2019-12-07 - Small World

The Pourhouse isn't that near the hospital, but hey, sometimes people need some time away from the hospital, especially when they're planning on drinking. That is what Lalo has thought, anyway, because he's there right now, sitting at the bar and nursing a drink. He's looking at his phone, scrolling through it as he reaches for his beer to take a sip. He is not wearing scrubs, so he's actually managed to change out of his work clothes, which is good. Or maybe he was just off today.

"And you're an asshole." That's not to Lalo, but to whoever's on the other line of Quyen's phone call as she walks into the bar. "Now that we've established we can both sling uninventive invectives, go fuck yourself and lose my number."

The problem with iPhones is they can't be slammed off.

The problem with Gray Harbor is that there's always someone who knows you if you're in public, it seems, and tonight that is proving to be true. Quyen makes a slight grimace that's supposed to be chagrined, but she doesn't quite sell it, as she moves up to stand next to Lalo, putting one hand on the barstool beside him.

"If I sit here, am I messing up your single brooding man magnetism? I don't wanna chase anyone away, but I'm an awful wing woman so don't ask," she says lightly.

Lalo hasn't seemed to have heard Quyen's half of the conversation -- or at least, he doesn't look up until she sits down next to him. But he does when she does, and her words elicit a snort of amusement. "Go for it," he says, gesturing grandly to the empty stool as though he's doing her a favor. The grin that appears on his face is a little bit too wide to make it seem like it's serious, though. "Not looking for a wing woman tonight so you're good. What's up? Rough day at the hospital?" He's taking a stab at it, considering her expression, and he reaches for his beer to take another sip as he waits for her reply.

"All days are rough at the hospital," Quyen says with a sigh. "But no. Just burned through the latest in a long line of serial short-term relationships. It happens." A lot, to her, it seems.

When the bartender comes her way, she orders "Two of those," pointing to Lalo's beer.

Her phone lights up a few times with a few text alerts she ignores before finally reaching for the phone to turn it face down.

"Don't date doctors," she advises.

Lalo's eyebrows raise at her order, and he eyes her skeptically, possibly because of her relative tiny-ness. "Damn, girl," he says, shaking his head. "Pace yourself. I don't want to have to pump your stomach later." Still, though, his tone is light, with some amusement running through it. He certainly isn't about to bat the glasses out of her hand. Which is probably good, since that would make a big mess.

"Thanks for the tip," he says, a little bit more seriously. "I did kind of learn my lesson about that back in the day, though. She broke up with me when she got embarrassed about telling people her boyfriend was a nurse."

When the two beers come, Quyen pushes one his way just as he tells her to pace herself.

"I don't even like beer, but this will make me pace myself, actually," she tells him, taking a small sip from hers. "Last time I was here there was suddenly tequila shots for some reason and I'm not 23 anymore," she says.

His words about his own doctor evoke an eyeroll from her. "Assholes," she says, with an airy wave of her hand, but then she laughs. "I don't really mean that. A lot of them are great. Not this particular one," she taps her phone, but doesn't turn it over to read the incoming texts. " But a lot of them. It's just I think many of them are used to women coddling them. This guy? He thought something terrible happened to me because I didn't call him back within half an hour. God forbid a woman take a shower. Or go to the gym. Or walk her dogs."

She takes another sip of her beer and shakes her head. "Sorry. You probably don't need to hear me whine. I'm worse than Mrs. McGreedy in Room 305 whining about the green beans."

"Well, yeah. You gotta be on call, right? Wasn't that in your dating contract?" Lalo's expression is one of surprise, and he glances down at the phone, as though he has no idea who could possibly be texting her. "You know someone's trying to text you, right?" That's too much for him, though, and he has to laugh, even as he says, "Sorry. That sucks. What a dick." Once the laugh fades, he takes another sip from his beer, pacing himself as well even though he actually does like the taste.

