Spartan Bar & Grill was a hellhole of a place. It was as seedy as seedy could be, with cracked windows and peeling paint on the outside. A health inspection sign with a very conservative “D” rating was posted in the window and the neon-lit Spartan above the door flickered pathetically. Anyone in their right mind would bypass this place automatically, ignoring the line of motorcycles situated at the front and the riotous noises of shouts, cheering, and broken glass emitting from within. It was the place that good boys and girls avoided at all costs – unless they had a death wish or, in the case of Agnes Nicholas, didn’t belong anywhere else.

Inside the bar, the sounds of scuffling were heard. Thinly veiled threats flew through the air amid grunts and growling as two burly men were shoving and grappling with one another in the corner of the bar. Several people around were cheering and laughing while others shouted for them to shut up because they were trying to enjoy their drinks or watched the static-y football game currently playing on the television set.

The bar (if it could be called that in the state of disrepair it was in) was short with only a few barstools placed in front of it. The leather upon the seats was cracked, foam spurting out from between the splits and at least one of them was missing the seat all together and consisted of only a long pole. It was a pastime in the Spartan to watch newcomers pissed-to-the-wind wander in and attempt to a seat on pole affectionately referred to as the Spartan Proctologist.

At the end of this bar, seated upon a stool, sat Agnes Nicholas, an individual that no one would have expected to be sitting there. While all sorts could be found wandering through the Spartan, they all at least seemed to share common threads. Criminals, thugs, those with nowhere else to go, they all found their way through the Spartan’s front doors. But this individual didn’t seem to fit into this mold at all.

She was lithe, almost painfully so, but her compact, lean and muscular form couldn’t be fully through the tight jeans, slim-fitted t-shirt, and the black leather jacket she wore over her shoulders. Her hand was shorter, coming down just to her shoulders but was strange and dark, dark brown. Crystalline blue eyes looked at nothing and no one, instead focusing on just the unlabeled bottle of beer that sat cooling the palm of her left hand. While everyone else cheered or complained about the ruckus around them, this young woman paid no heed, instead just tilting her head back for a sip of her beer before either returning her eyes to the counter top or to the broken down TV with the zig-zagging game playing.

As a matter of fact, Agnes would have been fine just ignoring the rest of the commotion until the horseplay eventually reached her doorstep. An ill-timed shoved caused a massive, 6’2 biker with a red bandana to tumble back and flop against her back. This caused the young woman to accidentally spit out her beer (waste of good money) and turn to eye him over her shoulder.

Her look was unapologetic and not at all subtle. This, of course, earned the man’s ire. Drunken and wavering on his two feet, he flipped Agnes the bird for her stink eye. Normally this would have just been ignored, but he had to pursue. Stepping closer, he draped his arm over her shoulders and leaned down to speak into her ear.

“W-What’s a sweetheart like you…” he chuckled. “…doin’ here? Shouldn’t…y-you…be back at my place? May-be…makin’ me dinner? Or how about ridin’ –“

“Dusty. Shaddap, man.” The bartender intervened. He gave Agnes a wary look before his pleading eyes turned to the drunken fool. “Go back to your frie—“

“I didn’t ask you!!” Dusty suddenly shouted. The bartender backed off, wincing as he did so. With his arm still draped over the younger woman’s shoulders, he grinned with his yellow teeth as he leaned in closer, alcohol staining his breath as he spoke. “Come…on, sweet stuff. Wanna get outta here?”

With a remarkable amount of self control and a low, threatening voice, Agnes replied. ”**** off. One warning.” She lifted her hand, flipping up her middle finger as to sign to show this was his only chance.

Dusty stood there, wavering, before he chuckled and shook his head. He liked them saucy, apparently. He leaned in for a kiss. The movement that followed was so fast that no one could have caught it except for the bartender as the man had been expecting it. A elbow driven into Dusty stomach so deep and hard that it collapsed and immediately became a massive cramp. Dusty retched and hacked for a second but he then began be a arching fist was that suddenly driven into his nose. Blood and mucus explode from around her knuckles but she didn’t pause. Following through with her punch, Agnes stood up, wrapping her arm around the man’s neck, doubling him forward and driving his gaping mouth straight into the bar top.

The bartender winced. The crowd winced. Dusty passed out out of sheer pain. Agnes herself, well, she merely reclaimed her seat and casually flicked a pair of Dusty’ broken teeth that had become embedded in the bar top. As the clattered away, Agnes picked up her beer bottle and sadly noticed it was lacking anymore of her drink. A sigh and she signaled to the bartender. He was quick to pop off another cap and slide the bottle to her.

