Tuesday evenings were perfect for drinking, Brooklyn didn't care what anyone said. The bars were relatively empty, which made them quiet, which meant not many useless wastes of space were going to eat up her valuable drinking time by trying to take her home. For some reason she seemed to only attract the stupid ones that it'd be a shock to learn knew how to breed in the first place.

The tall blonde woman was dressed modestly: a crimson blouse, buttoned all the way up, a pair of black slacks, and her usual pair of black tennis shoes. It wasn't the only pair of shoes she had, but the only pair she regularly took out. The heels and other dress-shoes were for special occasions, like hell freezing over.

She sat at a table, her back to the wall so she could survey her surroundings. It was quiet enough for her liking as she sipped on a Scotch on the rocks. Sure, she could have just done this at home, but as much as she didn't like to be bothered, she wasn't a homebody. Brooklyn preferred to spend her time out and about, even when not working.

Besides, at least out in public, something interesting could happen.

It was as a fairly average night, which was nice for a change. He hadn’t gone out to patrol, or looked into criminal enterprises he could attempt to either stop, or put a spotlight on for some accommodating police. It was a Tuesday evening. He’d gone to see an early movie. Then, he’d gone to a bar.

Tall and green, with red eyes and black antennae that stuck out of the top of his head, Elliott cut a unique look. Dressed in a black leather jacket and blue jeans, with a red shirt on underneath the jacket, he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his plans.

Not all women like a sharply-dressed green man with a nice sharp smile. His love life was sour proof of that. Still, he’d never stop trying. That was a quitter’s attitude.

The first woman he hit on tossed a drink in his face. That was a mood killer. He got even, by using his hand tongue to lick himself clean. That got her to get up in a huff and leave. Hag. Once he’d excused himself and gone to clean himself up best he could in the bars bathroom, he tried again. This time, he was a little less blatant. Elliott sent the blonde woman in a red blouse and black slacks hanging out at a table another of what she was having, and followed it up with a friendly smile upon delivery. Then, he played the waiting game to see how she would respond.

The great thing about Brook's vantage point was that it gave her a full view of the bar. Though sometimes, a full view gave more than one wanted to see, such as a green guy trying desperately to get laid, and then getting a face-full of drink for his trouble. The blond woman had to smirk at that, at least until he did some weird thing with his hand. Oh, ew.

She retreated into her drink, not looking at that particular part of the bar for awhile, and when she did, the mutant was gone, thankfully. He didn't seem to be a threat, or of any use, to be honest; he was just one of those creepy ones that didn't seem to serve much use behind making people's skin crawl. Well, a bar was a good place for that kind of thing; didn't have to go too far to get hammered.

She finished her Scotch, just in time for another one to be placed right in front of her. "I didn't..." she started to say, but the waitress jerked her thumb to another area of the bar. "It's from him." Her blue eyes followed the thumb to see what handsome guy or beautiful girl she'd have to go thank--oh. God. Oh no. "Of course. Why would it be anyone else?" she grumbled, but accepted the drink and flashed the guy a fake, yet grateful smile. Hey, free drink was a free drink, right?

At this rate, she was going to need all the drinks she could get.

Nobody turns down free alcohol. Her smile didn’t tell him if she appreciated the drink, or appreciated him. All it told him was that she had more manners than the last woman, and a good dental plan. Elliott was just about to get up and speak with her, when someone far larger and with a much thicker neck than him suddenly appeared at her side.

The man didn’t appear out of thin air, though that isn’t always out of the realm of possibility. He was bulky, with a mop of brown hair and a scraggly beard. He looked like he would have been at home on a motorcycle, or on the set of a medieval themed television show about kings and succession.

Big guy smiled at blondie, and he didn’t have a dental plan like her. His teeth weren’t like broken piano keys, but it was a close thing. He looked like he’d lost one too many fights. Without preamble, he accosted her with lame pickup lines and bad breath. He was bold, and brash, and Elliott gave him a minute to break Christ his brain cells before he fully expected him to be turned aside by a polite refusal to go elsewhere and get comfortable, or by a nice bar bouncer. Somehow, his thick refusal to understand the word No didn’t surprise Elliott one bit. Brock the rock was dumb.

