Logs:Bitin' & Fightin'

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Bitin' & Fightin'


Characters: Chloe, Lita & Salazar
Date: 2020-07-21
Summary: In which there is no actual bitin' or fightin', just conversation thereof.
Disclaimers:

It's miserable out, but that's kinda standard for midsummer in New Orleans, all hot and humid without any wind worth mentioning to help with the stickiness. It's not a whole lot better inside Dead Johnny's, in no small part because the dive has its own inherent stickiness, a layer of spilled booze and sweat and let's-not-think-about-what-else that just kinda never goes away no matter how many times staff wipes the bar down. Still, the air's a little cooler. Helps that the place isn't packed, only a few of the bar stools occupied, most of the tables empty. Chloe is sunk down at one of them, slouched in a chair that wobbles at a somewhat regular pace as she shifts her weight in time to whatever's going on in her head. The green-haired girl who, let's be honest, only barely looks old enough to drink and definitely got carded, wears a black tank top that shows off some of her tattoos, including most of the crescent moon between her tits and the stylized lotus on the front of one shoulder. She's got her hand around the bottle of a cheap IPA, a couple of empties nearby. She seems to be watching the door, considering everyone who comes in like she's waiting for somebody.


She's lookin' for a mind a work, work. Unfortunately the next person to walk in doesn't so much have a mind at work, it's more like a combination of playdough and hormones that pretend to be a brain. Salazar, for that is his name, wanders in off the street like a bad smell. He's dressed similarly enough to everyone else, that is to say 'like shit' that he mostly goes unnoticed by those without the second sight... those that can see beyond the veil see the predator that he truly is, hidden beneath the thin veneer of flesh and badly hand-made tanktop.

Sal rather easily orders himself the most masculine of drinks, tequila and pineapple juice. And when he does bother to look around the place, you can bet his eyes wander right towards Chloe.


Big, built, blonde. And in beat up old black jeans and a black leather jacket left open to let a mesh tank top and a white sports bra show above a set of abdominal muscles most folks would kill for. Lita Fox isn't having much fun with the humidity either. people don't like working out and sweating too much before they even start. hence the frowning as she heads for the bar, clunking a few inches of solid wedge heel adding even more height to her by way of cheating as she heads for the bar.

Eying a green haired young looking woman and her bottle, and the wild looking hispanic man ordering his drink. To the bartender, the blonde smirks and orders herself a beer." Get me pint?. Bitter. Thanks!" she states surprisingly cheerful as she straddles a stool with well muscled legs. Then goes back to maybe checking out the others with a curious expression.


Chloe's curiosity catches on the mohawked man when he comes in. He checks several boxes. Predator. Vampire. Scarred. Just no quite in the right configuaration to fit whatever it she's watching for. Not that any of the vague disappointment that skews her lips a little left and downward keeps her from tracking him to the bar. Nor does it keep her from flashing a needlessly wry smile his way when she catches his eye in turn, as if he might have any sorta insight into the nonsense going on inside her head. Lita's arrival earns, at first, just a flicker of attention, a quick 'not it' pulling her focus back to the tequila-drinker who preceded her before details like whoa tall and wolf register in her barely inebriated brain and tug her attention back to the blonde. She lifts her bottle thattaway, uratha to uratha, a peaceful gesture in this might-be-neutralish place. And then she drinks. Deep.


Typical, Sal isn't the right configuration. But he's a Gangrel, so he isn't overly burdened with the harvesting of fucks to give. He looks down at the little plastic cup into which his drink has been served and grins, "Cheers, 'ermano." He flicks a few notes onto the counter and gives the 'tender a wink, "Get one for yerself too, ay?" The minute the money is taken up the bartender might as well not exist, as Sal takes up his drink and sips at it gently. "Mmm," he looks over towards the taller-than-him blonde that is also at the bar, "Pineapples, man. You eat them, they eat you back." He grins and nods as he sips at his drink again.


With a glass being raised to her, Lita lacking her own drink just yet because hey, first come, first served. she just smiles and offers a kind of salute along with a cheerful "Well hi there!" she adds in a faint Louisiana drawl. the sort that might have been beaten down by a few years in college.

