2019-12-14 - Dismal Drinks

A good measure of the type of bar the Pourhouse is, is that it's barely past midday and the place is doing decent business. No crowd by any means, so the air is slightly less smoky - you can actually see without a haze -- and a handful of people talking, a group over in one corner playing poker, and one Gina at one end of the bar, alone. She's somewhat hard to miss, with the purple hair, a black 'ugly Christmas sweater' with borders of deer skulls (including one with a glowing noise) and a large image of Krampus with a sack biting a child's head. She matches this with ripped teal skinny jeans whose tears shows black skinny jeans beneath, and a pair of boots. She looks to just be drinking some sort of simple cocktail, idly flicking through a tablet.

Now, sure. Technically it's still autumn, but is it really autumn if it's freaking December? Enzo would disagree. Enzo is prepared for it to be Christmas already, even if it's still about two weeks off. He sweeps into the bar, a little too well dressed for this kind of establishment, but it doesn't seem to affect him anyway. Even the occasional glance from other patrons is barely a ping on his radar. He slides up to the bar and flags the tender down to put in his drink order, jack and coke. Then he's pulling out a phone and checking out the reception, he chews on the back of his nail for a second before flashing his gaze around at his nearby neighbors. His attention idles on Gina, curiosity registering in eyes before he casually remarks, "Nice sweater." Then it's back to his phone.

Gina, for her part, doesn't acknowledge Enzo's arrival. There might have been a bored glance of the eyes, but it returned to her tablet soon enough. Really just the vestiges of 'saw motion, survival says look' in the brain. She seems prepared to ignore his comment, too, sipping her drink and continuing to watch something, before she finally drawls out a, "Thanks. Cute find for the holidays. Couldn't resist." Her eyes look over Enzo, weighing instead of appreciating-- and then she sips her drink, with the air of one who tried, but found nothing to go on. Ouch.

And that's that. Enzo doesn't really go out of his way to spare Gina much more attention, especially considering she seems occupied herself. His finger flicks across the phone's screen, prompting images to scroll on by while he waits for his drink. It eventually arrives and he takes it, thanking the bartender briefly. He'd probably continue to operate in his self-absorbed bubble for awhile longer if someone down the counter didn't spill their drink and send a wave of boozey liquid down the counter. He just barely lifts his glass and phone in time to avoid disaster, muttering, "Ah, fuck," as it happens.

Instead of trying to be helpful, Gina... smirks, at the spilled drink, and moves to place a barrier of napkins tugged from the container between herself and the liquid mess. Does she offer to help Enzo? Nope. "Gotta come in here expecting shit spilled on you at some point, Addington." Gina points out, finishing off the rest of her drink in one shot and gesturing for the bartender to accept the glass. "Which one are you again?" How did Gina even know it was him? High school, at least.

"Yeah..." Enzo starts, as he watches the liquid move past him and hit Gina's wall of napkins. He slips his phone into the front pocket of his shirt and reaches forward to grab another handful, dumping them into the mess and sopping it up. There's a look directed at the person who spilled the drink and apparently vanished right after. He frowns and then turns his attention back over to Gina, looking at her a bit more assessingly now than before. "Enzo. I just usually expect the drinks to be thrown on me or- I don't know, something a bit more dramatic. This is rather anticlimactic for my tastes. I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"Probably. You give off Addington vibes." Her finger draws a circle to represent said vibes, upwards, "Don't really fuck with the Addingtons, but I grew up here." Infamously. "So probably. Or one of your cousins." A dismissive little handwave, for the whole family, before her new drink arrives. Gina plucks it up without even a thank you to the tender, stirring the liquid with a spare slice of lemon wedged atop it, "Gina Castro." There were rumors in high school, but that was so long ago. "Came back a few years ago."

Joe, on the other hand, is not in the least overdressed for such a fine establishment. Worn jeans, watch cap, peacoat, and the drawn look of someone who could use a little more warmth and a little less pain. But all of that is within easy reach, relatively speaking....and he pads over to the bar and claims the seat just vacated by Spilly McBreaky, before shrugging off the coat and setting it aside.

"Do I?" he half-wonders to Gina, twisting his body at the bar in just such a way as to indicate he's going to continue speaking with her. At least for the next couple of minutes. The drink is in Enzo's hand, having been rescued from the path of destruction moments earlier. He leans back in the chair, allowing his legs to sprawl and hook at that bar under the counter. "Ah," he says in regards to possibly knowing cousins, then his eyes narrow and he looks over her shoulder as if accessing a memory before flitting his gaze back onto her. "I came back a few months ago. It's great to be back and all that," a little wave of his drink before he takes a sip and glances at Joe now next to him. "Watch out, some guy spilled his drink and then took off."