For some reason, drinks tasted batter when they were free. Regardless of who they came from. She gave a light smirk; she wasn't really sure she was into little green man, but if he kept the drinks coming--

Thankfully that train of thought was interrupted by some meat-head who had the audacity to interrupt her drink. They were always the same, really. Big, macho, alpha male types. Please. "Sorry, Hun. I'm not interested." In came more pickup lines. This guy just didn't know how to take a hint(or a bath, from the smell of him.) She took another sip of her scotch, growing more impatient with every refusal, until he sat down across from her.

However, this gave her ample opportunity; the tables didn't leave a lot of space between sides, and that coupled with her long arms gave her ample ability to do this as her hand that wasn't drinking slowly slid to her belt, and then under the table.

The guy's face went pale as he felt an unmistakable piece of metal pressing against him, and Brooke's playful smirk faded. Finally, he got up to leave, and she discretely slid her gun back into its holster. It was too bad she didn't get to shoot him, really...

Leaning back in her chair, she took another sip of scotch, a slight smile of victory on her face.

A wide grin slid across Elliott’s face as he watched the whole scene. It had been subtle, beautifully handled, and left the big man pale and scampering away towards, Elliott presumed, the nearest bathroom so he could clean himself off.

Unlike Brock the rock, Elliott did not slide into the seat across the table from the blonde woman. He did, however, stop to one side of it so he could talk to her.

“Wow!” He said brightly. “Nicely handled.” Quieter, he leaned forward slightly and added “Didn’t see a thing. So either you scared him off with some sort of mutation, or.” His red eyes almost glowed with enthusiasm. “You have a piece.”

“I was going to help you out if he got any more annoying,” Elliott continued. “But you sent him crying and didn’t even break a sweat. So once again. Wow.”

Why was he enthusiastic about a hot woman with a gun, again? She could be a cop or a crook or even a serial killer? If he had to dig deep into his past to uncover buried issues, it probably had something in common with the whole “crush on Aura thing”. Even if she was so dangerous it was scary, and even if he disagreed with the whole murder thing (and might actually be morally opposed to it now, what with the vigilante “hero” thing he was doing)... one cannot fault a man for liking the look of a strong, confident woman. Even if such a relationship would most likely be doomed for failure.

Up close, he got a better look at her. Elliott realized something. She was even more pretty, and also— probably in her thirties. That, he had no problems with. It only made the badassery more pronounced. Yes, that is a word. No, it’s not in the dictionary.

It seemed as though her admirer had tagged himself in after she got rid of the meat-head. But he stopped on the side of the table instead of sitting across from her, so she couldn't use the little trick with her gun again. Instead, she just continued sipping at her drink, every now glancing at him with a side-eye.

"At this point, I'd think my 'mutation' was attracting unwanted attention," she said dryly, but she couldn't help the smirk curling across her lips. "Well, I doubt there is anything about me that hints 'damsel in distress,' but the thought is appreciated," she said, emotion still absent from her voice, but there was a hint of sincerity as she spoke.

She looked him over, then downed the rest of her drink. It was starting to take effect, but her alcohol tolerance was one of the many things the older woman could brag about. "Have a seat. I promise I won't run you off like the other guy. Let's just...talk. Maybe buy me a couple more drinks, if you're good for it." The smirk curled into an amusing smile, though it was hard to tell if it was a genuine smile or if it was one of those 'cat toying with prey' kind of smiles.

Honestly, this guy sort of sent chills up her spine. He was green, and Brooklyn had no earthly idea what he was capable of. But he seemed...oddly charming. And after watching what she did to guys who got on her nerves, he still had the cahones to come speak to her. So he was also either stupid, brave, or a masochist. And she could work with either of the last two.

"My name's Brook," she said finally, folding her arms across her chest. She really didn't expect this to go anywhere, but she was starting to feel better that he was a visible mutant. This let her know he was capable of something and though she wasn't sure what, it was a lot less nerve-wracking than wondering if he was just an average Joe or not. This way, she knew, he most definitely wasn't.

Besides. She had the gun.

Many thoughts passed through Elliott’s mind at her response. She was like dry ice. Cold and solid, ready to burn the careless. There was a mild interest beneath the layer of emotionless cool. She wasn’t sending him away, but she didn’t dig him. He could dig it. At the same time, his thought of helping her hadn’t been entirely dismissed as a lie. She did appreciate the thought, though it had been unnecessary. He read in her someone very interesting. Someone he didn’t want to upset... though he was kind of intrigued about how that would look. The words “divine wrath” passed through his mind. He blamed it on the angelic blonde hair.

