Killed Before They Reach Bombay (Rooster)

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Stale beer and unvoiced regrets mingled together to the steely twang of some half remembered song as the night progressed at the Troubadour.  It was about 7PM when the average blood alcohol content reached 0.1, the patrons started their drinking early. They were consistent men, who worked hard, ignored their families and drank away their problems like so many men throughout the world throughout history. These were the stuff that made the country great, those who built the railroads, built the skyscrapers, mucked the sewers, drove the trucks and drank to forget it all. They watched football and MMA, and used glass bottles for therapy: Both as medication and as processing. 

It was 9:24 PM when the therapy session had, what might be considered a breakthrough. Todd Wilkinson, a former cement layer, accidentally bumped into Ed Norris, a furloughed welder with more alimony than paycheck, who had recently turned to extra odd jobs to make ends meet on Gotham's East Side. He was paid to not ask a lot of questions, and to not provide any answers. The twangy string of the live musician continued as he crooned about how lonesome he was tonight as beer spilled partly on the ground, mingling with beer of nights past. The remainder of the beer was spilled into the glass of "Red" Parkinsons, a shaky man with three points on his drivers license who had until recently made money in small ways driving for a web app, picking up people, and dropping them off as a freelance taxi man after losing his job as a freelance factory man (at least that's how he liked to sell it, no one liked the prepetually unemployed). 

It was a shitty beer that tasted more like bat urine than booze, but it was all that Red had left. Possibly the other beer would have improved the flavor, but perhaps Red didn't feel like he needed charity from others. He decided to express his disappointment to Mr. Norris, politely, using his words. Well, words were involved, although they were written on the side of a bottle, although the message did seem to penetrate and get into Mr. Norris's head. It was punctuated by a moment of cathartic breakthrough, as simultaneoulsy both individuals began to shout, and Mr. Norris apologized for his accidental transgression by responding to Mr. Parkinson's accusations with a very subdued, yet firm and honest, right hook to the jaw. Mr. Parkinson attempted to firmly restate his point with the glass from the bar, however Mr. Norris was quick to avoid blame, allowing the blame to land squarely on the face of Mr. Wilkinson, smashing very cleanly into thick shards into his face. 

The spirited debate was then joined by Mr. Wilkinson's Brother in Law at which point most of the patrons began to chime in with their own opinions while the guitarist on stage continued to whine about how lonely he was. It was about at that time that Lex Luthor arrived with the warm welcome of a chair thrown in his general direction. Mr. Luthor was a trained rhetoritician and was able to avoid the very sloppy and pointed welcome with a quick bend of his waist and a look of bemused surprise on his face. 

"Ah, a bar brawl." He pursed his lips and then said with a tone that could freeze assets "Lovely." 

It was at that point that the bottle bounced off the wall behind him, shattering and Mr. Luthor put his hands in his pockets, pulled out a pen and started to work his way around the edge of the brawl towards the bar. He was hoping to speak with Miss Stone tonight. 

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George, Rooster's second in commeand, sighed and gave a look over to Tank who was on the other side of the club. Tank caught the look and nodded. Soon after he and George descended on the brawlers and began to break it up. As Lex passed through, George took note. It wasn't often that Mr. Luthor came by, but the few times he did he always wanted to see Rooster, of course. She was a sought after individual in the world, after all.

"She's in the bath, Mr. Luthor, she should be finishing up by the time you find her," George informed him as he attempted to untangle one man from the other.

Through a door with a lock that required a passcode and up some stairs led to the balcony that overlooked the club from within. Beyond two doors was her humble home. It was well put together, tasteful, but her personality was clear throughout with the bold colors of sunset with teals thrown in here and there. Very southwestern chic.

She emerged from a room clad in a thick robe and a towel wrapped in her hair. It was a rare sight to see her without a hat and her eye patch. The towel on her head covered her bad eye in the patch's place, but the lights were still low to keep from irritating the eye. She gave Lex a skeptical look.

"Mr. Luthor, wasn't expecting you tonight. What can I do ya for?"

She continued moving through her home, beckoning Lex to follow her into her "closet" which was an entire room dedicated to her wardrobe. She ducked behind a folding screen, providing her decency as she scared up something to wear. As he would speak to her the towel she wore flew up and hung over the screen. A gentle silhouette could be seen from where he stood. She had clearly pulled on some underwear and something else.

Lex and Rooster had known each other for a minute now. Her name had come up when he was in search of someone to scout through a swamp in Louisiana to help him take care of a little problem he'd been having at one of his facilities there. Since then they'd become a bit friendly. He occasionally sought her opinion and she'd occasionally sought his on projects or points of interest.  They'd become friendly enough that he had access to her home (then again, it was a security system he'd actually designed).