Salazar's comment about pineapples gets a chuckle as well. "That's why you skin 'em first. Still, at least the tequila makes it palatable." she adds when she finally gets her beer. Which is then paid for and tipped as the large mass of Ahroun slips a wallet from her jacket to pull the cash she needs.


"Hey." A lazy chirp from the green-haired girl sitting all by herself in answer to the all too cheerful hello from just over there. Not quite enough to gauge Chloe's accent. Neither is the snort of laughter which answers Salazar's observation about pineapples, the way her eyes go wide suggesting maybe she's imagining something cartoonishly comical involving fruit with fangs. She almost manages another swig of her beer before Lita's counter-quip earns a bigger laugh, a clearing of her throat, a not of, "Sounds like a punchline to a totally different joke." Definitely a southern girl too, raised somewhere not too far from right here. Let's hope they're not waiting for her to provide the alternate setup as she, instead, drains her beer.


"I don't know many English jokes," Sal replies with a small shrug. He takes another sip from his drink, without using a straw like some kind of barbarian. He tilts his head slightly, "Okay. 'Where do you get pineapple milk?'" He pauses and again sips from his drink, "From pinipples." He is, rather pointedly, not looking at the blonde buff bit... babe's bill bundle and is instead propping himself up on the bar with an elbow and looking off in Chloe's direction.


"Still ain't gonna be fun squeezing those." Lita further points out. Adding a glance at Chloe as if hinting it's a bad idea squeezing on a werewolf. It really is but the Rahu is trying to be subtle. "I'm Lita. Meat grinder, personal trainer really. But no one really wants to get off their ass when they can sweat enough in this weather." Even she's got a sheen of perspiration where skin is visible above and below her mesh tank and sports bra hidden beneath the leather jacket. Probably because of the leather jacket and black jeans.


The door creaks open, jingles, whatever, as Saul ambles his way inside with a gruff look on his face, like he doesn't want to be here but somehow, he -has- to. Poor dude has never really found a liking to turs, or anything similar to it where he has to put up with the other supers' bull. But here he is anyway, slowly stepping his way inside as he throws the group of three a quick look before he turns and heads for the bar. Saul is sporting a black Sabaton shirt with the band's logo emblazoned on his chest which gives him that metal look when combined with that array of tattoos decorating his arms and hands, a pair of working jeans, tight and fitted up nicely on his figure, and black leathered Dr. Martens boots that have been recently polished to a sleek appearance. He flags the tender over for a drink, a large pint of lager for himself.


Chloe doesn't want to laugh at that terrible joke, but a bright bark of laughter escapes before she has a chance to bite it back, leaving her both smiling and wincing at Salazar. "Fucking terrible," doesn't sound like particularly harsh judgment, laced with humor as it is. Wince deepening, she points her bottle at Lita and says, "Hey. Some people like a little hurt." Personal trainers should know something about that, right? She gives her bottle a little swirl, finding it empty, and leaves it behind with the rest of 'em as she pushes to her feet. To her full height of a whole five foot four. "Chloe," is offered to Lita at first, but it's Sal who gets the smile that follows, dark lashes dipped low. Briefly. Until she snags the bartender's attention and holds up a single finger to ask for another. Same thing she's been drinking all night. "Witch. And generally disinterested in sweating in nonrecreational circumstances." With a flick of a look toward the new guy coming in, one tattooed wolf says to the other, "Nice ink."


Looking down at himself for a moment, Sal grins, "Sal. I don't sweat." He is sweating. "Usually." Smooth. Still, he downs the rest of his drink and puts the cup behind him on the bar with the ease of someone that regularly puts things on other things. He shoots a wink to Chloe before he turns to look at the Inked Man that wanders in. "Huh, yeah. There's someone that likes pain, a'ight." Sal's eyes drift to the band logo, but since it's not one of those incomprehensible thornbushes he simply shrugs and redirects his attention to Lita, "If yer squeein', yer doin' it wrong." He shrugs again, "But I ain't gonna yuck ya yum. Go for whatever makes ya happy."


"Well yeah. When it's worth the effort." Lita points out. "It is part of my job after all." she adds with a finger pointing towards the ceiling as exclamation point made.

"Risk versus reward after all. Pineapples aren't worth my time though. There's plenty of tastier things to sink teeth into." she adds with a wink aimed at the wolf and vamp.

