2019-10-02 - New Faces

It's a cool evening, a pleasant break from the occasionally smothering October humidity. There's a light rain, the darkening sky obscured by thin grey clouds, and so people are seeking warmth and shelter.

The Pourhouse is one such refuge against the drizzle, the jaded and time-worn interior abustle with people in pairs or small groups, drinking beer and talking. Corey is up at the bar just ordering himself a beer, in friendly conversation with the barman. "Look, man, I'm telling you - get some proper bar snacks in here and business will pick right up."

A bit of grumbling can be heard from the direction of the door, and a few moments later a man in a tan suit with a folded umbrella in hand is making his way into the bar area. "You know, had always assumed this business about rain in the northwest had to be some sort of exaggeration," he says to nobody in particular. His southern (Atlanta, specifically) accent impossible to miss. That declaration out of the way, he moves towards the bar, seating himself a couple stools from Corey and contemplating his drink options.

Shaking his head to whatever the barman has said, Corey then lets his attention settle on Kelton. "Hey, man. What's your favourite bar food?" he asks, trying to bolster his argument. He pays for his beer, then swivels on his barstool to face the southern guy properly.

Distracted from decision-making, Kelton turns towards Corey. "My favorite bar food?" He repeats the question, then takes a moment to consider his answer. "I have always been partial to most forms of deep fried produce. Peppers, mushrooms, cauliflower. Staples of a good bar, if you ask me." A glance back towards the barman. "A Miller Lite, when you have a moment, my good man?" He turns back towards Corey as he fishes his wallet out. "Why do you ask?"

"Deep fried cauliflower?" Corey sounds intrigued, having never considered that 'bar food', so to speak. "Just trying to convince Alan here that the Pourhouse should start doing bar food. Keep people in longer, sell more drinks, you know?" he add, even as 'Alan' moves away to fetch the beer Kelton has ordered, uncapping the bottle and setting it in front of the southerner.

"Well, it seems to me, Alan, you are doing your patrons a grave injustice by not, at the very least, investing in a deep fryer." Kelton offers up his two cents with a smile as he slides cash across the bar for his beer. Then it's back to Corey. "Any particular reason for taking such a personal interest in the well-being of this fine establishment?" A pause. "But where are my manners? Kelton Lanford." A handshake is offered.

Brows raise slightly at the hand, though Corey isn't rude, taking and shaking it in a firm, friendly grasp. "Corey Jones," he offers by way of reply, taking a sip of his beer a moment later. "Honestly, just killing time. I was meeting a friend here, but he's running late," he explains, his smile lazy.

"As good a reason as any, I suppose," Kelton says with a little laugh, sipping at his own beer." You may have already surmised this on your own, but I am not from around here. Is this rain truly as frequent as people make it sound, or did it decide to rain special just for my arrival?"

Smile broadening to a grin, Corey assures cheerfully, "Oh, it's frequent. Not every day, but we don't often get two dry ones in a row. Especially as it's heading towards winter." He leans an elbow on the bartop, head cocking slightly to one side. "What brings you north, anyhow?"

"Lovely," Kelton deadpans, lips briefly pressed into a line before taking a longer drink. "North? The passing of my poor Aunt Elsie, unfortunately. Elsie Lanford? Owns... well, owned, I suppose... Lanford Acres." He explains, raising his drink in a silent toast before taking another swallow.

Grin fading, Corey offers a quieter, "I'm sorry for your loss." He doesn't expand on that, sipping from his beer and eyeing Kelton thoughtfully. "Gonna be running the business or selling it off?" he then asks, curiosity rearing it's head.

Kelton gives a little nod of acknowledgement for the offered sentiment, silent for a few moments, head bowed, before looking back up. "That is the question, isn't it? My family, quite understandably, expects me to sell it. Seeing as I know as much about horses as I do about kamgaroos, that is not an unreasonable expectation by any means." A pause, then a shrug. "But who knows? The folks she had working for her seemed knowledgeable enough that they might be able to advise until I learn what's what, so maybe I'll keep the place up and running and still safely in the Lanford family."

There's a nod from Corey, his expression becoming thoughtful. "Well, yeah. Staff, yeah," he nods. "See who's been there longest or has the best record, right? Let them be your mentor, or something."

"It does sound better than hiring someone from outside and having them all resent me. I dare say they're more attached to the place than I am as of this point," Kelton agrees.

