"There's something comforting about it, something good about feeling sort of numb, detached from it all." The rap tap of a cane against polished tile, the befalling silence of an underworld that bows to the ruler whose shadows crawl along these walls like icy tendrils. Yet with a clap all recedes, hushed whispers resume as the man picks up the mixer and shakes it twice in hand, The woman's presence is new here, but the reputation precedes her, yet he does not judge for judgement is the role of another.
With presence that enthrals he watches, waits to see what is spoken even as a drink not ordered is laid before her. It is a contract, unspoken, a binding agreement that no business will occur within these walls lest she wish for this place to become unavailable to her. With a smirk he watches, waits to see if it is accepted even as he speaks to knowledge that should not be his and yet is. "Wouldn't you agree... Felicia Hardy?"
Loose tendrils of hair pinned to the back of her head tickle at her bare shoulders. Felicia had never been one to complain about the temperature of a room -- call her a little hot-blooded for one reason or another -- but the chill that stole the room was noteworthy. Tongue traced the back of her teeth while dark eyes scoured the shadows for an indication of what the fuck was happening, before they fell onto the caned figure. Maybe this was some Sorcerer's magic. Wouldn't be the first time she had been dragged into their bullshit for one reason or another ... maybe Strange was still irked about her breaking into his archives so long ago.
Her stance shifted to reflect the notion of wholly unimpressed: arms crossed beneath her chest and all of her weight fell to one leg over the other. She remembered dwelling in some hole in the wall in the City for the night, her crew blessed with a good chunk of time off for lack of work, painted as a vacation well-needed and well-earned. Back up was good to have, but in this place she was alone, save for shaded figures she couldn't quite make out having conversations she couldn't quite understand. Felicia hummed one note, a disapproval, before turning attention to the bar.
Now, how did the bartender know what her favorite drink was? Mmn, no, not a Sorcerer. Maybe one of the mutants? She'd have to have a chat with Logan. She'd heard about these sorts of things with Azazel and Nightcrawler. It was only a matter of time before one sought her out, right?
Arms unfurled, she accepted the drink with a sniff, then took a sip. The tart sweetness of the Midori Sour hit her tongue in a pleasant mix before she set the drink back down and wet her lips.
"You have me at a loss, handsome. You know my name, and apparently my reputation, but I don't have the fortune of knowing yours. Clue a girl in, for the sake of even ground?"
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