Who: Leon and Revy What: Leon attempts to pick up women, Revy comes along for the lols. When: Recently. Where: Some bar. Warnings/Ratings: Language obviously with these two. Cheesy pick-up lines? Idk. Status: Complete.
Leon was really regretting making that bet with Revy. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew how bad he was with women (even if he could never actually pinpoint what the problem was exactly), and he had kicked himself the second he had told Revy he could absolutely pick up women no problem.
“Can I tie your shoes for you? I wouldn’t want you falling for anyone else,” got him a laugh, a condescending cheek pat with a “Oh hun, you’re adorable” before the girl walked off giggling with her friends. The girl he’d gone up to with his police badge, claiming that she was under arrest for stealing his heart had rolled her eyes and walked away without a word once she had recovered from the initial ‘why am I arrested’ panic.
One rather attractive girl, blonde curly hair and red red lipstick, approached him and offered to buy him a beer, and he was sure that he’d finally have a number to rub in Revy’s face, but then she asked “Aren’t you that cop from YouTube?” so he scowled, got his own damn drinks (a rye and coke for himself and a rum and coke for Revy. If she didn’t want it mixed that was too fucking bad), and stalked back to his and Revy’s table, unceremoniously placing her drink in front of her.
“You know, it’s pretty slim pickings in here tonight,” Leon muttered, at least trying to pretend that the pickings weren’t slim because he’d already struck out with most of them.
Pretty slim pickings. “Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight,” drawled Revy, and yes, she’d take the fucking rum and coke - she wasn’t terribly picky, rum was her favorite ever anyway, and she was done with the bottles of Heineken she emptied away while she cackled and watched Leon practically make a fool out of himself. She didn’t know what she’d prefer watching; the change of his expression every time he got turned down, or just the type of women he actually sought. The fuck?
Tonight they were actually somewhere sort of respectable, which was a necessity of Leon wanted to take himself home a ‘nice girl’ or whatthefuckever but it sort of made Revy itch, with all the California girls and their sprayed-orange skin and hair so fried it looked like they’d just stepped out of a burning building. It wasn’t her night to impress anyone, thank fuck, she settled for black jeans (not shorts this time, thanks) and a top that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Clothes that held back anything for busty women didn’t realistically exist, let’s be real.
A sip of her drink, before she pointed a finger at the man across. “I know what your problem is.”
Leon’s type was definitely the glamourous type of girl, with clearly expensive tastes, faces painted on, dyed hair (blonde and redheads at the top of the list, anyone with those weirdo hair colours way down at the bottom), short skirts and heels so high he was impressed they could walk, let alone dance. The type of girl he’d have nothing in common with, if it came right down to it. Which was likely at least part of his problem, though he’d never come to that conclusion on his own.
He gave Revy a suspicious look. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear what her opinion of his problem was. For one, he was pretty sure she’d try to sabotage him, not just so she could win their bet but also so that she could laugh as he crashed and failed. But, he was kind of desperate at this point. “Oh yeah? And what might that be?” he asked over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of his drink.
“You’re interested in fucking bimbos,” Revy deadpanned with her remarkable tendency for outright bluntness. Drink set on the table, she crossed her arms and leaned across the surface. “You get a pretty thing with fake boobs and hair fried with so much bleach, fine. Probably doesn’t even fuck all that well because, oh, she’s preeeetty, bitch won’t try so hard and you’ll be okay with that at first. Give it time, you’ll realize you ain’t got shit to talk about, she gets her spray tan all over your crap and will talk your ear off about her five hundred dollar purse or buy you a Michael Kors watch. Because that’s a stupid fucking trend for really ugly pieces of jewelry.”
“But they’re so hot,” Leon sighed. “And I could probably go for a new watch anyway.” Maybe Revy had a point, really. He’d never had a girlfriend for longer than a month or two. He either couldn’t spend enough time with them, or they never wanted to spend time with him when he was off work, or they complained about how much money he made (or, in this case, didn’t make).
“And really fucking high maintenance, and then you’re gonna realize their fake balloon tits aren’t worth the shit you gotta deal with, fucktard,” she spat, but mostly in a good-humored sort of way - in which, her case, was still kind of tough to read. But Leon here had been around her winning personality enough, so hopefully he’d know when to differentiate when she was being casual or when she really wanted to shoot him right in the goddamn nads.
In this case, it was her being nice.
Coke and rum didn’t last too long, and the glass wasn’t even that big. It was mostly soda anyway, she couldn’t taste the bite of rum all that much. “Besides, do you really wanna date a chick that orders a ‘skinny margarita’??”
