have that super observant mind. And she hasn't baked herself stupid yet tonight, so the fact that there is a set of eyes she doesn't recognize, and he's almost motioned in her direction? She caught it. "…Second thought, Augustus, just gimmie a glass." She holds out a hand like it's just expected and, sure enough, a tumbler appears in her fingertips a heartbeat later. Then she's stalking over in Brian's direction, her expression curious and careless at the same time. Much like how her walk is awful languid for clearly having a goal in mind.
*
Brian notices the lady approaching and since he feels certain she's headed to his table he rises politely. "Good evening." he greets. Still, she has the opportunity to abort this sortie if she wishes. For his part, Brian stays on his feet until the lady's intentions are clear.
*
"…You drinkin' that bottle all alone? Seems like a boring thing to be doing, and awful…well, to be redundant, lonely. I promise you I am more than good company if you care to share a glass or two." Lois flashes her smile, a smile that is ALL trouble and daring, as well as the empty glass she's rolling between her fingertips like it was some sort of magic coin. There isn't exactly flirting in her words, but more the sort of friend who'd dare you to drive to Atlantic City and gamble all night for shits and giggles. Trouble. Fun trouble.
*
"How can I be lonely when there are all these people around?" Brian asks in his posh British accent. "I was working my way through it, but if you would care to join me and help me finish it that would be much appreciated." and he motions to the booth he was in. "I bought the sodding thing, no sense in wasting it." He runs a hand through his short brown hair and adjusts his tie, waiting for the lady to sit before he does.
*
The commentary about being lonely with all these people around gets a deeper smirk from Lois' slightly glossed lips and a roll of her eyes. "Bullshit. Non-answer. No one is sitting with you. That was deflection and your charge for such deflection is one glass of scotch." She winks and then slips down to the booth with him. She sinks all the way to the back so her back is against the side wall, and then she kicks her legs up, stretched out along the booth and crossed at the ankle. She looks almost feline, sprawled across the booth like that, so carefull and comfortable. "You're a far way from home, English."
*
"Help yourself." Brian says with a grin as he sits as well. "This is New York and the UN is in town. So, I imagine there are a lot of people that are far from home." He fingers his own glass, perhaps waiting for the lady to pour herself a drink. "Oh! I can get some ice or soda for you." He probably doesn't expect her to take the scotch neat. "Brian Falsworth. A pleasure to meet you."
*
Two fingers of a pour, and Lois doesn't ask for ice or anything else. She just waves it off, nodding to the bottle. "Not gonna mess up a proper single malt like that with ice. Maybe a dash of water but this has been sitting, it's opened up pretty well already. To your health." Lois raises the glass in a smooth toast to him, a wry, appreciative smile on her full mouth, and then she's taking a long, lingering sip. It was better scotch that she could really afford these days, her approval echoing from a sound in her throat. Eventually, lazily, she offers an ink-and-tobacco stained hand. "Lois Lane. Pleasure to drink with you."
*
Brian takes up his glass and lifts it in reponse to the toast. He has a sip from his own glass, then sets it down to accept Lois' hand. "'Lois Lane.' he repeats. "That sounds familar, somehow." He looks around for a moment. "How do you like this place?" he asks. "There was a lady here last night, called 'Dazzler'. Have you ever seen her perform?"
*
"I'm a writer. Full time junior reporter with the Bulletin, but I also freelance for the Times, the Bugle.. anyone who'll take a story, really. I'm the best damn reporter in this entire city and only a junior because I have tits." Lois doesn't even bother to hide the bitterness from her voice about that. She takes a deeper, long drag of the scotch, sinking a bit deeper in the booth, "And you, Falsworth. You work for the UN?" She is still a reporter and cannot shut off the curiosity, even if she's technically not working. She gives a slight shake of her head at the question of performance, "Nah… not always one for the live music. Can't hear myself think. Or sit still that long. Unless I'm baked. Maybe I'll bring the good stuff the next time she comes."
*
Brian nods in sympathy, or at least he's putting up a good front there. "For the UN?" he echoes. "No. I work for myself, more or less. Back in perfidious Albion I'll be a lord someday, from a long line of them." He has another drink. "England was boring, even London. So, here I am." He nods at Lois' dislike of live music. "There's a whole light show that she manages somehow, even here in this club. I should think you would enjoy it more if you were spangled on some hash."
