2019-12-07 - What Do You With a Drunken Frat Boy

A lovely, late fall evening, and August is relaxing in the Twofer at a table with a black and tan, some tater tots, and his tablet. He's looking a bit tired and worn out, like he would love for the universe to stop gracing him with 'interesting times' any old day now. (Let's not talk about how at least half of this he's brought on himself. (That's part of what's bothering him.)) He's got proofs to finish looking through, and since Cy has banned him from getting in a tree or bucket truck until after James' funeral, this seems like the next best way to pass his early evening before he goes home to cook for Ellie. He's in a light gray Henley, black denim jeans, and brown suede boots; his leather jacket's on the back of his chair, along with a red scarf.

Tor has been here awhile. He's at the end of the bar, halfway through a pint of something and with a burger and fries newly demolished. He's poking away at something on his phone. He wears dark wash slim fit jeans with the knees torn out. It looks like the kind of tear that he comes by honestly, rather than ones put there in a factory setting. The brown sweater looks newer, but the worn leather jacket hanging off the back of his chair looks like it comes from the 70s and has been worn continuously since. He's rocking the stool back and forth in a way that's precarious enough to make onlookers wince.

A tall, cranky drink of water named Itzhak comes rolling through the door. He pulls the soft knit cap off his black curls, already heading for August's table. "Hey," he says to him, then interrupts himself to stare at Tor. The physics of that situation bother him, apparently. "If you fall off that, I'm gonna laugh." Itzhak informs a total stranger that he's going to be mocked.

The door to If Two By Sea swings open and in steps Beth dressed in the somber navy pantsuit with the conservative makeup and low pumps of her trade. The neat twist her hair is arranged into has begun to slip just a touch. Barely noticeable, really. Her eyeliner is blurred just enough to indicate it's been a hard day at the Funeral Home. Her phone is held to her ear as she steps into the bar and she is speaking in a harsh whisper,"...What do you mean your ovens are broke? What am I supposed to do, Barbara? I have three grieving families who are waiting for the ashes of their family members, and you're telling me they aren't even ash yet!" She sucks in a deep breath. "I'll figure it out. Just tell me when it's fixed." She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, sits down at the bar, and drags a hand over her face before she lifts her hand to get the bartender's attention.

The first thing Lyric does when she steps into the bar is look around for any familiar faces. There's one. Congratulations, August, you get a Lyric. She bounces over, not even minding the big cranky guy also joining, and she perches on a chair at the table. "Hi," she greets August with a grin, because she's remembering something he did. And she's not one to hold it in. "Remember when you caught the couch on fire?"

The guy who comes in looks tired on multiple levels - Joe's got the rolling stride of someone who's not yet regained his landlegs and the weary droop to his eyes, as if he'd spent the day squinting at the distant horizon. There's an old-fashioned seabag over his shoulder, which he dumps unceremoniously at the foot of the stool he claims at the bar, before shedding the peacoat and dropping it atop. It leaves him only in t-shirt and jeans as he hitches up a bit closer, all the better to prop an elbow on the bar.

Two if by Sea was the closest bar within walking distance to both the places Dahlia currently kind of sort of resides in? Also it isn't Firefly, so A+ for that. She had definitely kind of sort of vanished off the face of the earth for a while it seemed but she's back now! More or less. At least she feels more like herself. She's wearing pair of dark blue, hip hugging jeans and a thin, long sleeved navy blue shirt. Solid in the middle, fish net for the sleeves and collar area.

Wide green eyes do a quick scan of the bar, lingering on Lyric first and then Itzhak. Two familiar faces. She lifts a hand to wave to both of them and give a touch of a smile, but her first stop is the bar as well. "Sounds like you're having a rough night hon." She offers up to Beth.

August gives Itzhak an amused smile, gestures at Tor and his antics. "Oh ye of little faith. He's been at that for at least five minutes." He raises his chin to Lyric in a greeting, his smile turning wry. "Let the record show I was trying to set Skeletor on fire, and it was reasonable to assume he was flammable until proven otherwise." He shrugs. "Next time I'm going to do what he did," he nods at Itzhak, "and drop part of the ceiling on his head."

He tilts his head at Joseph's entrance, curious, cuts a glance at Itzhak that's part a suggestion to look that way, part a question of, 'New, or have I been out of it'.

