1964-08-30 - A night at the Cigar Factory
Summary: A night at the Cigar Factory
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
theresa bucky kwabena harper morbius zatanna-zatara luke-cage 

The Cigar Factory has seen better days. While the doors are open and the lights are on, there is a handwritten sign next to the door that reads 'Pardon the dust. Unexpected renovations. -Luke'

The inside of the bar right in front of the door leading into the establishment there is what can only be described as a crater. Something heavy impacted there with quite a bit of force, causing the floor to crack and spiderweb out in all directions with a little bit of yellow caution tape marking off the area.
R ehind the bar, cleaning the countertop with a towel stands Luke. He is wearing his usual work attire of a t-shirt and jeans.

Zatanna pushes the door open, casting her gaze around the cigar bar. She's dressed to the nines, way more than the neighborhood would justify; knee high black leather boots with a stylishly high heel, dark leggings, and a peasant blouse with an oversized belt around her waist.

She pauses two steps in, carefully avoiding the impact site while daintily maneuvering around it, then turns to look at Luke and flashes a megawatt smile. She bellies up to the bar and swings her hips up onto a stool, turning her knees out to the side to cross her legs over one another.

"Hi there. Got any good tequila?" she inquires, fishing a five dollar bill out of thin air and sliding it across the lacquer, eyes roving the shelves behind the big man.

Harper could use a drink, preferably in a place where she hasn't been before. And tonight it's the Cigar Factory's turn. She's gone fairly casual for the night, in black cigarette pants and a dark blue, short-sleeved crop top that just shows her navel. The sneakers keep it casual, too. She heads directly for the bar once she steps inside, sliding up onto a stool with a faint smile while Zatanna makes her order.

Speaking of the neighborhood and all, on the heels of the two ladies, the door flings open once more, violently this time, and in steps a figure in a tattered looking jacket that flutters around his knees, with a hood flopped over the top half of the figure's face. In a distinct rush, Morbius slams the door shut and holds it there for several tense moments, peeking through windows if there are any in the vicinity. On the lookout.

"I got tequila, but since everyone's taste are different you are going to have to make the determination on if it is any good by yourself, Miss. I haven't had any complaints, for what that is worth." Luke says to Zatanna as he pulls down a glass and cleans it real quick before filling it with the bottle of tequila from behind the bar. "Did you want salt and lime with that, or are you a straight shooter?"

Luke turns his attention to the other arrival, giving Harper a smile and a nod. "How about you? What can I get for you? Wine, beer, something harder?

When Morris arrives, Luke's brow furrows ever so slightly. "Hey, man…watch the door. I've already got to get repairs done on this place from a rowdy customer, I don't need more added to it. What's going on?" Luke peers past Morbius out the window to see if he can see anything out there.

"Condiments, please," Zatanna says, wrinkling her nose a bit. She sets the fiver down and turns to look Harper over, and flashes the sort of reflexive smile of a born people person— confident and friendly.

Moebius' entrance, though, gets a perked brow that furrows in alarm at his covert actions, and she twists on the stool to watch as Luke joins the surveillance of the street.

Harper's given an inquisitive, slightly worried glance, and unconsciously Zatanna scoots a bit closer to the other woman in solidarity.

"Bartender's choice," Harper answers Luke with a flash of a smile. "I like a surprise." When Morbius enters, she doesn't actually turn around at first. Instead, her gaze lifts to the bottles and reflective surfaces on the back of the bar, marking his movements there. It's only when the others call attention to him that she actually starts to turn. As she does, Zatanna might catch the faintest glimmer of magic at the small of her back. "What sort of rowdy customer left that dent?" she asks, turning back toward Luke.

A twist of the head, Morbius doesn't so much glance back at the patrons of the bar as he takes physical acknowlegement of them before turning back toward the door for several more breathless moments. A quick flash of deathly pale skin and richly black wavy hair visible for that split second. "Ahh…" Buying time, the man seems anxious a few more moments, then a trio of figures run past the bar's windows; three men, in persuit of /something/, probably the guy holding the door closed to the bar.

Another tense two seconds, Morbius leans to one side, craning his head close to the window frame while he watches people put distance between themselves and the bar. The guy in the jacket in the end of the summer season relaxes, visibly, jacket sagging for a moment of relief before remembering he's still not alone. Straightening up and summoning what little of his dignity he may have left, Morbius tugs at his jacket cuffs, then pivots around halfway, head bowed. "I apologize," his words accented with a slightly nasal and delicate Mediterranean purr. "It's nothing. A misunderstanding."

Luke Cage nods to Zatanna, sliding over the salt and a little bowl full of lime wedges as he does his bartenderly duty but keeps an eye on Moebius at the same time.