"It's all good," he says with a shrug once he's swallowed. "You go to a bar, you gotta figure you're gonna hear about someone's bad day, right? At least I don't have to tell myself about mine. I'm sick of hearing myself talk about my problems. One more time and I'm gonna have to kick my own ass."

Quyen snorts in an unladylike way at his question about someone texting her. She does lift her phone to look at it, and there's at least five messages on the notifications screen. She rolls her eyes and sets it back face down again. "Three dates. Three." She holds up three fingers to emphasize the brevity of their 'relationship.' "And he's questioning if 'what we had' was all in his mind."

Her expression turns a little softer at his words, and she reaches for her beer again. "I hear that. But I'm still going to say if you need to talk, I'll listen. Or, if it helps, I can offer to kick your ass for you instead. But one or the other, because otherwise it's confusing."

"I mean," Lalo says as he spreads his hands out wide, "maybe it was in his mind. He could be having delusions, you don't know. Maybe you just escaped having your skin worn as a suit." You're welcome, Quyen. "Which doctor was it, so I can make sure I don't date him?" He grins at that, though her last words get a nod. "Thanks," he says. "I'll make sure to remember that if I need it. I feel like you probably fight dirty. It's always the little ones you gotta watch out for. Plus, I can already tell you're mean." He ducks away, as though he's worried she's going to decide to do the latter even without his say so, though another laugh escapes him. "Actually," he says a little more seriously, "today wasn't that bad. Didn't even get thrown up on, so I call that a win."

"Now I know what I'll have nightmares about tonight. Thanks for that," Quyen says lightly, taking another sip, nose wrinkling slightly. The rest of his words make her laugh. "Damn straight I fight dirty."

She thinks for a moment, before offering up the doctor's name. "That anesthesiologist, Dr. Holland. Luckily I don't have to deal with him on the daily but I might need to avoid the caf for a while," she says. "Time to invest in a good thermos." She takes another sip of beer, before adding, "When not being thrown up on is your bar for the day, you know you're doing something either meaningful with your life." Quyen flashes him a grin -- it sounds like sarcasm but it's actually true in his case.

"You're welcome." Lalo grins, taking a drink from his beer as he waits for the answer. When it comes, he makes a face. "Ugh," he says, "that fucking guy. No offense but you shoulda seen that coming. I'm just saying." He has to laugh at her last words, though, and he nods as though acknowledging a hit. "No shit," he agrees. "In more ways than one, since I didn't get shit on, either. So that was nice."

He sets down his glass, turning it around in his hand. "How're the dogs?"

"Look, he looked good in scrubs and was nice to me and didn't seem like he was going to be clingier than Saran Wrap, okay?" Quyen says with a heavy sigh and a roll of her eyes. "Unfortunately you never know until you're in it. There's no handwriting on the bathroom stalls like there was in middle school."

She takes another sip of her beer, but his question about the dogs makes her smile. "Adorable and perfect, of course. Did you get one yet? I haven't yet taught them how to be canine equivalent of Tony Hawk, but soon."

"Maybe not in the women's bathroom. There's plenty of it in the guys'. Maybe I should write my number in there just to make it more even. 'For a good time, call.'" Though it's said jokingly -- obviously. Or maybe not obviously, but the tone sounds joking! As for whether he's gotten a dog yet, he shakes his head. "Not yet," he replies. "I'm probably gonna go down and find one soon now that I'm pretty settled."

Quyen laughs, fingers finding one of the cardboard coasters advertising some variety of beer, and turning it like a top against the counter of the bar. "Hey, whatever gets you a date, right? I think I'll go back to using the internet though and steer clear of bathroom wall advertisements. I'm not sure why that seems safer, but somehow it does."

Her smile widens at the mention of getting a dog. "You should. But I already told you that. Do you have any idea what kind you want? There's a thousand rescue sites too and sometimes you can narrow down the type if you go through one of those, or just do the whole walk through the shelter and see which one calls your name. I probably wouldn't have picked out a bulldog except that's what happened to me."

