A jukebox played in the background as a few guys were shooting pool. A dull cloud of smoke hung in the air from cigarettes and cigars. Manticore was used to it by now. His enhanced sense of smell had made hanging out here a pain at first, but eventually he got used to it. Now this place was a main hangout with his buddies from the store. The crowd here was a bit more easygoing towards mutants, and so he went mostly unnoticed since he was here a lot. Not that anyone would likely have the courage to make a big deal about him. If his initial predatory appearance didn't put that thought out of there mind, flashing a troublemaker a smile was usually enough to make them rethink that train of thought. It endeared him somewhat to the bartender, who didn't have to worry so much about security when a furry red lion/shark/porcupine thing scared the crap out of anyone looking to cause him grief.


"So three psychics walk into a bar," said Rick between his mug of beer, "And they knock themselves out, you think they would have seen it coming!" there was round of laughter around the table. Manti joined in, what could he say, it was funny. Anyone who knew his little group knew that the jokes were just that. Some people may have taken it too seriously, they all knew people so wrapped up in political correctness that they forbade any type of ribbing, but Manti would have none of that, it was only people with major control issues that would want to forbid laughter, and if you couldn't laugh at yourself, well you weren't all that fun to be around in the first place.

"Okay, okay, I got one," he said, thinking up his own, "So three mutants walk into a bar. The first goes to the bartender and say, 'Give me a free drink or I'll burn this place down with my pyrokinetic fire power!' the bartender says, 'I've seen your kind before, get out of here'. The second mutant says, 'Give me a free drink or I'll knock you through the wall with concussive blasts I can shoot out of my nose'. The bartender says 'I've heard that one before, get out of here.' Third Mutant says to the bartender, 'You better give me a free drink, I have X-ray vision' The bartender laughs 'What are you gonna do with X ray vision?'  and the guy says 'If you don't give me a free drink, then I'll tell everyone what I see underneath your trousers' The bartender says, 'Hey, hey, don't get crazy there fella, first drinks on me.' "

The table erupted in laughter, and Manti smiled as he took a swig of his own oversized mug. The alcohol had no effect on him, part of his powers, so it was just a social thing to hang out with the guys and have some fun.

She loved the rumble of the engine of her motorcycle. The Harley was powerful, and it made her feel strong. Carefully, she pulled into a spot outside the bar and parked the bike. Then, Amelia pulled her black helmet off and rested it on the handlebars. Bike parked and safe, she strode into the bar.

The mutant did not usually make a habit of coming to biker bars, but Amelia had dressed the part. Faded blue jeans, a Guns n Roses t-shirt, and a black leather jacket looked common-place. Her blackish-brown hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her eyes flicked over the bar and its patrons as she casually walked in.

As said previously, she didn't make a habit of going to biker bars. She had a mission. As a new SUPER agent, she was still getting the hang of these missions. You learn about a mutant, one that is dangerous, or valuable for research, and you use a chip gun to tag them discretely. Most valuable are psychics, for recruitment purposes. But visible mutants, and mutants with powers dangerous to the world, are high priority, too. Powerful enough to level a city block? Yeah, they were gonna have to keep tabs on that. This bar was one that catered to mutants. Lots of people knew that. Perhaps, there would be someone she could meet and tag.

Her eyes fell upon a man with red fur and lion-like features, claws, and a barbed tail. In the moment she looked at him, Amelia took note of other features worth noticing. Height, build, eye color and hair color, clothing style. Any physical tells or note-worthy traits beyond the aforementioned. Her quick mental profile done, Amelia approached the bar top, and smiled at the bartender. She didn't walk up to the crowd of people, or the red-furred man. Didn't look at them again, after the first glance. Made as if not to pay any attention to them at all... except in her periphery, or in reflections on surfaces. And she listened to the sounds of conversation all around as she held up two fingers and requested a Jack and coke.

