fandomtownies | The Chilly Pipes (Formerly Groovy Tunes), Sunday

Lips had himself a bit of a dilemma. Of course Lips had himself a bit of a dilemma. Why the hell he'd ever thought he could scarper off across the Atlantic and think that was the end of his trouble with dames he'd never know. Sure, Gayle had stayed behind. Gayle was the one with the grudge against him, and the reason he'd met Momoko at all.

Momoko was only the one who tried to kill him after kissing him for the first time. That sort of thing left a mark on a man. Or, in Jonothon's case, a very prominent set of disfiguring scars, right across the bottom half of his face, winding down over most of his chest and torso. And now she was here. Here, and whether she was on a new job or not, that understandably had Lips wary. Life had been a lot simpler when she still thought he was dead, and he could sell music and other assorted instruments in relative peace.

Even though most of his face was obscured, as usual, by his tall collar and his hat, Lips was looking exceptionally displeased as he manned the counter at the Chilly Pipes, contemplating whether it was worth it to take the run-out, or to dig his heels in here and refuse to be intimidated by an attractive dame with a nice rack.

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Hannibal strolled in, nodded at Lips, and stilled dramatically for a moment before heading directly for him. "Is something troubling you, my friend?"

"Is it that obvious, mate? Really?" Lips glanced up from his very important task of... staring blankly into the middle distance. "Must've been. You appear to have sensed it from all the way over at your bloody mansion, after all."

Yes, Jonothon. Hannibal's emo-sense had been tingling.

Hannibal had excellent emo-sense. Usually because he caused the emo, of course, but still.

He smirked as he leaned against the counter. "Actually, I came with news. But you first. Have you got anything that needs taking care of?" Eliot would have to make himself scarce after that reporter, anyway. No harm in doing a favor for a business associate.

"Besides my dignity and a good portion of my pride, probably not," Lips replied, inclining his head a little as Hannibal made himself comfortable there. "An old acquaintance of mine stopped by for a visit yesterday. It ended about as well as one might expect, given any acquaintances that I can describe as 'old' ones are typically dames with a mark on my head."

"And this dame is still alive?" His expression clearly said, "you're slipping", even if he didn't.

"This dame in particular gets a pass on account of being the Ruby Blossom." And if there was a note of bitterness in his voice, well, Jonothon was fairly certain that anybody who knew that name would understand why.

Or, at least, would be impressed that he was alive to complain about former lovers' spats with her.

"We had a bit of a bad falling out, back when."

Hannibal grimaced. Still, professional courtesy and all; he could understand it, even if he didn't always agree.

"And she left you alive for the same reason?"

"Last time we met, she figured she had left me for dead. I'm the one bloke lucky enough to have survived an encounter with her."

His tone was bone dry at that. It really said a great deal about his opinion of how lucky he really was.

"Yesterday, it was less a matter of being left for dead and more a matter of her taking one good look at my face and fainting clean away."

Given the fact that nobody on the island had seen his face before, that might have been some sort of indication as to how bad the damage was that kept him hiding deep underneath his dark clothing.

Hannibal snorted. "And I thought the Ruby Blossom was supposed to be smart and tough."

He pulled a little black boot from his pocket. "Well, your luck's still improving, then." He flipped through the pages. "I got this from a reporter. He was sticking his nose places it didn't belong; one of my men took care of it."

He paused on the first page detailing Lips' activities. "Didn't think you'd want this to get out."

Jonothon's eyebrows furrowed a little as he regarded Hannibal's little black book, and he held his hand out to take it.

"Well, that won't do. Which reporter is this?"

"A kid by the name of Gershwin." Hannibal held out the book. "I've already burned my own pages." And kept anything particularly damaging about other people. "This is yours." He jerked it back slightly. "For a price, of course. Purely business."

"Isn't it always?" Lips quietly looked over the contents of each page about him, about his business here. This Gershwin kid was a resourceful one. Pity. "And what price might that be?"

"Dinner," Hannibal answered, smirking. He held up his hands. "At my place, not in public. I'll even send my men away."

There, now find an argument.

Lips was perfectly silent for a moment as he glanced up from the words on the page to look at the man who had presented them to him, taking that price into consideration.

He was more than a little leery of the idea of uncovering his face to eat, but that seemed to be the whole of his reservations about the offer.

"It would seem that you've made me an offer I simply can't refuse," he said, finally. "Dinner it is."

"At your convenience," Hannibal agreed with a nod. "Not too much of a chore, I hope." He grinned. "I keep an excellent pantry."

"Mmm, I've heard stories about your dinner parties," Lips noted, sounding at least vaguely amused. "When would work best for you?"

Because currently, his schedule mostly just consisted of 'contemplate leaving town forever,' and he could most likely work around that.

"Friday?" Hannibal suggested. "If you haven't skipped town before then," he added with a grin.

Lips actually cracked the faintest of grins, himself.

"You know, I think I might actually still be in town come Friday? It would seem we're both in luck."

And then, to cement the deal, he took all of the pages with mentions of him on them and he tore them out of the book before handing what was left back to Hannibal.

"Looking forward to it."

He was certainly curious, at least.

"As am I. I hope you enjoy fine wine and a good cut of meat?" That smirk said yeah, he knew the double-entendre he was making. What of it?

"I've been known to savour a good, rich red meat while under the influence," Jonothon replied, amused. Who was he to let a good double-entendre drop so easily? "I'm certain you won't disappoint."

"Never." Hannibal tipped his hat and grinned.

The Chilly Pipes (Formerly Groovy Tunes), Sunday

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