Lucas and Morgan: The Epic Continues Forum Good Hooch

**GOOD HOOCH**It is dark in the field where Mr. Cortez and his thugs are waiting for me. They're waiting for my special brand of giggle water, and by giggle water I mean premium moonshine that knocks grown men over. My driver pulls our car up next to theirs for easy exchange, but not too close; I wouldn't want these stupid boys to make an equally stupid mistake like try and walk without paying. I open my car door and swing my stockinged legs out, but I don't stand up right away. Let them wait. The colder they are out there the less time it will take for me to talk them out of their money. I wait a good pause, then exit the car, slamming the door to make my arrival official.
"Good evening, boys, I take it you're all well." I say, straightening a glove. "Madame Blacke." Cortez sounds like he's crunching up gravel when he talks, but he respectfully touches his hat brim for me when I approach. I peer through my fascinator to see the things they cannot in this dark- Cortez is glaring at me in some attempt at looking tough, a few of his thugs are sweating despite the cold, nervously peering over their shoulders with unnecessary paranoia. I smell drug activity here, for sure, and it's not even mine. My own men are still and waiting- they know they will be fine as long as they keep cool.
"Let's cut to the chase, shall we." I clasp my hands in front of me, smiling enough to seem cordial. "I have ten barrels of quality product in the auto." He looks like he could be vaguely clever, but not nearly clever enough for the business I know he's going to try and do with me. "I have two grand, and regards from Mr. Hernandez." He smiles at me, the fool. "In that case, I have 6 barrels, and spit on his regards." "We had agreed on ten." "And three five in return. We are not discussing the piss that bums drink begging for nickels on the sidewalk . I'm supplying good hooch, here, not your usual poison. If I wanted to kill your gentlemen's business, I can think of much more creative ways." I give him a raised eyebrow, waiting for a violent response. Instead, he takes a gentle stride toward me, lowering his voice to avoid my men's prying ears. "Madame Morgan, maybe we got off on the wrong foot..." that gravel voice is turning surprisingly sleazy suddenly, as he turns his body a bit closer to me. I raise my eyebrow again, a tad befuddled but not really amused."I can see you're a woman that should be pleased, and I'm the kind of guy that's *qualified*to please both you..." he dragged a fat Cuban cigar-sized finger down my arm, "and my business associate. We can both walk away happy here." He grins at me, meanwhile I can feel my men tense as Cortez's thugs start to chuckle and make lewd comments. I bat my eyelashes at him. His breath smells like menthol cigarettes and his suit reeks of cheap cologne. I sigh, and pull back the hand that touched me, breaking the too-human bones. He cries out pitifully, which is honestly disappointing for a man his size. A small push brings him to his knees as I twist the burly arm behind him. "You do not have the **strength** it takes to please me, Mr. Cortez. Your spirit is far too easy to break." I say this in his ear as he sits there helpless, my men already taking care to disarm his misshapen band. "You are fully *qualified*, however, to give me my money before I consider taking up your offer." I squeeze his hand, and he cries out again. "That's a taste." He squirms. "Okay, you crazy broad! 3,500 dollars!" He yells when I don't loosen the grip. "Four." I counter, smiling in the dark at his pain. "You insulted my ladylike manners." "Ah! Fine, four for the ten!" I let go of him, standing up and brushing off my skirt and giving the motion to my men to begin unloading. Looking down on Cortez, I throw my business card at him. "If you can read, Mr. Cortez, my name is Madame Blacke, and I suggest that's what you call me if ever we meet again. Goodnight, Mr. Cortez." My men are already finished, my door opened for me as I reenter the cab. We are gone before my driver has a chance to light a cigarette...

