2019-05-21 - Apology Drinks

The dinner crowd has already come and gone and there really isn't a strong night crowd on a Monday.

Easton is not behind the bar tonight, no, that'd be a little awkward, but somehow drinking at his place of business feels like a reasonable thing. That and the fact that he isn't terribly mobile at the moment, Easton earlier texted Baylee a time and since he's been there most of the day he really doesn't have to worry about missing her. He's dressed casually as ever in a faded black tee-shirt and dark jeans. Instead of his usual black motorcycle boots he has on a pair of faded red vintage style runners. He's seated in a booth, off to the side of the dining room, watching the TV. For some weird reason it's playing old Scooby Doo re-runs, and of all episodes it just so happens to be the Harlem Globe-Trotters visiting one. Easton looks a little confused because he's pretty sure he's seen this one already today? And crap, isn't ScrappyDoo in this one?

He adjusts his back, cracking it and then picking up his phone again. He's not nervous per say, but maybe looking forward to this a bit more than he expected.

Poor, poor, poor man.

Baylee is late. Significantly so, more than the fashionable five to ten minutes late. On into the 'oh shit, is she standing me up' late. But she does turn up, and as all reasonable twenty-somethings she dressed for what she is assuming this little tête-à-tête is actually about. Black mini-shirt, blue blouse, and....boots? Yeah, boots and a leather jacket finish off the look as she steps inside the bar to look around, checking to see if she can spot him.

She almost scans right over him, then she spots him and begins to head that way when she finally does, "Sorry I'm late."

Looking up from his phone, he catches her eye and raises a hand. He puts his phone away, quickly, as if maybe a little guilty that he was in fact checking the time slash seeing if she texted to cancel and he missed it. He doesn't stand when she comes over, which maybe the crutches outside the booth explain.

"No worries. I'm just .. " There's nothing good to say there. "You look great." Oh, right, because people probably dress up for taking people out for drinks. Which is a date. Oh.

He moves past that bit of awkwardness and asks, "What're ya drinking?" Easton himself just has a glass of water in front of him. He's been making sure to pace himself as earlier it looked like there was a good chance that she'd show up and he'd be sloshed, which wouldn't really help anything. Thankfully he managed to pull himself out of that spiral. He looks pretty clear eyed, if a little tired.

The crutches are new, and enough to get a weird look. They are new, aren't they? Now she begins to doubt her memory as she slides in across from him, shedding her jacket, "Whiskey, scotch, anything but tequila." Pause. "Or vodka, unless it is being mixed with something." She carefully folds the jacket before she sets it down next to her, legs crossing.

It only takes her about two seconds to notice the water, which brings up a question(s) that is probably more worried that it has any right to be, "You're not in that stupid program right? My drinking isn't going to be some sort of problem.....is it?" Then she shakes her head, "I just assumed considering you asked me out for drinks. At a bar. That you'd be drinking too, but if my drinking is somehow going to negatively impact your sobriety I like coffee."

The crutches are certainly new. Well technically they are quite old and well worn, but that's not what she was wondering.

Easton catches a waitress and asks, "Sheila, can we get two jack and cokes? And two shots of Makers?" So he, like bartenders everywhere remembered her drink from the other night even though he wasn't the one serving her.

Just in case that didn't answer the question about his drinking though, he tacks on those shots. "No. I'm not in the program." Yet. He adds silently but then chastises himself and forces himself to remember that no, he didn't get blackout drunk last night. Something far weirder caused him to get hurt. Somewhere.

"Because yea, that'd be weird to ask someone out for a drink.." He trails off with a smirk. "But thanks for coming out."

"Thanks." For remembering what she ordered, for ordering shots. For the date that might not be a date? Who knows. Free drinks, so it doesn't actually matter to her, really. There is a curious look towards Sheila, then towards him, amusement spiking. "You come here often enough to know the waitress by name?" Maybe he should be in the program, then. Clearly she does not know his status of owner/operator of the bar.