Luke continues to watch Moebius out of the corner of his eye as he goes to work on a drink for Harper. Some pineapple juice, some OJ, a little rum, a little vodka, a little gin and a splash of grenadine all go into a cup with ice, then swirled with a spoon. "Lady, I don't have words to accurately describe it. All I know is it was big, green…and on my side. I would have hated for him not to have been.'

He looks at Morbius and frowns, "Whatever, man…but that 'misunderstanding' best not find its way into my bar, you dig? What can I get you?"

Zatanna's brow flickers at Harper's magical preparations, and a mischievous conspiracy flickers through her intensely cerulean eyes. She gives Harper an impish look and coils a flicking band of copper colored energy over her fingertips, making it vanish the moment Luke and Moebius turn around. She's all smiles in an instant.

"Thanks fellahs," she tells the men, fluttering her lashes a little. "I appreciate you making sure we're safe here."

She pivots back to the bar and dabs a drop of tequila on her wrist, then salts it. Lick, shot, then she crushes the lime wedge between her front teeth.

"Mmph. That's good tequila," she mumbles around the green slice of fruit.

"Note to file," Harper smirks back at Luke as she takes her drink from the bartender, seeming to miss Zatanna's magic. "Bar's got a mean bouncer." She lifts her glass, taking a sip before tipping her chin upward toward Morbius. "Sounds like folks with misunderstandings might not like what they get into here."

As if he hadn't honestly looked at where he was going, and now noticing that it was a bar, Morbius takes a full look around the joint. His fingers pale and spindly with hooked nails as he plucks delicately at his jacket, then slides them away and into his pockets. Not that his face is a whole lot more convincing on the 'I swear I'm not dead' spectrum. Eh, what can you do? Money's still green, presumably.

Awkwardly stuck now on the threshold of not being a rude jive turkey or whatever the crazy kids are saying these days, Morbius keeps his chin tipped forward and the top half of his face obscured as he strides to the bar several seats away from the ladies.

"Gin and tonic, please." His mouth moving very minimalistic as he forms his words, there's still a small, polite smile slid to Harper. "It does sound that way, yes. Luckily, it was the gentlement outside with the misunderstanding, I believe. /I/ understand perfectly, I assure you." Keep your nose clean in here, man. The damage evident is…damn impressive. His attention shifts slightly toward Luke. "This…" Indicating with a heavy pause the rest of the bar. "Is what people on your side do? I would hate to see what those not on yours would."

Luke Cage grins and nods to Zatanna. "Well, good to know. Now when you come back and ask, I can say without a doubt that it is good tequila." He flashes a smile, wiping down the bar in front of her to lift of a spilled bit of salt.

HE turns to Harper and shrugs, "HE wasn't even the bouncer. I'm the bouncer. He made me look small. It was, needless to say, one of the more unique experiences I have had, and I have had my fair share. How's the drink?"

He turns to Morbius with a nod. "Got a preference on gin? I got the well swill, and I got the better stuff behind me." He moves to grab a glass, filling it with ice before he starts to prep a fresh lime to go into the drink. "The three guys that got rowdy didn't even have a chance. They didn't have a chance even before greenie got green, but after…there was no way in hell.'

"I guess it's probably smart to sit far from the bar. Good box seats," Zatanna says to Harper, one brow hiking with an amused expression. "Nice to know that if things get /too/ out of hand I won't catch a chair upside the head."

Luke's working and Moebius is a bit … weird, so Zatanna makes a little social orbit with Harper. Girls gotta stick together. "I'd say it's pretty decent," Zatanna responds to Luke, nodding and sliding the shotglass back. "But I'll take a Manhattan next, though. Tequila's a good starter, not something I wanna get drunk on." She rests an elbow on the bar and balances her chin on her knuckles, giving Harper a curious flickering glance. "That was a neat little trick. Are you new to the area?" she says, her remarks a bit cryptic to anyone but Harper.

"Sweet, but good," Harper answers Luke, raising her glass in salute with a flicker of a smile. "Sometimes you just want to have a fun drink, after all." There's the slightest drawl in her voice, mingled with something a little different - New Orleans, most likely. She quirks a brow at Zatanna's comment; either she's playing dumb, she is dumb…or maybe she doesn't realize anyone can see anything. "Not too new. New-adjacent," she answers with that same crooked smile. "I've been in town for a few months. Plenty of work here."

"Lord, no," Morbius delicately chitters at the mention of well-gin and turns his attention to the rows of bottles behind Luke, one hand wresting out of his pocket to lightly pluck his hood over hid brow as he peeks. "Do you have Gilbey's? Ah, yes, that, please." It isn't so much that he's evesdropping as much as—well okay, he's evesdropping. But Morbius is polite about it as he quietly waits for his mandatory hideout social convention drink, addressing Luke. "Bartender. Bouncer. You are a man of several hats. What was the reason for the trouble? Ably handled, it looks, though the owner must be having a fit on the damage."