"As well you should," drawls Tor to Itzhak, eyes glimmering with the light of a wannabe rebel. He then wraps his legs around the stool in a way that braces them. Then, with hand on the bar, he pushes all of his weight up on one leg until he balances precariously - but successfully. Granted, he still has to hold the edge of the bar, so it's no circus performance, even if he does manage a little swivel. While perched, he also sips from his beer. He doesn't say 'tada' but his expression says it for him.

Itzhak eyes Tor with the air of a man seriously considering dropping a banana peel in the path of a marathon. It'd be so easy to tap that one stool leg. But he settles on the Jewish classic, "Eh, it's your funeral," and lets nature take its course. He looks at Joseph when August cues him, eyes him too, then abandons both August and Lyric to pull up a stool next to him. "Hey. New in town?" Screw being polite, he's from New York.

Once she has gained the bartender's attention Beth orders a pint of beer with a shot of whiskey on the side to accompany it. "God rest my liver's soul." She murmurs under her breath before she tosses back the shot, and a tendril of her hair slips out of the twist. She glances to Dahlia when she hears her address her, and she gives the dark-haired fishnet aficionado a half-grimace half-smile. "I've had worse." She says, and that grimace fades into a genuine smile. A curious glance is cast Joseph's way, and she raises her empty shot glass to him slightly. "If my day is bad yours looks like it was the worst." She tips her head back to get the last drops of whiskey before she picks up her beer. Lyric is noticed, and she lifts a hand to wave to her, but since she is already socially engaged she does not interrupt.

"Oh hi! Dahlia! I'm so glad to see you. We all missed you." Lyric includes everyone, a smile given her way and a wave and smile to Beth. When the next person arrives, she watches him all the way to the bar. A new person. Kinda shiny even. Hmm. Looking back to August, she laughs, "Yeahhh and we got the fire out, so that's okay." A thoughtful look before she bobs her head. "Since he was all bones, maybe just collapse him if you can." Watching as Itzhak gets up and moves over, she shakes her head. "I ran off your table mate. Can I buy you a beer?"

"Yeah I know how that goes." Dahlia offered to Beth, ordering herself a vodka and orange soda. Her head tilts, giving Itzhak a wink when he settled by Joseph and then gave a smile to Lyric. "It's good to see you too hun. Still DJing right? I'm going to back at the Cabaret soon. My ass just kept getting kicked with various illnesses." She mused, settling into a seat. Seeming content to settle in and listen for now, more or less. At least until she gets a drink or two in her.

Joe looks over with a lazily inquisitive lift of brows. "Sounds like you an' I are both on the wrong coast," he informs Itzhak, the hint of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. God knows that accent doesn't belong - Atlantic tidewater, slow as molasses in January. "You get los' tryin'a find your way back to Brooklyn? Wrong turn at Albuquerque?" Not unfriendly in manner, though.

Beth's salute has him glancing over. "Nah, not bad. Jus' long. Y'all know somewhere cheap close by I could spend the night where the roaches aren't too presumptuous? I don't think I wanna set foot on deck again for at least twentyfour hours."

"Nah you didn't run him off, he's just being himself at the new guy," August says around a wry smile. He gestures at his drink, shakes his head. "I'm good. Feel free to have a seat though, if you want." He tilts his head, considering Lyric's suggestion. "Next time. Flatten him, smash him. For good measure. And if that doesn't work well, maybe we're back to Minerva's original idea." Catching Beth's glance at Lyric, he adds, "Fine if folks want to join us at the table, room for plenty. I just wanted the space for my tablet and food." 'Food' is just a basket of tots, but the evening is young.

He tilts his head, listening to Joe's accent over the murmur of the local crowd. Small benefit of the Twofer this time of year: no summer rush.

"If I break my neck, I'm haunting you first," calls Tor to Itzhak. He gives the stool another twist, then rests it back down on two legs, then on all four with a thud. He rocks back a little, but manages to grab the edge of the counter before he falls backwards. He then gulps down what's left of his beer and slaps his hand on the bar. Boom. He takes a moment to examine Joe. New guy. Small townspeople can always spot the newbies. He thinks for a moment, then spins the stool around on the one leg. "Hey new guy! Whatcha drinking? Welcome to Gray fuckin' Harbor." Hard to tell if he's drunk, or if he's just being obnoxious. If he's drunk, he's got good reflexes, judging by his stool acrobatics.