Corey hmm's thoughtfully, finishing off his beer and ordering a replacement when Alan comes back up this end of the bar, along with a bag of chips. Since that's pretty much all they sell for food, it'll have to do. "Have you had the opportunity to look around town much? I dunno how long you've been here, but I'm guessing not that long."

"I have not. I spent my day yesterday settling in at the farm. This have been my first venture into this little town of yours. Seems like decent enough folk so far," Kelton answers, offering Corey a little nod. "Amy places I simply must see?"

Cocking his head, the younger man considers. "Well, I guess that depends on what you like? Gray Harbor isn't terribly big, but it's got some nice places. What do you do for fun? We've got a couple of bars - beyond this place - some decent restaurants.."

"Anywhere more...exciting?" Kelton asks, rather non-specifically. "This establishment has a time and place, to be sure, but surely there is something more... upbeat in town?" A pause. "And restaurant recommendations are always welcome," he adds.

"Exciting?" Corey ponders. "Mmn. Two If By Sea is a pretty great bar, though it's down on the beach so starting to wind down a bit as the weather turns. For restaurants; Firehouse Grill and BBQ does decent food, the Grizzly Den does the cheaper student-cheap stuff, Peach's Pizzerie likewise. Patisserie Vydal has the upmarket sweet tooth sorted, Sweet Retreat has the more 'kid's birthday party' desserts."

"Bold words, sir, telling a man from the south a place has good barbecue," Kelton says, challenge in his choice but mischief in his expression. "I'll have to go by and see how it holds up." He grins over his beer, nodding. "Your suggestions are noted and appreciated." There's a brief pause. "So, might I ask what it is you do, Mr. Jones?"

That challenge gets a grin in return. "I'm studying Culinary Science at Wash-U's Hoquiam campus. So, I'm pretty confident I know good barbecue when I taste it," Corey responds cheerfully. "But yeah, take a trip there and let me know what you think." If they should ever meet again for that opinion to be relayed, obviously.

"Is that right? Well, might be you do know what you're talking about after all," Kelton acknowledges with a little nod. "Culinary science, hm?" He muses over this, nodding thoughtfully. "Certainly more interesting than, say, business, I'd imagine."

"It is to me," Corey confirms with a slightly crooked smile. "What lead you to go into business, anyway? Is it a family thing, or.. you just love the idea of being the boss?" he wonders then, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Good for you, then," Kelton commends with a raised bottle in Corey's direction. A drink, and than a little laugh. "It is most assuredly a family thing. Parents weren't feeling inclined to help with college unless I got a business degree after I finished up the machining schooking I was interested in," he explains. "Thought it was a bit too.... blue collar for their son."

"Yeah, I get you," Corey acknowledges with a nod and another sip of his beer. "So you keep the business going and do some machining on the side, then?" he asks, head cocking a little bit, eyeing Kelton with open curiosity.

"Worked with a gunsmith back home, actually, learning the ropes and had started taking on a bit of work for myself when...." Kelton waves a hand about. "There is an awfully promising looking pole barn on the farm that may find itself expanded for some machining, though, so might be it all works out fine here. I would assume your long term plan is a restaurant of your own?"

The student shakes his head. "Nah. At least, not to begin with. My goal is to work in an R&D kitchen," Corey replies, sounding wistfully hopeful for a moment, then sipping his beer and continuing with, "Maybe in the future I'll see beyond that, but that's the current aim."

That gets a blank stare from Kelton, a few blinks before he speaks again. "And what, I must ask, does an R&D kitchen do, exactly?" he finally asks, looking /very/ curious.

"All sorts of stuff. It's where chefs experiment, learn more about food. How do you imagine people figured out that salted caramel was amazing? Or that you have to store bananas above other fruit? Or that you could make a cake without gluten?" Corey waxes lyrical on the topic of research and development in the culinary world, then glances down as his phone chirps from his pocket. Digs it out, eyes the text and taps off a quick reply.

Kelton's head tilts to the side as Corey lists off the developments of kitchens he didn't even know existed. "Truth be told, I was working under the impression those were all things that someone discovered at home and the information just.... proliferated through the world from there," he admits. "So really aiming to put the science in culinary science, then."

The enthusiastic student grins at that. "Yeah, most people do," he acknowledges, before finishing his beer. "And different chefs focus on different things, but generally, yeah," he nods to the science part, his smile almost infectious. "Anyhow. I've gotta go, but it was real nice meeting you. Good luck with the business, yeah?"

