[Typhoid Mary]

Now this, this was where Typhoid thrived. Surrounded by people, alcohol and hedonism to it's extreme. Aside from having someone to kill, or rob, this was about as entertaining as a night could get in New York for her, she'd found. Mary had been out for days, not something Typhoid was particularly concerned about since it gave her free reign for a while, and she was making the most of it. Without even drinking a drop, she felt like it was running through her veins anyway. Running a hand through her red hair, which was let completely loose for the occassion, Typhoid manouvered her way through the crowds of the club and towards the bar.

It was quite busy tonight, which Typhoid was grateful for. The more people the better.

Tonight it was all just about fun. Whether that came in the form of a fight or something a bit more pleasurable wasn't Typhoid's concern, though she'd had her fill of ass-kicking in the past few days. Stupid thugs, overly cocky assholes. Anyone and everyone who'd bothered to make a nuisance of themselves she'd dealt with. But now... well, now she was in the mood for something sweeter. Gesturing for the bartender, she got a glass of water and took a drink. Alcohol may have been sweeter, but it messed with her head too much and Typhoid wasn't one to surrender control under any circumstances if she could help it.

Finishing her drink, she spared a glance for the men at the bar, a few of whom were looking at her like she could be their latest conquest. Unfortunately Typhoid didn't do submission well, and most men wanted that from their women. She'd killed the last man who'd tried to force her into submission. Everyone had their limits and posing as a scared kitten while men took their pleasure from her was one that Typhoid would never get close to. She wasn't submissive to anyone. Not anymore.

Pushing away from the bar, Typhoid headed back out into the crowd on the dancefloor and let the music beat through her bloodstream. Her temperature already ran higher than normal, so the press of bodies and the heat didn't bother her one little bit.

[Roulette]

It was just the kind of night that Jennifer liked. The club was packed, the music was pounding with a nice bass that was going right through her, and she had just finished her second French Martini and so had a nice mellow feeling going through her, the precursor to a mild buzz. She’d come to the club with a couple of other models from the latest photo shoot she’d been on, kind of a girls night out, but the other girls were currently being surrounded by several young men whose expressions Jennifer considered similar to that of dogs checking out a rather tasty-looking bone. Testosterone. She swore it had to be some kind of poison, as it caused guys to become panting animals sometimes.

Jennifer had had a couple of hangers-on of her own, and danced with one or two of them, but she tired of them quickly and dumped them to go on the prowl in search of someone more interesting. There were plenty of pickings tonight but most seemed to have someone with them, mostly of the female persuasion but there were a few obvious male/male couples present as well. She couldn’t see the appeal herself but still gave them credit for enjoying themselves in public.

Right now she was in the center of the crowd, not afraid to dance by herself. She knew how hot she looked in the slinky little blue dress she was wearing, and the spike heels gave her already generous height an extra few inches, making her stand out from the other women in the crowd. Jennifer noticed some of the admiring glances she received as she moved to the music, and took them as her due. As she glanced around though she noticed a man leaning against the bar with a drink as he watched the crowd, seemingly alone. He looked rather yummy, and Jennifer decided that he would be her fun tonight, assuming he didn’t ruin things by opening his mouth and saying something stupid. Putting a smile on her face, Jennifer started to make her way out of the crowd on the dance floor, only to bump into another woman moving in, causing her to trip on another dancer’s feet and almost fall over in her high heels. Jennifer glared at the other woman, her good mood completely gone.

”Watch where you’re going, bitch.” She spat, trying to regain her composure.

[Typhoid Mary]

Typhoid didn't generally go looking for fights, and definitely not ones her chances of winning were slim, because unlike most, she knew what bubbled below the surface of what everyone else saw. Men saw a woman that could be a wildcat in bed, or a demure little princess if Mary were out and about, and women saw whatever they felt at the time. Envy, anger, resentment, disdain. Nobody could know just how destructive the other one could be, or how unrepentant. The few incidents over the years that Typhoid had pieced together herself were a testament to that. Especially that piece of charcoal in the apartment. Granted it seemed only the men suffered at her hands, but she wouldn't put anything past the other one.

There were always ways to find out though.