"Got that right," Itzhak says to Joseph. 'That' becomes 'dat'; his accent is New York nasal and sharp, with a hilly Yiddish cadence. Mel Brooks and Bug Bunny all the way, baby. "You 'n' me and we ain't alone. Rosencrantz. Itzhak." He offers over a hand inked on the knuckles. "How's by ya. There's a hotel on the pier, if you don't hate the idea of gettin' that close to water again." Then he gaze strays to Dahlia, who for a moment he doesn't recognize...then he does, and turns red, clears his throat, and looks back at Joseph. "Well, it'll serve me right," he yells back at Tor.

"Besides it's not like my clientele can get up and leave." Beth jokes cheerily to Dahlia. She gives Joe a sympathetic look before she nods her head once. A small memo pad with Lawson Funeral Home and a dove watermark comes out of a pocket followed by a pen that is similarly labeled, and she begins jotting down addresses. "If you don't have Google Maps on your phone I can write down the directions." She says as she tears the paper off the memo pad, and passes it down the bar to Joseph.

"They just don't know what they are missing." Lyric shakes her head before smiling at him. "I don't know, the fire should have worked, but either way, I guess process of elimination." She summons a passing waitstaff person and orders herself a drink. Just a beer and nachos for now. With a smile for Dahlia, she nods, "I am still there as DJ, we really missed you. I'm glad you're feeing better." Just, as the suggestion is made for the motel, she giggles. "That's the murder motel, but it's mostly the only one without roaches. There's the trailer park for cheap housing though." Because she just inputs anything anywhere. She's like that.

"Damn, y'all're friendly. 's a good sign in a new port," Joe observes. "Well, old guy," he informs Tor, "I dunno yet. What's good 'round here? This is the Pacific Northwest, y'can't throw a rock 'thout hittin' a craft brewery, so there some local beer you suggest?"

Itzhak's greeting has him reaching a worn hand over, shaking the New Yorker's firmly. "I'm a'right. Glad to be off the water. And I don't mind seein' or hearin' the sea, I just don't wanna sleep on it tonight." To Beth, he says, "I got it, but directions never hurt." A beat, and he adds, "Murder motel? How recent a death're we talkin? Historical, or they give you a discount if you clear away the crime scene tape yourself?"

Dahlia snickered a bit at Beth's comment, though it was disguised by a long sip to her vodka and orange soda. "Living by the water is nice. Not sure if I could live on it. " She said idly, tilting her head to study the new guy a beat. "There's a Bed and Breakfast too, on Oak but I dunno how cheap or not cheap it is." Is offered up as alternative living quarters. "You in town long?" Poor new guy - getting bombarded with questions.

As for Itzhak's reaction to Dahlia's wink, the raven haired women looks all too pleased at it, a soft chuckle escaping. Then Lyric mentions the trailer park. "I do have a trailer I could sublet if you're looking for a bit longer term staying too." She offers to Joseph again. Whether subletting was even legal at the trailer park is definitely up in the air. Dahlia doesn't seem to care though. "The deaths are like, a few months old or something, yeah?" Looking to the others for verification.

"Eh, there's no should have when it comes to the weird shit," August murmurs to Lyric around a drnk of his beer. Which he almost chokes on when Lyric calls it the 'murder hotel', and then Dahlia picks up the thread. He clears his throat. "There's a B&B somewhere up on Bayside, can't say I'd call it cheap but it's not totally out of control. Depending on how comfortable you want to be."

He might be about to go on, but trouble is brewing along the bar. A trio of frats has spied Tor's barstool antics, and one of them--average height and weight, skin tanned in an 'I spent the summer in SoCal' fashion, brown hair bleached blond, with brown eyes--comes up and gives that one stool leg a good kick.

"I dunno man," drawls Tor to Joe. "I just drink whatever's cheap." He draws fingers back through his hair. If there's anyone in the bar who looks PNW through and through, it's him. No plaid tonight, but he owns a lot of it. He leans forward on the stool and tries to peer at the taps to see what might be microbrew. That allows the Chad to get the drop on him. The stool shakes, creaks, nearly topples, but he manages to grab the edge of the bar to keep from falling over. He slips off the stool and immediately gets up in the guy's face. "Yo, what the fuck dude?"