"Aidan was telling me that you might be fishing around for some information, and that this might be less of a matter of you trying to ask me out." Which might not explain the fact she dressed for a date, right? "Or...?"

Easton looks confused for a minute at the comment about knowing the waitresses name. Then he remembers to explain, "No, I work here. I'm a bartender." And then it dawns on him that he didn't take her order here, he overheard it at the Pourhouse. "Sorry, I thought I mentioned that." He is certainly more sedate than his animated self from the other night. No antics about nude photos or groping people.

"Aidan." He repeats the name lining it up with the colorful image in his head. "Is ... half right. I mean, first I'd be stupid not to ask you out for a drink, just straight up." But in truth, that's not what compelled him to do it.

"But. I also felt like I wanted to apologize for trying to barge into your head the other night. I'm not good with this ..." He gives a soft, heh, of a laugh and says, "Fuck, I don't even know what it's called. Or how to talk about it, let alone how not to make an ass of myself in doing it."

He's gotten off topic.

"You just struck me as someone who might understand." Wow, that sounded better in his head than out loud. "If that makes any sense." And understand what? That's not stated.

The information that he is a bartender here causes her to ahhh faintly, all things seem to be falling into place. Like the fact he clearly invited her for drinks here because he gets a discount, which might cause an unflattering shift in her opinion of him.

Or maybe the mention of trying to barge into her head causes that shift, her expression flattening for a moment before she laughs, "Sorry.." She waves a hand around in apology, "Sorry, no. Seriously. It's fine. I didn't even realize that you were trying to do anything, and I'd probably have reacted just fine if it'd have worked. Maybe. Either way, I'm not armed, and I wasn't then, so you'd be fine." Then she lets her attention shift away from him, frowning, "I don't know much, though, about any of this. Aidan knows more, and you'd have done better to ask him out for drinks for that then me."

If he were aware of her assumptions, it'd amuse him. He hadn't intended to take her here but he's not moving around great and decided it was best to stick closer to home, just now. Technically he's not supposed to be up at all, but screw that noise.

He smirks at the hand waving. He half shrugs, "Yea, see I don't know the etiquette. Is it like bumping into someone? Or like accidentally grabbing their ass? I can't tell. " He shrugs that off and says, "Well Aidan wouldn't look half as good as you do tonight, so I'm not really sad about my choice."

The drinks arrive and he is lifting his glass but then gives her a bit of a strange look when she says she's not armed. Something about her need to clarify that causes a bit of concern. He doesn't ask for now, instead raising his glass and saying, "Anyway, cheers."

"Cheers, mate." Baylee replies promptly as she reaches for the shot first, reaching across to tap her glass against his before she downs the contents in one far too practiced swallow, then she sets the glass down on the edge of the table. "I'm not sure Aidan wears skirts, but I'll be certain to ask him if he does."

The jack and coke is pulled towards her and she leans back in her seat, looking comfortable, "I imagine barging into someone's head is more along the lines of a crotch grab, not an ass grab. But it's not anything I know how to do, so it's all guessing." She seems to be taking the conversation in stride, which is probably helped by the shot a moment ago. "I didn't know about any of this before I got here like...last week. Maybe over a week." She has clearly not counted the days since her arrival, sadly.

"What happened?" She tilts her chin, indicating the crutches. The proverbial elephant in the room.

Downing the shot easily, without even the trace of a wince Easton sets it down easily before sliding over his own jack & coke. He smirks and says, "It wouldn't surprise me much. He's probably got the legs for it."

The thought of it being more of a crotch grab causes him to wince. Yea, that's worse. He says, "Yea, I don't know. Aidan was able to talk in my head but it felt ... really normal. Like, just a private conversation. Well, when he did it. Pretty sure I was doing the equivalent of screaming in his face at first." He takes a big sip of his drink and nods in agreement. "Exactly. I thought I was going crazy when I came here and suddenly all these people are just ... like pinging my radar, and things can move and .." He stops short of mentioning Tom.