Saul's entrances gets a grin and a nod in acknowledgement of wolf to wolf. How no one set up a tur yet is a question for the ages. Lita does however keep working on her beer. "And if you wanna squeeze something you want it to make noise. So you know what type of squeezing is getting the right reaction you want."


Chloe bats her lashes, brown eyes flashing wide as she asks, "Are you flirting with me, Miss Lita?" with all the southern charm she can muster. After, a muttered, "Iunno," follows on the wake of rahu's last words. "Kinda alright with the quiet type." Not that any of this crowd, so far, seem to fit that bill. The thought is cut off with a brighter, "Thank you!" for the bartender as her IPA's offered over, another tick on her growing tab, no bills flashed. Taking a step back as she lifts her beer, she looks to Sal and wonders, "What makes you happy?" before taking a swig.


"Me?" Sal grins wide and gestures with a hand, "Fuckin' everything, 'ermana. What's not to be happy about? I'm ali... around, nothin's tried to kill me this week. I've got tequila and good company." He's basically every woman in the 'after' segment of a tampon advert. He sucks his teeth gently and flicks his eyes up to Lita, "It's so nice that we can get together an' have a good chat, no? Anywhere else and it's handbags at dusk with you lot." He bobs his eyebrows in a fiendish manner and grins, gesturing up to one of the more wicked scars that carves along the side of his head, "So that's another thing to be happy about!"


The smirk Lita aims at Chloe is definitely playful. "I could be. Bet half the people here would spiral into a tailwind of depression if I gave you a lift home." The oversized woman states and brushes some of that long hair back out of her blue eyes.

"Dude, having people pissed at ya. That's only sometimes a sign that you're doing shit right. If the murder attempts happen. Just double check who's doing the job if you're on the right track or going off that cliff into the wild blue dawn. In this town there is always a bigger fish I've learned." Those accords gotta be enforced somewhat fierce if everyone is playing nice.


"Pretty sure you're underestimating the some imaginations," Chloe counts to Lita with a sweet little smile. And not one little lick of consideration for anyone not currently contributing to the conversation. Except when the door opens again, somebody on their way out; again, not whoever she's kinda sorta maybe waiting for. Salazar's answer earns a smirk and an eyeroll, a murmur of, "Alright, Mr. Easy," but she checks out of the conversation about fighty fights, turning to resituate the chair she abandoned to draw it closer to the bar, angle it toward the others and plop right back down all comfy-like.


Chloe's compliment manages to draw his attention to her, which he gives a nod of acknowledgment for and a tiny smirk. "Likewise," he promptly says as he waits for his lager, impulsively tap-tapping his fingers on the bar as he folds his arms over them, hunched forward and giving the rack of presented liquors a careful examination. Saul turns his head to gaze at the others around him, picking out two wolves and a vampire amongst them, though he's refraining from hopping into their conversation for now. The third wolf in the group is content enough to wait for his drink and not initiate, or rather jump into any conversations for now. Maybe he'll need some alcohol in his system first to loosen up.


"Murder?" Sal shakes his head a little and grins, "Nah, this was just business. If any of your folks wanted me gone, I'd be goooone with a capital G." He slaps the side of his head gently, "This was just a formality. Petty cartel shit, the usual." He does seem rather genuine in his laissez-faire explanation and offers a rather small shrug, "Sometimes a fight happens, ain't anyone to blame but timing." At the 'Mister Easy' comment Sal offers a little bow at the waist, "Hey, I've been called worse by worse. I'd rather be easy to get on with than those stuffy old pricks that have no friends."


"You're still walking. So that's always a bonus." The solidly built woman acknowledges with a smirk. "The ones that gett all stuffy usually subscribe to the better to be feared crap. Makes it way easier when you need to put fear back into them. They make really nice sounds when you squeeze them hard. Like a rubber ducky!" she adds with an almost manic grin at the recollection. "Hell sometimes they squeek before the squeeze when you know just how to properly loom." at her height, Lita definitely knows how to loom for maximum hilarity.


