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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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"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."

Goldy muses over it too.

Her eventual conclusion is preceded by another lewd chuckle.

"Not quite. But I'm sure there's a skin flick remake out there somewhere. Hopefully with less terrifying hair on the Tina Turner character."

She shudders and takes a mind cleansing gulp of beer.

Grace laughs and twines one of her randomly placed braids around her finger.

"I'm beginning to think you have a hair fetish," she jokes, studying Goldy with more attention than she'd shown otherwise. When she focuses on someone, that person knows it.

Goldy knew it was only a matter of time before she got some undivided attention from Grace. She basks in it now.

"It's more of a healthy interest," she confesses.

"You'd have one too if you'd spent over a thousand years trying to keep yours up to fairy tale standards."

Maybe this is some of that method acting Aunt Cathy told her about once. But why? What's the purpose?

Grace pulls on her cigarette, eyes narrowing.

"Standards, huh? Is there some sort of rulebook? Army style regulations?" She snorts. "The boys are lucky if I bother to comb mine. I think I owned a hair brush once, but gave it to Gus Gus to chew."

"Really?"

Goldy sighs, a little disappointed. She thought Grace might have just been letting things lapse because of the whole apocalypse thing.

"Oh well."

"As for the standards, they are just personal preference really. I was blessed with a fantastic and quite unique head of hair as a child, as noted in my story, so it's only natural that I would try and keep it that way." She shrugs. "I think it's still pretty true to the tale to this day."

Grace stares at Goldy, smirking a bit, absently wondering if she should be offended or not. Ultimately, she decides to be amused; the ever uptight Paige regards Grace's personal appearance in a similar fashion.

"How come you grew up," Grace asks. "If you're immortal because of your fairy tale, how come you grew up? Goldilocks is always a kid."

Good question. But Goldy doesn't falter in her answer.

"The immortality phenomenon didn't kick in until we Fables took refuge on Earth back in the fourteen hundreds, supposedly because this is the place where our stories are popular. In our Homelands, we all aged, albeit much more slowly, and we could be killed there. Hence why we fled from the Adversary's more powerful invading forces and eventually exiled ourselves. Wherever we were at age-wise when we came to Earth, was where we ended up sticking."

Huh.

That's almost too weird to make up.

"Political refugee," Grace mumbles into her drink. "That's heavy shit."

"Yep," Goldy affirms.

"Add in the fact that we had to live in fucking secret because of our special talents and longevity, and because the animal Fables can talk, of course. Then you're somewhere close to the full crappiness of the situation."

Grace wonders if proper hair maintenance can be considered a special talent. Raising her eyebrows, she taps her beer against Goldy's.

"And I thought having a brother who's a priest was bad."

Goldy makes a face.

"Ugh. That does bite."

"Let me guess, he's drove you to atheism before you got out of your teens."

Mouth tightening, Grace looks down.

"No. But he's determined to drag me out of it."

"Resist," Goldy advises her, very sagely. "Sinning is so much more fun."

She gives Grace a wink, then gooses some random guy's ass as he wanders past. He turns around sharply, bewildered and hopeful all at the same time, only for the Fable to laugh, shake her head and make a shooing gesture.

"Hah! No. Never in a hundred years. Sorry, chum."

His shoulders slump and he trudges off dejectedly.

"Don't worry," Grace says wryly, watching the show, "even an angel would call me sharp edged and mule stubborn on the subject. It's bullshit.

"Hey, man. Hang in there. You might have a chance in a thousand," she calls after the guy.

Finishing off her latest beer, Grace gives Goldy a significant look and sashays over to another bartender. She's small, but there's a lot of power packed into her petite frame, along with a lot of anger and force of will, so she has no trouble jumping up on the bar. Her ass hits with a loud smack, and both legs swing out and over nearby glasses and beer bottles until she's facing the bar back. She hooks a leg around the 'tender's waist, right up to her thigh. Pulling him forward, she plants a kiss on him that he's not likely to forget anytime soon, and smiles against his lips.

"My friend and I are gonna switch to Jack. Bring some over, would ya? Thanks."

Grace lets him go and hops down, tipping an imaginary hat and grinning at the whoops and applause a few people hanging near the bar send her way.

"Getting bartenders' attention is such a bitch."

Delighted, Goldy joins in the clapping, loving the blatancy of the move.

"Very nicely done!" she laughs.

Once Grace is re-situated, the Fable slings a companionable arm round her shoulders.

"You're something else, girl. And the best thing is: you know it. That makes you pretty fucking cool in my book." She gives the other blonde a dangerous smirk. "This place isn't going to know what hit it when we're through."

Grace returns the smirk, eyes both amused and appraising, and kicks a boot against Goldy's shoe. The bartender is close behind, and Grace grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels from his unresisting hands.

"I'll drink to that."

Take that, Earl.

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