”Thanks,” she said with gruff but sincere thanks. She then lifted her eyes to the game on the TV and nodded to it. ”Raise that up. Please.”

He did.

What was a nice boy like him doing in a place like this? Well, he was on his way to a much more posh corner of town (where there were pretty, well-dressed boys and even prettier girls) when he saw the seedy little hole-in-the-wall. Well, actually, he saw the motorcycles first. Biker bar? Looks like fun. He landed. He showed himself in and found his way to the sad excuse of a bar. Not exactly a target-rich environment, if you caught his drift. Khalil figured he'd get a beer and be on his way. Maybe light a pool table on fire just for kicks and giggles.

One oily-looking man decided to try his luck with a woman who was just as out-of-place as the demon beside her. Calling her sweetheart and imploring her to make dinner and all sorts of tasteless advances.

Amber eyes watched unflinchingly, and Khalil threw back a swig of beer. This wasn't going to end well. How delightful! He certainly wasn't going to miss it.

The "sweetheart" in question wasn't having any of it. As if the bird wasn't enough of a forewarning. Khalil would stay close, lest the young woman need someone to step in and save her from this... scintillating... individual. Dusty, taking no hints, leaned in for a kiss and, with a well-practiced precision, was taken care of. The demon missed the first jab altogether, but at the familiar sound of the air hastily leaving a man's lungs, Khalil lifted his gaze-- in time to catch the brunette expertly socking the guy in the nose before ramming his face into the bar.

Khalil gaped. A hand fluttered to his chest. Be still my beating heart. The man staggered away, leaving a few of his teeth behind. The demon stifled a laugh. What a woman. Without a word, she summoned the bartender and was proferred another drink. She offered a few more words to command the barkeep to turn the volume on the t.v. up.

"Daaaammmn," the demon breathed, forgetting himself.

It didn't take much for Khalil to be smitten, but here he was-- in deep smit. There was something so sexy about a woman who could quite literally kick your *ss and not think twice about it.

"You move well," Khalil excused himself, taking another swig of beer. Sure, Khalil loved cajoling and flirting as much as the next individual, but he also liked keeping his teeth inside of his skull. He respected power. Cool honey-gold side eyes hazarded a glance towards the brunette. He offered, "Next beer, on me?"

Agnes was unamused. Sitting back at the bar, the groaning sounds of the broken man at her feet dancing in her ears, she turned her eyes in complete ignorance away from him. Looking up towards the television set, she nodded to the bartender, a man who knew her by name at this point, to raise the volume. However it was a gesture that was hardly needed now as most of the rowdiness had bubbled down into stunned expressions from the other patrons. A few of them went back to the drinks, some turning away and whispering about the “freak” at the bar, and others simply hightailed it out of there as quickly as can be.

Either way, they were of no concern for Agnes. So long as they left her alone to drink and watch the game in peace, then it didn’t matter one iota what they thought of her. The young woman was not one of those types that cared to act against words. She learned a long time ago that you cannot stop a person from thinking, however she was going to ensure that anyone to tried to take action on those harmful thoughts would be harmed in return.

Sadly it would seem that Agnes’ need for solitude would be interrupted by another individual at the bar. She hadn’t been paying attention when he walked in but it was fairly clear that the man was a mutant. Devilish appearance complete with horns, wings, and crimson-red skin, her parents would have assumed that he was some creature crawled out of Hell and not simply been a genetically mutated human. He saw fit to express his admiration for her talents, a line if Agnes had ever heard one.

>> "Daaaammmn…You move well,"

Agnes didn’t say anything at first but instead simply observed the young man out of the corner of her sapphire eyes. Seeing that he was genuinely impressed with her skills, Agnes snorted and responded with a low, and almost unheard ”Thanks.” Before fully bringing her attention back to the screen. It was a disappointing game so far.

Honestly she would have been fine if the conversation had ended there but instead of allowing it to, the young man still decided to pursue. When Agnes had reached the end of her drink, she stopped and gave the bottle a little disappointed wiggle and set it down. She raised her hand to order another, only to have her mutated companion offer her next round.

>> "Next beer, on me?"

She sighed. She could have very well told him to shove it where the sun don’t shine and sent him on his merry way. However, considering that Agnes really didn’t have a “job” per say, who was she to turn down free booze? Besides, even with his obvious physical mutants, she was certain she could handle him without having to put up too much of a fuss. It was only here that she turned to eye him, sapphire eyes locking onto amber, before she grunted.