The Manhattan's served up ably, and Zatanna curls her immaculately-manicured nails around the glass, cupping the angle of the martini. She's way too posh for a dive bar like this; the manicure alone probably ran her twenty dollars and the designer purple nail polish is the height of noveau fashion in New York. She probably has a hairdresser, too— definitely some wealthy townie down among 'the cityfolk' for some fun.

Then again, she has a certain self-possession that a spoiled socialite wouldn't possess… not to mention the flickering of magic she's conjured and dismissed on her fingertips.

Luke Cage goes to fix Morbius' drink, grabbing the bottle from the behind the bar and nodding, "Good choice. The well gin is shit. I should see what I can do about upping the quality." He pours the gin over the ice, adding a splash of tonic and the lime wedge before sliding it over to Morbius. "And the owner is just happy that there wasn't any more damage done, seeing as I am also said owner. Three punks came in and were causing shit, pulled some guns, bullets flew. Thankfully, nobody was hurt except the punks. They are lucky they only escaped with broken bones."

He nods to Harper, "Got it. Next time, not so sweet. You like something a little more like a whiskey sour, or are you more a martini type of girl? I could do a gibson or a gimlet?

Back to Zatanna he nods, grabbing the ingredients to make her Manhattan. Whiskey, bitters, and vermouth all go into a glass over ice, stirred then strained into a martini glass. "One Manahtten for the lady."

Harper lifts a hand at Luke's question, wobbling it from side to side. "I'm not against sweet. I just like to have a hint of something unexpected, or else get the complexity of the drink itself." Apparently she's not entirely from the beer crowd either. "Left to my own devices, I'll just drink bourbon all night long," she admits with a low laugh.

She still doesn't seem to really catch on to the magic, though she does glance toward Zatanna's fingertips as if there's something she thought she saw, just for a moment. "Also the floor," she points out on the subject of damage, glancing toward the caution tape. "Glad I wasn't on the wrong side of that."

"Owner," Morbius repeats to Luke with faint incredulity to his tone, a pressed smile holding his lips tautly together. He nods and listens to the explanation of the trouble. He cradles the glass he's given with one hand carefully, attention shifting back over to the two ladies while the bartender/owner/bouncer balances the back and forth in conversation rather adeptly. Harper mentions she'd just drink bourbon all night long on her own actually makes him laugh a little bit, chuckling to himself with a bemused little twist of his lips in appreciation for the comment. "I am the same, only vodka. Brandy if I am able, but it gets rich for the blood quickly." And it quite honestly doesn't look like he owns a decent pair of socks, much less ever had a decent brandy in his life.

"Ugh. Gotta vary things up a little," Zatanna says, wrinkling her pert nose delicately. "Drinking nothing but the same booze all night gets tiresome. This is New York! It's the cocktail capital of the world," she reminds the other two patrons at the bar. "They're inventing interesting new cocktails every day, with anything you can think of. Why limit yourself to straight liquor?"

"Well, I usually don't," Harper laughs to Zatanna, taking a sip from her glass. "I tend to go in and have whatever the bartender's making that night, or the house special. I like to try new things," she shrugs lightly. "But it's nice to have something to fall back on, for when you go into a place like this or a dive bar and asking for a mixed drink can get you into…" She trails off, looking toward the dent in the floor with a smirk. "Well, that. Vodka's all right," she nods to Morbius. "If you just want to get drunk."

Morbius turns his attention to the indicated dent in the floor with a faint twitch of his mouth upward. "She isn't wrong…" The quiet man notes thoughtfully before turning back to his drink and the women down the bar. "There are dive bars who on a busy night would much rather mixing a stream of shots or pull a beer rather than spend five minutes mixing a work of art."

Zatanna's insistance on being the city of cocktails makes him chuckle, however, bowing his head over his glass. "That…may not be untrue, Miss. New York, it is in the land of opportunity, a beacon on the coast, is it not? Mm. In that spirit, what would you suggest then?" Curious, Morbius lifts his head carefully, peering out from under his hood down the bar. Light catches and two eyes glint red briefly before he tips his head forward again.

"A vesper, of course," Zatanna says, giving Moebius a funny look. "Vodka and gin, served up, cold, twist of lime. Pretty hard to beat, in my opinion," she says with an airy shrug and flicker of her fingertips in the air.

Something about Moebius clearly has the hair on the back of her neck up, but she remains at least politely pleasant. A seasoned New Yorker, this one— she's not going to invite a fight in the bar by being rude to the odd fellow.

"Why not just get a beer, then?" she asks Harper. "At least you know they aren't watering down the lagers, right?"