Itzhak shoots Beth and Lyric both a Look, like, don't scare the new guy. "...Sometimes there's murders in it," he has to admit, about the pier hotel. "But I been hangin' out there some and I ain't got murdered yet. It's fine." He lifts his eyebrows at Joseph, kinda amused. "Small town, right? Believe me if we were in New York I'd just give ya the once-over and leave it at that." Well, nobody can accuse him of not being honest!

Then Chad comes up and does to Tor exactly what occurred to Itzhak to do, and, insulted, Itzhak yells at the Chadster. "HEY! You're askin' for a slug in the mouth, ya jerk!" 'Joik'.

Beth takes the peace of paper back to helpfully write down directions to the murder motel, and adds the B&B on Oak Street in case Joseph doesn't want to stay in a Murder Motel. She pushes it back his way, and picks up her beer to take a swallow. She slips her feet out of her pumps, and flexes pantyhose covered toes. The shake of Tor's stool as the dudebro kicks it causes her head to turn. She raises her brow slightly, slips her pumps back on, picks her beer up, and clears away from the bar. Spotting Lyric at August's table she heads in that direction. "Nice to see you again, Lyric." To August she says, "Hi. Beth Lawson. Nice to meet you." A glance is tossed towards the start of the potential fight.

"Then I'll have a Jack and coke," Joe says, clearly amused. It seems a safe bet. "Sometimes?" he asks Itzhak. "Like, on the regular? Or just the once? Maybe I will check out that B&B. Yeah, I know. Once-over how you thinkin'? Like....gonna follow me out and rough me up an' take my wallet, or buy me a drink an' make a pass or just share the stories everyone else here's already heard too many times..."

The guys trying to start trouble with Tor just have him looking wry. "Y'all're 'bout to learn a hard lesson at the hands of the locals," he informs them, almost cheerfully.

Jesus Christ. Dahlia looks over towards Tor and the College boys. She should probably just leave. Right now. Before she gets herself in trouble. Then again, Dahlia's penchant for good decisions were few and far between. So she just turns a bit so she has a better view of the show that's about to go down. Her cellphone gets pulled out and laid on the bar if the cops need to be called. Then she takes another sip of her drink. At least it was going to be an entertaining bit of the evening. "They sure are." She agrees with Joesph.

Lyric is completely guileless when she is called out for calling it the Murder Motel. "Isn't it safer?" she murmurs softly to August, "when they do leave town? At least for them." With a smile she greets Beth when she walks over, "You should join us," Anything else she might have said to anyone else is dropped at the bar stool kicking thing and she just watches.

August lifts his beer to Beth in a greeting, takes a drink. "August Roen. Good to meet you." Like Lyric, anything more he was going to add to that is derailed by the sound of Itzhak's voice being raised. "Ho boy," he says as he watches the potential fight continue to escalate. He tries to cast Itzhak a warning look of 'smashing up Easton's bar would be the height of rude', isn't very successful.

The guy who kicked the chair (whose name actually is Chad, as it turns out) laughs at Tor. "Sorry man, I guess I just got too close to your stool." He shrugs, beams with perfect white teeth.

One of his two friends is tall and hefty, with black hair in a buzz cut and gray eyes. He's a bit tanned, like Chad. The other is Chad's height, with brown hair and eyes to match, but he's pale. A local, maybe, or at least not someone who went south for the summer. "Dude from who, you?" tall and black haired asks Itzhak, almost giggling. It's hard to tell if he's a giggly drunk, giggly asshole, or both. His name is Beau.

"Locals are just weirdos with big mouths," the brunet, Paul, says. "I would know." He gives Dahlia a distinct sort of look. Has she seen him in the Cabaret before? ...probably. It's where a lot of the WSU kids go when they hit twenty-one and have a legit ID, after all.

