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Despite her loud and aggravated protests to Dinah and Zinda about 'wasting her time', with the exception of the first ten minutes in the club to get oriented, Babs has spent the entire time out on the dance floor. She's currently working on her fourth dance partner, the previous three all having ~~been wimps~~ taken a breather.

There are few things Barbara Gordon likes more than dancing, and even fewer things that she can still do in the chair. And her enjoyment is evident in the absurdly large grin on her face.

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"Huh."

Grace shifts her attention back to the dance floor and takes a long drag. She puts her whole body into it, eyes drifting closed as the smoke hits her lungs.

"I owe it all to booze and great sex."

Goldy chuckles knowingly and raises her beer in acknowledgment of the good call.

"I dare say they've had something to do with it in my case as well."

Appropriately, she follows up the comment with a gulp from the bottle.

"Looking for anything in particular tonight?"

"What, am I obvious?" Grace drawls, looking at her askance and smirking.

Funny thing is, she's not real particular. Just as long as he has a pulse and doesn't consider it a sacrilege to take the Lord's name in vain. Repeatedly. Several times a night.

"I keep my options open. You know. Keep my eyes open. The apocalypse isn't long on men, if you know what I mean."

A fact Earl no doubt finds hilarious. Annoyance drives her to drink again.

"I definitely do," Goldy responds. "That being said, I hear there are a few folk around who have special superhuman powers. Metas, Dinah called them. I wouldn't mind a bit of that action if I can find one."

Goldy likes her sexual variety, and Metas have good potential on that front.

"Just as long as they don't fly and pop into being unannounced. That shit'll scare you to death."

Grace seems averse to ashing her cigarette. It's amazing it doesn't fall, really, while she finishes off her beer.

"Fishnets, makes weird noises Dinah?"

"Yes. That sounds like the same Tweety Pie. She's good people. And hot. And that power scream thing can be pretty useful in a pinch. It saved my ass from some psycho sentient trucks up in Iowa when I first arrived."

Goldy nods approvingly as she blows a stream of smoke out of the side of her mouth.

"You've met some other Meta-types beyond her?"

"Big ass rodents," Grace shares, pointing to herself with her thumb.

A smoke rings takes up her attention for the next few moments.

"Nah." That's not strictly true. "Met anyone with wings?"

"No. Not so far."

She looks interested to hear where this is going though.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Grace drops her cigarette butt in the now empty beer bottle and lifts it overhead. Catching the bartender's eye, she gives the bottle a little waggle and nods. The smile she sends his way is pure trouble.

"So how'd you get here, Goldilocks?"

Frown lines wrinkle Goldy's forehead in response to the blatant evasiveness, and they deepen somewhat at the use of her full name. On top of that, there's a touch of confusion at the question.

"Goldy," she reminds Grace first of all.

Then: "Here as in this nightclub? Or here as in this world?"

"World," Grace clarifies. "The door to the nightclub is no great mystery. As for me, I flew in on a tornado with a woman named Dorothy, if you can fuckin' believe that."

The bartender is walking over with a refill. Grace is fully occupied admiring him.

"I can believe anything," Goldy assures her.

She swills back the last of her brew and slides the bottle over to the barman once he's delivered Grace's. He's afforded a nice view of her cleavage during the process, so he can't be blamed for taking his eyes off Grace and promptly attending to the other blonde. Or maybe he's just a good bartender who doesn't like to leave a customer waiting.

"I was just... displaced," the Fable tries to explain. "One moment I was walking through the farm yard, and the next I was on the shoulder of I-80 in Eastern Iowa. Flash, bang, thank you mam."

It's impressive cleavage. Grace smirks and attempts to make more of her own by pushing her elbows in toward her chest. Well, a girl can try. She winks at the bartender when he looks her way again, then lights another cigarette.

"I was in some creepy Stepford Mayberry kind of town in Missouri. Not real big on welcoming committees. Cute deputy, though. He was shit scared about somethin'. Might head back that way soon," she decides.

"That sounds like fun." More fun than the farm at any rate. "If you could use some back up, I wouldn't mind tagging along," Goldy offers as the bartender provides her with a new beer.

Satisfied with his attention and speedy service, the Fable beckons the guy closer. She then leans across the bar, meeting him halfway, and whispers something into his ear. His eyes widen even as she's still delivering the message, and when she's done he pulls back with a boyish grin plastered across his face.

"Okay. Deal," he says, nodding, and still grinning. "You're both comp'd for the rest of the night."

Goldy's dirty smirk quickly morphs into a smile of gratitude.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Looking pleased with herself, she turns back to Grace and waggles her eyebrows.

Grace snorts.

"So, what time's the threesome?"

The lack of protest is probably a good sign she wouldn't mind having Goldy along on the road trip.

Goldy snickers. She likes the way Grace thinks.

"Actually, I told him that we'd make out with each other first, as a gesture of good faith on our part. Then, if he proves himself worthy as the night progresses, the threesome could become a possibility. Provided we don't find anyone else in the meantime."

As confirmation of her story, the bartender is still hanging around, and he's looking mighty expectant.

A shrug, then Grace wraps her arm around Goldy's neck, careful not to burn her with the cigarette, and kisses her like it's something she does every day. She's grinning as she pulls back.

"I know we just met, but free booze is free booze."

Goldy plays her part in the kiss, with similar nonchalance. And there's an amused grin to match the other woman's when it's over, as well as an appreciative lick of her lips.

"I couldn't agree more," she replies, and checks on their spectator.

"Are we good?"

The bartender's eyes are suitably goggly and he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to stop gawking at them. To his credit, he does manage to offer an emphatic thumbs up. Goldy chuckles at his response.

Grace gives him a sidelong look, smiling knowingly. It's almost too easy.

"Tell me about Metropolis," she says. A waggle of her eyebrows keeps it from sounding like a demand.

"It's my first time here too. I don't have any great local knowledge," Goldy concedes. "You want Dinah or Zinda for that."

She takes a sip from her new beer.

"More generally, from what I can tell, it's the last city with any semblance of order left in this world. It's protected from monsters by the magical Kansas safezone bubble, and, as such, it's still functioning more or less normally."

"Of course, that makes it a prime spot for refugees. Overcrowding is going to be a problem before too long, I suspect."

"Huh."

Grace is really quite good at smoke rings.

"Shit, man. It's like we're stuck in a Costner movie."

Never having seen the movie in question, Goldy looks a bit blank.

"Build it and they will come?" she asks.

"Nah," Grace says. "He abandoned baseball and found the Book of Revelations, or some shit like that. Man has a thing for the apocalypse. He should've stuck with baseball and long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

She smirks.

"Heh. I can't say I'm a big fan," Goldy replies. "Of Costner's. Or foreplay that takes that long."

"Personally, I'm just waiting for Mad Max to show up."

"I could use a little Thunderdome. Two men enter, one man leaves."

Head tilted, she narrows her eyes and thinks about that for a moment.

"Sounds almost pornographic."