He glances over at the crutches and then looks back at her. His twists up a little bit and he says eventually. "It's weird. I mean.. I feel like this might be the worst first date story. Maybe in history? God, at least I hope in my history.."

"I had some sort of dream thing happen. And .... just throw your drink in my face and walk away whenever I cross that line into crazy person you don't want to talk to again." He's rational dammit. And calm under pressure! And none of those things seem to apply in this stupid town.

"So yea, weird dream. I dreamt I was in an operating room and they were cutting off my leg." He clarifies, "My other leg. I'm .." He looks at her curious, and explains, "I'm already down to one, so no fucking spares to speak of." He takes another quick sip of his drink and finishes, "But then I wake up and my leg is cut. In that exact spot. As if it actually happened. And I ... can sometimes heal things? But not this. So yea, thirty stitches later."

"Like I said. It's a terrible first date story. I should have just told you I got bit by a shark saving a puppy from drowning or something."

There isn't any drink throwing, at least. In fact, Baylee is rather patiently listening to the story if the dream, her brows furrowing and a few winces when he mentions lost limbs. But she keeps sitting there, which might mean quite a bit, all things considered. Of course, by the time that he is done with the story she has very little left in her glass and she's looking around for that waitress like she needs a refill something bad.

"Sorry about your leg." It's probably something that he's heard a lot. It's polite. And spoken with the tone of someone who feels they are required by etiquette to offer sympathy for something they oddly might not care about. "And your other leg, as well."

Since there are two legs in question. "I went on this boat tour with Aidan, and a bunch of other people just to be clear it wasn't just some...rather bad trip." The television with the globetrotters on it are pointed towards. "That one, he threw a ball at me. Another one did, too...or maybe it was the red headed movie star exploding all over me that gave me the most moment of what the fuck have I done with my life." Which leads her to pointing towards his drink, "Don't throw that in my face, just politely tell me you forgot to turn the oven off and leave."

Easton at least seems to gather that she isn't looking at him like an animal in a trap looking for the exits, so he relaxes a little bit.

"Oh fuck my leg. I don't give a shit about the cut, I'm just trying not to freak out about the fact that the dream did that. Ya know?" He doesn't mean to blow off her sympathy, it's just not exactly a major injury as far as he is concerned, and as for his other leg well, he can't imagine what she has to be sorry about that.

And then she starts in about a boat ride. Obviously the same boat ride that the others from this morning were on. He nods and lets her tell the story and is utterly unperturbed now when she mentions being attacked by the Harlem Globetrotters. Thank God for Erin getting that out on the table and him getting his laughter out. Laughing would probably be the wrong response. Maybe.

"No, I heard. Kind of. Geoff and Erin and that Alexander guy were in earlier and she was shaken up. And Alexander was talking ... he's kind of loon, but I'm betting that's because he seems some shit. I feel bad for the guy because it sounds like he's used to people blowing him off. And I probably would have been one of those people." He decides to drain his drink rather than throw it at her.

"Actually do you want to go outside and grab a smoke before next round? I did get a little weed from that dispensary, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm a little less excited about anything harder than booze altering my perceptions." He says the last part out loud as if it's a revelation to him as he's saying it. He brought the joints because he saw her reaction when he asked about sourcing a street pharmacist. But now it seems just a little less appealing to him, but he'd follow her lead.

"Alexander knows what he's talking about, if you want the truth of it." Which almost seems to cause her pain in the end when she says it. So much pain. "Him and Aidan seem to have a good sense of what the fuck is happening, to various degrees. No one else I've run into have actually seemed to be cognizant of the reality we're living in. Or, unreality?" She shakes her head very quickly at that, not having quite the words to put to the thoughts and situation just yet. "He seems crazy as hell, but he seems to be on the front line in all this."