When she did, eventually, reemerge from behind the screen she was clothed in a silk night gown and matching robe.  They were black and simple, but made of a fine silk.  She slipped into a pair of boots and approached him, glancing him over before moving to a small bar nearby.  Her eye patch was also made of the same silk as her current attire. 

"Water, tea, or whiskey?"

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Luthor smiled at George, moving his head to dodge out of the way of the flying bottle as Tank sorted things out with the patrons of the bar. The musician was coming near the end of his set and had started a new instrumental song. Lex Luthor had other things on his mind. "No need for her to get dressed up on my account, George. This isn't really a formal visit. I'm simply in the neighborhood and felt I should make a social call." He smiled as he walked towards the door lock. The pass code entering itself as he approached it. Lex couldn't recall off the top of his head whether Rooster had given him the code first. . . or ever, really. He hated the codebox on her door and he certainly never used the damned thing successfully, the buttons stuck far too much and were much too spotty. The door unlocked as Luthor approached it. 

"I'll let you get to your business though. I can see myself up." He smiled as the door clicked open, Luthor pushed it, and then walked up the stairs hearing the door click and lock behind him, working his way up the staircase, admiring the odd southwestern decor of the place. It wasn't to his taste, honestly. Lex Luthor preferred a more minimal approach, simple sleek lines, clear shapes, whites and golds and bold colors for accent. While he'd had rooms with lush interiors at LexCorp, and had homes full of old antiques and lush gothic styles, he never lived in them or used those offices. Those were for guests, dignitaries, those who needed to see an image. Perhaps it was in those rooms he kept the ghosts of Lionel Luthor, a man whose tastes commonly exceeded his means, and who felt that old meant rich, and that rich was good. There was a time that Lionel Luthor had bought a number of antiques, filled homes with them during that brief time he'd found himself wealthy before it was snatched away from him. Lionel had clung to those antiques for as long as he could, selling them off sparingly and only at desperation. If he'd had the choice, Lex was certain that Lionel would have sold him and Lena instead. But the market wasn't good for quiet angry ginger children who thought too much and looked too closely and spoke too concisely. Lena might have been an easier sell as she was pretty and quiet, but their mother, Lillian, actually liked Lena.

Lionel Luthor was a man who valued exterior taste and the judgement of others, who kept his world cluttered with distractions while depriving his family of everything. Lionel Luthor was a man of ruthless ambition without the skill to make such ruthlessness more than cruelty. 

In ways he was similar to his son, although his son felt the context of his sins elevated them to a class of their own. Lex Luthor was raised in poverty, had a brief unusual rush of wealth that was shared inconsistently and as a torment, then poverty again. Lex Luthor's memories were of dilapidated slums and dilapidated mansions, diminished circumstances
and elevated circumstances that clung to mysteries and pain. When Lex finally had achieved an age where he could take agency for himself, he'd moved far away from the old and the cluttered and preferred the new and the clean. It was one of the reasons he'd spent so much time developing the look of the LexPod, and one of the reasons why there was no Stately Luthor Manor, or "The Luthor Residence." In many ways Lex Luthor never bothered to have a home, although if pushed on the manor he'd probably say his home was the city of Metropolis. He rarely slept at all, and when he did it was rarely in the same place multiple times. Hidden labs and back rooms at LexCorp Towers and various penthouse suites  and hotels, many hotels. He'd owned enough of them that it might be considered his home. He had storage, yes, scattered about, and a small batallion of logistics people who arranged for the right things to be sent and set up to wherever he was setting himself up. 

Even Lex Luthor's suite at Dini Plaza hadn't been slept in much, he'd been using it more as an office and a temporary place to rest for an hour or two. . . perhaps it's why he liked to have the clean space to stay in, why his workstations and abodes of choices made so much use of 3D printing technology and holographic interiors, to help him remake his world constantly, or perhaps he just didn't like the clutter that his father had left around the house for him to deal with after he was orphaned. Lex had sold everything, although the money went to his father's debtors. It was odd the things that reminded Lex of his family. He agreed again, as he had a million times before, that while tragic, the loss of his parents really were better in the long term for everyone. Perhaps if it had come sooner Lionel Luthor would have died with some level of dignity. 

Lex Luthor did like the decor of Rooster's place, though. It reminded him of different times and eccentric friends. It helped that the occupant of the apartment wasn't bad to look at either, although Lex felt that she decorated herself like her apartment, garishly and eccentrically. Lex was firmly of the opinion that she looked much nicer when wearing less, although he understood that perhaps his minimalist tastes in her fashion were reinforced by other motivations.  

