2019-05-25 - Get a Puppy. Lose it. Profit.

A nice slow day shift is just what Easton was looking for to get back into the swing of things. Having to take a few days off after only just starting is never a good look and despite the strange arrangement he has with this bar, he wants to be a good employee. He is currently standing behind the bar, talking to one of the regular lunch crowd who works nearby. There is a stool behind him though, in case he needs to rest his leg, either of them for a bit.

Typically speaking, coming to a bar in the day time is an example of someone who has a huge problem. With drinking. Doesn't stop Frankie, though, and when she rolls through the door she's wearing only slightly //less/ flamboyantly bright and flowing clothes than she was the first time she met him. Beneath her arm is a small turquoise duffel bag, and she's got very classically Hollywood plastic sunglasses on that cover half her face. They remain on even as she starts to look around until she spots where he is behind the bar, heading that direction, "Hey."

Looking up from the super important or at least ever present task of polishing glasses Easton sees Frankie enter and look around for him. He smiles and raises a hand, waving the bar mop in his hand just slightly at her.

"You found me. Hi."

Setting the glass down and pulling up a stool he asks, "Did you want a drink or something to eat first? Or are we getting right down to the business of finding which Olsen twin is going to break my heart and feast upon my soul?"

"Mary Kate." Frankie is prompt with the answer as she sets the bag onto the bar, sliding onto a stool, "I'd love a drink, though. Cheap, beer, that's fine." She rests her elbows on the bar top, hands folding together as she leans forward, considering the rest.

"Are we talking food...or bar food? Because I'd probably eat anything you have." She glances at the bag, then shakes her head, "We can talk first. Unless you'd prefer me to do the reading with no actual information...which makes me a lot more amazing."

"Aw, that spicy minx. That makes sense." No, he doesn't actually know which is which but it's still the right response regardless. Easton starts pouring a beer on tap for her and in answer to her next question he answers, "There's pretzel and popcorn, but we also have an actual menu. The food is best eaten when hammered, otherwise it's pretty standard stuff. Let me know if you want a menu."

He seems confused by the talk first part though. He says, "Wait, isn't that the point though? I thought you were supposed to draw on the spirits and find my destiny via unseen threads. Or are you more like psychic shrink? Where we talk and then you ask questions about what I think my destiny is?"

"Popcorn is good." Frankie replies with a laugh, shaking her head, "And no, see....there's a wi..." She pauses, then narrows her eyes at him before she lifts finger, shaking it slowly at him, "I see what you are doing. You are trying to get me to give you all of my secrets. That isn't how this works."

How it does work, though, is what she's got in the bag. Which she reaches for, settling it on her lap to pull things out of it, setting a deck of cards down, then a velvet bag before she holds a hand over the items. "Tarot cards. Standard reading, we'll go with three cards. Rune stones, I roll them, whatever pops up has the answer. Your choice on your method."

Easton nods succinctly, passing her the beer and using another hand to scoop some relatively fresh popcorn into a bowl. It's still early so it's pretty fresh, lucky for her. And lucky for the bar, by the time it's not most people are too drunk to care.

He laughs easily at her suspicions and agrees, "You caught me. I'm actually trying to steal your secrets and setup a competing fortune telling shop across the road, with readings for like a dollar less. Sure they won't be as good, but everyone loves a cheaper option."

"Let's do the Tarot and if it's a losing hand, I can just pay for another right?"

"It's a ruthless business, are you sure you want to try and compete?" Frankie picks the velvet bag back up, dropping it into the bag on her lap before she reaches for the tarot cards, tugging the ribbon from around them to set it to the side.

"Do you have an actual question you want asked, or are you more curious about the general things?" Frankie idly begins to shuffle the cards without looking, her eyes focused on his face, expression neutral but pleasant. The game face of a professional.

"Listen I know I don't look like it, but I can slap and pull hair like nobodies business. " He is apparently geared up for a slap fight over territory, though even he is grinning while saying it. Normally he's better at being straight faced when joking around.