The press of bodies on the floor wasn't a bother for Typhoid and she had learned to put aside the simple brushes and touches that came as part of it. Intentional groping... well that was another story. A few ways to handle it always crossed her mind, but sometimes it just was not worth it. When one went looking for fun, they wanted just that and sometimes beating the crap out of someone wasn't on par with getting drunk and doing other things. Most of the time anyway. On the rare occasion, it was fun to just go looking for a fight. Especially when she needed to let off a little steam.

Sidestepping past a couple who were getting way too familiar right there on the edge of the dance floor, Typhoid scoffed a little to herself. That really was the only thing men were good for these days. Finding other uses was too trying. Typhoid was just contemplating that, and it's fruitlessness, when someone bumped into her. And yes, she would stand by that assessment. The woman's venom barely even fazed her.

Typhoid had been called far worse over the years.

"Really?" she said with a smirk, turning to look at the blonde bimbo. And oh god wasn't she! Busty, tall, blonde bimbo. God Typhoid hated women like her. They were all show and no go. And if she did go, it was only ever under a table to get up a ladder somewhere. "Bitch? That's the best you've got honey? Tsk tsk. And here I thought bimbo's were supposed to own an aresenal of put downs for those better than them."

[Roulette]

Bimbo? Jennifer couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her that. Not since high school. Those trampy girls from the better neighborhoods of Atlantic City, who thought that just because their fathers were doctors and lawyers and businessmen instead of a card dealer like her father, that they were better than her. They’d flaunt their designer clothes and fashionable jewelry and makeup, the cars their daddies bought them on their birthdays, and laugh at Jennifer when she tried to keep up. Walmart couldn’t compare with the places that these girls shopped at though, and they’d call her trailer trash and yes, bimbo. Of course this mainly happened when the guys started looking her way instead of theirs, despite the cheap name brands she wore. Even if it was thrift store hand-me-downs, Jennifer still managed to look better than they did.

It still annoyed her to hear the name though, even years later when she could afford much better things than those bitches back in high school had taunted her with. Jennifer just wanted to take her perfectly manicured nails and scratch this woman’s face. She was not a bimbo. Yes, she was attractive and worked as a model, but she didn’t sleep with everything that moved (okay, fine, she might let some of the guys think they were getting some, but that was a cocktease, not a bimbo, and she would admit to sometimes being the former). As much as she’d like to just slap this redheaded little tart, she couldn’t. Jennifer was out in public and a moment’s stupidity tonight was tomorrow’s headline. She wasn’t about to do something that would let people think that she was what people used to think she was; trailer trash, low class. Some of the models she’d heard of did that kind of thing, but that was stupid in her opinion. Nobody took them seriously.

She couldn’t help but respond verbally however. ”Maybe, but when I find someone better then I’ll use them. What makes you think I’d waste them on you?”

[Typhoid Mary]

So the bimbo had some fight in her.

Well Typhoid liked that. Could respect that, even if she needed a lesson or two in keeping aware of her surroundings. She chuckled at her retort, but she'd heard far worse over the years. Hell, he dealt far worse, and that wasn't including all the things people had called Mary in their time. Sweet, innocent Mary who would die of embarrassment to be talked to like this, or even been found in such a place. Crazy, fruit loop, window licker. Oh yes there had been a multitude of names people gave her when they knew her history. They were few and far between now however since she stood up for herself. And kept the past right where it should be.

In the past.

"Oh sweetie you know what they say. Practice makes perfect," she replied smoothly, tilting her head a little as she smirked. "And by the looks of it, you could use some." She looked the woman over completely, her grin never falling, before she looked her in the eyes again. It wasn't a disdainful look, or a judging one by any means. Just a look. People were allowed to look were they not? Well too bad if they weren't. She'd never done well with rules. "And a drink if you're so inclined. I can admire a girl with a bit of backbone, what with how rare it is these days." She couldn't really help the glance around she gave, obviously meaning some of the women in the club. Those women who fell all over themselves for men were a mystery to Typhoid. Oh she could see the benefits if there was a reason behind it, like money, or a hit or anything else she got paid to do sometimes, but for simple fun?

That was beyond her. Then again, she wasn't submissive, hadn't been a day in her life. Mary handled that side of things, but the poor girl was too shy for her own good. Typhoid wasn't even sure she'd seen a man naked before come to think of it. And that was not the internal monologue to be considering when she was standing in the middle of a club, waiting for an answer. Or anywhere really. Maybe it was high time she got Mary a man. It'd be hard, considering she wouldn't enjoy just waking up next to what amounted to a stranger, but it could be done. Slowly, precisely. It was something to consider if nothing else. But, bringing herself back to the present, Typhoid raised an eyebrow.