Chloe gives her fingers a little wiggle toward Saul, a flash of alchemical symbols on the backs of her digits in appreciation for the runes on his, one witch recognizing another of a different practice. Or tribe. Whatever. Mostly, the little green-haired ithaeur seems content to listen to the bantering pair, though the bow does inspire a broader grin. Followed promptly with an entirely feigned pout and a quip of, "I could be worse," in an airy sort of way that relegates that possibility to the realm of imagination. A bit more earnestly, "And I didn't mean to suggest it was a bad thing." Lita's thoughts on making people squeak gets a part of Chloe's lips before they close again, no commentary issued. She's just gonna drink.


"Well, it's a bonus for me," Sal winks up at the somewhat taller woman, "and if you have to be all broody and sinister to be feared... that's just lazy. And dull." He does grin, again, ensuring that his remarks are taken in good fun by those around. You never know when one of those stuffy old bastards is hanging around invisible, after all. "'sides, if you're gonna be feared all the time that can't be good for your health. If you need help, people afraid of you aren't going to give you a hand, eh?"

Reaching into one of the many pouches on his bandolier Sal draws out another crumpled note and slaps it down on the counter, "Another." While that is being handled by the most patient bartender ever, the Vampire turns back to his new drinking buddies - if he noticed the alchemical symbols or the runes, it goes over his head higher than a jet. "So. This your turf?"


The blonde woman eyes Saul and then grins to Chloe. "That's a guy who really knows how squeeze." Ms Fox points out. Fightclubs can be a small world after all. "And Chloe hon. I'm sure you could be downright badass." she praises with that big grin. "And a good fight can just be how some People say hello. Timing is just how the ice gets broken." she adds and chuckles between sips of her own beer. "That is a good question." Lita agrees with a point and nod towards Sal. "Bigger towns always get muddy on that stuff." she further states with a bouncy shrug of her shoulders.


Again, Chloe's mouth opens without words coming out, not quite sure of Lita's on the pinipple or rubber duck squeezing when she draws attention to the guy on his way out. Maybe he didn't like being recognized? Could've been the quality of the booze. Who knows. When the rahu assures the ithaeur of her potential badassery, the smaller wolf brings her free hand to her lips in a shushing gesture, eyes all wide like she's suddenly embarassed, an act that doesn't hold once her hand drops, when she tells Sal, "Nah." She points toward a post behind the bar which marks this Accorded Neutral Ground. "It's nobody's. But it's enforced nobody's." Nevermind that the notice doesn't look particularly official. The bartender at least nods in agreement. Who knows who handles said enforcement. More to herself than the rest, she mutters, "Good place for meeting people with common interests," all thoughtful-like, gaze flicking toward the door again. It's not gonna happen, pup. Stop checking.


"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," Sal says with a nod, "Need like three maps and a degree in geography to know that shit these days. An' every group has their own fuckin' restrictions and their own marks." He shakes his head slowly and frowns, turning just enough to retrieve his drink, "No wonder everyone fuckin' fights all the time. Like some medieval kingdom shit." Sal turns his head slightly as Chloe explains and eyes the bartender, "You cheeky fucker," he mutters, looking over at the notice and squinting at it. "Well, shit that's convenient." He returns his attention to the room itself and looks about the place, "At least they've got sense enough to make it a good place. Better than a fuckin' art gallery or some posh place." He rolls his eyes and grumbles, "Why do they always put neutral territory in posh as fuck places anyway?"


"You know if your date is running behind you coould call them." Lita reminds the green haired wolf. the Rahu's eyes bounce to the door as Saul makes an exit and the six foot blonde shrugs those muscled shoulders again. "All else fails we could go chase them down with you. Even just to watch you yell at them." she suggests and chuckles.

Salazar's pondering gets a scrunching of her features, slightly darker eyebrows arching as the bridge of her nose crinkles up. "Probably as a display of wealth and power. Honestly I like places like this when you just want to chill. Plenty of places that get loud when I want to shake myself about." she unscrunches her face and rolls her shouldersa in a kind of a not quite dance.


