2019-11-22 - The Dream of Formaldehyde and White Picket Fences

It is Friday night which means the bars are likely to busy. The Pourhouse has it's usual somewhat rough around the edges clientele, but there is a mix of people from around the city in on the chill Autumn night.

Beth is sitting at the bar by herself a mug of beer in one hand and her phone in the other. Her thumb guides over the touchscreen while she occasionally brings the mug up to her lips for a swallow.

Professional Quyen would look a little out of place here, but off-work Quyen fits right in, with a v-neck that shows off some of her tattoos beneath a leather jacket meant to keep the chill off. Her expression shifts into a wide grin when she sees Beth sitting at the bar and she heads that way. "Hey, stranger," she says, touching Beth's elbow before she settles in on the stool beside her. "Fancy meeting you here." When the bartender looks her way she orders, "Gin and tonic, light on the tonic." It might have been a rough day at the job. "What's up, Legs?"

Abby has been sitting at a table by herself for a while. She's also got a phone in hand, but the way she's handling and looking at it suggests impatience, eyes panning from the screen to the door and back again. She's in a plaid purple/black flannel jacket, which does at least vaguely blend in, over a sparkly yellow t-shirt, jeans and flat black ankle boots. She's nursing some kind of cola, mouth gradually pinching into a thinner and thinner line until she decides to tap out a quick message.

When Beth feels a touch on her elbow her head turns, and she smiles when she sees Quyen. "Hey! What's up?" She has probably had a few drinks already because the normally prim mortician is looking a little looser and relaxed than usual. She puts down her phone on the counter and turns towards Quyen a little to chat. "Oh you know. Living the dream." Turned as she is now she has Abby in her direct line of sight. She watches as the other woman's mouth thins over a text message before she calls out, "He's not worth the aggravation dump him!" She then lets out a snorting laugh and puts her hand over her mouth as if she can't believe she just said that.

"The dream of formaldehyde and white picket fences," teases Quyen. "Eh, not much," she says when asked what's up. She follows Beth's gaze over to Abby, and her own brows lift up when she recognizes the nurse. She's about to say hello when Beth is giving her unsolicited but probably good advice across the bar. "How many of those have you had, lady?" she says with a laugh, before lifting a hand to Abby. "Abby, right? Come join us. Or we can join you," she offers. Abby might not want to sit at the bar after all, and Quyen has her gin and tonic, so she's mobile now. She picks up the drink the bartender slid in front of her. "Thanks. A good generous pour in that arm. I like it," she says with a wide smile.

Abby speeds off the text and looks up at the raised voice, blinking curiously in Beth's direction. It apparently takes her a second to realize that was probably meant for her, whereupon she flashes a small awkward smile, nose scrunching up. "Oh it's - not really a dumping sort of... I mean, dumping seems like something you do when you're actually in a relationship already, I think?" Her eyes stray back to the phone, she picks up her cola and takes a long sip, grimaces as some bubbles go back up her nose, then waves back in Quyen's direction. "Oh, that's right! Quyen, isn't it? I... suppose I've waited long enough for now."

And here comes someone who's always got his cape on! What timing! Tyrone rolls into The Pourhouse and pauses to roll his shoulders for a few seconds as he looks around. No familiar faces jump out at him, at first, so he makes his way towards the bar. That, however, does take him past Abby's table, at which point he does spot her. He offers her a smile and a peace sign, but continues on his way towards the bar to get the party started.

"You know that's why they say you shouldn't burn treated wood. It's full of formaldehyde." Beth tells Quyen oh so helpfully. She gives Quyen a guilty look before she lifts a hand and puts up three fingers. "Rough night." She admits. She gives Abby a sympathetic look before she says, "Shit, really? Was he supposed to come here? What a dick. You should save yourself further aggravation and never talk to him again." She waves Abby towards them at the bar, "And come over here....Abby, was it? We'll buy you a shot."