"You know, I just don't like beer," Harper admits, shaking her head. "I mean, I'll have one every now and then, but it doesn't do much for me. And if I'm ordering it at a bar, then I'm ordering a bottle. Probably because I don't trust anyone handling my drink, or because I've got a feeling I'll need the bottle for self-defense," she winks, taking a sip from her drink. She looks to Morbius then, nodding slightly. "Or I'm in a hurry. Easy and quick to buy a beer and move on from the bar."

Either oblivious to The Creeps (tm) that he's giving off, or genuinely just trying to make it through the conversation, Morbius takes the suggestion with a modest nod, ignoring or not catching the odd look. "Vesper. I'll have to try that next time I'm in the mood for something with some adventure in it. That is also not something New York is lacking, along with excellent cocktails." Says the guy being chased into bars.

Lifting his glass up for a drink, he pauses, visibly, when Harper mentions that she likes a bottle because bottle knives are all the rage. Huh. A bit of hesitation and then he resumes his drink and nods. "Yes. I do not like to linger in crowded spaces," he agrees in that delicate Mediterranean accent. "Best to get in and move out as quickly as possible. Too many bodies too close gets uncomfortable."

"I think you and I probably spend time at very different sorts of bars," Zatanna says, clucking her tongue softly at Harper. "If I'm going to pay two dollars for a good imported beer, I'm certainly not going to waste it by throwing it at someone," she says, eyes dancing.

"Throwing a drink in someone's face should be reserved for creeps and cretins, or celebrities. Just to show certain musical talents they aren't /that/ handsome," she says, with a subtle scoff.

"Stupid Johnny Cash," she mutters.

"If I'm buying beer, it's exactly because I'm not at a good bar," Harper laughs. "If I'm at a bar with two dollar drafts, then I'm getting my nice, complex cocktail. I'm a liquor girl," she shakes her head. Morbius' talk of crowds does get a longer look from the young woman, pensive, though Zatanna's mention of Johnny Cash gets a quirk of a brow and an amused smile. "That much fun, huh?"

"Johnny Cash is a national treasure, I'm told," Morbius inserts innocuously, maaaaaybe just to see how impassioned Zatanna can get about the subject while he drinks his cocktail, innocently. The world of differences between the trio left to private amusements as the hooded fellow smiles in enigmatic appreciation. "And yet you both find yourselves here? And I presume not under the same, ah, circumstances as myself?"

It may be late, but it's not too late for some. Kwabena Odame is just in off a late night cab shift (jury's out on whether he's actually done or just taking a break), and he strolls in looking like crap. Blue jeans, a black tank top, and an aroma about him that speaks of sweat, cigarette smoke and the city life. He makes for the bar immediately.

Zatanna throws back her cocktail with a gulp and slides the martini glass back across the lacquer, along with another fiver for a tip. The curvy magician slips off the bar and gives Morbius a prim look, clearly picking up that he's baiting her.

"Different strokes," she tells him urbanely, tossing her raven locks back over her left shoulder. "I should head home myself, it's getting to be that hour and I don't want to fight for a cab." She digs in her purse for a slender, lovely silver cigarette case, digging out a carefully wrapped smoke and flicking it to light with a match she produces from nowhere.

"Anyway, good night, and thanks for the company," she tells Morbius and Harper, flicking the lit match away and making it vanish into the thin air from which it came. "I should be going." She slips past Kwabena, flashing him a smile, and heads for the door.

"Night," Harper waves after Zatanna, head tilting for a curious moment as she watches the other woman leave. Something about her…Probably nothing. Nothing she can put her finger on yet, at least. "No one chased me here, no," she answers Morbius, chuckling. "I just came for a drink. I like to try out different places every now and then, just like different drinks. What's the saying? Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds?"

Slight of hand? Eh, well, in this place, anything is possible. Though for Morbius, he is let down a bit as his light goading seems to brush off Zatanna like water off a duck's back. Alas. Morbius turns back to the remaining woman, his smile small and polite. "Yes. And variety is the spice of life, I'm told. Not a bad coupling of sentences to live by for the adventurous. Or the easily bored. Which are you?" He queries lightly over drinks. A glance turned to the door as a familiar face enters the space. Morbius straightens himself slightly, following Kwabena casually with a glance, his hood lifting a bit too high, he tugs it back down again.

A smile? Kwabena is almost too tired to recognize it, but he does glance Zatanna's way and offers a smile in return. For once, he isn't wearing the sunglasses that conceal his mutant, silver eyes. "Evahning," he tells her with a thick accent, before adopting a spot at the bar.

Once there, he glances back toward the door, watching Zatanna leave. Then, he casts a curious look around the establishment, wondering for a moment if he is too underdressed for such a place. This is why he briefly recognizes Morbius's hooded form, and allows for a slow nod of his head before turning to find the bartender.

"A little bit of both?" Harper takes a sip of her drink, looking up toward the ceiling when she sets the glass down. "Or neither, maybe. Mostly I'm just curious. I've never been much for just accepting things as they are and leaving them alone when you could tell there was something more to find out."

