<div class="floatleft">(https://imageshack.us/a/img836/268/7802227226124f60b165803.jpg)</div><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><strong>Real Name</strong>: Jason "Hendricks" Hendrickson / The Demolisher<br/><strong>Pseudonym</strong>: Mikhail "Misha" Pilkin / The Russian<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Inside The Iceberg Lounge at the poker table<br/><strong>Tags</strong>: Black Canary<br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;">There had been quite the pot on the table, and the money had to be organized into sums of 10 grand. The deep pockets of his fur coat were full, and Hendricks more than Misha, wasn’t going to risk the money he had made by participating in the wealthier games. He rose from his seat and with an arm around the penguinette’s waist, he walked with her in the direction of the bar until he saw the young woman that was seated there. The Russian stopped abruptly, and immediately his grey eyes darted to the thugs that had their sights on her. She might have thought they were checking such a fine woman out, but from their expressions, they had been thinking the exact same thing he was: who was she and what was she doing here? The Penguin’s thugs knew the Iceberg Lounge well. They were expected to know it from every face that was invited to every issue in the maintenance. Immediately, all the henchmen knew she didn’t belong.<br/><br/>The penguinette was staring up at The Russian and she followed his eyes over to the blonde at the bar. Frowning in slight envy, she rested her hand upon his chest and mewed for his attention, “Misha.”<br/><br/>The Russian roughly shoved the girl aside and ordered gruffly, “Beat it.”<br/><br/>The penguinette gasped as she fell against one of the couches. She snapped her head around in shock to see her Russian love for the night heading over to the blonde. <br/><br/>“Asshole!” she hissed. She couldn’t believe how easily he had tossed her aside.<br/><br/>A long and sinister smile stretched Misha’s lips as he prowled over to this leather-clad vixen. Already there had been three henchmen headed her way to confront her, but all three had stopped when he glanced in their direction and froze them in their tracks. The thugs lowered their guard once they saw that The Russian was going to handle it and backed off.<br/><br/>Misha settled upon the stool right next to Black Canary and called out to the bartender, “You on Misha’s time!”<br/><br/>In the middle of mixing a guest’s drink, the bartender immediately stopped and hurriedly approached The Russian, “The usual, Sir?”<br/><br/>The Russian simply continued to give the bartender a look that made him feel like the man was going to harm him any second.<br/><br/>Without another wasted second, he grabbed the bottle of vodka and a slice of lemon and dumped a shot’s worth into a tumbler before he set it on the counter before the man. “Here you are, Sir.”<br/><br/>Without another word said, the bartender strode away to finish serving the other guest.<br/><br/>Once he got his tumbler, The Russian faced the canary, his legs spread comfortably wide and his knees almost touching her thigh as she sat facing the lounge. He had an index finger in his drink and was stirring the lemon around in it, to get its acid in. Without shame, he openly checked her out. Gazing at her eyes, lips, hair, breasts, and her long, shapely legs. She could have seen the path his eyes visibly travelled, having rode from her head down to her crotch and legs. His eyes rose back up and he gazed upon her face as a wolfish grin parted his lips. The Russian seated next to canary smelled of smoke, and it wasn’t the nicotine kind. It might have been a strange cologne that mixed with the alcohol on his breath and the actual cologne he wore of sandalwood and frankincense.<br/><br/>“Vat are you do-ing herre blondinka?” The Russian asked curiously. He then tilted his head, his lips puckering into a condescending pout. “Did you not know zis vas prrivate lounge? My tavarishi are vonder-ring how you got in herre. Zey are not happy, you see. But don’t vorry, I von’t let zem keel you...”<br/><br/>Hendricks was already thinking that the blonde visitor must have been tough to get through security so easily or perhaps she could have snuck in somehow. They had surveillance all over, so how she was able to mosey into the lounge without detection was beyond him. She must have had business with The Penguin, but she was going through with it the wrong way. The lounge was full of thugs with guns and innocent people; and The Penguin had more than one trick up his sleeve, if ever he so needed to flee the scene. Did this girl really think that she could take on Cobblepot alone? Unfortunately, Hendricks had no way of warning her <em>directly.</em> He had to stay in character a little longer.<br/><br/>Pulling the lemon from his drink, Misha brought it to his lips and bit into it before pulling the fruit from the peel. Tossing the peel aside, he knocked the tumbler back and gulped down the liquor before he breathed a pleasant sigh. The vodka was cold...<br/><br/>“You must be cold blondinka,” said Misha. He boldly rested his hand upon her thigh and squeezed it before he offered, “You let Misha warm you up, and no harm vill come to you. Zink of zis as your chance at VIP statoos.”</span>