”Fine.” She nodded to the bartender and then gestured to her new drinking companion that he was buying. Once the man took their drink orders, Agnes sighed as set her eyes firmly on the television set. Feeling that the man had at least purchased a named, she whispered hers in her growling-like voice. ”Agnes.”

Them side-eyes though. The brunette had heard him, and when Khalil saw her gaze slide his way, the corners of his mouth quirked.

>> ”Thanks.”

"Don't mention it," his voice had the warm timber of a cello, or perhaps mahogany wood. He was profoundly amused by the utterance that'd barely fought its way past her teeth.

Such a warm and heartfelt response. His smirk widened to an amused grin. What a delightful young woman. Such a cheerful personality. He bet guys were just falling over themselves to hear those few terse words. Khalil took another swig of his beer, shaking his head.

>> ”Fine. Agnes.”

"Khalil," the demon-boy all but sang, polishing his first beer off, "It's a pleasure."

His tone was such that it seemd Khalil was in on some sort of joke. He made no indication as to what that joke was.

The barkeep took their orders, but not before fixing Khalil with a cautionary glance. Khalil shrugged his shoulders, leaning against a bar with a winsome smile. He wasn't some sort of troglodyte. Just because he messed with the occasional fly didn't mean he was graduate to setting hornets nests ablaze. Not presently, anyways. He would have to try nailing a hornets nest with a fireball sometimes, though. Preferably midday, when there were plenty of folks around to suffer the consequences. That'd be a scene.

Khalil followed the bartender with his eyes, before his gaze slid back towards "Agnes". His eyes wandered briefly, then cut towards the television. Cut back to the girl. Cut to the sad, empty beer bottle. Cut back to the girl. She very blatantly didn't want to talk, but she'd piqued Khalil's interest, and he wanted to talk to her. He clicked his talons together contemplatively. Alright, here was the plan-- she would be his mission tonight. Before he left this bar, his goal was to get her speaking in more than one-to-two-syllable grunts.

Khalil eyed the teeth that Dusty had left behind, before glancing up at Agnes again, still wearing his troublesome smirk.

"So, I have a fun question," Khalil announced, "If you'd pardon the interruption. How many teeth, would you say, have you knocked outta skulls? Would it be enough to outfit a denture? Or perhaps two? Or could you start a business with all the teeth you've knocked?"

Yeah, he was still profoundly amused by the teeth.

Agnes had never been a very talkative person. Even though she was a part of a team, the young woman preferred to work on her own rather than follow anyone’s orders. It wasn’t that she wanted to be rude, but mostly because she knew who she could rely on – and that was herself. After years of being on the run, of fleeing from SUPER and ensuring that she and her uncle could continue to be free, the one thing that everyone proved was that they could not be trusted.

It was safe to say that Agnes had trust issues with the rest of the world. However, despite how much trust she lacked in humanity, she wasn’t an all-together heartless monster. She worked with the rest of the X-Men, she righted wrongs when she came across them, and, most of all, she knew when to to be personable – if she had to. Sadly this was one of those times as the young man next to her proved to be one of the few not immediately put off by her skills. She guessed that not everyone was a complete ****.

He greeted her with his own name, Khalil, and reiterated that it was a pleasure to meet her. She nodded her head, saying nothing else on the matter and instead turning her attention back to the television that she had been trying to watch in the first place. Agnes would have been to have left the conversation there but, as always, the other proved to be a bit more chatty. She really wanted to roll her eyes but deemed that it may have been a bit too rude, even for her.

The seconds were heavy as they passed but Agnes was waiting for it. Someone buying her a drink inevitably led to more and more small talk. More often than not it was simply someone trying to get into her pants but she that was clearly not going to be an option, even if she happened to have such urges. The truth was that Agnes had never…done such a thing. Her abilities made touch…uncomfortable for her and, because of that, she tended to skirt all anything that meant she would have to touch another person while being unclothed.

That was a big reason as to why she tended to punch first and ask questions later.

>> "So, I have a fun question…If you'd pardon the interruption. How many teeth, would you say, have you knocked outta skulls? Would it be enough to outfit a denture? Or perhaps two? Or could you start a business with all the teeth you've knocked?"