"Good to know. In case I ever decide to burn my Ikea Flubergaúrknuten bedroom set," quips Quyen. "Abby, Beth, Beth, Abby," she says waving a hand between the two women, trusting them to sort out which is which. "Well, it's his loss anyway," Quyen says. "Or hers. Or whatever." She takes a sip of her clear bubbly drink. Tyrone's smile and peace sign flashing for Abby isn't lost on the woman and she smiles his way. "Are we a party of four?" she says, glancing at Abby, lifting her brows with the upward lilt of the question.

Abby raises a hand and flashes Tyrone a friendly smile. "Hiya." Then she finishes her bubbly brown drink, taking another glance at her phone, and stands. She glances over in Beth's direction, mouth crooked in an amused grin at the advice. "It's fine, really! It was just a very casual hey I'm in the neighborhood sort of thing." She shrugs it off and walks over to the bar, putting away her phone into a jacket pocket. "Nice to meet you," she says to Beth with a warm, friendly smile, then glances from Quyen to Tyrone, seeming lost at first. "Oh. That's... Tyrone, right? We met at the gym. He was really nice and helpful with my total lack of knowing what to do with machines." She extends the smile in Tyrone's direction.

When asked if he's part of the party, Tyrone blinks and looks confused. He glances between the women, then shrugs his shoulders up. "I mean ... are you inviting me? Because I didn't bring an invitation, but I'll take one if it's offered," he says. "And ... yeah. I'm Tyrone. But no, I'm not Abby's swolemate or anything. I was just coming here to hangout." In case anyone thought otherwise, not that anyone implied it or anything.

"If you want to huff formaldehyde all you got to do is come over. Geesh Quyen there's no need to burn completely good furniture." Beth retorts before she lifts her mug to finish off her beer. Sliding the mug towards the edge of the bar she lifts her hand. "Can we get three teq-" And then Quyen is inviting Tyrone to join them and he says swolemate and she points at him and goes, "Aaahhhh!" Then she says to the bartender, "Can I get four shots of tequila?" She then says to Abby, "Nice to meet you, Abby. And trust me. Fuck that guy." She then amends, "Except don't."

"I do not want to huff formaldehyde. I've had enough fucked up shit in my body without taking in more by choice," says Quyen loftily, taking a sip of her alcohol, and she wrinkles her nose slightly realizing that might be seen as hypocritical by some. "Alcohol doesn't count," she decrees. "Oh, God, tequila? I'm on a six mile run at dawn. This is going to be a terrible idea," she says with a laugh before turning to flash a toothy smile at Tyrone. "Swolemate! Nice to meet you. Swolemates aren't always on a first-sight basis, so give it time."

Abby snorts, almost laughing. "Right. I'd probably have to be a lot more dedicated to swoleness..." she confirms with a nod, and a moment later flinches slightly in Beth's direction. "Maybe something's happened, you never know! But... right, well, wasn't planning on it, anyway, just chatting and getting to know each other and that sort of thing... tequila?" Her rambling train of thought derails there slightly and she shoots the bartender an apprehensive look, teeth catching her lower lip for a second. "I suppose I'm not driving."

Blinking at Quyen's indication that he should just 'give it time,' Tyrone grimaces and shakes his head, smiling and holding his hands up defensively. "I dunno if that's what anybody's lookin' for, so we'll just leave it at that," he resolves. And then there's talk of somebody missing out on fornication and tequila and his eyebrows raise. Glancing back over at Abby, he asks, "Am I here at a bad time? If we waitin' on somebody ... or if we tryin'a get somebody off our minds, I can let y'all be. I mean, heaven forbid I forfeit a free drink, but it sounds like maybe y'all ain't lookin' to have another dude around."