Sometimes being the drink-slinger means being in the background and being quiet to let the guests entertain themselves. This was one of those times, at least until Zatanna makes moves to leave. Luke smiles to the brunette, flashing his pearly whites as she leaves a generous tip. "Thank you, Miss. I hope we will have the company of your patronage again." He takes the cash and wipes down the bar, removing the glass before moving down the the till and slipping the money inside.

He looks to Harper and Morbius, saying "How about you two? Can I get either of you two something else, or are you two still good? as he makes the rounds down the bar. When he comes to Kwabena, he nods, wiping down the bartop in front of the cabbie and smiles. "How about you? What can I get for you this evening?"

Zatanna Zatara goes home.

So, this is competely a busman's holiday….he works in a bar, but there's Bucky, anyhow. Oh, he's dressed in a blue workshirt, cuffs buttoned down to the wrists despite the heat, a leather glove on the left hand. He enters by himself, with neither elf nor Asgardian as a companion, and claims that seat at the bar where he can see the entrances and exits.

Morbius tilts his head as Harper commits to 'both' and 'neither' options in two different breaths. He chuckles mildly under his breath and nods a bit. "A curious personality is not the worst thing in the world to have. They say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, after all." Luke returns with askance of another round and the man with the hood cowling the top half of his gaunt looking face glances to the door as Bucky enters. Back to Luke. "No, thank you. What do I owe our owner, bartender and bouncer this evening? I believe my trouble is far enough away I can make my way back home in one piece now." For all his bedraggled appearance, spindly, claw-tipped fingers pull out a money clip with neatly folded bills. Modest looking at least. He pays and tips, as customary.

When Kwabena lays eyes on the bartender, there is an immediate sense of appreciation. Regardless of the growing civil rights movement, he'll always hold a special place for a fellow man of color. "Whiskey," he tells Luke, his accent heavy and certainly reeking of immigration. "Neat. Oh, and a tall beer, does not mattah which."

The Ghanaian then casts his strange eyes toward the mess by the door, and lifts an eyebrow. "You have some troubah here?" he asks.

Perhaps she's running a little bit late, all things considered, but Theresa makes her way to the bar as soon as she manages to….finish whatever she might have been doing. Tonight she's gone a little bit fancy with her dress, her red hair carefully twisted up and pinned into place and a dark emerald green dress is worn with a pair of matching heels and a little clutch purse that probably can hold a cigarette case and a single key in it. She hurries in like she just knows she's running behind and then abruptly stops at the yellow caution tape, her brows flicking upwards before she gives herself a mental shake and starts to look around.

Harper says, "I think it's a one-drink night for me," Harper shakes her head to Luke's query. She's still nursing her first, less than half gone by now. She turns a wry smile on Morbius, dipping her chin. "The satisfaction's worth it, every time," she agrees, brow quirking when she catches sight of Bucky over his shoulder. She doesn't draw attention to him, though. She bothers him enough when he's behind the bar, after all."

Luke Cage nods to Morbius, writing down a receipt on a pad and slipping the tallied up total on the bar in front of him. "You sure, man? You're welcome to hang out here for a while if you need to. I can call you a cab? Hate to read in the paper tomorrow about you getting jumped after leaving here.

He turns to Kwabena and nods, reaching under the bar to pull out a glass while he turns with practiced motion to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. Luke fills the glass with a few fingers of the amber liquid before sliding it in front of Kwabena, before grabbing a beer glass and filling the beer order from the tap. Luke casts his glance over towards the divot in the floor and shrugs, "Believe it or not, that was caused by the guy who took care of the trouble. I had some unexpected assistance in dealing with a couple of wannabe hoodlums who now know better."

Luke turns to Harper and nods, using the same pad to tally up another bill and sliding it onto the bar in front of her. "Let me know if you change your mind or if there is anything else I can get for you."

He moves down to Bucky, giving him a nod and a smile, "What about you? What can I get you?"

"Cuba Libre," rasps Bucky. He's got an uneasy, almost sick look on his face….and his eyes are darting, as if he feared some foe here. His hair's tied back in a knot at his nape, but he brushes idly at his brow, trying to keep a stray lock from falling in his face.

Morbius shares a small smile with Harper for a moment, his appreciation for her read into that saying enough to make the smile part for just a moment, betraying a few too many teeth crammed in there before it's all covered into a suppressed smile once more. "Indeed. Good night, Miss."