Cecil comes in not long after Joseph, though long enough it's clear they're not together. His hair is disheveled, like he's been walking in the wind. He's got a computer bag slung over his shoulder, and its zippered pockets are stuffed full of... stuff. Hard to tell what. He steps up to the bar beside Joseph, and he's about to set his bag down when he says, "Er, yes, someone seems to have spilled." He's got a polite tone of voice, and a painfully polite English accent.

Gina turns in her stool, leaning so her back is against the wall and taking in the newcomers with halfhearted interest. She stirs the drink a bit more, ice clanking as she then smirks a bit, taking her tablet and shoving it back into her bag, "Still open if it was an accident or someone without enough balls to throw it in his face." Gina remarks to the two newcomers about the spill. Which... happened that way? Did it?

Joe looks down at what remains of the mess, then snags napkins and finishes dispatching the rest of it. Once he's satisfied, he looks around for the bartender and orders a Four Horsemen. Because apparently he intends to exorcise the demon Sobriety post-haste. Better hope he's found housing on land, or he may drown himself trying to get back onto that little boat.

"I vote that spilling it from one seat over so it can ooze toward me to be the coward's version of throwing a drink, also boring," Enzo drawls to their new bar companions between sips of his jack and coke. His attention drifts away from Gina, to Joe and his quiet determination to begin drinking and finally to Cecil and his computer bag stuffed with junk. "Going on a trip?" he wonders.

Maggi comes in through the door to the kitchen with the look of someone not necessarily prepared mentally for a shift. Getting a call that someone needed to go home and check on a sick kid when you were trying to write a paper is not always the most preferable of positions to be in. She is sporting a long gray sweater, skinny dark wash jeans, knee high gray boots, and a french tucked black tee with the 'Runaways' logo visible. Setting down her messenger bag near the POS, she looks over current tabs and orders before looking up and down the bar, trying to put a face to each ticket.

Cecil offers Joseph a tight-lipped smile as he cleans up the mess. "Thank you," he says. He sets his bag down and leans against the bar. "I'm sorry?" he says to Enzo, then he looks at the bag and says, "Oh, no, it's always like that. It's papers, mostly. There's a laptop in there somewhere. I'm just stopping in for a pint on my way home from the office." He rakes his hand through his hair, lending evidence to how it got so disheveled, and he offers Gina an amiable smile. When Maggi arrives, he perks up. "Could I get a pint of stout, miss?"

Gina's expression turns no friendlier at Cecil's amiable smile. She's not really an amiable person, but there's a trace of something in her apathetic expression that suggests she's hopeful for entertainment. Maggi is given a small nod: they're neighboring business owners, and Gina gets enough drunks from in here, and Maggi enough people showing up with boxed food from over there, that there is a certain symbiosis. "This is why I love technology. No need to carry around eight million documents."

"I'm gonna say you're right - didn't have the stones to toss it in his face," Joe says, as if he's finally come to a decision on the matter. He glances over as Cecil comes in, idly curious....then Maggi appears. She gets a grin. "You look like you're a little shocked to be here," he notes, amiably. "And you," To Cecil, "Are even farther from home than I am."

When the new bartender arrives, Enzo holds up his drink and gives it a little shake, clinking the ice against the glass. It's a silent but visual illustration to show her which one of those tabs belongs to him. "It was just a joke, since you looked kind of loaded down in... papers apparently and also a laptop." Cecil is offered a slow, easy smile that's near smirk before he drinks the remainder of his drink and places it down onto a coaster. "Also I don't know, maybe you were getting read to fly back across the pond."

Maggi knots her sunny locks in a low knot to one side, scanning the taps before actually answering him. She wasn't the sort of person who truly liked being unprepared, usually tasting the newly tapped beers prior to a shift. Not that she could complain it was only about an hour or so that she was covering. Taking a small plastic sauce cup she pours a sample for the thin man, pivoting and putting it before him on the bar. "My Oh My Caramel Macchito Milk Stout by Redhook, lemme know if you want a pint.. No sense being stuck with something you don't like." Seeing Joe she smiles, "Hey Cosmonaut!"

Continuing to talk to Joe, Maggi grabs a fresh glass to start another Jack and Coke, deciding she would rename the tab 'glass shaker'. "Teresa had to dip out, some kind of emergency," she explains.