When he asks if she wants to step outside to smoke she shrugs, getting to her feet after finishing off her drink, grabbing her coat, "Sure. I'd not say no if you did have something a little harder though, either." Which is what she would be asking a street pharmacist for. But weed is just as good, and it also allows her to pull a pack of actual cigarettes from her pocket to tug one out, holding it up in offer to him as well. Since they are sharing.

Pushing out of the booth, he happily accepts the cigarette and slips it between his lips to free up his hands. He swings on his leather motorcycle jacket, grabs the crutches and agrees on his way out, "Yea. I got the sense that this place has been screwing with Alexander for a while. I can't say how I'd react either, I was shaken up enough by one little cut. From the sounds of it, he's had worse." Of course Geoff didn't seem phased by it. And why should he? It's just a little bit more crazy. He's lived in crazy before, he can do this.

When asked if he has anything harder he gives a small shake of his head, but also doesn't elaborate just yet. He indicates the patio doors and quite nimbly for someone on an artificial leg with another deeply cut leg manages to navigate the bar and then navigate the steps down to the fireplaces on the lower deck.

"I normally would have some oxies to share but Geoff is still working on that." But he pulls out his own pack of cigarettes that has two joints in it and hands one over. His lighter which is also in the pack is pulled out without hands and flicked open near his face for him to light the cigarette. He's either waiting on the weed, or passing. He then takes his hands off his crutch to use his hands to guide the lighter to light hers, whatever she's smoking, deciding against using his powers to do anything that could light her on fire is probably a good bet.

It doesn't much matter that he doesn't have them on him, the fact he's looking for them is enough. She nods, taking the joint and then accepting the light for her cigarette, then the joint. It takes a bit of a pro to manage both of these things, "When he comes through for you, let me know. If he's good for more I can scrape up some cash." Scrape up. Like she's suddenly broke.

"Thirty stitches, though, that doesn't sound like a little scratch." Which he probably knows, honestly. The joint is the first to get a few hard pulls from, then she holds it out towards him, blowing the smoke upwards before she looks back towards him, "It's all pretty fucked up, whatever is happening around here. I...really think that I need to corner Alexander and have a real conversation with him."

Easing himself down into a seat that's close enough to her that their legs are touching he smiles and relaxes. "I got a couple at my place, but that feels a bit too much like a move." One that if he were going to pull, he likes to think he'd do a little more smoothly than that. His smile though doesn't fade as he adds, "Anything else he should be on the eye out for?" He doesn't seem to care that she might be hard up for cash.

"Well, I've had worse. Obviously" He lifts his left pant leg just enough to show the obviously fake black leg, it's not shaped to mimic a leg and has what looks to possibly be a custom knife holder attached to it to hold a KA-BAR. He mean to just indicate the leg, not show her he's armed but it still harkens back to her earlier comment.

He takes the joint and deftly switches out his cigarette with one hand to take a drag. He takes a good long drag and holds it, almost meditatively before exhaling slowly away from her.

"I agree. I'm getting Geoff liquored up soon to get him to spill some of this shit. I know these fuckin' townies know it too." There's no vitriol in his statement about locals, but something about it makes him pause as it sounds like a phrase harkening back to his younger days, when there was a haughty streak there. He clarifies, "I mean I like 'em. I just get the sense that they all know shit and are still just hanging back watching someone like you or me walk blindly into the shit."

"Which reminds me. I take back any and all things I said about exploring the sawmill." How is this related? "I looked it up. That place has got some shit going on for real. You have any idea how many deaths have happened there? Too fucking many, If you do go, expect something. I got a feeling it's soaked in a concentrated dose of weird."

"All we saw was the saw blade starting and then a trash panda." Baylee replies as far as the sawmill goes, "Really fucked up my night, too. Well, it interrupted things, then fucked up part of my night, then it got fixed after a shower."