"And best of luck to you, as well, Mr. Jones. A pleasure to meet you. If you're ever feeling equestrian-inclined, do come out to the ranch," Kelton says, offering the man a little nod. "Enjoy the rest of your day," he adds with a little wave.

Rain falls from a gray sky, making indoors very much preferred to the alternative. At least, for the people in the Pourhouse, that seems to be the case. The usual quiet 'crowd', of it can be called that, occupies the place, mostly in the booths, though Kelton sits at the bar in a tan suit, a still-damp, folded umbrella leaning beside him as he drinks a beer, a vaguely contemplative expression on his face.

It's not always easy to get out, go among the people when sometimes those people you end up around are patients. But that doesn't seem to keep Vivian indoors this evening, and she boldly goes out to get herself as drunk as humanly possible. This evening the blonde steps through the door as she closes the bright red umbrella, giving it a shake before she binds it up, then she starts to move in the direction of the bar. The umbrella gets set down on top as she slides onto a stool, her free hand unbuttoning the button of her black suit jacket as she sits, legs crossing before she hooks the one heel on the rung of the stool. Soon as she's got the bartender's attention she places an order, "Let me get a double whiskey, neat....Jameson if you've got it."

Kelton glances over at someone besides him taking up residence at the bar, giving her a brief once over before an eyebrow raises slightly at the order she makes. "Long day?" he asks, his tone more polite than prying, and thick with an Atlanta accent.

The question causes Vivian to glance over, the faintest frown twisting across her lips for a moment before she attempts to fake a pleasant smile. It is clearly an effort to fake a smile, "Long day would be putting it rather mildly, I'm afraid. Let's just say...it's been a long few months and I've now hit the point where I've asked myself why."

Kelton's more sincere polite smile fades, and he finishes his beer. "I'll have what she's having." He adjusts his order from beer to something stronger. "Do feel free to tell me to keep my nose out of it, but might I ask....?" Kelton trails off, turning on his stool to more directly face Vivian, leaning an elbow on the bar and looking at the blonde with curiosity.

The smile the bartender gets is just as forced, but Vivian is glad to accept the drink when it gets set down in front of her, "Keep them coming." And to assure that he does keep them coming she pulls a slender wallet from her pocket, pulling a credit card from it to hold it out so that a tab is started, "His drinks are on me, too." Then she picks up her drink and downs half the contents in one swallow before she answers the question, "A wide, wide variety of things. See...I'm not from here. I moved to be with someone, and I'm now almost one hundred percent certain that was the most foolish thing I've ever done."

"Ah, another transplant, hm?" Kelton gives a sympathetic look, but then a little smile when she picks up his drink. "Thank you, Miss....?" He trails off, letting the silence hang for a moment before continuing. "I take it this someone you moved here for has.... not been living up to expectations, then?" he assumes, following suit and draining half his glass.

"Doctor Vivian Glass." Vivian holds a hand out towards him in introduction before she answers the actual question, the important one. "We've always had our ups and downs, but our downs haven't always been like this. Let's just say I can empathize with taking a tire iron to his car window while he's in it."

"My apologies. Pleasure to meet you, Doctor Glass." Kelton takes the offered hand and gives it a shake. "Kelton Lanford," he reciprocates as he releases her hand. "Tire irons are mostly chosen for convenience. There are better ways to damage a vehicle," he suggests vaguely, tone serious, but hint of twinkle in his eyes suggest maybe he's joking.

"Are there?" If he's joking she doesn't seem to notice, or maybe care, or she's too far in the pissed off range to think beyond her own anger. "If you've got better ideas, I'm all ears." She finishes off her drink drink, then gestures for another. "So what brings you to this fine town, Mister Lanford?" The way she says fine town it's clear she might be sour on the town, not just the boyfriend.

"I assume you want something more subtle than a firearm? Let me get back to you, I might have something lying around," Kelton says vaguely before clearing his throat. "Mmmm, I.... recently inherited Lanford Acres and am in the process of deciding what I should actually do with it. Horses are not my area of expertise."

"Lanford Acres?" Vivian's brows lift upwards just a little before she nods, reaching for the refreshed drink, pulling it closer, "You could always sell the land to a developer for a tidy profit, depending on location and quality. If you're not a land expert, either."

"I could. That is one of the ideas on the table," Kelton agrees with a nod. "Not rushing to a decision, though. I just laid eyes on it yesterday and it's not the sort of decision to make hastily. Maybe my aunt was turning a fine profit there and I'd be throwing away a sound business?" He shrugs as if he has no idea what he plans on doing.