"Just a social call, Ms. Blaze. I was back in Gotham for a while, felt I should pay my respects." He smiled at her as he said "I also brought a present, felt it was better to deliver it personally." And he had, it was sentimental and actually very difficult for anyone to find, although it wasn't particularly hard for Lex as he wasn't looking for it in the first place. It had come up from a contact, something that came up in the course of conversation, and mutual admiration, and then finally a trade, old for new. Lex Luthor had a surplus of the new, so was an easy trade for him, although he's certain his partner felt he'd gotten the better of the deal, if he thought about that sort of thing at all. The man was inscrutable and prided himself on his stoicism and politeness. 

"Whiskey, naturally. I've had your tea and frankly I trust your taste in whiskey much more." 

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Rooster gave a simple nod of her head and poured them each two fingers, neat, of an ambery-rose colored whiskey. It had been initially aged in standard bourbon barrels, and then eventually moved into french oak barrells to age for another five years before eventually making its way into the bottle she poured it from. It wasn’t cheap, but worth the price she paid for it.

“My tea is excellent, you’re just one of those that turns his nose up at ice and tea being in the same glass,” Rooster retorted to him in a tone she often reserved for when she was cutting up at someone.  It was worth noting that tea she kept upstairs for herself always had a ridiculous amount of cayenne in it.  One of her quirks.  A bemused form came over her bottom lip.

“I reckon I would’ve given you a few more days to come say hello before I found myself offended, Mr. Luthor.”

She was known for being a woman of few words. Some columnist, giving an opinion on her club, not long after it opened, in the Gotham Gazette, had dubbed her “the woman in shadow,” noting that she would often be seen in and, occasionally, around the club, always with a hat on that cast shade over her eyes. She rarely spoke to the press, she left that to George and Tank to deal with.

“And he comes bearing a gift?  Well,”  she drawled out, "ain't I just special?"

Rooster moseyed back over to him with his glass.  Her home had a scent that was a mix of pine, cedar, and something sweet.  She put off rosemary and citrus, post bath.

She looked at Lex with her one good, green eye.  He was an interesting man to know.  It was odd, too.  She was never overtly impressed with his intellect, she respected it, but that was never something she was in awe of like everyone else.  What she appreciated more about him was his will.  He never accepted 'No.'   She was of the same vein.  And each time she had been in his company she had always noticed he never underestimated her.  He was surprising on occasion, and she liked that.

Rooster, of course, never expressed any of it.  She kept her thoughts to herself.

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"I've no problem with ice and tea in the same glass, I just prefer a little bit of tea with my spiced sugar-water. I'm a man, Ms. Blaze, not a masochistic hummingbird." He picked up the whiskey, took a whiff and smiled. "This, on the other hand, is pure craftsmanship." He savored it, a good whiskey was like a beautiful woman, it demanded appreciation first, a moment of longing glances, letting it play over the eyes and the nose before you let it stimulate the other senses. He savored it, letting his eyes caress the side of the shot, admiring the way the light played through it for a short moment, before letting it roll over his tongue, letting the heat of it play over the back of his throat as it slid down like liquid molten gold. "This is a proper drink for a human being, Marshall. Refined with multiple iterations, subtly improved with each one to become something pure." He smiles as he says "No excesses to interfere, I prefer things that way." 
He finishes his drink and puts down the glass. 

"I'm sure you would have forgiven me for my distractions, I know you're a busy woman after all, ever the entrepreneur." He traces his finger over the glass for a moment, and then smiling as he tries to read her face. She tries to play at mystery, but Lex Luthor has had masters classes in women of mystery. "I know you prefer the classics, though." He smiles as he pulls the small package from his jacket, a sleek wooden box, unadorned he placed it carefully on the table, before opening it up. The contents itself weren't astounding at first glance, a Colt .45 carefully snapped into place on the crushed and worn velvet embedded in wood, the small tag of authenticity atop it. The engraving on the side simply read "US" the metal seemed worn but well cared for. This was a Colt Peacemaker, the gun that Wyatt Earp used at the O.K. Corral. The Gun that Won the West. 

"It was on sale, so I felt I should put a bid in for it. I know you tend to enjoy old memorabilia, although this one is slightly more useful, and really, I got it for a steal. Only $225,000. I had one of my people bid on it, I felt you'd want it. It doesn't have the fancy engraving or pearl handles or lovely filigree, but it's got a lovely pedigree to it and it has a mythic quality to it, and more importantly it fires well. I felt you might want to give it a try." He waits to see her expression as she inspects it.





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Of course Lex knew she was a US Marshall. It wasn't super public knowledge, but it was what it was. Gotham was her territory.

"Mhmmm," she responded simply to what he had to say about drinks. She knocked hers back and stomped her foot.

"Mmmm, yes, sir. Could ride into the sunset with that in my canteen."