"I want to ask.." He trails off and the smile fades from his eyes if not his face. Dammit, I want to ask if that's Tom. If he's here. He looks away for a second and covers with a louder than necessary, "Hmm. Do I only get one question to ask the cards?" It's said in as close to his joking manner as possible but it's obvious that he's a little more invested in the outcome of this than a casual person and try as he might to cover with jokes or what not, he is legitimately seeking supernatural answers to supernatural questions.

"You can ask whatever question it is you want, and in fact..." Frankie tilts her head to the side, thinking for a moment before she sets the deck of cards down in front of him. "Shuffle them eight times."

Then she reaches into the bag to pull out a smaller deck, tugging a ribbon off them to spread them across the bar in front of her, "You don't even have to say the question out loud, actually. You just have to think about it, it depends on what is comfortable for you...because you aren't asking me the question. Like you said, you're asking the cards. And the cards will hear you no matter what."

Being handed the cards, he picks them up and shuffles them quite capably despite not being the same size as playing cards. He nods and seems to take in what she's saying about the question and how the cards work. He tries to feel if the cards give off any sense of a spark but he has no idea what he's doing so he can't tell anything one way or the other.

"Ok. I'm going Icognito Mode, my question's super dirty obviously."

That and he doesn't want to say it out loud. He's refrained from asking anyone even though it haunts him. Yes, a question about his dead best friend ghost haunts him, no regrats.

They feel like cards. Heavy, laminated sorts.

When he's done shuffling the cards she holds her hand out, pointing towards the bar, "Put them into three even stacks, face down." Then she indicates the cards that are spread out face down in front of her, hands skimming across them face down, fingers shifting very subtly to cause the light of the bar to glint off the rings on her fingers. "Then reach over, and slide one of these cards out. Whichever one speaks to you."

Stacking up the three piles, he looks at her and then at the cards and asks, "Really? It seems like you should be more involved? I mean, I'm obviously just your competition so you can ignore me, but shouldn't you be like touching them and muttering while your eyes roll back or something?"

He does follow the instructions and even tries to see if he can figure out which cards he should push out in front. He's had all sorts of whacky experiences in the last two weeks so if one of the cards stood up and talked to him, he probably wouldn't even bat an eye.

Finally he slides three cards forward and nods.

"Ok"

No quip. No wisecrack about what they might say. He has his question. She has his cards.

One card from the spread in front of her, and it is flipped over to show the Devil. One brow lifts upwards just a bit, looking at it before she turns her attention to him, "I'm just a conduit. Your cards are yours, and they have to be in tune with you, and your energy. That way they are able to answer the proper question. The less I touch them, the less likely I am to mess with the resonance."

But The Devil.

That card she indicates, "This is you...and your relation to whatever answer the other three cards hold. It tells me that whatever question you are asking, what ever thoughts weigh on your mind don't weigh on you with the weight of a butterfly, but instead as chains that hold you back from being your better self." She holds her hand over the card a moment, "Not your true self. Just a better self."

Super. The Devil.

"That's probably a good one right."

He exhales a bit and listens to what she has to say. Tries to parse it in terms of his situation and also in terms of 'you know this can apply to anyone right?' skepticism. He hasn't quite given up on his rational self yet, but he's trying to balance that with being open to cray-cray.

"Okay, so I'm the devil. I'm fine with that."

It's better than if it represents whatever agents of darkness Geoff was describing at least. Though there's still two cards left.

"Are you?" Frankie wonders with a smile, then she reaches for the first of the set of three cards, flipping it over. Eight of Cups.

Skeptics. There is always a skeptic. And maybe the card doesn't change his opinion of it, but it causes her to frown, "You've had something tragic happen, something where you put in a lot of time, effort...emotional and physical time and effort. But all it has brought you is sadness." She points back to the Devil. "In relation to this one it tells me that whatever tragedy in your past, that is part of what is holding you back from moving on. But that you do, actually, need to learn to move forward."