"I think most people don't actually want to huff formaldehyde." Beth says with a snort of amusement. She smiles at Abby and says, "You may be right. Here." She pushes the shot towards Abby, "We'll make sure you get an uber home." She doesn't suggest Tyrone leave or stay. She seems content to let Abby or Quyen make that decision. Instead she picks up her own shot and gives Quyen a look of mild disgust. "Why are you running six miles at dawn? That sounds terrible. It's Saturday. Sleep in."

Quyen picks up a shot and then another to hand over to Tyrone -- whether he stays or goes, he can at least get his free drink. "I think we're okay with not casting dispersions on the entirety of your gender," she tells the sole man in their party of four. "Running helps me burn off excess energy and frustrations so I don't rain down doom and wrath on my enemies," she tells Beth with a grin. "Namely certain doctors or hospital admin who want to take shortcuts and not do their damn jobs. Sorry, don't repeat that," she says quickly to Abby. She downs her shot and lifts her hand to gesture to the bartender for another. No time for salt or lime. "Ubers for all," she declares.

Abby holds up her hands, facing forward and quickly shakes her head at Tyrone. "No, no, it's fine! I was waiting on someone, but now I don't think I am, and it's really no big deal or anything. And it's - I'm not blaming men for this one, don't worry about it," she adds the last bit with the tiniest of winces, voice dropping to a mumble as she reaches for the tequila shot. "Oh, I walked here, it's fine," she explains, waving off the notion of an Uber with one hand while the other holds up the shot glass. She stares at it, hesitates, then downs it too.

"Lucky," is swiftly muttered (very much NOT under his breath) in response to Abby's pronouncement that she had walked here. Tyrone smirks and raises his shot. "I don't drive!" he offers. ... though drunks in wheelchairs are pretty sad sights to behold. Once everyone's claimed their drinks, he'll wait in case anyone wants to offer a toast and then loudly offer his, "Kanpai!!" And then down the hatch it goes. The ex-marine swallows the shot easily and then does the typical head-shake that one does after one takes a shot of really strong liquor. "So ... not that I mind taller women at all, but ... anyone care if we move this to a table? I'd rather not have to shout up at you ladies all night," Tyrone requests, gesturing at the table Abby had just vacated when he arrived.

"Huh. That's why I drink." Beth says pithily to Quyen before she picks up her own shot and downs it. She winces as the liquor burns down her throat, and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. A glance is given to Abby and she makes a little cringe and is quiet as if debating if she should say something or not. "You know you're super cute, right? Like look at you." She glances to Tyrone, "I mean I'm right, right?" She then also says to Tyrone, "That is fair and valid. Lead the way, sir. I will get more shots."

Tyrone's unapologetic quips and requests earn him a bright smile from Quyen. "That's the first time anyone's called me tall," she says. "Achievement unlocked!" She takes her second shot and hops off the barstool to head to the table indicated. She points at Abby, eyes narrowing. "What happens in Pourhouse stays in Pourhouse, right? We are not medical servants tonight but women of the people. Agreed?" She holds out a pinky for a pinky promise. "I'll split the bill with you," she tells Beth, so the woman doesn't get stuck with the whole thing.

"I live right around the corner," Abby clarifies, sketching a brief gesture out the door. "Oh, sure! I'll sit down very happily," she confirms with a friendly smile, then scrunches up her nose at Beth's compliment, hand covering her face for a moment before flashing a beaming and playfully proud smile at the other woman. "Well, thank you!" Then she quickly turns away to face anywhere else, and ends up staring for a second at Quyen, her smile turning a little crooked and lopsided. "Oh, definitely! Totally confidential stuff." She holds a hand to her chest and affects a solemn look before reaching out to match the pinky promise. "Promise."

Grimacing a little at the forced compliment to Abby, Tyrone shrugs. "For sure. Totally cute," he agrees. He then heads over to the table and waits for Quyen to hand him his next drink. "So! Men, right? Who needs 'em!" he jokes, holding up his next shot.