Leon bit back a smile at that. "Alright, fine. Fake tits aren't that great anyway." Leon glanced at Revy's drink from the corner of his eye and casually knocked back the rest of his drink, because he'd let her outdrink him. "The fuck's a skinny margarita? Like, a margarita in a skinny glass?" These fad drinks were out of control. "I went on a date once with a girl who drank vodka and bar lime all night." He made a face to describe just what he thought of that.
“Less sugar, less calories, something something, fad diet bullshit,” she explained with a dismissive wave of her hand, a roll of her eyes, and leaned back to prop her elbow atop the back of her stool. “And see? Exactly what I mean, you moron. You’ve got shit taste in women. What about men? You got a little boner for your D friend in dreamland, don’tcha?”
Har, har, she mostly brought it up to get under his skin and see those now infamous nostrils flare in annoyance but, hey, if Leon didn’t mind a little dick in his life then maybe he should try that route.
Leon sputtered angrily at the mention of D, and if Revy wanted to see his nostrils flare she got exactly what she wanted. “I do not have a ‘little boner,’” complete with finger quotes for effect, “for D.” Maybe in the dreams he spent all his free time at D’s place (and a good chunk of his work time), let his brother live with him in the shop, followed him on dates, pretended to be his boyfriend once, and went to the ballet with him, but the only desire Leon felt toward the other man was the burning desire to lock him behind bars. “You’re insane.”
He had no idea if her question about men was a serious one, especially with the comment about D of all people, but he figured he’d answer anyway. “Anyway, men don’t normally do it for me.” There had been one, the first, and currently only person Leon had ever been in love with, but that had been years ago in high school, and Leon had never actually told him how he felt.
Revy cackled. That’s the fucking reaction she was looking for, and the legs of the barstool screeched against the ground at every scoot she did to get closer, playfully kicking and shoving him. “Oh, get the fuck over it, you’re so fucking sensitive when it comes to that guy.” A feral grin broke across her face, right before she got comfy and propped an elbow on the table’s surface and held her head up.
“Normally is an interesting choice of words,” she observed. A swift kick was delivered against his ankle. “C’mon, spill. You’ve got a story, we’re drinking, it’s just the fucking two of us. Let’s be retarded and bond or some shit.”
So she also might be a bit tipsy, sue her.
"Hey! I'm not - Arg, would you cut that out?" Leon snapped, fending her off but not fighting back. It was an aggressive snap, though anyone who knew Leon would know this was one of those times when he was all bark and no bite. "I'm not sensitive," he huffed when the onslaught finally stopped. "He just gets under my skin is all." Even he could tell it was a piss poor excuse.
"Ow! There's not really much of a story," Leon said, frowning and waving down a passing serving girl to bring over more drinks. He'd never actually talked to anyone about Harry before and it felt weird, but he had enough drinks in him and felt comfortable enough. "His name was Harry, my best friend in high school. We hung out all the time, but then he and his parents moved across the country right before senior year, and I really never got the chance to tell him how I felt. Haven't seen the guy in ten, eleven years now." It really wasn't much of a story, and now that he said it out loud it actually kind of sounded extra pathetic. "What about you? Any long lost loves lurking around in your past?"
Tonight she was in happy drunk mode. It definitely beat the shit of angry as fuck let’s shoot something mode and self-destructive mopey let’s shoot something too mode, but it probably had to do with the fact there was entertainment with the drinks tonight - Leon’s failures when it came to pursuing women, and not focusing so much on the horseshit that went on outside of this bet.
Revy’s next poison of choice was straight golden rum, no coke to water it down. “Well that’s fucking depressing,” she mumbled into the glass, right before knocking it back - the portion was equivalent to two shots (therefore probably pricey as fuck) and she had to fill her cheeks with it for a second so it’d go down, a comforting burn all the way down her throat. “But, naaaaah. Life got too nuts for an actual relationship, and every guy I knew was a shithead anyway. Respectable shitheads that were good at what they did,” she hinted. “But I’d sooner drink rat poison than to hold hands and spoon any of ‘em fuckers.”
With the way she dressed, in tight clothes and constant cleavage-showing, someone could probably get the impression she liked to lay on her back and spread ‘em easy, but Revy and intimacy were two things that didn’t exactly go well together. Even casual sex was scarce, and she preferred it with someone she knew she’d never see again if the occasion popped up.
“I don’t know if I’d call it depressing. Don’t most people have high school crushes that got away?” Of course, by the time they were his age, most people had felt those same feelings for someone else. Leon had never felt the same way about anyone before or since Harry. “Guess dating must be tough in the criminal underworld.” D seemed to manage it, with the mafia boss boyfriend and sadistic dentist dominatrix girlfriend he had been juggling when they first met, or the serial cannibal that he had gone on a few dates with, but D was really more the exception to every rule. Leon wasn’t even entirely sure if he was human anymore.