She almost choked on her beer when the torrent of questions followed. Really it was not something that she was expecting. A clumsy pick up line, maybe a leering suggestion to unveil the true reasons as to why he had complimented, that was what she most expected; not for a rundown on the fist-to-teeth ratio that she averaged. The questions were so sudden and unexpected that she couldn’t help but turn her eyes to face him. What a perplexing creature.

A few seconds of silence passed before finally, at the end, she just grunted a ”A lot.” And turned back to face the game playing on the cracked television set. However, from the corner of her eye, she did smirk and continue with a ”Know any buyers?”

Ah, there go. Something other than a scowl. Agnes seemed to cough on her drink, and offered a brief response to Khalil's inquiry. If he was anything, he was unconventional.

>> ”A lot. Know any buyers?”

Khalil took a pensive sip. So, she was an accomplished fighter-- either that, or she was showboating, but he doubted that. Being that was of so few words, Khalil expected that Agnes would not think highly enough of him to brag.

"A few," he said with a lull, "Quite a few."

There was a lot of knocking heads, in his line of work. There were also a lot of flames to be set. So, there were likely a few charred, toothless cads running about do to the shenanigans of Khalil and company.

Khalil let the silence settle for a few moments, taking another sip. She was still watching the t.v. and her responses were still minimal.

"I would reserve that sort of outreach for those outside of my line of work, however," Khalil explained loftily. You didn't knock the teeth out of friends' heads, after all. Typically that experience was reserved for people who needed attitude adjustments, for lack of a better word. And Poseidon didn't seem to choose losing battles, so there was no lack of teeth in their faction.

As much as Agnes wanted to continue to shun the little red devil, the young man seemed to be rather persistent. Normally that would result in a few threats thrown his way, but there were two reasons she hadn’t raised her fists yet: 1.) he hadn’t touched her, and 2.) he wasn’t scared away when he watched her beat a man senseless. That last one alone is enough to earn a drink with the young woman (not that it would go anywhere) as she had a begrudging respect for people who weren’t so squeamish. Working with this group of X-Men, well, it left a lot to be desired of her companions.

Returning to her drink and the television in front of her, she had teased him when he started his torrent of questions. He wanted to know how much teeth had been knocked out and if she sold them to anyone. It was a rather perplexing wave of questions but it was enough to momentarily knock Agnes off her brooding pedestal. However it was only a moment and, before long, she had climbed back on top and retorted with her own snide comment on if he knew any buyers.

>> ”A few…quite a few…”

He didn’t miss a beat. It was as if they were talking about their favorite drinks or recapping last night’s episode of “The Shambling Deceased”. It was strange and yet somehow entertaining to the bloodlust-filled warrior. Normally she wasn’t this talkative (…heh. Right?) but she found herself to be a particular chatterbox tonight. Maybe it was just the euphoria that usually came from hurting someone but she was actually willing to listen to this guy. Weird.

>> "I would reserve that sort of outreach for those outside of my line of work, however,"

She snorted. She still wasn’t looking at him, her eyes firmly glued onto the television before her. He hadn’t earn her gaze for longer than a few seconds, hell, no one had. Sitting back in her seat, she sighed as she nodded her head in agreement.

”Same,” she said with a soft nod of her head. ”Only those who deserve it.”

>> ”Same. Only those who deserve it.”

"But of course," Khalil purred, proud of his accomplishment at having gotten a few words out of the tight-lipped brunette. Not only that, but she'd chortled. That was progress.

He let the silence settle, at least for a little bit. He eased his attention into the drink before him, sipping it absently, preening absentmindedly, letting his golden-eyed gaze wander.

This wasn't a particularly target-rich environment, in regards to young men and women to woo. Agnes didn't seem like an option-- although battles of wits were enjoyable, flirting with someone who was flagrantly disinterested had no sport. It was one thing to flirt with another flirt. It was an entirely different thing to flirt with someone who could break your face in and not think twice. Surely, such a person wouldn't be interested in more carnal pursuits, either.

The demon-boy conjured a fingertip-flame, and took to his absentminded tendency of rolling the marble-sized flame around his fingertips, the tiny green orb casting a mischievous light in his eyes.

There was a niggling wonder if the lady was an agent, which dawned-on the demon boy a little too late. Advanced martial arts prowess, tight-lipped around mutants... but as a Ragnarok figure, S.U.P.E.R. was always uncomfortably interested in him. Particularly given Khalil's reputation as Poseidon's personal pyromaniac. He at least warranted a bag-and-tag, if not an attempt to be apprehended. He expected nothing less.