Beth wisely buys the bottle of tequila, because why shouldn't as fine an establishment as the Pourhouse have bottle service, and comes to the table with it as well as a bowl of limes and a shaker of salt. She puts it on the table, and pulls out a chair to sit down. She watches as Abby hides her face before answering, but doesn't address it. Tyrone's unenthusiastic agreement earns a little shake of her head, but she makes no comment. Instead she starts passing out shot glasses. "I live within walking distance, too." She says, wisely choosing to finally steer away from Abby's looks or possible being stood up. "So I guess it'll just be you Ubering, Quyen. Unless you want to crash, but for some reason people don't like staying the night at my house."

"Definitely," agrees Quyen with a bob of her head. "We're all beautiful motherfuckers," she says, lifting her second shot in the air for a toast -- of course most people don't have liquids in their glasses yet, so she sets hers down to wait for the pouring of the tequila. "I'm not usually a tequila girl, but there's always exceptions." To Beth, she laughs. "I can't imagine what reason that is, Beth. I'll make it home. Promise."

Abby rolls her eyes but flashes Tyrone a small good-natured smile, "Thank you!" With one hand, she seems to wave the whole matter off, however, on her way to the table and to claim a seat with a faint sigh. "Ooof." She leans on an elbow and eyes the bottle, angling an eyebrow in a high arch. "I'm not really a tequila girl either. So I'll just be having... maybe another one of these. Even around the corner might be a little too far to drag me."

"I could give you a ride, but ...," Tyrone offers, smirking again and raising his hands as he shrugs. He has jokes, this one. When more tequila is offered, more tequila is drank. "Man, good thing they ain't got a dance floor in here or it'd be time for us to get turnt up in here," he says as he not-quite-slams his glass back down. "So. Nobody here is a tequila drinker but me. Can I get you ladies a round of something else? My treat," he offers.

"You know I don't get it. I like my house." Beth tells Quyen with a disappointed little shake of her head, but her disappointment is mostly for show. She unscrews the cap of the bottle to pour more tequila into the shot glasses, and when she's finished she grabs a lime. "I am a tequila person." She says before downing her shot and chasing it with a lime. "I usually don't drink. It was...well, it's best not to talk about it. And so she doesn't, and instead she glances down at her phone to shoot off a response to a text.

The second shot taken, Quyen chases it with the rest of the gin and tonic she had been sipping more sedately. She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. "Those don't play nice together," she decides. Beth's glance at her phone makes Quyen look at hers. "Shit. I gotta go walk the dog before there's a puddle waiting for me at home. It was great to meet you, Tyrone, and good to see you two ladies," she says, pulling out a bill to slide next to the bottle. "I'm getting an Uber right now, I promise," she says, as she rises, sliding fingers across the glass of her phone. "Hydrate!" she adds over her shoulder to the nurse as she makes her way toward the exit.

Abby picks up her second shot, snorting softly behind it in Tyrone's direction. "I'll be fine! Wouldn't want you to get too swole with all the exercise, dragging me around..." She contemplates the shot glass again, hesitating, her eyes darting towards Beth in a pensive expression. "That's that - the Victorian down the street, isn't it? It is a lovely house," she offers with a genuine smile and a very assertive, reassuring tone. "Aw," she looks to Quyen at the announcement and holds up a hand to wave, "See you! Oh, I'll hydrate for sure." But first, she downs her second shot, ending in another small grimace as she reaches for a lime, face pinching at the sourness.

"... ah, well. Don't want that. Have a good night, ma'am!" Tyrone says to Quyen as she leaves. He looks between the two remaining women and listens to the chat about the house. Then, he smirks a little and shrugs. "Yeah, I generally can't stay over places because they've got steps. Or the door to the bathroom is too narrow. Sucks."

"Don't be a stranger." Beth says to Quyen as she takes off. She swipes her finger in reply to whatever text message she just received before she looks up to smile and nod. "The white one." Not that there are many Victorian houses on Spruce street so she doesn't need to be super specific. "I have an elevator, but it only goes to the basement and I suspect no one wants to sleep down there." She may be having a little bit of fun discussing her house in that manner. "Do you live in a house nearby?" She asks Abby.