She set her won glass down and laced her fingers as she observed the gift he brought and opened for her. Upon sight of it her eye focused on it while he spoke and she listened. She would glance to him on occasion. She eventually reached for it and casually just inspected it by touching it.

"Lights, 63 percent"

She reached up with both her hands to the back of her head, finding a spot in the fold of the towel that was wrapping her hair. Her eye patch slid off and she set it down on the table next to the box. The eye she kept covered put off the slightest glow, making the green of her eye even brighter than it was. She picked up the gun and began to look it over in greater detail. She took bits of it apart and put them back together. She even sniffed the barrel. She finally smiled to Lex when he mentioned giving it a try.

"This pistol has been on a shelf for far too long, Mr. Luthor."

Beretta gave the gun a minute or so more of looking over before she set it down again and moved to pick up her eye patch and put that back on. A small handful of people had ever seen her eye since it went bad. Lex, just a moment before, had just become a part of that small crowd. She looked to him as she held the patch in her hands.

"It is a fine gift, and I thank you for it. I wish I had something to offer you in return, but what do you give to Lex Luthor?"

Beretta offered another smile as she began to pull her eye patch back on.

"You should at least take the first shot."

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Lex Luthor loved Beretta Blaze's eye, the glow of it, the steady and pulsing shift of green. He loved the way that it cast her features into sharp relief, contrasting and bringing out the sharpness of her nose, the contour of her cheekbones, the lushness of the hair. There was something fascinating about that strange alien rock that embedded itself in her skull, and in some ways, Lex wondered if there was an odd personal connection he felt with it. God knows he'd spent enough time with samples of the stuff, bathing in its glow. What had started with a scientific curiosity had grown into an intellectual affection that eventually transformed into an almost ecstatic fervor as he embraced the new hope for the human race. The stuff of Rooster's eye, the destroyer of worlds, equalizer of Gods. 

Beautiful. He almost felt himself swoon at the sight of it, although that might have just been residual radiation. Needless to say he kept an eye on her. No other human being had such prolonged exposure to the sample, and if Rooster didn't fall ill, it meant that the stuff was entirely harmless to humans. 

Not to mention he did enjoy her company, and he'd never met anyone else who could care for Kamar and Kamar's prosthetics. Plus there was a certain rough and tumble quality to her that he enjoyed, along with her thoughtfulness in alcohols and the social calendar. She had an interest in craftsmanship and politics that meant she wasn't dull to talk to. The sex was an added benefit.  Plus he found her eyes . . . enchanting. "You give me more than you know. And it would hardly be your gun if I were the first to fire it. No, I've brought my own. This one is for you. To get a feel for the handling of it. It's an antique after all, but a piece of masterful craftsmanship. Elegant in its simplicity, yet powerful enough to change the shape of the culture." 

He smiles as he says "Would you like to go downstairs and loosen it up a bit?"

[Deleted]

Beretta smiled to him again. She noticed his bit of swooning, her smile brightened just a touch, she didn't seem to realize it. She clasped her patch back on before undoing the towel, letting her half-damp hair down. It would be dry in no time. While it was fine, there was also tons of it.

She gave him a look before stepping off to the side to get her favorite hat. She tightened the belt that held her robe closed and took the gun to head down to the shooting range in her basement, expecting him to follow.

The nature of their relationship was certainly intimate. They'd bedded each other a few times. They both made no show of it, they were discreet, but not necessarily discreet on purpose. The tabloids in Gotham and Metropolis both agreed there was something going on between them. No one expected Lex Luthor to just come and go from a half-dive bar half night-club as he did. They certainly didn't expect a former Texas Ranger and fish-out-of-water club owner to slip in and out of the personal spaces of Lex Luthor so casually, the few times she did.

Rooster had never been a woman whom appreciated or cared for labels much, she seemed to be unconcerned about defining whatever it was between she and Mr. Luthor. He did not disappoint and that was enough to keep her interested in his company.

"I have no idea what I give you, Mr. Luthor, aside from friendship occasionally veering off into companionship. We're certainly strange bedfellows to the other, but not unwelcome."

As they made their descent she deactivated a few security measures casually. Once they were in she went to a locker and pulled out some goggles as well as hearing protection for them both. She offered him his and pulled some ammunition out of the locker next to it. She was sure to select the most appropriate rounds, even being a little more meticulous than usual. She loaded the revolver and spun it before snapping it shut with a flick of her wrist.

"Target, standard."

A hologram of sorts appeared at the opposite end of the range. It was a simple target. She looked the gun over one more time and set it on a table to pull on her goggles and hearing protection.

She took aim upon the target. She looked over to Lex. She looked back to her target, a wicked smile beginning to creep across her lips before she pulled the trigger.