Which reminds her, "By the way, you shouldn't pick up chicks in front of other dudes. It's a bit rude." She reaches for the joint though, so that she can take it back carefully blowing on the end to knock the ashes off it. Then she takes a long hit off it, holding it in as she looks upwards, thinking, "Oxies are good, so are bars, and then shit, anything else. Honestly. I wouldn't mind a night where I just forgot everything that happened."

His leg, or the fact he's got a giant knife, goes unremarked on. She practically ignores it, in fact. "So you hit Geoff, I'll take out Alexander. We can meet back here with answers, maybe."

Or maybe it will be just an innocuous sawmill. Easton can't tell if that's more surprising then them finding a portal to hell or something. After all somehow his leg was both cut in the dream and on the coffee table, so there's layers of weird happening here.

He is about to protest that he didn't try to pick her up, but then he thinks about it and says, "Oh. Well fuck. I guess that was kinda shitty, I don't.." He thinks about it and decides the truth is a bit uglier than he'd like. He didn't see Aiden as a physical threat so he ignored even the possibility of pissing him off. Which is probably not a good idea considering how he pings his radar. "Was he pissed? I mean, on the one hand, kind of a dick move. On the other, yer here. And I don't regret that."

He hands the joint back and closes his eyes for a moment to let that little mental wave roll over him. He agrees. "That does sound good." He glances over at her and says, "I'm down for that. If you're open to some company?"

And then she's making the plan and he nods, "Hoorah." The only acceptable response to a plan in any Marine's vocab is given but he does ammend, "Maybe dinner? Somewhere else?"

"Oh, grumpy. Yeah. He was grumpy." Aidan, pissed? Two words should never be in the same sentence, honestly. "Sure, I can do dinner sometime, and get really trashed sometime. But..."

Isn't there always a but, and she seems to be trying to hang onto this but while letting the weed do what it is supposed to do and hit her with a nice, mellow high. "I am seeing Aidan." That's one thing. "And Jay." Whoever the fuck Jay is. "So if that's going to be a problem then we can just be mates and call it good at discussing the beating up and questioning of townies for information as our bonding. And maybe drugs."

Baylee thinks about it for a moment, nodding, "And really drugs, yeah. Those are pretty good things. But maybe say sorry to Aidan." Which is a bit of a scattered way of getting through a conversation.

Easton smirks at 'grumpy', not seemingly over concerned. He nods appreciatively at the idea of getting properly trashed with her sometime, until the but.

His smile freezes in place as he waits for it. He seems actually surprised about Aidan, less so that there's another name. He makes a soft "oh." sound and then thinks about it. "Hmm. How do you feel about mates that want to sleep with you? Cause I... don't really see that not being the case. I mean, yea, you tell me you're seeing two guys so not really sure that's a no in that department. But, you say that's off the table? Well. I can deal with a hot townie bashing bud and the occasional lost night hang."

"Yea. I meant to ask him some shit anyway, text me his number. I'll apologize for being an ass, and then pump him for info too."

"It's fine. Just don't go stabbing people." Baylee has clearly very questionable levels of what is okay if her limitations on reactions is don't stab people. "Or shoot them." She takes another hit off the joint before she holds it back towards him, "Otherwise whatever happens...it happens." She shrugs her shoulders, finally lifting that half-forgotten cigarette up to take a drag from it, blowing the smoke slowly up into the air.

"Ask Alexander about the sawmill. He said you could get lost there, which is...whatever, like the boat stuff. And I bet your leg thing." She gestures towards his leg, then remembers, "Wait, I'm asking Alexander about more things. You ask Mr. Tattoo about it, and see what he says...also, ask him about his worst Tinder date. That story was fanfuckingtastic."

"Alright. I can promise no stabbing or shooting. Possibly some light face punching if they're a dick though."

He nods at the rest, and agrees. He takes a pull on his own cigarette and says, "But .." And then she straightens them back out to their intended targets. "Right." He smiles and says "I bet." He chuckles softly just imaging Geoff ranting about a date gone wrong.