Abby gives Tyrone a sympathetic look, though she's still shaking off that second shot of tequila. "Yeah, people only think about it when someone living there needs it - and even then, not so much. Before I worked at the hospital, I worked in patient's homes a bit and that was always a problem." She leans further onto one elbow, loosens her jacket and tugs a little at her t-shirt, glancing back in Beth's direction. "It's really pretty! Oh. I live in the mint green bungalow on number thirty three, just down the street." Then, in a lower voice, almost apologetic. "It was already that color when I moved in. I kinda like it, though."

Tyrone blinks a little and then smirks as everybody shares their addresses. Because /that's/ safe to do with strangers. But, then again, they're all girls, so ... what's the worst that could happen? ... obviously, Tyrone hasn't been around Gray Harbor long enough. "Yeah, no, I'm good," he responds to the comment about sleeping in the basement. But, then the conversation steers away from him and he contents himself to just listen quietly.

Beth looks at Tyrone when he smirks and one of her brows arches. "Something you want to share with the class?" She nods her head in agreement with what Abby says. "It's cost prohibitive. We have the ramp and we had all of the doorways opened up because we are a business, but it costs a lot for everyday people to do it if they don't need it. She smiles a little when Abby describes her house. "Why are you apologizing?" She wonders with a widening smile. "It's your house. You can paint it fuchsia or periwinkle and it's no one's business but your own."

Abby seems entirely oblivious. And, also, just a little rosy-cheeked. "I know, but I've seen people just... undo all the work the previous owner had put into making their house accessible? It's such a waste..." she holds up a slice of lime and gives it a bite, which just results in her face puckering up for no good reason. "Hrm. Oh! No reason, it just... it's very... minty! Some people are a bit weird about that sort of thing, aren't they? Property values and blah blah."

Pouring himself another shot of tequila, Tyrone downs it and sets his glass on the table. "Oh, nothing! Just thought it was cute that you guys all live close together and stuff. That's all," he says, deflecting the question. He then pours himself another shot of tequila and settles in to listen and drink and have a good time for the rest of the evening.

"That is odd." Beth agrees with a shallow nod of her head. She reaches for the bottle of tequila to pour another round, and reaches for the salt shaker to salt her lime in preparation. "Mint is refreshing. People who bitch about property values are not, and should not be indulged. I live in a funeral home. My neighbors don't like it. Do you know what I'd tell them if they came to complain about their property values?" She pauses very briefly before she answers, "I'd tell them to kiss my ass. But much nicer cause I have tact when I'm sober."

"Right? I think maybe people just don't want to be reminded of it or something like that," Abby says, propping her chin on her knuckles. She laughs, a bright sound when Beth calls mint refreshing, then glances over, barely holding back a giggle at the response to hypothetical neighbors. "Well, I don't mind it! But then, I used to work in a nursing home and even when I was doing more home care it was usually with elderly patients, so..." she gestures in Beth's direction, "...we dealt with funeral homes a lot."

"Stigma I guess." Beth guesses with a sad little shake of her head. She picks up her shotglass. "You know it's funny I just had this whole conversation with a friend about how people are very disconnected from death." She holds up a finger as if to say 'wait a moment' and then picks up her shot and tosses it back before she bites into the lime. When she finishes she continues, "I get sad when it's obviously someone who hasn't lived a complete life. I'm glad it's people getting full wonderful lives. Or maybe just full lives. I guess not everyone's life is wonderful." She releases a breath thoughtfully before she says, "Suppose it's time to stagger home."

