1964-09-11 - Genteelisms
Summary: Tanya and Roy return to Lux, intending to speak with Lucian, but find Bucky behind the bar instead. Snark ensues, of course.
Related: Snakes of a Kind
Theme Song: None
bucky roy tanya 

So, this time, when Mamba and Arrow make their appearance, the one Tanya's looking for is actually there. Not that Bucky looks terribly impressive, in bartender mode. He's in a good suit, clearly tailored for him, complete with a black leather glove to cover the left hand and wrist. His hair's knotted back at his nape - from most angles, it just looks as if he's slicked it back with something. It's a slow hour, too early in the evening for either the post-dinner crowd or the evening's musicians. His expression's neutral, almost nonexistent, as if his thoughts were miles away as he absentedly polishes glasses.


Their arrival at Lux is unheralded, which sits well with Tanya and probably very well with Roy. She's wearing much less formal clothing herself, a simple three-quarter sleeve blouse and jeans, though neither of these things are over-sized. In fact, one might wonder if she bought them one size too small — or painted them on. The boots help add some height and lift to her dancer's build. A braid for her tonight, the length hanging over one shoulder along her collarbone, and she scans the place.

Truthfully, she was looking for Lucian. After all, there were some things to iron out still after their impromptu job faire. However…Bucky will do. A little inhale and she turns to Roy, olive eyes glittering.

"That's him! At the bar!!!" Fangirl, ahoy.


Roy's dressed casual. Low profile— jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket. The jacket conceals a pistol under his arm and a utility belt at the small of his back. He's quiet, to Tanya's effusiveness, checking corners even in the relatively safety (though not sanctity) of Lux.

When she starts breathlessly squealing, Roy looks at the Winter Soldier with a hard gaze, but checks Tanya's forward momentum before she can get too far, his fingers curling around her bicep.

"Hey. Deep breath," he tells her. "We're professionals, not kids at a Beatles concert. They say he's killed more men than polio. Let's… just go easy on the approach, huh?" he inquires, tilting a brow at her.

Roy releases Tanya's arm and nudges her reassuringly, moving to walk behind her as a silent and steadfast presence.


IT's that body language that calls his attention - not Tanya's overt and barely restrained glee, but Roy's. So when he looks back to the bar, Buck's making no secret at all of examining him. It's almost wolfish, that neutrality - calm measuring, with feral wariness behind it. He nods to the Arrow, before turning to Tanya, and letting that tiny grin tug up one corner of his lip. Hey there, girl. He sets the most recent glass aside on the bar, lays both palms on the bar's top, and raises his brows inquiringly.


That effusive excitement gets drained away as quickly as shower water turned off and it's a composure that leans just this side of sociopathic now facing Roy.

"I'm aware of his reputation, Roy. I've had a full conversation with the man as well and look." She holds out hands to her sides. "Still alive. Besides, I'm in competition for rabies for deaths. He respects me too."

Still, she's relieved on some deep level to have the Archer at her back as she approaches the bar. No missing the minute smile and she manages a more lazy one in return.

"We came to talk to your boss, but I guess a drink will do," she says as she settles on a bar stool. "You know I won't bite unless provoked. He won't either," and she thumbs at Roy. "I'll take one of those drinks with the fruit. Lots of it." Maybe she means sangria? Or maybe it's deliberate vaguery and she's a jerk at heart.


"Maybe competing with a head cold," Roy retorts— but it's an affectionate tone.

It drops away when he settles at the bar across from Winter, resting his forearms against the edge of the lacquered wood and sitting on the barstool. One foot stays on the ground and he angles himself to keep an eye on the door.

Roy examines Winter, eye to eye across that short distance for a beat, then returns the brief nod as well. Both having taken their measure of one another, Roy turns his other eye back to the door, though keeps Winter in his peripheral vision as Tanya kicks off the covnersation.

She's clearly the chattier version of the duo.