Enchanted for half a moment, the gaunt man turns back to Luke and reads his bill. Plucking bills from his clip as he slides out of his chair with a shake of his head. "No, I'll be fine. As long as I have a head start on them it will be fine. I believe the charming phrase is 'the jump' on me." A pressed smile and a solid tip. "To help with your repairs, I hope. Thank you." The clawed man tucks his hands away and asides, without any serious thought to the nearest person, who just happens to be Bucky, "I hear the 'vesper' is good here." Is that some kind of…code or something? Jesus, creeper. Yes or no, the man in the hood heads for the door.

"Must have been one big pahson," Kwabena answers Luke, a smirk on his face at that. He nods his thanks for the drinks, then glances from Luke to the door. When silver eyes alight on Theresa, he straightens. "I am horribly undahdressed," he remarks to himself, then looks back toward Luke. "Whatevah she is having? Its on me."

Kwabena then shifts back from the bar a bit, whiskey in hand, and lifts the glass in an attempt at gaining Theresa's attention. He can't help but notice Bucky's shifty demeanor, of course, and spares a moment to eyeball the fellow with a touch of suspect.

"There you are!" Theresa lifts a hand when she spots Kwabena, smiling quickly at him before she makes her way towards where he is at the bar, "I almost didn't find this place, luv. I'm startin' to believe that I might still need to carry a map around with me, even if it makes me look like a tourist." She moves to give him a kiss on the cheek before she looks around, "How did you find this place?" Not even two seconds after asking the question she spots Luke behind the bar and offers him a smile, waiting until he frees up enough for her to place an order for a double-scotch, neat.

"Good night to you, too," Harper nods to Morbius, pulling a few bills out of her pocket to place with the tab from Luke. A couple more make a tip, and then she's slipping some in front of Bucky. "On me," she says, flashing a brief smile before she heads for the door as well. "Got you covered tonight," she winks. To the bar, it doubtless looks like she's buying him a drink on the way out. But there's a tacit reassurance for the jumpy man as well. She may be walking out of the bar, but it doesn't mean she's leaving.

Nodding to himself, Luke starts prepping the drink for Bucky by grabbing a highball glass and taking a fresh lime and squeezing it into the glass before filling it with ice. He takes the rum, pours it over the ice and then adds some cola from a can before giving it a quick little stir. He tops it off with another wedge of fresh lime and slides it on front of Bucky, wiping the bar down after to clean up the area from which it was prepared. "You alright, buddy? Look like you're expecting some trouble."

Luke turn and nods to Morbius, "Alright, man. Take care out there, Harlem can be a bit unkind if your not careful." He lifts a hand in a wave, and then moves over to scoop up the paid tab, moving the money to the till and cleaning up the spot that Morbius has just vacated with the towel slung over his shoulder.

He turns to Kwabena and chuckles, "You have no idea. If I hadn't have seen some strange ass shit it my time, I wouldn't have believed it myself. Big, green, and mean…and he was on my side. I gave him my best haymaker and I think he barely felt it."

Luke turns his attention to Theresa as she is pointed out, and nods to Kwabena as he moves to prepare the double scotch for her, setting it down onto the bar in front of the redhead.
Hiss Harper leaves, Luke lifts a hand in a wave. "Thanks, hope to see you around again."

"Long story," Bucky says, and there's that smoker's gravel there. "More like old trouble caught up to me, and I don't think it'll lose my trail again, anytime soon. That ever happen to you - you know you should cut and run, but you just don't dare?" Then he's blinking at Harper. "Thanks," he says. "Next one at my place is on me." Morbius's comment gets a blank look, before he knocks back

"Big, and green?" Kwabena replies, lifting an eyebrow toward Luke. "Dat is a first."

He is, understandably, distracted when Theresa joins him. He reaches over to put a hand on her back, and it remains there when she kisses him. "Boss had me working uptown, I heard dey make de drinks well here." He reaches for her hand then, and lifts it to kiss her knuckles. "I am undahdressed, aren't I?"

Then he's gesturing toward the bar stool next to him, before reaching for a pack of smokes.

"Are you?" Theresa wonders, giving Kwabena a look over as she slides herself onto the stool, shaking her head, "I don't think so?" She sets her purse down on the bar, reaching for her drink with another quick smile in thanks before she takes a rather healthy swallow off it before she continues, "If anything, I might be overdressed." To which, she addresses anyone within ear shot, "Would any of you say he's underdressed, or am I overdressed?"

"Yeah…" says Luke to Bucky and shakes his head, "…matter of fact I do, man. I got my own past that haunts me sometimes, but then who doesn't have some skeletons in their closet? All we can do is our best to cause as little collateral damage as we can when they burst out and catch up to us."

Luke leans back against the back wall of the bar and nods, "I must say it was a first for me as well. I'd have never believed it myself if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." He pauses, "And you're both dressed just fine. It's not like have a fuc…" He eyes Theresa mid-word '..ggin dress code in here. I am in a t-shirt and jeans."