Cecil tells Joe, "Tell me about it. Texas." He gives him a playful wink. "I haven't been back home in ages." Then he peers at Maggi, then the sample. "That's a lot of words for a fairly straightforward drink," he says, and he doesn't seem all that sure about all this. He takes up the sample, sniffs at it skeptically, then takes a taste. He sets the glass down and says, "Goodness, I don't think I'm ready for caramel in my stout. Do you have a porter? I just want something dark and dismal."

"That's gonna be my permanent nickname with you, innit?" Joe asks, but he's amused, more than annoyed. Wait until she finds out how much it's actually warranted. To Cecil, he says, sunnily, "Nah, I'm not from Texas, though I did live in Houston for a while. From Savannah, Georgia, 'riginally. I suppose the Texas accent did rub off some."

Enzo 'Glass Shaker' Addington, pulls out his phone between different points in the conversation when he's not being spoken with or to, checking on his messages with the kind of practice that indicates he's very familiar with just checking the device out of a routine. Even if there's not necessarily a reason to, it's a habit meant to fill the moments between one thing and the next.

Cecil grins and says, "I meant I'm from Texas. Or I was. Galveston. I've moved around a bit, I'm afraid. I just took a job here recently. I always wanted to live in the Pacific Northwest." He offers a hand to Joe to shake. "Cecil Harvey, how do you do. Have you been here long? It's been about two weeks for me."

Maggi gives a short laugh at the Englishman's analysis. Not entirely sure she should be peddling beers by the description of 'dismal', she finishes the J&C for glass shaker, then expertly pours a pint of Scuttlebutt's Porter. Both drinks are placed before the correct patrons. "Everything's local, you gotta take it up with Mariah for the selection, that one is simply 'Porter'." The leftover mess of spilled drink catches her eye, addressing Joe as she comes round the bar to finish cleaning it up. "Can't helps what sticks!" she says to Joe.

"'s all right. Better than Bad Tipper Joe," he says, amiably. Cecil gets a firm handshake. "You don't sound like you're from Texas. I guess you mean just now, though. Nah, I showed up about ten days ago myself. Blew in." Like Mary Poppins, apparently. Or a tumbleweed. "Joe Cavanaugh."

To Maggi, he says, "I'm thinkin' I'll have a Four Horsemen, if you'd be so kind."

After a few more minutes of checking his phone, Enzo pulls some money from his wallet and drops it on the counter. There's a murmured farewell from the man and he slips out of the bar.

Cecil shakes Joe's hand firmly. "By way of London," he admits. "I lived in Galveston for quite some time, though. Are you Cavanaugh like the author?" When Maggi brings him the porter, he samples it, then says, "Oh, that's lovely. Thank you so much." Apparently it meets with his standards of darkness and dismalness. "I've heard the breweries in this are are nice."

Gathering up the soggy napkins, a sanitary cloth is run over the afflicted surfaces to avert the dreaded 'bar stickiness'. Maggi narrowly misses swiping Enzo as he leaves, catching the cloth in the nic of time. Coming back around behind the bar she gives Joe a rare genuine smile. "Someone as interesting as you has to be known interestingly." The trash is tossed and the cloth replaced into the sanitary bucket. A nod is given in appreciation of Mister Dismal's encouragement. "Sure thing!" she replies back at the squid, First clearing Enzo's drink and cashing out his tab.

"'pends on which Cavanaugh you mean," Joe says, amiably, as he accepts that handshake. There's a hint of wariness in his gaze, now. Anonymity might be about to depart arm in arm with sobriety, but only sobriety can be trusted to return. Assuming he doesn't walk drunk off the end of the dock. It's a possibility.

"I bet you say that to all your patrons," he retorts to Maggi. "But that's all right. Like I said, just so long as it isn't 'Cheap Bastard'."

Cecil considers Joseph for a moment, and he doesn't push. Instead, he says, "There's an author I like with the name, is all. When I get a chance to read something that isn't a report. I'm afraid my evening reading these days are autopsy reports." He pats his overstuffed computer bag. He takes another drink of his porter, and he's all smiles now that his properly dismal beer is in his hand.

Having witnessed the level Joe could tolerate Maggi decides to go with the 'on the rocks' version rather than the shot. Mind you every good variation was straight alcohol, but tomato, tomato. Jack, Jim, Johnny, and Jose are shaken with ice and placed in a lowball glass. With a rye twinge of her lips, she scoots the glass towards Joe. "Nah in Henry's case, we just tell him he isn't welcome back, keeps showing back up anyway." Maggi cocks her head inquisitively at Cecil. "That sounds dull as death."

