Two Evil Overlords Walk Into a Bar... (Closed rp, The Little Green Apple, Glory and the Master)

[mad_glory]

"...and then she and her mousy little paramour toss this sparkly stuff all over me. Say goodbye to that dress. But before I could stomp them both into so much sticky witchy goo, she claps her hands and suddenly I'm miles away, starting my descent from 30,000 feet. I could not believe they'd pull such a cheap, flashy trick! I mean, come on,

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[theregothedrums]

The Master rather enjoyed the ambiance of the Little Green Apple, if the truth were to be told. It was an invitation to romanticized vices, deliberately and openly seductive, what wasn't to enjoy?

The proprietress, however, seemed to set her level of attentiveness by how corruptible she thought a patron was. She seemed to have little interest in Glory, most likely because it was unlikely that a hell-goddess would fall victim to the opium-laced mixture she passed off as the 'house special shisha blend', or any similar tricks.

Well. Maybe La Fee Verte would put in a more concerted effort to acquire some authentic gǔshù pu-erh if he did her a slight service. He settled into the barstool beside Glory's and curtly ordered himself a sidecar.

"If it doesn't lead to you getting hooked on something or at least amusingly and unintendedly inebriated, you might as well be monologuing to a spice rack," he told Glory in a low tone.

[mad_glory]

Glory glanced up and smiled brilliantly at the new arrival. "Well hey there, Mister Master Man," she said, sparing the bartender only a disinterested shrug. It wasn't as if it really mattered what the spice rack thought. "How's things in the evil overlord biz?"

[theregothedrums]

"Oh, nicely," he said with an appropriately malicious smile. "Been doing a bit of maintenance on my emergency backup measures. Doesn't do to neglect those. How's the hell-goddessing this time of year?"

[mad_glory]

"Magnificent, as always," she said lightly. Glory didn't bother with backup measures, since they'd pretty much consist of the same thing as her front-line measures: throw minions at the problem until you either get what you want or run out, then (if necessary) roll up your Versace sleeves and take care of business yourself.

"Gotta say, that Harkness guy? Good call. First mortal brain I ever came across that's not only tasty, but oughta be good for seconds." And thirds, and however many more helpings she needed. "He and I are gonna be spending lots of quality time together. Whether he likes it or not." She suspected he wouldn't. So much the better.