Bars.

It was always a damn bar that drew those in who were wanting to forget. It didn't matter what it was that the person was so sorely in need of un-remembering, while crowded into small or large, darkly lit, sometimes smokey rooms. They packed themselves in like sardines in order to blend in and become someone else for a long while. Megan was there for no other reason. Her third glass of... whatever it was the bartender had given her was long empty. She hadn't bothered requesting another yet.

Compared to the other women wandering around the place (and some men) she was plain. Dressed in black from head to toe, mourning colors, she had seated herself at the first available seat and proceeded to ignore anyone and everyone who tried to talk to her. She wasn't out for free drinks this night... no, she was out to drown her problems and sorrows in mind altering liquids until she either passed out in her seat, or someone was forced to throw her from the bar.

After politely (if you can call vulgar swearing polite) declining the fifth proposition she had received in one night, she propped her chin in a hand and set about staring at the TV behind the bar. Some new program was droning on about recent spikes in crime, and some other blather. All if did was further her depression and force her anger to grow. Not only was she dealing with the loss of a friend... her last, true friend.... but she was also dealing with complicated feelings that she had never had to bother with before.

All because of him.

The twenty five year old scowled, tapping her nails on the wooden counter, and huffed quietly to herself. Her life had become a lot more complicated ever since that night, and she blamed it pointedly and squarely on one man. The man she had chosen, however drunkenly, to give herself to.

How stupid can you get?

With a soft growl, she pushed her empty cup forward and signaled that she would like it re-filled.

Alcohol. After his last, rather public appearance, he felt the desparate need for some liquid refreshment. Thanks to events following that profitable evening though, Martin was forced to hide his face. Not because he had been identified as the killer, but because he was presently being sought as witness to the crime. The search should die down in a few weeks time, but presently he was rather ill equipped to go outside in his natural persona. Therefore he had decided to don his guise of Gretchen again, the femme fatale some found slightly reminiscent of Lady Gaga. Both had a perchant for cutting-edge fashion. This is as far as he himself could see any resemblance. But people would believe what they wanted to.

This evening, Martin had invested (via online shopping no less) in some rather ingenious assortment of clothing. It was a baroque seeming gown again, in which s/he had boarded a Cab. Baroque and not. While the corset laced what had in the first iteration been a pair of grapefruit - now it was something made of rubber, with slightly more boom - rather nicely into something most females would probably view with a slight case of breast-envy, her skirt made no effort to hide her other roundings as well. These had been difficult for Martin to archieve, but the discomfort he suffered now was quite minimal. (Though the whole ensemble with platin-blonde wig was abominably hot.)

His efforts of clothing himself... herself... were somewhat rewarded by the stares... rather lusty stares... she got in the first bar she entered. And she did enter the first bar she came across. Something of a mistake, as that turned out to be a rocker establishment. Lady Gaga might have found the be-leatherd and round-bellied boys entertaining. Gretchen on the other hand did not. She fled with her combat boots - that had not changed since her inception - falling rather rapidly on the street, entering the next bar huffed and in even more desparate need of refreshment. That dress was *hot*. Thank all the gods for high-functioning deodorants and 24-Hour lipstick!

Though the bar was packed, Gretchens way to the counter was rather easy. She shoved and used quite unladylike words until the looks of males in her vicinity found her ample bosom. They found a polite spirit somewhere - usually - and let her flop herself down near another female on a barstool. Arranging that gown after quickly ordering a water gave her enough time to muster the other female who had just gotten what seemed to be another drink.

Her Alto was exasperated and slightly huffy as she addressed the woman. "Now what might you be drinking to tonight, Honey?" It was a voice to fall into. To let yourself in... the voice of a godess. Who was, arguably, not Lady Gaga. But she had ample bosom. Stuffed with explosives tonight.

A voice popped up. Oddly enough, it was not male. It was also not dropping a lame pick up line on her, or requesting her phone number. It was female. It took a moment for it to register in her mind as she drew her newly re-filled up toward her. With pursed lips, she glanced over at the woman who had stolen the seat next to her.

... and then did a double take.

Woah. That was... that was a pretty serious getup the lady was wearing. Elaborate from head to toe. It was... oddly respectable. "...Um.." She blinked at the lady, then looked down at her glass. What was she drinking, anyway? She hadn't even bothered to ask. A simple give me something strong had been her only order to the bartender. "...I don't know... actually." She took a sip, wrinkled her nose, and gulped the mouthful of bitter tasting liquid down. "Something strong..." She replied back with a curt chuckle.

After setting her drink back down, she stared at the counter for a moment before dragging her attention back to the woman sitting beside her. Then, to the various menfolk eyeing the woman from behind. Ah... Men. So predictable sometimes. Her nose wrinkled again as a rather sour expression settled on her face, and she lifted her cup once more.

"Ugh... Men are such dogs. I hope you know you're getting leers from half of the guys in here."

Another gulp. Another flinch as she adjusted to the new taste. Her last drink had been a little sweeter. "God... what's in this, drain cleaner?" The bartender chuckled and shook his head without comment, as he stood a little ways away cleaning glasses and re-filling other patrons cups.

While Megan was still talking, the bartender put down the glass he had been filling and prepared one with a colorless liquid from a pitcher. The glasscame over the counter quickly indeed. Rested for a second before Gretchen. And as quickly as that it disappeared, as the lady with the laced costume showed her rather masculine side. Drowned it all in a few gulps. Surely accidentally it was that during that show her ample bosom popped into even better view by the males around the pair of ladies. Leers became a few catcalls that were met with rather suggestive smiles on her part. Mysteriously suggestive smiles. Cutting across the room to where the rowdiest patrons were congregating around a small table. No Rockers thankfully, but rather the usual assortment of fratboys that were closing on their personal limits. Sadly from the wrong side of the do-not-drink-that line.

Another ruby-red smile was aimed at the man behind the bar. So very red those lips, they wanted to get blood boiling quickly. And quite apparently at least something happened there, for the man quickly glanced away with a smile so full of self-irony that it was abundantly clear that a game was being played by both sides. A game both sides knew about and apparently found quite entertaining. At least Gretchen did not stop smililing. She even added just a tip of pink tounge showing between the teeth. Maybe a bit much, but who would not forgive the outrageously dressed lady for being outrageous?

"Hooooney..." The word flowed like the thing it represented. But tasted more like whikey. Smokey, erotic. Burning your throat. She wasnt loud enough for catcalls - or rather the rowdy bunch was too loud to hear, but Megan would be able to. "... would you mind getting us something more appropriate? And please go easy on the pink-and-sweet." From somewhere a handbag appeared on teh bar. It seemed to be made from pure black lace as well. It regurgitated a few notes that were out under the empty water glass.

This completed, the woman turned back towards her new acquaintance. "Lets see what he can produce with encouragement." She said loud enough for the busy barkeep to overhear. And for those men closer to them. She did not mind playing games, oh Gretchen did not. "my name is Gretchen by the way." She was interrupted by something slapping her backside. Liudly slapping. The smile in the direction of Megan and the Barkeep never wavered, but somehow her lacey handbag found its way into the face of the offender. Head now sprouting something besides badly oiled hair, he started cursing his fashionable acessory. Loudly cursing. Only the catcalls were louder again. Gretchen proceeded talking like nothing had happened. "And indeed... men..." She said. It was a smoky sigh. Even that - an ordinary sigh - sounded like a scene from a movie you should not show minors. And most adults for that matter. "... need to learn their proper place."