If she decided the red man was too dangerous a target, there were likely others at the bar. For now, she paid for her drink, and slowly sipped at it, the way that made a drink like that last a while, while still making it look like you were drinking when you actually were not. There was no need to get drunk while on-duty. The drink was to keep up appearances.

Manticore didn't notice the newcomer to the bar. People were in and out of this place so often they went unnoticed unless they made a scene, which wasn't that often. It was common knowledge that plenty of mutants hung out here, Manti being a regular, so it wasn't often someone came looking for trouble here. Those that did learn quick how stupid it was to try something in a place full of super powered beings. Everyone else was welcome, human or mutant, which is why this was one of Manti's favorite bars. Everyone had a mutual understanding, an unspoken rule to leave the politics at the door, it was probably one of the few places where 'human' and 'mutant' had little meaning.

As the evening went on, Manti's group of friends slowly filtered out as people reached their limits and called it a night. Manti usually stayed on a bit longer, since the alcohol didn't affect him, to play a few games of pool before heading back home. It was good practice for his hand dexterity, one of the down sides to his mutation was his thicker fingers and paw-like hands. He wasn't letting that stop him though, after all, he worked on bikes, so needed to be able to handle small parts. He set up at an empty table and racked the balls up, picking out a cue stick before lining up the first shot.

Eventually, she'd had to (gasp!) actually drink something. The nice thing about her job was, that wasn't always frowned upon. Why, she suspected a few agents liked a dry martini with their missions, now and then. This biker bar didn't seem the type to do mixed drinks like that, however. Her second drink had a shot of Makers mark. And then some Jameson. People took a while leaving, but eventually her target separated himself from the pack. And she had enough liquor in her to decide to join him in a game of pool.

"Hey there," Amelia smiled as she sauntered up to the man. "Can I get in on a game?"

She was a decent shot at pool. Amelia had played with friends, and played on a few dates. It was all about math, really. Geometry. She was good at that. You kind of had to be, if you trained in guns.

Up close, he looked much more intimidating. But also, less. She wasn't sure how that would be possible. Maybe it was the way he was trying for a delicate touch at the pool table, even though he had big angry paws. Maybe she just liked animals.

The stranger approached him quite casually, and he took notice of her for the first time. He hadn't seen her about to his recollection, and she didn't smell familiar either. However, he took a liking to her immediately because of the first thing he could smell on her. Working with bikes, he had become somewhat the expert with the exhaust and scents of different bikes, and the distinct smell of a Harley Davidson clung to her, indicating her choice of ride. A woman with taste. She also didn't seem at all phased with his looks, despite being a new face. That could be because she was also a mutant, or it because she had seen her fair share of them, honestly he couldn't tell. Sometimes mutants gave off a smell that gave it away, usually as a result of what their powers did. He had known a pyrokinetic that always smelled of char and smoke as a result of being around fire so much. She didn't have such a smell.

"Sure thing," he said, alway up for a friendly game, "Name's Leon, but my friends call me Manticore, 'Manti' for short. " he said, straitening up and giving a close lipped smile, the points of his teeth a little less pronounced. Didn't want to scare her away too soon now. "What's your name, or should I just call you 'Harley'?" he said, alluding to the fact that he knew her choice in bikes in a teasing manner. He leaned back over the table, lined up his shot. "I call solids," he said,, before tapping the ball with the end of the cue, sending it into the rows of colored balls that scattered across the table. Not a bad shot, he didn't sink anything, but he hadn't sent the ball flying off the table like the first time he ever tried this. He was rather strong, and hadn't quite figured out the limits of his strength then, resulting in more then one awkward and/or hilarious situations and a number of dents in the wall. "Haven't seen you around. Passing through or new resident?" he asked curious to what brought her to the bar.

Amelia returned the smile. Nice nickname, Manti. She'd have used it, if that wouldn't have come on too strongly. Technically, she was a stranger who could become a friend. She would use the name he had given her, then, rather than his nickname of choice.