Chloe's expression says huh? even if the sound doesn't manifest, an uncertain look shot toward Lita. When it clicks a second later that she's being called out on those door-ward looks, she shakes her head and mutters, "It's not like that," though there's a slight wobble of her beer bottle that seems to potentially contest that point. "We've got posh." Better to follow that thread of conversation, for sure. "Big ol' swanky place with magic circles on marble floors and a proper fucking ballroom." One eyebrow cocks as she smirks. "Aaaand we've got a totally nerdcore cafe with board games and this other bar with an old pinball machine and, uh." She squints unevenly as she tries to remember the other Accorded venues. With a short laugh, she adds, "And an art gallery." With a cant of her head, she asks the blonde, "You dance?"


"Or," Sal says, setting up an alternative, "We become her dates instead." He looks out at the room again and frowns slightly, though it's a frown of thoughtfulness rather than one of annoyance, "You know what this place needs? Fightin' ring. Any beef, get in the ring and sort it. Then 'ave a drink." He nods solidly, as if it's the best idea in the world, "Never understood holdin' grudges. Like ninety percent of things between your lot and my lot is just business, or territory shit. Or someone fucked over someone and now their friends want to kill the other guy's friends." He rolls his eyes slowly, "Just get into a friendly brawl and get the fuuck over it."

Sal flicks a glance downwards, towards the buffer woman's legs and his eyebrows perk upwards, "She don't need to dance. Legs like that she just intimidates gravity into doin' what she wants."


"Yeah I can dance. Nothing spectacular. But I can follow a beat and hit a rhythm. Or follow some choreography." Lita explains with a smile and a little pride in her tone. Even as Sal mentions her legs she wiggles her toes inside her bbots. Some wedge heeled tan hiking boots laced up with the cuffs of her jeans tucked in. With the toe wiggles comes a very deliberate flex of thighs against denim to go with the eight pack set of abs above the brown belt looped through the waistband.

"Yeah, fight club on 'Our' level. Sorts out beef clean. Plus it saves having to poke each others side to tell each other to police our own. Or having to you know, knock each other on an ass. At least in the ring we can still get a kick out of showing up the mouthier types." she points out. "Bigger fish time. We all learn that lesson. Better you can crawl away after than not."


"That mean you're picking up my tab?" Chloe croons with a sweet smile cast between Salazar and Lita, leaving it up to either. Four cheap beers really can't be that much. She follows the attention drawn to Lita's legs and then follows that flex all the way up to where the mesh shirt keeps all those ultra-defined muscles on display. The absent little, "Mm," she issues doesn't convey a whole lot beyond distracted acknowledgement of the answer about dancing. Looking up, she glances between them again and asks, "Sooooo, which of ya is gonna set that up?"


Lifting his hands in a surrendering motion, Sal shakes his head, "Way above my paygrade," he says with a grin, "I'm just a nobody with a big mouth and a bigger ego. Ain't nobody gonna take me seriously." He does look towards Lita, though, and grins, "With or without gambling, though? I could stand to make a few bucks watching the old fuckers from my lot fighting the old fuckers from your lot." He tilts his head in thought and glances over his shoulder towards the bartender, "How much is 'er tab, anyway?"


"I'm sure we poke around someone's gonna have something going." Lita says and ands a little roll and twist at the waist, put those shredded abs to work for the benefit of the audience. "For money fights. Plenty of poor monkeys willing to bet against the girl in the ring. Odds against me go up. Then then there's the funnest sound ever. Bunny in a bear Trap." someone had a Prime Video subscription. "But yeah at our level. Once word gets out what I am. I lose that kind of edge in making some bank." she says and half pouts, half frowns. "Then all I get are the sounds." she adds. Silver linings.


"With, obviously." Chloe seems perplexed that without gambling might've been considered an option at all. Lita's note on the gender bias gets a wry smirk and a nod. Even a girl that tall, that fit is still gonna have idiots betting on the dude dumb enough to go up against her. "I'd offer lessons in presenting a misleading front, but." She grins as she gestures toward all the obvious advertisement that the rahu presents.

The bartender checks his minimal record-keeping, which is to say that he glances toward the empties beside the green-haired girl and then tells Sal, "Twenty-two." Beat. "Plus tip for my charming service."


"I ain't never understood that," Sal says with a shake of the head, "Women usually *are* tougher than guys. Especially if they're gettin' in a ring. Fuck some of the reinas I worked with in the past? Fuckin' brutal. I'd fight one of you guys over them any day. Even now." Even now as in 'even now that I can basically punch a wall to dust if I try'. When the bartender returns with the numbers, Sal nods gently and reaches into one of the pouches strapped across his chest. "Twenny percent standard... fifteen extra for charm, ten extra for sass..."