*
"A lord?" Lois' nose wrinkles, eyes rolling slightly behind her tinted glasses, "That sounds… awfully boring indeed. And trapping. Worse than getting hitched, because you're stuck with it from birth. I'm so damn sorry. Here's to freedom." she raises the glass again, wry smirk returning before she's taking one more long, lingering sip. However, there is something about his words that read evasive to her. Pale eyes narrow, studying him a bit deeper. "…Work for yourself… Mm.. More or less? S, that means less. It means you are here doing something you don't want to publicly tell someone in a club?" Her eyes then look him up and down, drinking in the cut of his suit but also his body beneath that. Then to his hands, looking for certain callouses that might come from repeated work on a gun range. She then studies his suit, looking for any tell-tale slight shifts of fabric where weapons may be hidden. She can pick apart a scene with her eyes alone, that sharp.
*
"Too clever by half." Brian says, but he's amused. His hands are well-used, but not a mass of scars, either. There's probably a pistol of some sort under his left shoulder in that jacket, something else under the other. "Are you always so suspicious, Miss Lane?"
*
A husky laugh follows that up and she tilts her head a bit closer, thoughtful grin tugging at her lips. "You dress like a bureaucrat a bit more than a fop or a lord, but you're in this club. You also have… probably a .38… beneath your left shoulder? And something else I can't tell under the right. Your tailor does excellent work. And I'm not suspicious, I'm simply…Observant. Too observant. And out of hash for the night so turning it off isn't quite going to happen." She sounds genuinely disappoitned about that, pouting just a little, but there is a drawn exhaustion behind her eyes. The look of someone who *can't* shut it off, like it or not. It makes her look older for a few heartbeats.
*
"Hmm. Just because your Yank men are slobs doesn't mean that I have to be." Brian replies. "No doubt you can score something here." and he motions to indicate the club. "In the meantime, there's scotch." He shrugs, though. "Sometimes it's better not to know. Healthier." but he doesn't sound threatening.
*
"There is scotch. And interesting company. I'll take it." The trouble is, now Lois has something in her head. She's curious. He's incited her interest. He's in trouble now, by the look of her eyes. She's like a terrier with a rope. She takes another sip of her scotch, watching him across the edge of the glass. "…Are you living full time in Manhattan? Or just here on a visit?" It's not asked like a random small talk question. It's a woman looking for pieces to a puzzle. "…And I have little care for healthy. A healthy life is a boring one."
*
"I suppose that's true." Brian agrees. "Full time, here. With Vietnam heating up, this is where the action is." he mentions. "Better than Japan, though. I should think noone there is getting any sleep at all." He pours himself more single-malt, then he considers the lady. "Do the people here know you're a reporter? Should it worry them if they don't?"
*
"Most of them know. Most of them know I wouldn't spill their secrets without permission. I mean, unless one of them killed somebody or something. Some places are sacred. This is one of them. I ain't going to f*ck anyone's life because I felt like selling a few papers. I'm interested in informing people about the IMPORTANT things… not the gossip." You know, other than writing high as a kite interviews from villains. But those were all willing. "And yeah… I put money on us being in Vietnam within two years." She can see the patterns. And she looks less than thrilled with that prediction. "So…full time. Means you're not MI6. Possibly diplomatic body guard but… I doubt that too."
*
"Would I tell you if I was?" Brian asks, smiling again. "Can't a bloke defend himself?" Another sip of his scotch. "Perhaps I'm a private dick, as you Yanks seem to prefer. A seamus?"
*
"Nah. You're not a shamus. They wouldn't give a license to a foreign national and you wouldn't be living over here full time if you were just on a case. And a Lord is better than body guard work, so… Not that either." Lois considers quietly, shifitng away from her sprawling position in the booth and swinging her legs down so she can turn and fully face him. She's really sinking her teeth into this now. "…Possibly you are on loan to the FBI or CIA as some sort of exchange program, or… more likely, you're with… NATO. And not the peace corps side of things. So, that would be SHIELD."
*
Brian laughs. "Have another drink, Miss Lane." and he reaches for the bottle. "I think you might have seen too many spooks in town and everyone is starting to look the same."
*
A deeper chuckle, velveeten and quietly amused, escapes her lips, "I got it right, didn't I? Mm.. it's alright. As I said, nothing leaves this booth. Unless you want it…" She winks at him, not flirting in the romantic way, but in the way that is almost tempting him to offer her a story. Maybe he'd like the fame? She raises her drink to him in another silent toast and knocks back the rest of the scotch she had left.