Usually the smarter set know his name, know Tor's family, and know that you should be serious when picking a fight with him. But the WSU kids don't really know the lay of the land. He's not tall and beefy, but he's definitely scrappy. He gets right up in Chad's face and shoves him backwards. "Yeah, you're damn right you're too close." Then he cracks a grin. "Usually I want people to buy me a drink when they get this damn close. You gonna do that, prettyboy?" He steps forward, lingering in his personal space a moment with a wild look in his eyes before shoving again. "Too much of a pussy to just hit on me like a man?" And then he smiles a smile that's just begging to be punched off. And he doesn't seem concerned that he's outnumbered. "Gonna pull my hair like we're on the playground, too?" It's an interesting strategy, as strategies go. Although calling it one is a bit generous.

Itzhak snorts in real amusement at the tact Tor is taking. He glances back at Joseph, eyebrows up wryly. "Never a dull moment around here. Anyway, definitely the buying a drink kind, but I'm not gonna make a pass at you. Not that you're not pretty as hell." But he's got a weather eye on the Chads and Tor, because their type don't take well to that kinda thing.

"Well, I'm definitely not staying at the bar." Beth says in amusement to Lyric without taking her eyes off of Tor and the WSU students. She picks up her beer to have a swallow before putting it down. "They're going to be okay on their own, right?" She wonders as she watches Tor continue to pick a fight while Itzhak comes to stand for his pal. She waves to Dahlia, who she doesn't know, but why not be friendly when a fight is about to go down. "Do you want to sit back here with us?" She calls out, and then she beckons to Joseph as well.

Dahlia sets her drink down, a twitch of a smirk on her lips. "Are they big mouths? Or is that you're just so small, honey?" Dahlia asks so innocently to Paul, even tossing in a batting of her eyelashes as she takes another sip from her straw. She doesn't make any sort of moves yet though to stand, leave, or start throwing punches though. Not yet. Mischief is sparkling in her eyes as she looks from Tor, to Itzhak, to Chad, and the others. This is definitely just what she needed. Just some good old fashioned excitement. She gives a grin back to Beth. "I might slide back in a minute. If only because it'll give me a better view of these punks getting their asses kicked."

The bartender slides him that drink, and Joe's picking it up carefully, along with bag and coat, and ambling over to where Beth sits. "I'm too old an' tired to wade in on a barfight in my first night in port in a week," he observes, mildly. "Looks like those boys have it under control. I'm Joe, by the way," he adds, offering Beth a hand.

Lyric smiles as Beth and then Joe join, her drink and nachos being delivered about that time. The waitress stays clear of the fight, it's above her paygrade and she's not getting involved it seems. She settles in, sliding her nachos more midtable. Community property. Her beer though? That gets a drink. "I'm Lyric, this is August," she tells Joseph, then looks back to Beth. "The outside part of the bar is nice too, when it's not raining. The fire pits."

August wrinkles his nose at Beth's question, eyes still on Itzhak. "Yeah, should be fine. Itzhak's not a slouch at this kind of thing." He steels himself, though, for the inevitable discomfort. Also, he's going to have to get Itzhak out of the bar before the cops show up, should they be called. How much does it take to get an employee to let you out the kitchen these days--is it a hundred even? Does being a good tipper suffice?

He turns to Joe, gives him an up-nod as he joins them at the unofficial 'watching the bar brawl' table. "Good to meet you," he says in the wake of Lyric's introduction, offering his hand.

Paul's face reddens and his hands form into fists. "Like I'd come near the likes of a freak like you," he says with a sniff, all but baring his teeth at Dahlia. He has all the energy of a guy thinking about coming at somoone but holding back. No doubt because Dahlia's not a guy.

Chad's smile turns cold and hard as Tor shoves and taunts him. "Awh come on, you know you like the hair-pulling, why's it so long." He even reaches up with his left hand as if to tug at some, which is when Beau's swing comes at Tor from the right. He's a big guy and accordingly has a big fist.

Itzhak narrows his eyes. The Chads ran off Joseph. Now he's mad.

Something really weird happens when Beau swings at Tor. His feet just slip right out from under him like he did in fact step on a banana peel. Fwip!

There's a spark of something in Joe's eyes, as he watches. The temptation to discard maturity and sense and wade in anyhow? But he tears himself away, shakes the offered hand. "Pleasedameetcha, Lyric, August. I bet it is. I figure it's real pretty here in spring and summer." Back to watching the fight, as if unable to help himself. "Man, they didn't advertise the free floor show on the sign outside."

