[b][u]Mia Jones[/u][/b]

“Oh, it's [i]five[/i] now, pardon me.” Mia droned. Whoever had said that, they sounded like a younger boy. Barely old enough to keep down his liquor. And God be damned, he was still talking. Something about coming into the wrong place, and who or what looks like another thing, and quite frankly, Mia didn't quite care. 

“Hold on to your booster seat for a moment,” she said snidely as she leaned against her cane, “I have business to discuss.”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, she next heard a voice that sounded befitting of a street gang. It was gruff. Rough and tumble. But it wasn't derogatory in the same sense of the dogs out front. It was inquisitive. It spoke of authority. Seasoned years hardened by tragedy – that was a familiar sound. There was some sense of satisfaction to be found in finally getting to a place where your ambitions can be met, and to speak with someone supposedly worth the salt they weigh in.

“Yeah, you're at the right place.” Said the voice. “Who's asking?”

“[i]I'm[/i] asking.” Mia interjected. “I've got a few bones to pick and for some reason I thought a bunch of drunks could help me with that. Or I help you, whatever. This is where I put in that clichéd back-scratching analogy.”

Then some creepazoid fucktard came along. She didn't see all the special effects, but it was the unnatural way she heard him creep in and how his tongue slithered as he spoke that made her instantly loathe him. It dripped with malice and venom and this was someone she simply didn't trust. He felt his warm, damp breath tickle her neck as he went on on his spiel about her "inner darkness". Mia clenched her fist. [i]Come an inch closer and you're going to find out.[/i]

Thankfully, he backed off. He was making some kind of dramatic noise about how he'd let someone else take care of the rest; their leader, Skeleton. "... Just something I'd like to point out to everyone," he said dramatically, "I am going to let our leader, Skeleton, handle it from here."

So this freak of nature was just wasting her time, then. Next time he bothers her like that again, she intended on burying him beneath the pavement.

“That's good,” Mia retorted, “because I didn't come to talk to sheep.”

The sound of the metal sliding out of someone's pocket didn't escape her notice. Neither did the subtle swirling of the air, nor did the song the metal sing as it built momentum and cut the air around it. Someone was twirling a blade. How cute. If Mia could feel her eyes, she'd roll them. Instead, to convey a very similar message, she turned her head and rubbed her brows with her spare hand and sighed. “And let me add that I don't like showy tricks. If you're gonna pull a knife, I hope you're gonna [i]try[/i] to use it.”

- - - - - - - - - -

[b][u]Baron Moreau[/u][/b]

“In the flesh! It's been some time.” Baron chimed as he straddled the bar seat and spun it around to lean his back against the bar counter. He still kept a rather youthful appearance and his attire had likely changed very little, if any, since their time in the Dreadnaughts. Truly, Baron was still apart of them. He was on paid leave. Ivan, though, he was on the bomb squad. In fact, he was the explosives expert that [i]led[/i] the team. He knew that there was quite the amount of chemistry to be aware of in that line of work, but bombs weren't exactly [i]Baron's[/i] forte. His forte was with people. Which in turn, if you were to look at it metaphorically, were much like time bombs themselves. His relationship was Ivan wasn't especially extensive, but they have their history. Baron was the psychiatrist. Ivan came in at some point or another and became his patient for some time. He was a pretty interesting guy to say the least.

“Oh yes,” Baron asserted, “those are for that murder up the ways. We suspect that the victim was someone from the Skulls. You and I can probably expect we won't be getting much sleep now.”

He craned his head to check out the man beside Ivan. His skin was peculiar. He seemed mutated. Another meta-human? Some were [i]very[/i] subtle, but others, like Ivan's associate, seems to be less fortunate. There wasn't any hiding [i]that[/i].

“So who's your friend?” He asked.