“Wouldn’t know, I never finished high school,” she casually said, shrugging. Revy’s upbringing wasn’t, uh…conventional. Not even fucking close. Not that she killed her dad in this life or anything, but things were still equivalent to shit and she found a way to survive. Their school was trash, child services never really followed up in regards to how much she’d miss - she dropped and ran with a crowd much too old for her, and they molded her into their own gunslinging psychopath. Chang ultimately regretted how far he’d let her slip; relocating her across the country was supposed to be a fresh start after those years in prison, but.
Eh. Old habits didn’t die as easy as people did.
“But,” she began, finger pointed at him. “I never even had a prison bitch. Or prison wife. Actually haven’t gotten laid in years, come to think of it.” Woooow, the fuck? Close encounters with shit prison guards that weren’t consentual didn’t count. Revy’s nose scrunched as she scratched her head, somehow confused by her own epiphany. “Kinda what happens when you fucking hate everyone. Think the last time I had to shoot the fucker in the ass and kick him out of my apartment, and that was way before I got arrested.”
Leon really wasn’t all that surprised that Revy hadn’t finished high school. It wasn’t that she seemed uneducated, but she was definitely rough around the edges to put it mildly. She didn’t seem like the type of person who would sit quietly in a classroom and do their homework when they got home. He had to take a long drink of his rye and coke to stop himself from grinning, and probably laughing out loud, at the image of little teenage Revy, wearing pigtails and knee high socks, sprawled on her bed and humming and hawing over her algebra homework
“Years? Really? How the fuck do you manage that? It’s been six months and it’s kinda driving me nuts.” He wasn’t desperate enough to go trawling through the bars on a regular basis - he actually liked to get to know the girls he slept with a little bit beforehand - but it kind of sucked that the last person he slept with was his ex-girlfriend not too long before she dumped him. “Do I want to know why you ‘had’ to shoot the poor guy? Performance not up to snuff?”
Dunno, she just did. A woman had her hand if anything to fulfill her needs, but again, that kind of intimacy - even casual - was scarce. “Because I don’t have a dick to wave around that needs constant attention,” she snorted, and out came her middle finger for a quick cameo. Oh, and probably editing so much porn kicked the drive - she already saw too much sex, it kind of lost its appeal. So much fucking anal, jesus.
“But, ah…” Revy needed a minute to think about that one; it was an old memory, back when Chinatown was still home. “He probably did something really fucking weird. Or just wouldn’t leave, I think - he expected pancakes or what the fuck ever in the morning and I woke up with a really bad hangover and kind of lost my temper.” A shrug, as she picked up a melting ice cube from her glass. “But it was Even Steven, he shot me before. Twice. Got the scars to prove it.”
Seemed like she was talking about something extremely casual and normal, like coffee and cookies but the fact was, that lifestyle was her brand of normal. Where guns were your best friends and fighting with teeth and nails and bullets were the way things were, and if you got a couple bucs out of it, the better.
Leon’s eyebrows shot up and likely would have been lost in his hairline if they hadn’t been firmly attached to his forehead, and he choked on his drink. “When you say ‘shot’ you don’t mean with a gun, right?” Leon asked once he had managed to stop choking. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was asking, since he was sure they weren’t treating each other for tetanus, but, well, he was pretty sure if anyone ever shot him there was no way he was going to make whoopie with them.
Well, unless they were exceptionally hot, maybe. Like, Scarlett Johansson or something.
“Why wouldn’t I mean ‘shot with a gun’?” Revy was looking at him like that was possibly the most stupid question anyone could ever ask her. Which, in all honesty, it was. Getting nailed by a bullet or your ass kicked wasn’t out of the norm; things got violent, things got nasty, she’d already come to terms that she didn’t have an issue dying in a blaze of glory. Que sera, sera, or some crap like that.
The woman snorted a laugh. “Look at it this way - some ladies have their wild college parties and experimental phases. I’ve got my own version of that. Mine just happen to involve a fuckton of hostility and a fuckton of moments where getting shot once meant you were having a damn good day. Even if it was after a good fuck.”
Part of her missed the lifestyle; the thrall, the adrenaline, coming up with ways on how to come out of the situation with all her limbs in tact. It wasn’t the healthiest mindset to have, she was damn well aware - but not everyone got off being ‘normal.’
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have asked,” Leon said. “I just don’t know anyone who’s shot someone they wanted to get into bed.” Well, that wasn’t strictly true, but his acquaintanceship with those people consisted solely of him locking them away. “Is that like the ex-con version of pulling pigtails on a playground?” He said in a deadpan, nearly sarcastic tone of voice, though there was a slight curl to the corner of his lips that gave away that he was teasing. “Maybe the first time we met was a more successful date than I thought.”