The Gangrel reaches back and places forty bucks on the counter and shoots the guy a wink, "An' extra for not bein' a dick about it. I think I've found my new favourite place." He turns back in time to catch Chloe's comments and he raises his hands again, "Hey, hey. You've both got good fronts, don' make it weird."


Lita's wallet is slipped out of the inside pocket of that jacket again and she throws down a twenty and a ten. Always handy to keep the bartenders happy. But when Sal beats her two it she puts the cash back in her wallet and then back in her pocket. "Wait till you can hit someone with the wall. In Either direction." Lita states with a smirk. "And that's before I shift gears." she adds playfully. "You'll have fun when you can go that kinda nuts on someone." she suggests.


The bartender may have, in turn, found his new favorite patron. There might even be a smile to go with it. Almost. Close enough. Look, he tried.

Chloe manages her smile much more effectively, her drink lifted in Salazar's direction. "My hero." Brown eyes flash wide with feigned innocence that fades as she looks to Lita and assures, "You can cover me next time, Squeaky." Her bottle gets a little waggle for the rahu's expressed preferences for fun, but she doesn't comment, instead taking a drink.


Sal, for his part, just winks at the green-haired monster and nips his lower lip with his teeth, "Fightin' is all well and good," he says with a small shrug, "and sure. I'm prepared to throw down with most people any time... so long as it's dark. But man, fightin' all the time is just... beh." He shakes his head slowly, "Sure, I might look like my mom was a combine harvester but I'm a lover more'n a fighter."


"You got a deal green bean!" Lita says with a wink. "Doubly if it's out on a hunt." she adds and grins that almost manic smile of her's. Rahu, so violent. "Offer still stands if you need a lift out of here to track down your intended accomplice." She adds. back to the Gangrel she grins and replies in a rather fluent Spanish. "Why not both!?" Just like the taco commecials. Just a huge blonde chick instead of a little latina girl who is probably totally in her thirties by now.


Chloe's lashes dip as her grin skews to the left at that little wink-and-lip-nip combo from the gangrel before her gaze skirts back to Lita. The addendum gets a moment of genuine consideration before she nods, as if some sorta serious deal has quietly been struck. Good thing she's not a fairy, no magic to seal it. "Really not what you think it is," she assures again for that mention of the absent whoever that she's at least stopped checking for since being called out on that habit. With a tip of her bottle toward Salazar, she nods and says to Lita, "He gets it. Not all biting's gotta be fighting." And then maybe rethinks that a little, given the vampire's, uh, vampireness. But nah. Still works. The once-over he gets in passing probably isn't even related.


With another wink towards the green bean, Sal turns a little to face Lita, "Both is good, sure," he shrugs his shoulders, "but all the time? I'll just stand behind you while you fight everythin'. I'll admire the view." He shakes his head slowly and leans back against the bar, "Wha..." he pauses at the question and shakes his head as he works to rephrase it, "So... when you guys hunt. What is your uh... game of choice?" Everyone knows *his* targets, after all. Though he grins at Chloe a little more, "Oh I promise, when we do it... it's the best feeling you can have without taking your clothes off."


"Not every slap is an insult and or an invite either. Location and circumstance pending." Lita does seem to get the concept at least. "It is pretty much my job to get between folks doing the real work and those trying to stop them. Meat shields are handy." she agrees. As for how the wolves roll. "We all have our preference. But it's just a specialization. There's more overlap than people sometimes think." she explains without mentioning tribes. "Some folks go for huntiing those of us who don't behave. Other's like us. I'm sure you got similar problems. Some, like to bring down the less than pleasant spirits. Sometimes out in the wild, sometimes before and after they take posession of a body." she goes on.

Lita doers finally finish her beer but holds back on ordering another if she's planning on hitting the road any kind of later but for now she goes on being all even voiced and relatively less noisy since sound does carry even if the bar is friendly towards the supernatural. "I'm one to hunt humans. Or those that started off human." she adds with a focused point at Salazar. "That includes those that would hunt us. The magic users out there. Even the fair folk I've been seeing about town. Dunno what happened to get them barred from town. Anyway, mostly it's about keeping the peace. Most of the time we all police ourselves right. But sometimes prey gets slippery or y'all just ain't around to do the job needs doin'. That's where I come in."