Tor can feel the other guy circling behind him, but his eyes are on Chad. He smacks the hand going for his hair away and then spots a faint bit of motion out of the corner of his eye. It's all he can do to move so that the punch from Beau sort of glances off his jaw instead of hitting with full force. Or that would be the case, if Beau didn't lose his balance mid-swing and flop to the floor. He looks around at what could have made the man drop, but he's lived here all his life. He has a few ideas. "You fucking tried to sucker punch me? Seriously?" And then, while still looking down at Beau, he swings and tries to sucker punch Chad. Not a real good plan to not look where he's throwing his punches.

To taunt or not. Taunting was so much more fun though and when's the last time she had some real, wild, potentially dangerous fun? Dahlia sets her drink down and stands up, walking her way right on up to Paul. "You couldn't handle a freak like me baby." She slid her hands up his arms, if he'd allow it. Arms wrapping around his neck. "But you know you're welcome to try." She attempted to knee him and...well that was one down side of being short! She could feel her knee brush against fabric but Paul was quick! And not having any of her wiles either, shoving her off of him - though probably not as hard as he might if she was a boy. This did cause Dahlia to stumble none the less, but there was a grin playing on her features. Curious to see if he might try to actually come at her.

She was terrible.

"Beth Lawson." Beth says as she reaches out to take and shake Joe's hand. She says in agreement to Lyric, as if there weren't men preparing to punch each other in the same room, "Oh I love the fire pits here in the Summer." August's confirmation that Itzhak can handle himself earns a small nod of the head. She lifts her mug to have a swallow of beer. Her attention flits to Paul when he calls Dahlia a freak, and her eyes narrow behind her glasses. A little breath is sucked through her nostrils, and then she helps a sister out.

By making Paul feel very sad. Tear-inducing grown man sobbing sad. How unfortunate for him.

So apparently he's actually drinking in the seaside version of the Three Broomsticks, because it looks like there's a whole slew of fellow wizards present. Joe's expression goes a little odd....inward turned, like he's listening to something just on the edge of hearing. This is what wind and water have brought him to....but there's no urge yet to go further, to leave it behind just like all the other ports. Huh.

Itzhak swings off his barstool, looking pissed off. He grabs Beau by the back of the collar and hauls him right off the floor, dangling him like a kitten. "Don't start shit in my hood," he tells him, shoving his face close enough to nearly bump him with that enormous schnozz.

Paul sees that incoming knee and the warning klaxons sound. He dodges, wide-eyed with adrenaline at the crotchshot he just narrowly avoided. "You f-fuck...ing..." He starts to stammer. He can't get the words out, because tears are welling up in his eyes. He sucks in a breath, stumbles back. "What the fuck," he says, putting a hand to his chest. "Jesus, what the fuck." He turns and stumbles for the fire pits. "I, I--can't--" The door shuts behind him with a thump.

"Paul?!" Beau calls from the floor, sounding confused and scared. "Paul! Fuck, Chad, help, my fucking shoes are...something's wrong with my shoes."

But Chad is busy, because Tor has tried to punch him and failed, fist swinging wide, and Tor is repaying the favor by grabbing for Tor's shirt so he can make a more guaranteed hit. ...it doesn't take, Tor's too slippery for him. Beau has decided to just unlace his shoes, and is frantically working on that. They're Vans, it won't take him long--except now Itzhak is lifting him like he's not fifty pounds heavier. He stares, wide-eyed. "What the fuck, man," he says, sounding more than a little scared.

August watches all of this while drinking his beer and offering the basket of tater tots. No one's taken a serious hit yet, so he can rest easy.

Dahlia looks a littleee disappointed that Paul ran off, but equally satisfied. She retrieved her drink and moved over to the table with the others, settling in to watch the rest of show.

It really is, so far, a bit of a PG rated barfight. No one has landed a significant hit, no one has gotten hurt. Just some stumbling and glancing and Glimmer-aided avoidance. It's really kind of silly if you stop to think about it, except no one's really stopping right now. Tor slips out of Chad's grasp, but uses the proximity to try and finally land a punch. He happens to spot Itzhak out of the corner of his eye. The other man gets a grin as if to say 'nice.'