"Boss isn't in, and I dunno when he will be," Bucky says, laconically, though the accent that comes in in even those few syllables is Brooklyn, rather than Vladivostok. "I can take a message for him, if you want," he offers. Tanya's being vague….she's going to get something bizarre. Or….more accurately, what she gets is a Shirley Temple. Hey, the cherries counts as fruit, right? Complete with little plastic sword. Blame what passes for Winter's sense of humor. There's no betraying glint of metal at his wrist. "What about you, pilgrim? What'll you have?" he asks, turning that pale stare on Roy.


"Just tell him we stopped by," Tanya offers per passing on a message. "We have to iron a few things out, set some limits…the usual business shit."

The brunette glances to Roy at the drink inquiry and off-hands, "Something light for you, maybe. Virgin daiqiri?"


Roy looks to Winter at his question, then gives Tanya a level look at her suggestion. He turns his hazel eyes back to Bucky.

"Water, is fine," he says, a beat later. His voice is a rangy baritone, but heavy with glottal fry that borders on raspy.

"Does he have hours? Or do we just keep swinging by and hope we 'catch' him?" Roy asks Bucky, fingers drumming once on the lacquered bar. Much like Bucky himself, Roy plays it pretty close to the vest.


"He's generally here later in the evening," Bucky says, mildly. "But no regular hours. You could try and make an appointment, I suppose." He's setting Tanya's Shirley Temple before her, three cherries on the little plastic sword. Then water for Roy, though he asks, "Sparkling or still?" They've got plain soda water, apparently. He's giving them both a looking-over. Just how many assassin does Lucian need on the payroll? Or is he a collector? It might explain why Winter's done nothing more violent than crack a few skulls since he got there….and those on his own recognizance, really.


Tanya returns the Archer's stoicism with a twinkling, utterly-unrepentant grin of her own.

A shame then, that they missed Lucian. The later hours are noted. Then arrives the Shirley Temple and her grin deflates sharply. Those olive eyes rise and settle on Bucky's face and she tilts her head to one side, her expression begging an explanation for this utter ridiculousness.

"Bartender. Sir. Seriously. Spike this shit with something good." But she does steal that sword before the drink is taken back and start nibbling on the cherries in a decidedly interesting manner, at least.


"Still's fine," Roy informs Bucky, briefly.

He rolls his eyes (discreetly) at Tanya's overt flirting with Bucky, and her request for a drink. Roy tends towards being boringly practical at times, and being intoxicated in a strange bar with a weird owner and a master assassin slinging cocktails seems like a recipe for disaster.

It's not paranoia. It's practical. Just because you can't see the assassins in the shadows doesn't mean they aren't out there waiting. Right?

"An appointment then. Tomorrow evening, around eight PM?" Roy tells Bucky. "Plus or minus a bit."


Of course Buck grins at that, unable to help himself. Makes him look even younger. "You want vodka or rum?" he asks, bright-eyed and innocent. And then there's the assassin waiting right there, on them. To all appearances just some eccentric Lucian's hired on a whim. At Roy's question, he shrugs, spreading his hands. "Decent odds," he tells him. "Next I see him, I'll let him know you dropped by. Phone number, maybe?" He's pouring out icewater for Roy.


Hey, she's only leaning against the pristine marble bartop a little; it's the forearm that makes the cleavage available for show. Okay, it's the unbuttoned two roundels on her blouse too. And her general build. Family genes were kind to her, in a way.

Taking a break from removing the sugary red nectar from one of the red fruits on the drink-spear, she replies to Bucky, "Vodka. Two shots." Hey, she's not Adulting right now, not with Mister No-Sparkling-Water-For-Me beside her. "He can call me," and she rattles off her home phone. "Evenings would be best too. If I'm not answering, I'm out — or busy." Those olive eyes slide back to Roy and she smiles even as she goes back to nibbling on one of the cherries.


Roy reaches for the water and takes a mild sip instead of throwing back a gulp. He's not terribly concerned about the water being poisoned or drugged… but he's giving himself a margin for error, just in case.

He matches Tanya's sly smile with a hike of one brow, though the corner of his mouth tugs momentarily before he looks back at the door as a patron walks through and heads past the bar, deeper into the building.