"Man, I wish my parents had named me Harley." She laughed at his joke. And instantly caught on that he had some strong senses to go with his bestial form. That was noted and filed away for later. "My parents were way less creative than that. They named me Ivy." She nodded. IV. Like her codename, Delta IV. Delta Four. "Love the bikes though. Way more than the green stuff that grows everywhere."

He called his type of ball, and took a decent starting shot that failed to sink any balls. She took in ball placement, and considered her response as she stepped away from the table to grab a pool cue.

As she leaned forward to line up her shot, Leon asked her whether she was new, or just a passing resident. Amelia took the shot, balls clinking together. Her ball that she had aimed for rolled into another, and sent that one spinning into a hole. The right type and everything. "Not sure yet." Amelia replied. She spoke as she lined up the follow up shot. This one didn't go in, but it set Leon up for an easy shot. Amelia glanced up and finished answering the question. "This is my first time here and I'm scoping it out. So far, so good. The bar is well-stocked."

She smiled as she stepped back from the pool table.

"Not a bad name," commented Manti when Ivy told him her name. , "But if you want to get creative with it, you could always get a tattoo down your arm." He may have gotten a tattoo if he didn't have fur in the way, but as it was it would have been a waste since he couldn't show anything off that way. He supposed he could always try dying his fur, but it was hardly a tattoo. He took position behind the ball and easily knocked the ball into the hole.

"The drinks are good," he agreedlooking where the white ball stopped and examining the placement for his next shot. "But I prefer the atmosphere," he admitted. Since he couldn't get drunk, the various liqueurs and beers only offered unique flavors to him rather then a buzz, making it a secondary concern when it came to the appeal of this place.He aimed his cue towards the side of the table, and carefully tapped. The ball ricocheted off at a right angle, around a few stripped balls to knock a second solid into the corner.

Manti gave a pleased smirk, rounding the table again as he continued talking, "How long you been riding?" he said, turning his head as he examined the new layout of the balls, which was stuck between two striped ones. "I've been at it as long as I've had a tail," he said, which was a cryptic statement since he had never said when that happened.With little options, he aimed his cue and hit the ball so that it bounced against the side and over to the other end of the table.

"A tattoo, huh?" Amelia tried to cover a tiny smirk with her hand. "Who's to say I don't?" It wasn't like she was bare-armed. Men could jump to such wild conclusions! And even if she took her jacket off, and exposed sleeveless arms, who was to say she didn't have ivy somewhere else? That would leave him wondering.

Atmosphere is important in a bar. She agreed with him, there. Some bars lack it, and make up for it in quality or service, but charm is what brings people back.

He made his shot. And asked a personal question about motorcycles. One she had no qualms about answering. "My brother likes motorcycles. I used to help him with repairs when I was little. The littlest tool caddy. Used to ride clinging to his back."

It was a cute story, but as for a real answer. "I finally scraped together enough cash to buy one in college. Been riding it when the weathers right ever since."

His follow up shot was in a bad position and didn't sink anything. She walked around the table, and lined up a shot, but his shot hadn't put the ball in a position where it could claim any balls. Instead, she aimed to line one of her balls up so she would be able to get it in within a few minutes, hopefully. Then, she ceded the table to Manticore.

Manti gave a deep-throated chuckle at the comeback, "In that case you can always get another," he said in a teasing tone, "Or you could just go my route and sprout a full body beard if you want to turn a few heads," he added, fully prepared to laugh at himself in the name of playful banter. Ivy seemed to have her share of good humor, and he intended to draw that out.

"Nice," he said after Ivy had divulged her answer, "I put my first bike together myself," he said with pride, "Believe it or not, most places don't consider 7 foot plus customers with tails." he joked. He took his place at the table and took aim, planning on sinking the yellow solid in the corner. However he tensed a little too much, his grip slipping, and the stick merely glanced off the side of the ball which rolled slightly left. Manti gave a slightly annoyed huff, "Just like pool designers don't consider paws," he said, flexing his out to get out the kinks, his claws briefly extending before retracting again.