"I feel like the internet is this generation's version of a bathroom stall. Or at least, Tindr is." Lalo downs the rest of his beer in one gulp after he says that, as though to punctuate that statement -- whatever that would mean. He shrugs, though, and continues, "I haven't decided yet. Maybe a beagle. They're supposed to be good service dogs. But yeah, I might just go down to the shelter, maybe. If I do that I might end up with, like, seventeen dogs, though. So maybe not the best idea."

"Aw," Quyen says, when he admits to being a sucker for the dogs at the shelter. "At least they probably won't be playing 'In the Arms of an Angel' as you walk along the cages. I mean, they should. Pretty sure people would take home more pets if they did, but maybe they don't want to encourage hoarding either."

She considers his answer of 'beagle' for a moment. "They're cute but they can be stubborn. Smart dogs often are. And they might howl, but I admit I think it's adorable when they do. Probably not at 2 in the morning, though. You still wanna try the staff-owned therapy dog club?"

Quyen's observation gets a nod, and Lalo replies, "That's true. But now you know I'm gonna be humming that to myself when I walk in there, so thanks for that." He leans against the bar, looking over at her with a little wryer tilt of his smile. Make that eighteen dogs now, apparently. "Yeah," he continues, "the howling thing could be tough. But I do want to do the therapy dog club, so maybe I can train it out of him. Or someone else can, 'cause I don't fucking know how to do that." This makes his smile widen a little bit.

"You're welcome," she says cheerfully with finger guns accompanying the sentiment, a la Maui in Moana.

"I'm not sure either. At least until I have my own house with no shared walls instead of an apartment, I should not be allowed to own dogs that howl or talk, because I think it's funny and would encourage it," she admits. "Those videos of huskies arguing with their owners crack me up." She takes another drink from her beer. "We'll need to think of a better name for the club than that, hm? I mean, it's very informative but not very catchy."

Lalo just snorts at her first gesture, shaking his head, but he does look amused. What he says, though, is, "Just remind me never to live next door to you, okay? 'Cause it takes a lot of sleep to look like this," and here he gestures to his face, "and I already got a hard time 'cause people keep getting sick and shit." Rude of them, really. He does pause when thinking of the name, though, and after a second, says, "That's a tough one. I feel like it should be a pun. Something something bark."

"Especially doing your hair I bet," Quyen quips. Oh, yes, she went there.

But his suggestion for a name draws a nod from her, and she looks thoughtful for a moment. It seems like she might have something to offer for a suggestion, but then she shakes her head. "Got nothin'. But we can think about it. After all, you don't even have the seventeen dogs yet."

"Oh shit," Lalo replies, even as he starts to laugh. "Whatever," he says, "you know it'd be a crime to cover this up." He rubs a hand back over his head as he does so, as though to illustrate his point. "Maybe I don't want to be in a group with you now, huh? What do you think about that?" Though he can't keep that up for long, and another laugh escapes him as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. "Yeah, we can think about it. I'll ask around. I know there's a couple other people with dogs, so maybe they'll have some ideas." He pulls out some bills, setting them on the bar and standing up. "It was good to see you," he says. "I'll find a way to give Holland some shit for you."

"Well, you do have a nice head. Some people don't look good bald. It suits you," Quyen says with a grin as he preens his pate. "I know, I know. I'm mean. I gotta be, or the doctors will just ignore me."

When he stands, she lifts a hand in farewell. "You too. Whatever you do, don't Saran Wrap his car or something. That would be terrible." She takes a sip of her beer and looks up and away in feigned innocence. "Have a good night."

"See, now that's gonna be all I can think about. If he gets a Saran Wrapped car, it's gonna be your fault." Lalo grins, lifting a hand to her before he says, "Night." With that, he turns, starting toward the exit and buttoning his coat, before he disappears through the door.