Abby looks thoughtful, and reaches for a third shot, though she gives this one an even more dubious look of appraisal. "Well, part of my job is denying you customers, right? Well. Delaying them, anyway," she admits with a small giggly grunt, then downs that third shot, tongue sticking out before she can force herself to go for the lime. She shakes her head a couple of times afterward, "But sometimes I wish people were a little more at peace with it, in the end, when there's really nothing we can do but try to keep them as comfortable and pain free as possible, you know? Hmm. No, not everyone's life is wonderful, but... a lot have nice parts, at least, little shiny bits." She leans back and gestures at her chest. Or rather, one might assume, at the sparkly glitter on her yellow tee. Then she waves a hand across the table at Beth. "I should probably..." she gets out her phone, stares at it, shrugs. "Right, me too."

Beth claps when Abby downs her third shot because it seems like something to cheer on. "For a little bit, but just like you can only put the IRS off so long..." She lets out a huff before she says, "Shiny bits." She seems to be in agreement however. She stands up and slips her phone into her back pocket. She gives Abby a sympathetic look before she says, "I know you said it was nothing, but it seems like you had a reason to believe they were coming. And they didn't. Now it may have been an emergency, but you seem like a nice person who wouldn't treat someone like that." She motions towards the door, "Let's walk together till we get to the split."

Abby braces both hands on the tabletop and pushes herself up. Once on her feet, she stops, blinking, fingers touching her jaw, her face a little flushed. "I don't think I'll be crawling, at least," she concludes, then smiles quietly in Beth's direction. "Oh, I didn't really have my hopes up that it would have gone anywhere, to be honest, so it's probably not a big loss, right? I mean, it's kinda rude, but it saved me the trouble of figuring it out, or - or feeling things and then being disappointed..." She taps the side of her head, then nods. "Sure!" The nurse then starts buttoning up her jacket before heading out into the chillier and damper street.

"You're right." Beth says in agreement as she reaches for her own coat and pulls it on. She sways just a little. Definitely drunk, but probably capable of walking enough to get home. "It's totally rude. And you didn't deserve that. Some guys do this shit because they think it's some game and it'll make you cave or something." She rolls her eyes a little. "Like we're...you know, freaking idiots who don't see it for what it is. An attempt to make us love ourselves less so we're more susceptible to bullshit." She leans against the table to button her peacoat like standing on her own is a /slight/ challenge. "Just don't let people get away with not treating you as good as you treat them, okay?" She puts her hands on the edge of the table and pushes herself forward then, "Okay. Let's go!"

Abby makes another slightly awkward face when Beth talks about the guys that do this shit, touching a hand to her neck as she wanders out to wait by the door. "Right..." she says, opening the door to peek outside, glancing skyward to assess the weather. It's not pouring, at least, barely a misty damp coming down. She tucks her hands into her pockets anyhow, waiting by the open door before setting foot onto the street. "The night wasn't so bad, anyway. It could've been a lot worse! It's just more the disappointment, but it's probably not a huge loss. I'll wait to see if there's a really good explanation, but it's mostly - I have an awful schedule, you know? I'm working days this week, but I work a lot of nights, and it's just really not super amazing to meet people."

Beth steps out onto the street as well, and she nods her head in agreement with what Abby says, but doesn't press it further. "I understand how it is with the schedule and dating. I work odd hours. It's hard to make that mesh with someone else. I have a tendency to put my job above a lot of things, and I tend to date people who do the same thing, and..." She wrinkles her nose a little. "Well, it generally doesn't work well for either of us." She walks slowly down the street, and when they reach her house she says, "Good night. I hope you have better luck with someone else soon." She starts walking down the funeral home's sidewalk then towards the door.

Abby nods as she walks along, taking in the cooler evening air on her rather warm face. "Not that I was doing much better before I was working in these hours, but then, I lived in Elma," which is a little town of under 3000 people some 20 miles inland from Gray Harbor. "Not a lot of... well, it's very small." She stops outside Beth's place, waiting to see the other woman making it home safely. "Thank you! Have a good night," she calls out with a wave and a bright, cheery smile, then turns back to the street and resumes walking the rest of the way to her own place a little further along.