"Well? You want a drink or not?"

[Roulette]

Practice makes perfect? She supposed so, but then Jennifer had been more used to using fists than words back in high school. As the youngest of six in a half-Greek, Jersey family, with four of her siblings being boys, she'd gotten pushed around a lot, and had to fight back to keep her brothers (and sometimes her sister) from running her over. If you cried they won, and with the long hours her father worked that meant that her siblings were usually in charge, and there was no one for her to run and tell on them to. So she fought back. And in school when the rich bitches went too far? Well, let's just say that Jennifer was responsible for at least one expensive nose treatment. The girl had laughed it off, saying to her friends and everyone else that she'd decided her nose was just so huge and she totally had to have a new one, but Jennifer knew it was because she'd broken it. And of course now that the girl had spun her tail about wanting a new nose she couldn't go tattling to a teacher either, so Jennifer got off scot-free.

Once she realized that her face could be her fortune, Jennifer tried to avoid physical violence; she didn't need a black or broken nose ruining things for her, no matter how satisfying it would be to plant her fist in someone's face. So when the woman told her she needed practice, Jennifer buried the annoyance that welled up inside, only to be surprised when the other person went on to offer her a drink. Now that was something she didn't have happen very often. Occasionally she'd be approached by women who batted for the other team and offered a drink, a dance...or other things, and when that happened Jennifer would try to be as polite as possible when telling those people that she didn't swing that way, but she wasn't getting that vibe here. This just sounded like an offer for a drink, nothing more, nothing less. And how rare was that these days, when everyone was usually out looking for something? Jennifer looked over at the guy she'd been heading for when she ran into this woman, and he was now chatting up a goth-looking girl in too little leather and too much makeup. Blech. That showed he had way too little taste and she would have been wasting her time with him. Maybe she'd take this woman up on her offer of a drink. She was no longer in the mood to get frisky, but it was still too early to go home.

Jennifer shrugged. ”Sure, why not? I think you just did me a favor anyway.” she said, glancing back at the guy one more time, who now had the goth-girl half on his lap.

[Typhoid Mary]

Typhoid couldn't say she usually had things against other women who were attractive -and she could appreciate such a thing herself- but generally that trait came with other ones she wasn't too fond of. Like the egos and the bitchiness. There was only so much venom she could stomach from any female before it became easier to just set their often precious hair on fire and be done with it. That and they sometimes got it into their heads that she was competition -and of course she was- for whatever males attention they wanted. Those were the best of times though and provided endless entertainment. Not all of them were intolerable though, she had come to find. Some of them had uses beyond their features, and Typhoid could appreciate that also.

She could tell that she'd caught this one off guard though with her offer of a drink, if the look she threw over Typhoid's shoulder was anything to go by, but that had sort of been her intention. That and maybe getting a somewhat half-decent conversation out of someone she didn't have to end up kicking the crap out of. That wasn't too much to ask was it? Typhoid didn't think so. Eventually the blonde shrugged and agreed to her offer, and Typhoid glanced over her own shoulder to follow her line of sight to a guy who had a lapful of a goth decked out girl.

Leather was good, sturdy and hot as hell on the right person -namely herself- but on others, it was like mutton dressed up as lamb and Typhoid really could not think of a better analogy for the lap dancer at this point. Her make-up was so heavy and dark that Typhoid was fairly certain she was going to poison herself with it, and it looked like she was wearing decidedly cheap leather. So fake and so horrible.

All in all, if that was what the guy wanted, he deserved whatever -and everything- he got from it. And yes, she was looking at probably a nasty night as the likely culprit. Either way, Blondie was way better off for her intervention. "I'd say I just did too," she replied, turning around with that smirk still on her face. "If that's what he likes, he deserve whatever he gets," she added, voicing her previous thoughts. "Now, about that drink..." Typhoid then gestured towards the bar. It was sort of crowded, but she'd learned the art of inserting herself right where she wanted to be over the years.

A sharp elbow and a right hook. Provided the smile and head tilt didn't do it for her first.