Chloe breathes a quiet laugh as Salazar suggests watching Lita's back, as it were. That same smile still holds when she answers, "Bitey boys with badass scars," knowing full damned well that isn't what he meant. Leaning forward just a little, she croons, "You have no idea what I get up to when I take my clothes off," as if there might be something else better than that euphoric kiss. Nevermind that she has no point of reference despite that groundless claim about her favored prey. Though she listens as Lita gives a more earnest and direct answer, she doesn't supplement her own with anything nearer to what the gangrel was likely seeking. She finishes off her fourth beer, adding it to the other empties.


"Well," Sal says as Lita explains what she does, "Wait. They're barred?" He narrows his gaze slightly and tilts his head, "All of 'em, or just like... one of their groups? Everyone has groups, right?" Aww, sweet summer child. He shakes his head slowly as if processing information is difficult at the moment. Ah, taking clothes off, far easier a conversation. The 'grel turns to grin at Chloe, the look of confusion fading from his face, "Well, that sounds like a challenge to me." He bobs his eyebrows quickly and licks the tip of his tongue over his teeth, though he's soon back to asking more from Lita, "I assume you mean folks that... act out. Not just everyone in general all the time? That'd probably make the news."


"They were. Heard about it back up in Baton Rouge before I moved down here. They weren't allowed in. Now they are. How and why. Dunno, that's for them to know and us to ask." Lita states with a shrug of her shoulders.

"And yes, we do have groups like everyone else. And yes those like minded tend towards those that act out. Not every place has something like the accords..." and she gestures to that notice put up. "Those of us that do get indiscriminate tend to get a 'Stern' talking to. We got our own rules that need enforcing after all. Everyone plays up. Well, running gag as it may seem. Bigger fish. The accords were started because of beef between our lots. " finger waggles to point between vampire and werewolf.


"Good luck, Mr. Easy," Chloe coos to Salazar as he waggles his brows her way. The talk of the Lost and their recent appearance in New Orleans after a prolonged absence--only really noticeable to those who knew they were a thing--seems to lose her attention as she reaches into her jeans pocket to pull out her phone and check on something there. The time? Missed calls? Texts? Whatever she sees gets a smirk before the device is repocketed and she gets to her feet again. And holds up her hands defensively at that finger waggling. Wasn't her! "I always play nice," she lies, attempting to sell it with a wide, sweet smile. It almost looks plausible. "You two gonna be alright on your own?" As if she's been sitting there just to play chaperone.


"Yeah," Sal says with a slow nod, "We do have a history, apparently." He shrugs lightly, "T'be honest most of our troubles come from within. You've got your lot that you hate. We've got ours." He rolls his eyes slowly, "Fuckin' politics, man. If I can't eat it, fight it, or fuck it why should I give a damn?" When Chloe suddenly stands, the 'grel nods amiably, "Oh we're gettin' on fine. Might even wrestle later." He tilts his head, "Not gettin' bored of my charming company, are you?"


"We should be fine. I should probably roll out. Bike's parked not far from here so last thing I want to do is push the damn thing home. Carrying's easier but the weird looks might cause a problem." Lita says with a smirk. Sal gets that expression aimed at him. "We'd really need that fightclub. Or at least a place no one's gonna care if it gets knocked down around us. Think we'd get in trouble if we even wrassled out behind the bar." she points out with a nod at the bartender.


"Pretty sure most politics are mostly about who gets to eat it, fuck it or fight it," Chloe quips with a smirk that softens slightly as she adds, "But no. Not getting bored of your charming company. Just got somewhere else to be." With a shrug, she poses, "Pretty sure you'll find me if you're actually up for that challenge." With a grin to Lita, "I could recommend a cheap motel," but, in the end, she doesn't. She just says, "Good meeting ya, Squeaky," with a nod to Lita and, "Thanks for the rescue," with another for Salazar. She exchanges a brief look with the bartender, no nods from either, then heads out. Before anything starts getting thrown around. Just in case.