Smirking he says, "I can handle being my own worst enemy." Unspoken is the insinuation that he isn't so sure he can handle something else being out to get him. If his own mind is the worst thing he's facing, that's reassuring in some ways. Except he reminds himself that these are just cards and she's probably just reading his face, body language and there's no way she's missed that's ex-military.

"Agreed."

He doesn't bother pretending like that second card applies, particularly as she frames it. That's true and he doesn't mind admitting it. So long as he doesn't have to talk in details.

"And the river?"

There is a very faint shrug when he says that he can handle being his own worst enemy, but she reaches for the next card, a fingertip tapping lightly at it. There is a frown that crosses her face as she considers, "You're not, though. Not really. There's more to it then being your own worst enemy, because something...some one is what is holding you back. Or helping to, at least."

The next card is flipped over and it is the Seven of Swords, reversed. "My my..." She leans forward, her elbows resting on the edge of the bar, "This tells me that you are lying, to yourself. To the world. To me."

Someone. Something. Like Tom? Like the boogeymen haunting this town? He narrows his eyes and tries to follow what she's saying but isn't sure he gets what she means.

At the explanation of a the seven of swords he looks down and gives a soft laugh and then back up at her. "Everybody lies ma'am. You might need to be more specific." The irony of using his defense mechanism to defend his defense mechanism is not lost of Frankie. Duh.

He moves away for a moment to go help another customer, not because he's uncomfortable and needs a moment, no. He's just doing his job. Honest.

When he gets up to move away there is a very faint smile, but then Frankie turns her attention to gathering up the cards, carefully sorting them and then putting them back into a stack in front of her. For all the world, other than those that Glimmer, it looks like she's ignoring him and drinking her beer, playing with her cards.

For him, though. There is that resounding mental knock at the door of someone trying to get in, to have a word.

Allowing someone into his head feels strange. And he's not sure what that means in terms of secrets. It's not that he's surprised she's knocking per say, but he hesitates before sending back along the line <<Yes?>> Not rude, more concerned about what is going on.

At least he can mentally talk and still pour beers for other customers.

At least she was polite and knocked, right?

Frankie takes a sip of her beer, then a handful of that popcorn before she glances over, then around. No one seems to be paying attention, at least. Which is good, considering the kinds of things this town tends to attract. << What's up buttercup? >>

<< How much do I owe you for the reading? >> He doesn't seem offput by the mental talk, and soon enough he makes his way back down the bar and says, "Sorry, didn't mean to run off in the middle. You were saying the card meant I was lying to people. About me being my own worst enemy or about running away from a traumatic experience. I'm not sure which."

He re-drags the stool over so he can get off his feet for a minute.

"You don't owe me anything." Frankie replies with a shake of her head, a fingertip bumping the cards over before she pulls out one from the stack, flipping it over in front of him. Ace of Wands. "I don't know what you're lying about, or hiding. You might not even be strictly lying."

The card she pulled out is slide to the side, << It's about the secret. The darkness that is being shrouded...but this one tells me that you've got a new chance, and a potential of the purest sense in the spiritual realm. So without knowing what the exact question was, I can just give you the generalities of things. That you're running from something, and maybe even lying to yourself or others about what the real problem is, and that because of it you're holding yourself back from this new potential. >>

"You sure? I mean, pretty sure you might want to get paid for doing yer job? But then again, I'm just the usurper, you know what yer doing." He smiles and forces it back across his face that this is fine. "Yea, I think everybody lies and hides things though. I mean.." << Especially in this town. That can't be unique. >>

Holding himself back from new potential. A new opportunity. He would love to twist that into meaning something good might come out of all this. << I appreciate the reading. And the prompting. I do. I am here to try to get somethings sorted out. >> Namely himself, but who isn't trying to sort themselves out.

<< Are you? >> Frankie wonders as she drains half her beer before she sets it down, then she pushes the glass away from her before she reaches across the bar, her palms up, "Give me your hands."