Bucky turns a speculative look on Theresa, at that question. Not as wolfish as it might be, considering. "You look fine to me, sister," he notes, and his voice is merely matter of fact, rather than flirtatious. Apparently he's after tempting Fate by means of being alone and drunk, even with enemy agents after him.

Had Kwabena's skin tone been any lighter, he might have blushed. He looks from Theresa to those around him, then back to her with a rueful smirk. Luke's catching himself on the vulgarity earns a grin, and he leans toward the bartender, cigarette in hand. "Listen, brothah. She is Irish. Does not shy away from anything."

He lifts his whiskey then, and reaches over to clink against Theresa's glass before downing the double in one gulp. His eyes clench for a moment, and then, with a breath of air, he produces a zippo and lights his smoke. "Well," he tells the gal, "thank you."

There is an amused smile when Luke corrects his language, then she glances over at Bucky, nodding in acceptance of his response as well before she lightly smacks the back of her hand against Kwabena's arm, "See? You are not underdressed, you are simply dressed. Appropriately." She then does a very hard shift in train of thought and points behind her towards the yellow caution tape, "What happened there?" Clearly, the earlier conversation about it was not caught.

"Can't argue with the man." Luke says as he nods to Bucky and looks back to Theresa. "Not like I am going to be kicking anyone out of here, but you look fine even if I had a dress code."

He looks to Kwabena and shrugs, "Maybe not, but she's a lady. Now, don't get me wrong…I've known some ladies that can cuss up a storm and would make a sailor blush. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't at least try to be civil, until it is deemed otherwise, right?"

He looks to Theresa and rolls his shoulder into a shrug, grabbing a bottle of beer for himself and flipping the top off with a causal flick of his thumb. "Few guys tried to rob the place and got more than they bargained for. Hard as it is to believe I had a guy turn into a big green giant and lay some smackdown. Yeah, yeah…but I swear I am not full of shit."

"I'd believe it," Buck's voice has gone a little flat. He knows all too well what super-science gone awry can produce, even if he's less a giant green ragemonster than someone who looks like Victor Frankenstein's afterthought.

To Luke, Kwabena offers some heartfelt laughter. "Well, I will tell you, it is deemed oddahwise."

He takes a long drag from his smoke, then blows it safely away from any faces. "So," he offers, motioning between Luke and Bucky, before gesturing toward Theresa. "Dis is Theresa. And I am Kwabena."

"Nice to meet you both." Theresa replies, flashing the pair of them a smile before she lifts her glass in a quick salute to them before she takes another sip off it, then she glances over her shoulder once more at the yellow caution tape, then nods in agreement with Bucky, "I believe it, as well, and don't let Kwabena talk you out of it. I'm quite the lady, civility is a grand thing."

Luke Cage nods to Bucky, "Yeah. Things being what they are in this day and age, it isn't a far fetched story, and that is the truly scary thing." After all, Luke himself is the product of experimentation gone wrong. You have giant Hulks, cybernetic super soldiers, and a guy who can't be broken not to mention the ones that can shoot lasers from their eyes or scream so loud they cause blasts of sonic waves.

He nods to Theresa and Kwebena. "Luke. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Maybe I should stick out the swear jar, it always worked for Pops."

The longhaired guy hesitates a beat, before volunteering, "Jack." Yeah, that identity's got more holes in it than a grater, now, but….the bombings at the World's Fair are only a few months ago, and his real name's still the one on the Wanted posters, even if Steve's cleared his name on that front. "I should try that at work," he adds, drily. "Might increase the tip take."

Kwabena shoots Theresa that signature, toothy grin. One that arrives between puffs of smoke. "I know you bettah," he tells her, before offering his glass of beer in a toast to the others. "To sweah jars and huge, green men, keeping good bars in good shape."

"Luke, Jack." Theresa isn't one to poke at swiss cheese identities, even if she really knew that they were swiss cheese. When Kwabena suggests a toast she lifts her glass as well, "To the good bars."

Luke Cage nods to Bucky, "Nice to meet you, Jack. Sounds like you have your own place around here as well? Maybe I will come visit your bar some night if I hire more help. I should really get a few more servers so I don't have to be tied down here."

He turns, lifting his bottle of beer, "To good bars."

"Well, I don't own it," Bucky concedes, lazily, leaning back a little. His eyes have gone half-lidded, almost sleepy, and there's a faint flush on those pale cheeks. "IT's way too high class for that. Lux," he adds.

"Does not mattah," Kwabena tells Bucky. He pauses to take a drag from his cigarette. "If you treat it right? Is yours." He lifts his beer to take a drink. "Like my taxi. Is piece of shit, but I treat her right, and she makes me de money."

"You are looking for people to help?" Theresa wonders, taking another sip off her glass before she sets it down once more, glancing at Kwabena for a moment, flashing him a quick smile before she looks at Luke a little more seriously, "I might be in the market for a job, although I'm something of I believe it's called…unskilled labor."