"Beard? Nah. I am quite happy with the amount of hair I have now." Amelia smiled sweetly. He was funny. Definitely different than one might have worried about, on first glance. They always say don't judge by looks. In the back of her mind, she kept aware though. You don't judge by sense of humor, either. Funny people can be dangerous, too. She knew how he was when he was being friendly. How would he be when people made him pissed?

She shared, and he appreciated the story. His was good, too. "You probably need quite the large ride," she agreed. It'd have to be able to fit him and support the weight. None of those cheap little motorcycles. All-American.

Manticore messed up his shot, and Amelia smiled with just the right amount of sympathy. "They really should roll out a mutant line for products like that. If Left-handed people can get special scissors, people with claws and paws should get special pool cues." She nodded once, satisfied with the idea, then moved to line up her next move. She lined up the shot, preferring her left hand. It hardly ever came up, but she had some knowledge of living life as a lefty. Sometimes, you felt left behind.

Her shot banked and didn't get a ball in. Next time. She was playing the long game.

"Your move," she smiled.

Manti was thoroughly enjoying himself, Ivy was keeping up good conversation, and keeping pace with him in the game. She seemed comfortable enough to take a joke and not feel overly sensitive either about herself or about fearing offending him. It wasn't often you got someone who was completely unfazed by someone like him right off the bat. Even his closest friends had taken a little adjustment time to get used to him. "Oh, don't knock till you try it," he teased, "It's very cozy on a cold night. How many people do you know who wouldn't love a fur coat?"

He took Ivy's comment about his size in stride, "Oh yeah, can't have the bike falling apart beneath me." he grinned, "Had to make a big one until I could get some stronger materials. Don't get me wrong, a big bike is cool and all, but not so great if you plan on stunts." His first bike had been really big, which had made it hard to do any type of tricks. He was strong enough to where he could technically accomplish it, but it was generally hard on the bike, he had to be smarter with the materials and structure to get a bike that was strong enough to hold him while not bending under it's own weight after a series of jumps.

"You think someone would have jumped on that and made a fortune," he said as Ivy commented on things designed for mutants. He knew that capitalism really didn't care about any color but green, so if there was a market it only made sense that someone would take advantage of a customer basis that was thus far unclaimed.If there wasn't, it was only a matter of time before someone realized this, and perhaps he could get his hands on a paw designed tool set. He moved to the ball, eyeing the remaining balls for the best possible target. There were 5 more solids, not including the eight ball, with the stripes making maneuvering a ball difficult. He finally took aim, bouncing the ball again to try hit a solid into a side pocket, but it clipped one of the striped one, and when it hit the solid, the angle made it veer to far to one side, missing the hole.

How many people did she know who wouldn't love a fur coat? She knew people who believed in PETA... unfortunately. They'd all been scared straight by Cruella DeVille. She smiled at the comment, thinking of cute puppies and Disney movies. "You got a point." She said, with a small laugh.

Stunts. The image of the big mutant trying tricks brought a smile to her face. She shook her head and laughed. "Yeah. I can see how structural integrating is crucial." She agreed. "Especially for stunt riding." She added wryly.

He agreed. The market for mutant-related goods was ripe for the taking. It was a shame nobody had figured that out. They could be the next big visionary.

The striped ball Manti had hit was the next target. He'd bumped it into alignment. She'd been hoping for something like that. Amelia did a few calculations in her head, aimed, and fired the ball off the side of the table and into a hole. It nudged a stripe into alignment for his next shot, but she was fine with that.

Moving around the table, Amelia made another shot. She was hitting her stride now. It went in. Her next shot was wide. It left Manti with another good target, if he so wished. Her remaining balls were clumped in one area, or touching sides, out of the way. Inopportune shots.