"We're hoping to get some regular work here. Freelancing's fun but it doesn't pay the bills— and it's hard to do much good when you're cracking heroin dealer skulls on the weekends."


Which caution only makes Buck's smile curl further. But he nods at that explanation. The Shirley Temple he reclaims….and then loads down with the two ounces of vodka. He sets it back down before Tanya with an air of challenge. "Dirty Shirley," he explains, lazily. He does, however, arch a brow at that. "No? Depends on who you're freelancing for."


Tanya takes the Dirty Shirley and sips it, holding the last cherry aloft to one side upon its skewer. She sips, mulls it about her tongue, and nods to herself.

"That'll do. We freelance for ourselves," she interjects to the conversation at hand. "I have a side-gig to discuss with you still, Captain."

Look at that. She can be properly paranoid too. No first names even.


"Community service," Roy clarifies, dryly. "A few too many rotten apples on the street lately— if it isn't the dope dealers in Harlem and Midtown, it's the dirty cops on the east side taking bribes from the mob."

He glances at Tanya's aside, and nods at her with short acknowledgement, then looks to Bucky. He stares at him pointedly. "Not looking to put the hurt on the local law enforcement or civilians," he clarifies, as if expecting it'll get back to Lucien. "We aren't goons for hire. But…" He looks at Tanya, then back again.

"Sometimes a bigger fish can point us in the direction of other big fish."


The irony being that he was never for hire. Not one kopeck, let along good red pennies, was ever compensation for all the deaths he's responsible for as Winter. Incorruptible because he was never for sale. He absorbs that while meditatively polishing the counter, expressionless as a plaster saint. "Fair enough," he says, on what's almost a sigh. "Well, I'll give the boss your number, let him know, if I see him first." There's that distant look in his eyes - he's still struggling to come to some sort of terms with whatever it was Lucian turned out to be, that other evening. He hasn't offered his name, nor requested any. They know who he used to be, at least.


Sipping at her drink, Tanya glances between the two men, as if observing a game of tennis. The final cherry disappears and it's clear that she does enjoy the fruit (can anyone say pie a-la-mode?) for the lightly wistful expression she gives the empty drink-sword. She holds it in her hand still and brandishes it towards Bucky to accent her attention upon him.

"I'd appreciate it, bartender-sir." A little frosting of sardonic amusement in the title granted. "I'll add that I have no issue with most miss — community service," she amends, having a moment of fighting hilarity at the word choice by the curl of her lips; " - as long as no kids are involved. Otherwise, anyone's fair game."


Roy nods at Bucky. Seems they have an understanding, and Tanya finishes her drink just as she lays her last qualifier down. It's a good one, and Roy gives her shoulder an approving, gentle squeeze as he rises.

"We'll be back tomorrow then," he says, digging in his wallet. Three bucks for the drink, and he puts a twenty in the tip jar. For luck, and the courtesy.

"C'mon, girl. Let's leave the man to paying customers," he says, adjusting his jacket so it conceals the gear he has squirreled away on his person.


Community service. That's a hell of a euphemism, enough to make him offer that puckish little grin. All pursed lips, no teeth, and almost as elvish as his room-mate - though there's a flicker of something behind his eyes. He's done kids, in his time - collateral damage. An upnod for the tip - maybe it takes a few real drinks to get him anywhere near garrulous. "Vaya con dios," he says, mildly.


Assassin to assassin, so Tanya rolls about in the horrid twist of the genteelism. Indeed, the empty glass clinks upon the bartop surface and she slips gracefully from her stool.

"I'll go with Captain Tight-Tights here, but I appreciate the blessing nonetheless. Gesundheit and all that stuff. No sneezing in the drinks." The woman hooks her arm through Roy's elbow and winks at the gentleman behind the bar. "We'll see you soon enough," she says around the plastic sword held between her side-teeth like some toothpick. Classy, this one. Still, she sashsays out of the place with that enticing swing of her hips on the arm of the Archer, very much looking forwards to conversating with the Winter Soldier again.

Maybe next time, he can even sign something.


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