There is a shake of her head in response to that, taking a sip from her glass before she sets it down once more, "Was she selling horses, giving little rides to children around in circles?" She gestures around in a circle with her finger, "Depends on what exactly the business was, doesn't it?"

"A bit of everything, I believe. Breeding, boarding, trail rides..." Kelton trails off. "I'll give the paperwork a more thorough look over in the next few weeks. I'll have to wait for all the i's to be dotted and t's crossed anyways, so I have time," he reasons.

"If you're breeding, then you can turn a fair bit of profit, depending on bloodlines. Race horses, I hear, are the top of the line in earnings." Vivian shakes her head a moment, catching her glass with her fingertip, tilting it a little, "But this is all just what I've overheard over the years back home...I've a number..." She starts to search through her pockets in search of her phone, "A friend of my father, he owns a few race horses, might be able to help if that is the business you're in."

Kelton listens closely, clearly making mental notes, nodding his agreement. "If you have anyone that might be able to help me make heads or tails of things, that would be greatly appreciated." He drains his glass, sliding it towards the edge of the bar to be freshened up when the barman gets the chance. "So I can't expect Doctor Glass to be coming out for riding lessons any time in the future, then?" he assumes.

"Depends on if you keep the business going, but I might could use a new hobby." Vivian replies as she searches through her phone, finding a number on it before she slides it over towards him, "Doctor Edwards, Frank...he's a talker, so be wary when you call him. Make sure you've got the time to give him, and you can tell him Vivie gave you his number, Doctor Glass' daughter. Should be enough to get your foot in the door."

"Well, I will surely let you know what I plan on doing if you think you might be interested," Kelton promises, and then he's looking at the offered information, pulling out his own phone to copy it over. "You have my thanks. Worry not, we know a thing or two about talking back home," he assures with a grin. "So, do you prefer Vivie or Doctor Glass, then?"

"Vivian." There is a quick shake of her head, "No one under the age of fifty calls me Vivie any more...Viv, also would be fine." She picks her phone back up when he's done with it, dropping it into her pocket before she starts to search the pockets again, then she pulls out a business card, sliding it across the bar towards him, "Where is back home?"

"Vivian... Viv..." Kelton takes a moment to test out each option. "Vivian, I think," he settles on with a little smile. He takes the offered card, producing his wallet to store it and produce a card of his own. "I am obviously not currently affiliated with Devereaux Arms, but the cell number is still my own," he clarifies. "Home would be Atlanta, Georgia."

Vivian takes the return card, "Devereaux Arms?" She looks the card over for a moment before she tucks it into her pocket, reaching for her drink again, "L.A. Home for me is L.A., so what was this Devereaux Arms?"

"A gunsmith I was working with. Maybe will work with again if I don't end up staying here," Kelton explains, reaching for his refreshed drink. "And I thought I had made a change coming here from Atlanta. It must be just as drastic for you to have come from Los Angeles."

"Getting used to things here is..." Vivian trails off with a frown, lifting her drink up to take a quick sip of it, a frown pulling at her mouth, "There are a lot of differences between here and the big city, but there are just a number of odd things in general here. Lots of crime, for one. More than you'd think for a town this size. So you made guns?"

"Is there?" Kelton cocks his head to the side, surprised by the little crime tidbit. "Interesting..." He trails off in thought for a moment before refocusing on Vivian. "Modified them more often than made them entirely. Truer barrel, improve sights, what have you," he explains. "Occasionally made something entirely custom, though, yes."

"There is, it seems. You should go back and read some of the newspaper articles for the last few months, quite a few murders." Vivian agrees with a nod as she lifts her glass up for a sip before she sets the glass back down, turning towards him, "What would someone need a custom gun for?"

"I'll have to do that," Kelton agrees, looking thoughtful. "Why they need a custom gun is not my concern. A man wants a revolved with a barrel three inches longer than standard, I don't ask why, I just tell them how much. Most of our clients were very involved in marksmanship and so want something they can get consistent results with."

"All perfectly legal changes, of course." Vivian rests her forearm on the bar as she studies him for a moment before shaking her head, "Anyways. Yes...you really should know everything you can about this town while you try and figure out if you're staying. I'll give you the same advice everyone gave me, that I didn't take. Go home."