"Three-fingered gloves for people with three fingers. Paw gloves for paws. Bear paw boots exist but they are surprisingly not the right size for bear paws. Copyright those ideas and you could afford a new bike." She smiled at him.

"You'd be amazed what you can do with a sturdy bike, good deal of strength and cat-like agility," Manti said with a proud tone. He of course couldn't go professional in competitions, unfair advantage to everyone else (further proof of how awesome he actually was), but the thrill of pulling off stunts that would be impossible for the average person more then made up for it. He walked around and saw the easy shot, took aim and sunk it.

"Getting rich isn't really a goal of mine," he said to Ivy's suggestion of copyrighting the ideas, "Managing a million dollar company is something for eccentrics to do, I'm much happier fixing bikes, thank you." Honestly he couldn't see himself aspiring to anything like that. Too much work, not enough reward. Sure you could get a lot of money, but that didn't mean you'd be happy, and from what he read, those who maintained big companies did so by working 80 hour weeks or more, essentially always working, not something he had the drive for. Sure, he was confident in himself and could do just about anything he set his mind to, but he wasn't that crazy.

With Ivy's balls clumped together, Manti had a clear shot at a corner. He took aim and tapped the ball again. He hit a little harder then he meant to, and the ball knocked into the other going in. He held his breath a little as the white ball bounce against edge of the corner guards, coming dangerously close to falling in, though finally it stopped moving. "So, I've told you what I do," he said as he rounded the table to the corner, "What about you? What do you get up in the morning for?" The question was open ended, it could be interpreted several ways, letting Ivy choose what she wanted to respond with. The awkward position of the ball made the next shot difficult, Manti didn't have anything to lean on, so he had to gauge with the pool stick in the air. Though he aimed, the strike was off center and too hard, and the ball went spinning, catching air for a moment before bouncing off the sides and crashing into the clump of stripes that scatted across the table before the ball finally came to a stop.

Amelia shrugged. Million dollar companies weren't for everyone. That was fine. He could live his life however he wanted. Whatever made the mutant man happy.

It was getting more and more unlikely this would be a simple tag operation. Not without some subtle machinations. The man wasn't inebriated, and he wasn't clumsy and ignorant. Plus, she got the feeling he wasn't a willfully dangerous mutant. He seemed like a good person, at least to friends and casual acquaintances. He did not seem like a sociopath, or someone who turned to violence as a first resort. In short, not really a dangerous mutant, in her eyes. Just one to keep an eye on. SUPER wanted her to tag him... she would need to figure out how.

The cueball nearly went in, a disaster, but it held back just enough to avoid the catastrophe. One of his had gone in beforehand, so he got to aim another shot. And he didn't sink it. While he worked, she considered his question. Of course, she already had a cover story.

"Law enforcement," she smiled. Which was true. She'd joined the NYPD, and then SUPER. Some might grow evasive about being around a cop, but then, if you aren't doing anything illegal, what's the fuss about?

Amelia took a shot, just to knock her balls around the table and spread them out. Nothing went in.

"Must be interesting times for you then," said Manti, completely unfazed by her being a cop. A cop who liked motorcycles and hung out in biker bars was no problem, and meant he had less to worry about. "Of course the Chinese call that a curse, I think," he continued, recalling some trivial fact he had heard somewhere, "How does it go? 'May you live in interesting times' or something like that." of course he didn't believe in curses, but he could understand the logic. Interesting times meant a lot of things being stirred up, and while that could be a good thing, it could just as easily go south.

With only three more solids on the table, the shots were getting more limited, and the scattering of the striped balls made getting a strait forward shot tricky. He aimed, then changed position when he determined it wasn't going to work. The next shot he took bounced off the side at the wrong angle, striking one of the striped balls, which rolled into a hole. Scratch. "Darn," he said, slightly frustrated, but still in good humor. It was just a game after all.