And yet, she hadn't tried to subdue him, for which he was grateful. It would be too overt to ask her affiliation, but his curiosity was piqued. After all, she didn't look mutant. Khalil took another sip of the drink, continuing to toy with the flame. He made flagrant side-eyes at Agnes, but his look bore no lust behind it. He looked at her as if trying to dissect the very nature of her being.

It was Agnes’ fault. She shouldn’t have engaged in conversation. She knew better than that. Over the years she has made it a point to avoid conversing with others because it just tends to give them home that she was actually a talkative type; that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The only person she ever really talked to was the X-Men’s resident therapist, Roach (and that was certainly not common knowledge). No, for the most part Agnes just kept to herself and said nothing unless it couldn’t be avoided. The one time she did, of course, she was now paying the price for.

Sipping at her beer, she tried to keep her attention to the game on the television set, but she could feel the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention. It was the feeling she had whenever she knew that she was being watched just outside of her line of vision. It was a skill that she had developed thanks to years of being on the run with her uncle. Whenever anyone paid her more attention than she cared for, her hackles would rise like a cat’s.

And right now, the red-skinned individual sitting nearby had her hair at full attention.

She glanced, only a little, to get him more within her sight. She watched as he toyed around with a ball of unnatural fire between his fingertips. Her parents would have fallen to their knees and wept for mercy before the unsettling gaze of an individual like him. As a matter of fact, even though she had lost her faith in the existence of a deity, she secretly hoped that they were in fact burning in some fiery pit in the earth’s core.

But those were thoughts for another time. Right now the young warrior needed to know what this guy’s intentions were now that they were drinkin’ together. With a sigh she placed her beer down and turned, only slightly, so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye. Her expression was unamused. Actually, if looked at closely enough, one could pick up the subtle hints of irritation on her expression.

”There something else you wanted?” she grumbled.

The more that Agnes cast sidelong glances his direction, the less that Khalil began to believe that she was an immediate threat. SUPER had to apprehend him immediately, right? Because he was Ragnarok and had a proclivity for arsony, they were supposed to engage him immediately.

>> ”There something else you wanted?”

Khalil brightened at the inquiry, squelching-out the flame that had been casually rolling over his fingertips. Of course, Khalil percieved the naunces of annoyance in the young woman's expression, but the look of annoyance only fueled the young man. If he was anything, he was an imp.

"I want a good many things," Khalil purred, leaning his head upon his hand, "Mostly, I just want to have a good time. Ms. Agnes-- do you consider yourself a lawful citizen?"

He casually crossed one leg over the other, his tail curling with delight. He was almost certain that she wasn't SUPER, but this would be a true test as to whether or not she was.

"I mean, I would like to think we're kindered spirits, you and I," and he went on, "You like bashing faces in, and I pursue more... incendiary habits."

He let the proposal hang pregnantly in the air. She was a very serious person, and Khalil was of the mindset that if she let herself relax, she might even enjoy herself. Did she like bashing faces in, would it help soothe her sour mood? Or would she like to see this biker bar go up in the flames?

She could just as easily say that she'd rather watch her show-- whatever it was-- but Khalil was looking to have some fun, however illegal.

All she wanted to do at this point was enjoy her drink in silence but it was years of living with paranoia and being on the run that made the young woman well aware of when someone was staring at her. Right now, Khalil was staring at her. His reasons for doing so, she didn’t know. He had said he only wanted to buy her a drink and he seemed harmless enough but his persistent gaze was beginning to get on her nerves. What did he want now? Was her guess wrong and he actually was just like everyone else trying to get into her pants? For his sake, he better forget the idea as soon as possible.

Only giving him the briefest of looks, Agnes kept her attention on the television as she took another sip of her beer. Her suspicion was on edge now so she had to be careful lest she hurt a poor mutant who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Still even if his behavior was rather odd, Agnes wouldn’t act unless she was sure.

Blatantly she asked him what he wanted – she was never one to beat around the bush. Seemingly spurned on by her inquiry, he responded.

>> "I want a good many things…Mostly, I just want to have a good time. Ms. Agnes-- do you consider yourself a lawful citizen?"

She stopped drinking her beer. She didn’t look at him. Her features didn’t betray her internal thoughts. Instead she just sat there, staring at the television set, at the game on, and didn’t take another sip of her drink. There was something a little unnerving in what the man was saying, something that immediately made her stand to attention. He wanted to know if she was a lawful citizen? Why? He didn’t give her a chance to answer as he immediately on, obviously in love with his own voice…

>> "I mean, I would like to think we're kindred spirits, you and I…You like bashing faces in, and I pursue more... incendiary habits."