Angel Dust was crowded tonight.
Morgan sidled into the club, alone. Cute young yuppies danced to band's jazz music, while booths filled with boozed-up boys and girls buzzed with chatter. Morgan couldn't help but sway her hips a little in time to the beat; it was rightly named the devil's music, and boy did she love it. She was almost to the VIP entrance when a human in a bow tie and suspenders stopped in her path. "Wanna dance?" He asked loudly over the noise, his hand already out to accept hers. She gave him a quic k up and down. "Sure, why not? I'm jive." Morgan was in the mood to dance... and to feel out some of the supes entering the back room before she got there. "You sure are, honey." He grinned.
The swing band switched to a upbeat tune, and they were off in the swell of the dance floor. She peeked from the corner of her eye- One of her demon acquaintances watched the door tonight, and poor little Cortez casually made his way from the gent's room to behind the bar. Morgan decided to let it be for now. For a human, he made a good partner. Morgan enjoyed the way he spun and hopped to the music, thinking about how it would look on one of her film reels. She noted all the couples doing their best Charleston, but the man took her hand, and they were swaying and shimmying to their own dance until the band ended their tune.
"Not too bad, pal." She said, brushing off her suit. "You were great!" Piped up a few blonde girls from behind them, apparently having enjoyed their dance. "Grazie, sweet-hearts... say, would you t-ree like to join my friends at our table?" The fakeness of his Italian accent hit Morgan, but she was obviously the only one out of the group who noticed. The skinny little girls bobbed their heads, simple and overeager to be invited. He looked at Morgan with that well-known look brave men like to give, and suddenly the party was over. "Sorry, loves, but I have an appointment." She snapped one of his suspenders. "See you around." She waved, turning to head towards the bar.
"What'll you have, Madame Blacke?" The bartender asked, putting down the glass he was cleaning. "Double O, if you will." She replied, slapping down a bill on the counter.
"That sounds... eh, swanky." The man had followed her to the bar, sitting beside her.
"Trust me, it is."
"Sounds a bit girly, no?"
"I can't tell for sure." The bartender poured the red, thick liquid into a martini glass, garnished it and slid it towards her. "But I like to imagine it is."
"Is that a bloody Mary?" He asked, waving his hand towards the drink.
Morgan chuckled.
"Something like that." She replied, and motioned her head towards the door to let the bartender know she would be taking it in on the other side. He didn't ask anymore questions about the beverage. She liked men that didn't ask many questions. Thinking, Morgan could see this man being good film material.
"So, how long have you been out of Germany?" She looked over at him, giving him an uncomfortably direct glare. "Am I that obvious?!" He whispered, his eyes darting around the room. "Mhmmm, you don't roll your R's. Gir-rly, Mar-ry. Very flat. But it took me a second. Lo sono un buon falsaRio di italiano." She said, waving her hands satirically. Then, in perfect jest, she gave him a big, fake Italian kiss on both cheeks.
"Ciao, bello." She said, getting up from her seat with a wink, just a little something to reel him in later with. He watched her slink away, then looked down at his chest. Surprised, he found her business card tucked behind his suspender strap. By then she was already on the other side of the club. The blondes returned for him, asking if they could still join him and his friend...

Morgan flitted around the tables for a while, conducting business. So-and-so wanted five more cases of this, what's-his-name wanted a new strain of that... she made tallies and took notes for the supply and demand of her various wares, the illegal alcohol she had dubbed 'BloodShine' being only the tip of her iceberg...

"Madame Blacke," a voice called from behind her. She turned, and there stood Mr. Cortez, his face resigned with professionalism and fear.
"Good to know you remember my name this time." She grinned at him.
"My business associate has a word or two for you."
"Oh, did he have any problems with my product?" She batted her eyes in mock innocence. "That is for the two of you to discuss, Madame." To his credit, he kept his composure, and even seemed a little smug in withholding the information.
"Alright, tell him I can meet him inside in twenty minutes." He nodded, and started back to the door behind the bar. Morgan hoped she would get a chance to break his other hand sometime

Besides never meeting the buyer in person before, she was worried about the ramifications her little outburst would have on her first encounter with him. She also knew well enough that being alone in this club could be interpreted as gutsy or weak and reckless. She was certain she could take care of herself, but her first impression *was* at stake, here. Her only option at this point was to potentially recruit her 'Italian' dancing partner. Absolutely not, her good sense told her. She sighed, resigning to go in alone anyway.

Heading back to the bar, a broad-shouldered man blocked her way. His brown hair framed the glowing red marks on his forehead, and he was baring fangs at the bouncer who almost seemed impressed. She knew Castus, the doorman, well enough to trust the demonic looking man's scare factor, and his marks were giving him away. She smiled to herself, praised her luck, and wrapped her hand around the angry looking stranger. "Let him in, Castus, he's with me." She said, trying to stop herself from being too pleased with her situation. Castus nodded, knowing better than to argue with her. "Righto Madame Blacke, sorry about that." He moved aside to let them in, and they stepped through to what would look like a completely different club.
The noise from the outer dance floor concealed the dealings inside. Large tables corralled slick-backed heads pushed together, discussing, scheming, and plotting silently in dark corners. They didn't make any motion that they saw Morgan, but she felt the fear ooze off of them, and she knew her gamble with the hot headed demon had worked. Cortez stood up in a corner in the dim-lit side of the inner room, and he motioned with his uninjured hand for her to come to them. A squat man looked up, wrinkling his nose at her companion. She stuck out her hip, showing off her burst of confidence. She turned to her amateur companion with a spin of her heel; he had already changed back to what she assumed was his usual, admittedly quite attractive,  form. "Thanks, kid. You're the top." She said, her voice smooth and cool. A waiter walked past with a bottle of liquor on his tray, and Morgan was quick to snatch it. The waiter stopped, prepared to tell her off, but when he saw her he nodded and rushed off again, unalarmed. "Here," she flipped the bottle in her her hand, smoothing the label before letting it spin through the space between them and into his arms. "For being a good sport. Good luck in here, you might need it." She chuckled, then left him there, shocked and awkwardly holding a bottle of booze.
She could tell she was going to be a success.