Luke Cage ahs. "Wonder if they would even let me in that place." he says with a hint of wonder to his voice. "I mean, I own a suit and can pretty up nice, but I might not have the right color skin to go someplace like that. " Luke snorts, tossing back some of the beer form his bottle. "Might be amusing to go try sometime though." He shrugs, "Still, that would be rude of me to come into your place of business and cause a scene. I ain't going to do you like that."

He looks to Kwabena and nods, "Well spoke."

He looks over to Theresa and smirks. "Can you pick up glasses? Can you learn how to mix a drink or pour a beer into a glass? If so, you got all the qualifications that you need. Throw in a low cut top, and you'll make more in tips than I will. Hell, seems even half the women that come in here like a good rack."

"I don't think the boss cares," Bucky notes, lazily. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he doesn't. We got plenty of staff that aren't lily white….and same for the patrons. This is New York, after all." Kwabena gets an upnod. "Exactly. Boss took me right off the street, more or less."

At the exchange between Theresa and Luke, Kwabena can't help but grin a little. He doesn't speak about it, but there is an expression upon his face that suggests he approves.

Luke's remark about why he doesn't want to visit Lux, however, earns a look. He has silver eyes, so clearly, there is something different about him beyond the dark skin. "As long as you don't go seeking to cause troubah," the heavily accented African offers, "den, is no problem. If troubah wants to find you? Is up to de bah to put dem out, and if dey don't?" He lifts his glass. "Den is up to you to put dem out."

"I'm quite adept at picking up glasses." Theresa replies, lifting her glass as an indication of her skill before she swallows the remaining contents with a small grimace before she sets the glass down in front of her. "And as he said earlier, I'm Irish…I can pour a beer. Mixing a drink might be a questionable thing, but I'm a quick study." As for the nice rack, she doesn't make a single comment on that, just sits up a little straighter, glancing at Bucky, then Kwabena, "What is this Lux?"

"Fair enough. Maybe I will come and check it out sometime. Maybe see if your boss can give me any pointers on running a joint like this."

He looks at Kwabena and nods, "Well, if it comes down to me having to put someone out, that isn't going to really be much of an issue. It's more me not wanting to give the place trouble by being there, but I may go give it a shot."

"Well, then you're hired. You can start tomorrow." Luke opens a drawer by the bar and pulls out a little bartenders bible, tossing it onto the table in front of Theresa. "I'll get you a key and show you how to do the inventory and books in about a week, after we see how quick you pick things up."

He smiles, "Now, you'll have to excuse me. Speaking of books, I need to start to tally up the receipts for the night. Excuse me."

"'s a jazz club down in the Village," Bucky notes, taking a last slug that finishes off the Cuba Libre. "Pretty classy joint, honestly. I still dunno why the boss hired me - I bounce some, tend bar a little. Good place to work, though."

"Dere will be no troubah," Kwabena says, sounding sure of it. "Not while Jack is working." He reaches over and makes to clap a hand on Jack's shoulder, appreciative. Of course, when Theresa is offered a job, he turns toward her with a bright smile. "Well," he says quietly, "now I'll have to come here aftah every shift."

The book is picked up, and she idly flips through the pages before she wiggles it in Kwabena's direction with a grin, "Of course you will, luv. Someone is going to have to take me home, otherwise I might wander around the city lost again." She moves to set the book on top of her purse before smiling at Luke, "Thank you."

Luke Cage nods to Theresa. "Don't thank me yet. I may just fire your ass in a week. We will have to see how well you pick things up, but if I can hack it, I'm sure you won't have any problems." He looks to Kwabena, "And you won't have to worry about her. I'll make sure she is taken care of. Jack, it was a pleasure. I'll check out Lux sometime soon." Luke raises his hand in a wave and heads down to the far end of the bar, grabbing th till and starting to balance the books.

Bucky looks wry about that. "I'd like to say that's true," he notes to Kwabena, with a crooked little grin. "But honestly compels me to say it ain't always so." But he winks at Kwabena, before rising, tossing his money on to the bar, tab and a generous tip. "You guys have a good night." He doesn't linger for further farewells before heading out into the late summer night with that funny off-balance swagger he has.

To Luke, Kwabena nods his appreciation. He then looks toward Bucky with a crooked grin and says, "Well, I've heard of de place. Promise, I won't cause troubah when we visit."

He then downs the rest of his beer, providing ample payment to cover his and Theresa's tab, plus a few extra to pay for repairs. With that done, he scoots the bar stool back and reaches to hook an arm with the redhead. "Come on. Let's get out of heah."

Theresa gathers up her purse, and the new bible of her life, tucking both in against her side before she curls her arm back around Kwabena's smiling at him, "This was a wonderful evening, luv. Positively productive."

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