Incendiary Habits. The words bounced around in her head over and over again. The way he said it, the context, there was no mistaking that he was asking if she were up for burning things. Not like a child burning ants with matches or anything, but his tone made her think of targets that were far bigger and with a greater chance of people getting hurt. For half a second she ground her teeth behind her closed lips, but she had to know more before she decided how she was going to act. If he was an arsonist, well, she could use another workout.

Slowly she turned her stool so that she was facing him completely. One leg crossed over the other, she looked casual and more like an interested woman than the quiet and sentinel she once was. There was only the smallest flick of amusement in her eyes, but it would be noticeable considering how she was just acting. Head tilted in what she assumed was a flirtatious manner, she gave him only the thinnest of smiles.

”Incendiary…” she repeated. ”How do you mean?”

That got her attention. Agnes turned-on her stool, crossing one leg over the other. Something glinted in her eyes, Khalil wasn't sure what. She inclined her head. She smiled. In-ter-es-ting.

>> ”Incendiary… How do you mean?”

Khalil leaned forward slightly, eyes cutting sideways before cutting towards her. His body language suggested that he was about to unearth some deep, dark secrets.

"I..." he began, locking eyes with Agnes, "...promise you won't tell anyone-- not a soul, Agnes, we're friends now-- have, in my possession, at least a dozen fireworks. Non-aerial, of course."

Now he was just f**king around, honestly. Really, would you tell someone you just met that you were an arson? As if. He wanted a reaction out of her, and he got it. Khalil leaned back up, swaying in his chair.

He really did have fireworks. What was the point of manipulating flames if you didn't have some fun.

"Sometimes I'll set them off randomly, just to give people a start," he laughed, filled to the brim with boyish delight.

This, also, was not a lie. Yes, he also burnt down rival gangs' buildings, but Khalil had to get his kicks somehow when Poseidon wasn't putting him to use. It was worth noting, of course, that in all five boroughs that comprised New York City, fireworks were technically illegal, but that was chump change compared to actual arson.

"That's the most attention I've gotten from you all night," Khalil said with a swig of his drink, practically preening.

Something about this guy just rubbed her the wrong way. The gleam of his eyes, the danger that he promised, it all painted the picture of a man who was out to look for trouble. Of course Agnes was in no way attracted to that. But the fact that he was willing to tote such dangerous endeavors meant that he could be causing trouble to people who didn’t deserve it, people who were innocent, people who get hurt because he was out having and incendiary good time. If that were indeed the case then she needed to figure out if he was one of the many whom she would have to teach a lesson to.

Turning full attention to him, she tried to play his game. He was a boisterous peacock, strutting and trying to gain her interest. Fine. She would play along. In the past, as impossible as it may seem, Agnes has had to use her feminine wiles. Whether to con a guard out of his keys or example why she was somewhere she shouldn't be. Whatever the case, Agnes did what she had to and if this boy wanted attention, then so be it.

Her legs crossed in a more feminine manner, she shared a smile with the man and inquired to what he was referring too. If he were trying to impress her, then this definitely was the time to do it. A smile on her lips, an interested gaze, what more could a young man ask for?

>>"I...promise you won't tell anyone-- not a soul, Agnes, we're friends now-- have, in my possession, at least a dozen fireworks. Non-aerial, of course."

She nodded her head when he made sure that she promised to not tell. If she truly were the vapid woman she pretended to be, then he could tell get anything that would garner her interest. However he was playing this close to the chest. A perfect opportunity to brag and he fumbles it with a deed so inane she almost felt pity for him.

”Oh…” That was, well, lame. If that were it, fine, but something about him told her it wasn't.

>>"Sometimes I'll set them off randomly, just to give people a start…That's the most attention I've gotten from you all night,"

”Hrm,” she shrugged her shoulders.

There was a clear sign she wasn’t impressed. She wasn't turned off the hunt for answers, though. She would get what she needed from him…by ignoring him. If he had the ego she figured he had, wouldn't stand to be ignored for long. Before the night was over, he would tell her exactly what she was after. Interest lost, Agnes yawned and returned to her drink and television.

”Oh, well,” except for her voice, she was ignoring him now. ”sorry. I thought you were interesting,” she shrugged and focused on her game. Hopefully that would be enough to get him to brag.