There might be more to it, but she doesn't elaborate on it, instead she just holds her hands out to him, waiting.

A small chuckle escapes his lips as she challenges his assertion << I think so? >> He realizes that as much as he is trying to assert that, she's right that he's shying away from actually even asking the main question he came here to figure out. Well, at least the second step. He knows that ghosts are a thing that people experience.

He does as told and puts his hands out with the palms up. The regulars at the bar by now have figured out what is going on and are giving curious looks, not that Easton particularly cares.

<< What are you searching for? I'm sure that it isn't having your sould eaten by an Olsen twin...no one needs that to happen. >> Frankie curls her fingers around his wrists, her fingertips rather carefully resting against the the skin just beneath his hands. For anyone that would know and be paying attention it's pretty obvious that her fingers are resting over his pulse.

<< Look, life would be easier if you'd just tell me what you're trying to sort out, and I might actually be able to help you. >> There's a faint smile that passes over her face at that, "How are you finding life as a bartender in our wonderful town?"

<< I'm here because my dead best friend is haunting the shit out of my life and I'm trying to keep a grip on my sanity. >> A beat. << FUCK. You can hear that. >>

Easton looks only mildly chagrined that his mental inner voice because a mental outer voice. Though he does move to the tap and pour a beer, not for a customer but for himself. He offers a weak smile and says, "Can't complain. Get to meet all sorts of interesting people and occasionally have a beer with a pretty girl at work." He lifts a glass to her and then grins.

<< So yea. I'm trying not to lose my mind. It's a very humble goal, but it's important to start small I feel. >>

<< Dead best friend. Is that why you were asking about the ghosts around here? >> Or rather, strange stories of the unknown. Whatever. Frankie reaches for her beer again, tugging it closer to her, her hand wrapping around it. << Just so you know, you're not crazy....there are things like that. I've always considered them to be the souls of people who can't pass over. Someone else the other day said they were just a jumble of impressions and memories. I'm not sure, maybe we're both right. And wrong. >>

"I bet there are plenty of pretty girls that come through here that you get to have a drink with." Frankie tips her glass a little in his direction, but doesn't pick it up again, "But no Olsen twins."

<< Yeah >> Easton takes a big gulp of beer, and then she shares what 'someone' said and he winces. << I know. I think ... Fuck. I want it to be him, in some ways? But, I'm also not sure it's not just something in my head making some fucked up slideshow of Banks memories flash before my eyes. >>

It's the answer that he was worried he would get. Not that it makes it better or worse. Tom is still dead no matter what.

"There are. But I like to go for the low hanging fruit. The awkward one of the group, the fat one. Ya know, I'm slowly working my way backup to full speed and I can't really handle a blow to my ego in this delicate state." Something probably tells Frankie that his ego is plenty secure to handle any blows to it. Whether he's joking about his super uncomfortable pickup game is less clear.

<< But thanks. I'd like to think that it's just Tom bumming around waiting for me to kick it. But at least I'm not the only crazy round here seeing things. That's kind of helpful. >>

"Is this where I say that fat girls need love too?" Frankie wonders with a laugh, shaking her head before she stops laughing to look around, a hand moving for her mouth, "Oh, shit...I'm not supposed to make jokes like that, am I?" She doesn't look like she's actually curious. She knows the answer. She knows exactly what she's doing. "You should play into the pitiful thing, girls eat that up. Ask for like...I don't know, help finding your lost puppy."

<< You're not crazy, and they aren't either. Not when it's real, at least. >>

Easton laughs and nods along, "Damn straight." He laughs even harder when she covers her mouth as he stage whispers, "No, you're a terrible person."

<< Right. Not crazy. We're just seeing shit and talking in other peoples heads and again in someways it's reassuring. But in others I still feel like I'm unraveling. I'm not an unraveler. I'm very raveled. Extra raveled. Extravagently and elaborately wound. >>

"Ahh, see? That's what I need. A hookup coach. Someone to walk me through the finer points of manipulating women into sleeping with me." He hops off his stool to actually go do his job for a moment, setting his beer down to at least appear professional considering the still somewhat early hour.