Luckily Revy wasn’t drinking at that last sentence, because she woulda outright spit the drink back out. “You wish,” she chuckled, huskily, waving down their little cocktail server for another round - same shit, keep it comin’. “I think we’ve come to the understanding that I’m not your type. Not blonde, not spray tanned, my tits are pretty impressive but they’re not filled with silicone, and, oh - I’m not a bimbo.”
And also the tidbit that she was previously incarcerated and her record was every goddamn color of the rainbow, but hey - she was still convinced he had a happy for the D fella in his dreams who sounded like he was the kind of scum found at the bottom of the barrel, so who knew.
“Hey, my tastes aren’t that narrow. I like redheads too,” he said, frowning. “And hey, you’ve got a -” great ass was what he was going to say, but it suddenly occurred to him that she might shoot him, and he wasn’t that drunk yet. He was drunk, he wasn’t going to deny that, but he still had some sense of self-preservation left. “Nice gun?”
Watch what you say there, Leon - Revy was just waiting for the shoe to drop, a single brow raised sky-high. Ah. Well. He’s not wrong. “Guns,” she corrected, grabbing a cube of ice to suck on a teeny bit first, before putting it in her mouth to chew. “I never did show you the two babies I got from this dream bullshit, did I? Custom made, jolly rogers engraved on ‘em. Too bad I ain’t got much to shoot at nowadays - wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
Well, sarcasm. And kind of a lie - there’d been the money on the asshole last month, where she met this fire-throwing British wizard and went to fucking town with all things violent at a dinky neighborhood. Not that she could ever tell Leon that story, otherwise he’d try to find a reason to slap those cuffs on her hands.
“You haven’t,” Leon said. “I’d probably be interested in seeing that. Custom made for a pirate, huh?” The Jolly Rogers seemed especially fitting in that case. Leon didn’t mind that the only difference between his job and the one in his dreams was that in his dreams he worked all of an hour away from where he worked in real life, since all he ever wanted to be was a cop like his father, but sometimes he was a little jealous that he didn’t dream of something a little different.
“You know, there’s always the firing range if you’re eager to shoot something. I could take you out there sometime.”
Custom made for a modern day pirate, definitely. That’s what the Lagoon Company practically was. It was a cozy gig. Damn good action, decent pay, it wasn’t often boring, and it gave her something to do and exercise those gunslinging skills. Better than editing X-Rated movies in a closet. Memories of this other life had her a bit stir crazy, but there wasn’t much she could do about it without Chang throwing down his hammer of fatherly authority on her.
“Like a date?” Revy chuckled, though she mostly said it to make him squirm. “But, sure. Whatever. I’d cream your ass in the most non-sexual way possible, Orcot.”
“What?” Leon exclaimed. He tended to be a loud person in general, but the alcohol served to make his exclamation extra loud. She had definitely succeeded in making him flustered, though in all fairness it wasn’t terribly difficult. His cheeks were even a little red though that may have been the booze. “Not in your wildest dreams would I try another date with you.” At her challenge though, he grinned. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I’ve been practicing, you know.”
Revy chalked it up to the booze, considering she actually believed him - their first time going out, just meeting each other, led to a stand alone with guns in their faces and her shooting someone (to save his ass, she’d continue to emphasize that, damnit). Kind of a shame shit ended up the way it did; they actually were having a good time ruining their health with practically raw meat and seemingly endless alcohol.
“Still so fuckin’ convinced the first time was an actual date,” she smirked, an almost seductive narrow of golden brown eyes. “But you’re on. Maybe afterwards we can actually go fucking eat a steak and not have to shoot someone.”
“That’s because it was,” Leon said. Did he know that a date required both people to agree to it being a date for it to be a date? Yes. Did he care? Not if it was going to annoy Revy. “I guess drinks’ll probably be on me.” He probably wasn’t going to get a number tonight after all. Instead of going to get rejected again and again and have Revy laugh at him (and make fun of his tastes, pfft), he would really rather just sit with Revy and have some drinks and actually kind of enjoy himself.
It got on her fucking nerves at first. Now it was some kind of inside joke between the two; the ex-con and the cop with a dirty stripper pole stuck up his asshole, actually being kinda chummy. Uptight, sometimes pretentious, with decent intentions, she guessed. Revy had met worse.
Hands curled, she punched him in the shoulder and didn’t bother holding back too much on the force part. He could take it. “Drinks are gonna be on you, don’t worry.”
And maybe she’d chip in. Too be nice. Or what the fuck ever.