Elliott nodded at the mild thank you, watched her eye him, then down her drink in one go. He hadn’t been sent off. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t like him. He was interesting. She was interesting. He was average, he could take a seat over there. He was getting mixed signals.

The seat was comfortable enough, and the thoughts in his mind weren’t betrayed by his face. Like always, Elliott tried to keep up a cool facade until he figured a person out... unless they were ridiculously cute, in which case he stumbled all over himself like a fool, and wasn’t very cool at all. Or if they were a bro. Really, the cool factor was more a ‘reserved’ nature than shades and smirks and leather jackets. He wasn’t going to punch a jukebox any time soon, eh?

His smile never faltered as he considered her. In response to the question, ‘are you good for it’, the green man got the bartenders attention with two upturned fingers— basically, his entire hand, sans thumb. Two more drinks, mon ami. Gracias. Cheers.

Again with the mixed signals. She gave her name, but her body language screamed restraint. Indifference.

“My name is Elliott,” he said. The fact he wasn’t giving out aliases any more made him feel proud. You don’t really need to when you aren’t working for bad guys or doing bad things. Except breaking the law by punching muggers. And stealing their stuff.

The two drinks came, more of the same. He took one at random, and raised it briefly. He didn’t expect her to clink glasses with him. He just did a little drink salute, and knocked back some alcohol.

“I’ve got a philosophical question for you, Brook.” Elliott swirled his scotch in the glass. “If a roommate paints so much, the living room isn’t livable, because it’s covered in canvas, but brings in rent money with that same crazy art... how should one feel? Because I felt like getting out of the house tonight to avoid paint fumes, and maybe talk to a pretty woman, and I want to see if that’s the normal reaction, or an alien opinion.” He did not bat an eyelash at the word alien. He was almost over that.

It wasn’t quite a pickup line, his statement. He’d figured she’d be expecting that. And doing something someone is expecting is so... boring.

Brook's smile did falter, on the other hand, though it went from an actual smile back to that dangerous smirk that resembled the cat playing with the mouse like before. Though....he did buy her another drink. And he was actually....dare she admit...almost actual winning her over with his charms? She took a sip of he new drink, not knowing how to process this information. In fact, if he wasn't well...an obvious mutant, she probably would have been much more receptive.

Though given her past experience with mutants, and not to mention her job, maybe her hesitance and prejudice was somewhat justified. Sure, it wasn't fair to mutants, but she felt that it wasn't fair to humans that there were others walking among them that were capable of gods knew what just walking around unchecked. And yes, one bad apple did spoil the bunch. But here she was, letting a visible mutant buy her drinks, and she was actually entertaining him.

And what's more, there were no cheesy pickup lines, no corny comments about her falling from heaven or other stupid nonsense.In fact, when he spoke, it was a question that made her think. The blonde woman looked him in his red eyes as she let her glass rest on her lips for a moment, the gears in her brain tuning, processing everything.

"Well, if the roommate earns their keep with it, then I think you've got to ask yourself another question. Can you handle it? I think needing to go out is quite normal; my apartment is used just for sleeping, for the most part. So you have to ask yourself if living with this roommate is for whatever reason worth the canvas and the smell of paint fumes." Her arms folded across her chest again as she let him take in her answer.

Intriguing was a good word to describe the woman’s response. He’d dealt with self centered women, angry women, angry self centered women, and many other unique combinations. Her response was basically “are you man enough to deal with it?” or at least, that was his read of the reply.

Are you man enough to handle it? Can you deal with a minor inconvenience? Is it worth it? Do a cost benefit analysis. Search your heart. Is it worth it? Do you have the balls?

He let that train of thought chug on for a second as Elliott took a thoughtful drink. It was true, Benji got on his nerves at times. But he had an answer.

“Yeah,” Elliott said. “You’re right. It is worth it.” It was worth it to have somewhere to crash that wasn’t watched by nosy know it all mansion teachers who reacted like cops. “What is a place if not somewhere to sleep, between life and the rest of it? I think I can deal with the inconvenience for a stable roommate who pays bills. Could always be worse.”

“Plus. His art is kind of cool. From a standpoint of someone who knows exactly zero about art. And, hey. Ironic enough, in running from paint fumes I went and found me some paint thinner.” In a single motion, he downed the rest of his drink. It hadn’t been THAT full. It was less impressive than it was a joke. A lame one, at that.