savetheearth | I knew she was gonna be trouble the second she walked in.

Who: Harry Lyre and Sheila Go
What: Sheila wanted to have a chat. Harry likes chats. Nothing can possibly go wrong here.
When: Backdated to Saturday night.
Where: The classiest spot in town, of course.

The place really was a hole in the wall. A little hole aptly named "Pete's." Pete being the name of the owner and typically the guy behind the bar passing out drinks. It was the kind of place you might see in a movie with dim lighting, dartboards, pool tables, country music. There was probably at least one hairy-armed guy in a flannel shirt searching for the meaning of life in a glass.

There was even one of those generic "beer" signs. Pete was a little too proud of that one, in Harry's opinion.

Still, it was a place that had seen more than one discussion between Harry and an informant. Pete was the kind of guy who didn't ask questions and didn't tell stories. As far as Harry knew, Pete didn't even have an opinion on the Numbered, which was good in this case.

It was shady but safe enough. Still, Harry hung around outside the door, pondering the pros and cons of completing the noir movie feel by taking up smoking (the cons were winning) and waited.

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Sheila was on time. It wasn't a good idea to annoy the guy who might be helping her out of a pretty messy scandal, after all. But she was dressed down in old jeans and a long-sleeved LCU sports shirt. And a hat. Makeup was expensive, and just now she couldn't afford to use it unless it was absolutely necessary - anyone who was going to recognize her would know she was a Numbered with or without green skin.

She sidled up to Harry and looked up at him. And kept looking up. "Cripes. I forgot how tall you are." She'd only met him in person during school functions, after all. And usually one or both of them were sitting down at the time.

Time would have to tell if he could really help with the scandal, it's hard to argue with a row of melted lockers, but he was at least there to get the other half of the story. Maybe offer some tips to minimize things, now that the media was going to have its beady little eyes on her in general.

Besides, everything he'd seen of her had told him she was a good teacher. If nothing else, she deserved to be heard.

When Sheila crept up, he glanced over to her, looking over her getup. Harry himself had dressed in regular clothes as well. Jeans, long-sleeve shirt and a jacket but otherwise wasn't looking quite as incognito. Nothing drew attention faster than somebody trying to avoid it after all.

"Thanks for noticing. The horses and ropes were a big investment but it's paying off." He grinned at her before stepping over to the door and pulling it open. "After you."

"If only all men were willing to resort to torture to better themselves." She didn't skip a beat in replying. "Should we go inside? I'll buy you a beer, if it's any good here." She crossed her arms, trying to look more confident than she felt. The dive bar was definitely not something she'd visit on her own accord, but she could believe it was a good place to have a sensitive conversation.

Besides, it was nice to just have a chance to get out of the house. She appreciated John putting her up and everything, but having him promptly lose all his echos after the fact was a little... strange.

He grinned. Nice.

"Well, it's... definitely served here anyway." He got the feeling this wasn't usually the kind of place she found herself, but that was true for a lot of people. Himself included. Pete's wasn't so much a social stop for him as much as a work-related stop.

Inside it was... well, again, like something right out of the movies. An old building, gloomy lighting, music playing although it was still quiet enough inside to talk. Pete glanced up their way when they walked in. A big guy who looked like he'd be just as much at home bouncing troublemakers with a shotgun as he was tending bar... mostly because that did happen to be a job the big man took upon himself. He nodded toward Harry though. It took a few extra dollars in tips but Pete could be counted on to steer patrons away from where his conversation was happening.

Otherwise trying to keep things appearing as casual as possible, he led Sheila toward a table against the wall.

"Can you believe nobody comes here?"

"How's a Guinness sound?" Sheila was definitely more used to upscale places, but she considered herself an adaptable sort of woman. She'd manage.

She glanced around as she took in the place. "Or maybe a scotch. Or whiskey. Or whatever it is the PI guy is always drinking in noir movies." Not her usual genre, but the feel of the place was classic enough that it resonated with her. "You'd think this place would be crawling with shady informants and down-on-their-luck protagonists just about to have a life-changing adventure dropped in their laps."

"Whiskey. At least, that was Sam Spade's drink of choice, but a Guinness sounds good." He was sort of working after all, and despite his choice of location he's just a reporter and not some kind of hard-boiled detective. "First one's on me. Professional thing."

It wasn't, really, but he figured that was a little better than admitting that he felt wrong about asking somebody who just lost their job to pay for his drinks. Besides which, even if they were just here to talk, Harry was an old-fashioned kind of guy that way.

"Oh, well, if you're going to insist." Sheila was never one to argue too much when someone else was offering to pay. Even before she was jobless. "I'll just grab a seat for us then, shall I?" She gestured towards a table in the back corner. Out of the way. Hopefully not somewhere that'd be easily eavesdropped on.

"I'm insisting." He nodded and headed toward the bar as Sheila took the table and placed the order, adding a little extra on top of the tip.

"Private conversation?" Pete asked, glancing at the money as he set the beers on the table.

"Yep."

The bartender grunted and glanced toward the table. "She's the one that was on TV, huh?"

"Yep."

"I'll watch the door."

"Thanks."

Conversation over, Harry picked up the drinks and moved over to join Sheila again. He set one drink down in front of her before pulling the opposite chair out and taking a seat.

"So," he folded his hands on the table, leaving the drink aside for the moment, "where did you want to start?"

Sheila popped her drink open with the bottle opener on her keychain and took a swig before answering.

"Well, let's start with how this superpower stuff? Not exactly easy to control. Or practice. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I mean, wouldn't you be pissed if someone told you that you're getting fired because someone thought you might be a Numbered?" She snorted. "Blatant discrimination, if I ever saw it. Whether or not they were right."

I knew she was gonna be trouble the second she walked in.

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