His beer is safe near her, she doesn't even slip a roofie into it. Well guarded. Except for the fact that she finished her beer, and takes his to drink while he's busy doing other things. Like his job.

<< So what you're saying is that you're actually wound so tight you're going to break? >>

<< Right now, I can't disagree with your professional psychic psychiatrist opinion, much to my dismay. >>

He glances back to smile at her but then half-scowls at the beer in her hand and empty glass in front of her. << You know I can at least comp you some drinks for the reading, no need to swipe my beer. >>

The customer he's actually supposed to be helping calls him back to reality and he does a bit more work before moving back down the bar to Frankie.

"Okay, so do you feel like that was cards? Or am I that much of an obvious mess?"

"You asking if I some how like...what...Magicked the cards into place to force the reading to go in the direction I wanted it to go?" Frankie wonders, taking a quick swallow from his beer before she sets it down where he had earlier. "Some rude bitch came by and drank your beer." She points off in the vague direction of where a poor lady is sitting at a table, pushing the blame there. Despite them both knowing he knows, and her less than subtle drinking of it just a moment before speaking.

"I mean, I could probably do it. But generally a con like that requires me to know a bit about you to fake a reading. I personally like to think it was just the cards."

"No. I mean, like I have no idea what the seven of cups means. You could just twist that to fit whatever you think is going to make me talk or connect with me." He's not trying to play the skeptic. He does believe that somehow the deck or her or both narrowed in on what's got him wound so tight he's about to burst at the seams. But he would like to know if the deck is even necessary, if she could have just read him. Like a shrink. Or maybe a combination of glimmer (which he still doesn't know to call that) and intuition.

"Ugh, what a bitch."

He nods and says, "Alright. Well either way, I appreciate what you had to say."

<< About me not being crazy, though the puppy tip is solid too. >>

"Yeah?" Frankie laughs at that, sliding to her feet long enough to pull her phone out of her back pocket, unlocking it and googling the seven of cups. Then she slides it across the table so that he can read it, "It's all there online. Sort of kills any mysteriousness...except for the fact that it's just a generalization, and what I told you was specific. You know, psychic." She waggles her brows at him a little bit as she resumes her seat, folding her arms across the bar, leaning towards him, "Do you have a puppy?"

Watching her google with curiousity he picks the beer back up and takes a sip, apparently unperturbed by sharing a beer (literally) with a stranger. He looks down at the phone and says, "Okay, so yes that's what it means."

He chuckles at the question about the puppy and says, "Actually. I did, but sad story." He raises his eyebrows and tries to look as sad as possible when he intones, "I lost it."

"Aww. Do you need help finding it, Mister?" Frankie wonders, batting her eyes at him, doing her very best sad, sympathetic face, bottom lip sticking out a bit. But then she reaches for her phone to take it back, turning it off and sliding it back into her pocket, "I bet you have candy you'll offer me, too. I really like suckers."

The bag she'd been hanging onto is carefully dropped onto the floor beneath her stool before she leans over the bar, glancing to the left, then the right, making certain that no one is paying attention to them. Which, probably isn't going to happen, but it's all clearly part of the game. "I really just love a guy with candy and a lost puppy."

"Okay, I guess I should have been more clear. I'm looking to pick up women, not abduct children. Not sure if that wire got crossed somewhere but I feel the need to clarify."

He laughs and says, "Though if you're trying to make me feel uncomfortable, I admit you are doing a damn good job of it."

"Maybe." Frankie replies with a laugh, settling back onto her stool, "I sort of ran with it, and went to an entirely dark place...but I do want to point out that was because of the human sacrificing conversation where I said ba...You know what, never mind. Bad joke."

She shakes her head, reaching for a few more pieces of the popcorn, "More seriously, though. Get a dog. Walk the dog. Girls will comment. But it has to be a cute dog...then again you could just join the rest of the world and get a dating app."