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"What'll it be?" was a line Valerie often hated to use. In essence, it was a simple question, but the
intoxicated patrons of the 7th Hell would often take it as an invitation to say something truly
'hilarious' and 'witty'. Valerie had probably heard every variation of every sexual innuendo uttered
since the dawn of time. Just about every drunken douchcanoe looking for an output thought 'BJ
on the rocks' was their invention. No cigar. The corpo woman who stood in front of Valerie tonight
made no effort to hide the fact that she was staring at the shape of Valerie's chest, and said "You,
naked in a sandwich made of me and my boyfriend." Right, right. So, the offer in itself wasn't a bad
one. Valerie had sometimes seized the opportunity to have a fling or two with select patrons, and
had most definitely accepted the offer to crazy party with a certain Kerry Eurodyne at his glitzy
mansion. However, Valerie just hated the type of corpos this woman represented; people who
basically saw Valerie as a free joytoy. An expendable asset without any intrinsic value. Valerie
remained ice cool, and said with a calm voice "How 'bout a scop dog instead? That big ol' sausage
is all greased up, so it'll slide down easy." Mr. Montana, the Animal gangster who ran this joint had
allowed the staff plenty of leeway to stick it to the corpos if they gave you attitude. That wasn't
because Montana was a generous man who cared about his hardworking bartenders and bouncers,
but because he had a giant chip on his shoulder, and he hated corpos with a burning passion. The
unfortunate corpos who didn't know when to shut their traps would often find themselves sprawled
on a pile of trash in some distant back alley, with their heads bludgeoned with a big hammer to
something resembling lumpy gravy. The corpo woman in front of Valerie seemed to know when to
back down, and said "Maybe a Long Island Iced Tea. Make it a double."