Beth's lips curve upwards into a brief but satisfied smirk that lights her eyes up with glee behind her glasses as Paul tears up. She hides her smirk behind her mug of beer, drinking deeply, before she puts it down. "If I get wings would anyone be interested in a few?" She asks casually while she reaches for Lyric's shared nachos to snag one to nibble on.

Belatedly, Joe remembers that drink, looks around for a menu. Still tired, even if the entertainment's been diverting enough to let him forget it. "So," he says, "If y'all're here at this time of year, you're real residents, not just visiting. What d'y'all do?" A question general to the point of vagueness, but he's clearly just angling for conversation. "No, thanks, I think I'm gonna need more'n that. Starving, truth be told....."

It's all a little showmanship, a little stage magic from the tall guy with the nose. Who will deny that he has any of that! (Well, not the nose. Nobody could deny the nose.) Itzhak drags confused and scared Beau to the back doors, where Beau's buddy Paul has already exeunted. He drags him with one big hand fisted in his collar, stalking between tables and chairs and people like he's just really had a day and this is the topper. The door flings open for him and Itzhak tosses him out. Gently. "Get oudda heah, I'm sick a lookin' at your face."

Tor's glancing punch still manages to split Chad's lip. Chad might even be ready to return the favor, but the sight of Itzhak reducing Beau to wide-eyed fear with his shoes half-off gives him pause. He staggers back, puts up his hands as Itzhak just drags Beau off. "Hey, sorry, yeah, we'll fuck off," he says, rattled. He makes a quick exit after Beau, practically clinging to the wall in an attempt to not touch Itzhak as he goes.

August twitches when Tor's punch lands, relaxes as it's the only injury delivered. He looks away from the fight, pausing to listen for sirens. None on the approach. The locals who've been watching, waiting for property damage or broken noses, go back to their beer and food.

August gives Beth a long, thoughtful look. Then he says to Joe, "Local, yes. Though, I have to put in a vote for a winter drive along the Oregon and Washington coasts, they're beautiful this time of year, and if you like cold, they've got that in spades. I'm an arborist, and I've got a shop on the edge of town."

Itzhak grins at Chad the grin of a veteran troublemaker. He stands right there and forces the poor schmuck to maneuver around him. Once he's out, Itzhak sighs, runs his fingers through his curls, and stomps back by August's table. "I need a fuckin' walk after that," he says, brief, and then he's out the front door, walking fast.

"The salmon burger is pretty good." Beth suggests helpfully to Joe when he mentions he's famished. She finishes off her beer, and tries to catch the waitresses' eye now that nothing is broken and the brawlers have begun to depart to order a beer and a basket of wings. She glances to August when he gives her that look before she looks away. "Born and raised. I am the funeral director at Lawson Funeral Home." She lifts a hand to wave to Itzhak who she does not in fact know, but now certainly knows of.

Tor manages to hold a straight face until Chad is out the door. Only when he and his other buddies are out of sight does he shakes his fist and rub his knuckles. "Good fucking riddance," he mutters. He too is listening for sirens, and even though he doesn't hear them, he decides to move on out of an abundance of caution. There's no tab to settle up because bars tend to not run tabs for him. But he does drop some cash on the bar and point to Joseph. "Get that man a rum and coke." Then he scoops his jacket off up the stool, shrugs it on, flashes the peace sign, then heads out into the night. Hopefully not to run into the frat boys on the way back to his car. He passes Itzhak on the way past and calls out a "Thanks, man," as he keeps going.

August smiles at Itzhak, wry. "I'll join ya." He slips on his jacket, fetches up his tablet. "Very nice to meet you, Joe and Beth. Lyric, take care." He wraps his scarf in place, moves to follow Itzhak out the door. On the off chance those three come back for a little something extra.

"Well, at least someone bought me a drink," Joe says, in that mild, amused voice. "Interesting town you've got here, ma'am." A wave for the departing August, before he looks back to Beth, quizzically.

Beth returns Joe's look with a slow forming smile. "So you have a boat? Are you a fisherman? A millionaire sailing at leisure? How did you end up in a place like this?"

Joseph nudges the sea bag with the toe of his boot, as if to make a point. "Li'l one - but big enough to take me from Savannah to here. Nah, I'm no millionaire - the Surprise is no big yacht. No fisherman, either, not a pro. No, I'm retired Navy, got some other income. No fixed address - just been goin' where the winds take me since I got out."