"Oh, of course, perfectly legal," Kelton agrees. "The government keeps very close tabs on that sort of work, as you might expect." He listens again to the advice, nodding. "I will keep that in mind," he promises, then turns curious. "I don't believe I asked what sort of doctor you were? If one of the horses decides to kick me, am I going to be glad I have your card?"

"I could probably help, been to medical school, but I'm a psychiatist. So unless one of your horses somehow hurts your feelings instead, I'm probably not the best person to go to." The rest of the whiskey gets downed before she pushes the glass to the side for a refill when the bartender wanders their direction again. "Do you happen to have need of a psychiatrist?"

"Well, I /would/ probably take the kick personally and resent the horse, so you're not off the hook yet," Kelton 'warns'. "But I'll maybe take care of the physical trauma, first." In regards to his psychiatric needs, he gives a small shake of his head. "Not at the moment, sorry. You're not in need of a gunsmith, are you?" he counters.

"I might be." The reply isn't fast, and when she offers it there is a very careful slowness to the reply. Like she's not quite certain of her own answer. "Probably wouldn't be bad, for personal safety of course. How quickly are you able to make these things, or modify them I suppose."

"There would be a bit of a delay if someone needed me to work on something right now. I don't have a mill of a lathe or, I suspect, proper wiring at that farm to acquire and run them. But, assuming I got the ball rolling today, I could be operational within... a month? Time for the actual work after that would depend entirely on what you wanted done. A day to weeks, depending."

Vivian nods at that, although there is a noticable moment where disappointment crosses her face, "Of course, a month. If you choose to get everything up and operational, I'd be interested. Of course." She glances towards the bartender, gesturing towards the glasses, "Two more, then cash me out." She turns her attention back to Kelton, "If asked, what would you suggest for someone that isn't really familiar with guns in general?"

"If it turns out my skills could be in demand here, that could quite well play into my decision to stay, so we shall see," Kelton says with a bit of a smile. "As for recommendations... something for home defense, or were you thinking of something you could potentially carry with you or keep at the office? And the one thing I'd recommend for any situation is some training in using whatever you decide on."

"Office, or on me." Vivian decides after a few seconds of thought, "Something that I could use in case there is a crazy patient." There is a smile when the bartender refills the glasses, then brings her back the check to sign. "I know which end to point at the other person, but that is about where my knowledge of guns and their use ends. I'll have to work at this training, then."

"A nine millimeter or a forty-five, probably," Kelton answers after a few moments thought. "Something you can keep close at hand without it being painfully obvious it was close at hand. I'm sure if you found something you liked I could help customize it a bit for you. Fit your hand better, things like that. And I'm almost positive I could set up space for some short range target practice at the farm if you were interested," he adds.

Vivian glances down at her hand when he mentions fitting her hand, then she nods before pushing the credit card receipt over, tucking the card itself back into her wallet. "Could you? That'd probably be useful, yes." She lifts her glass up for a final swallow of it before she sets it back down, "I'll buy something, and you can set something up."

Kelton gives a little nod. "Seems like a fine plan, Vivian. If you want someone to come help you pick out that first firearm, you have my number and I, for now, have a remarkably flexible schedule, so do feel free to call," he offers. He follows suit in finishing his drink and grabs his umbrella. "I should probably go find something more substantive to eat now, though. Mind if I walk you out?"

Vivian reaches for her umbrella as well, picking it up before she gets to her feet, "I will probably be giving you a call, yes." She picks up her drink to drain the rest of the contents of it before she sets it back down on the bar. One hand reaches for her jacket, tugging it closed once more before buttoning it, her teeth clenching for a split second as a thought crosses her mind, and she swallows it down before offering a smile, "Yes, I should be getting home as well."

"Have a good night, Alan!" Kelton calls over his shoulder to the barman, offering a wave to him before turning towards the door. "Vivian, I must say, it has been a pleasure to meet you. Hopefully you get things all straightened out. I do look forward to your call." And then he's moving forward, holding the door for his new acquaintance on the way outside.

"Hopefully you get everything sorted out with your land and horses soon, as well." Vivian moves through the door when it is held open for her, checking the weather to decide if she needs the umbrella or not, "Do have a good evening, as well." Then she's heading towards a rather expensive gray car parked nearby so that she can dangerously drive herself home.

"Thank you. I'm sure it will sort itself out soon enough." Kelton offers a last wave to Vivian before looking down to his phone, tapping at it die a few moments, looking up and beginning to go walk.... somewhere that must not be too terribly far away.