That makes Joe blink at him. "What is it you do?" he asks, curiosity clearly caught. "If you just came here from Texas - you a Fed of some kind?" He takes the drink, sips, nods his approval. Maggi - wisely trying to keep a decent customer from breaking his own neck.

Cecil laughs softly at Maggi and says, "Indeed, and an acquired taste, I'm afraid." He then tells Joe, "Goodness, nothing like that. I'm an egghead. A forensic scientist. The Feds are the ones who call me and tell me they need that report immediately, because surely I can bend time and space, among my other skills. " He takes a drink of his beer, then adds, "It's a cultural phenomenon, how many Feds in Texas nicknamed me 'English.'" There's nothing particularly bitter about his tone, though. Amused, rather.

Maggi stops her heavily lined eyes from rolling for a moment. English had the polarity, meaning it wasn't his choice to be in this town. Some people were just better off learning that on their own though, she had. Lyric had yet to actually explain the logistics of the phenomenon. "You work more with Yule, or the PD then?" she says towards English. If this name stuck, twas his own fault. She would probably rotate in a water toward Joe after this one, she only did that for her favorites anyhow.

It does seem to draw them in. Surely that's what vagary of fate and tide that brought Joe here, even if he's not wholly aware of it yet. "Why here, then?" he wonders. "You gonna work with the cops here? Or....there's a university not too far away, gonna teach there?"

"I do like teaching," Cecil says, "though for the time being, I'm purely a consultant. Mostly with the police, but honestly, I'm a bit of a whore. Pardon my language." He ducks his head sheepishly with a nod to Maggi. Maybe he's a little old fashioned. "Right now I'm working with the PD while I get myself established. There's just something about this town. It feels like coming home. I just hope there's enough work to keep me busy." He pauses, then says, "Actually, ideally, there wouldn't be any work for me at all, but until we cure crime, I'm afraid I've got opportunity."

This time around Maggi does not in fact subdue her reaction, laughing at quite a few of the proposed concepts. "You want to worry about watching your language, you'd be drinking at 'Two if by Sea', additionally it's not entirely crimes fault around here...more just happens. More often than not finding the missing bodies is the lucky bit. You really should talk to Yule if you are staying around, he has more answers than I do." She tries to leave it vague, remembering her own damn near panic attack at the Jello wrestling event. "Gray Harbor is just a bit different..." At that, Maggi notices the full dish rack near her, nodding to both patrons, she carries it to the back.

"There is somethin' about it." Joe's voice has gone a little wistful. "Been on the move for about a year and a half now. This is the first place I really been tempted to stay." There's an odd resignation in his gaze. Is this where it ends, whatever 'it' is?

"I know what you mean," Cecil says. "I stopped thinking about finding a place to belong, then I got the job here and it has just felt right, somehow. Maybe it's the weather. It reminds me of home." He knows that's not it, though, and he looks into the middle distance, mystified. Then he smiles serenely. "Ah, well. We're here now, so all's well, or as well as it gets." He raises his pint to the sentiment and continues nursing it along.

Joe, in turn, seems content to nurse his, at least for now. "Where you stayin'?" he wonders, idly. "Everybody keeps warnin' me against the Seaview or whatever it is. Apparently there've been several murders there. I stayed a night or two, then I just ended up back on the boat. Surprise isn't big, but no one's ever been killed aboard her, at least."

"Hotel for now," Cecil says. Then he says, "Goodness, if I moved to the Seaview, I wouldn't have to leave home to get work done." He smiles a little and says, "Sorry, gallow's humor. You live on a boat? That sounds fantastic. Does it ever get cold? I'm just looking for a small place, myself. Somewhere quiet, is all I need."

There's a stutter of laughter from him. "It gets cold as hell. She's not a houseboat, and I don't fancy spending the whole winter livin' on her. Hence my lookin' around for housing. Tryin'a find something that isn't the trailer park. Though it's relatively cheap here, for the Pacific northwest."

"I think I'd fancy an apartment," Cecil says. "Somewhere I don't have to worry about yard work. I don't have time for yard work. I don't mind doing the cleaning up, but lawns have always seemed like a strange thing to pay attention to, to me. I suppose that's one thing you've got going for you on a boat. No yard maintenance. "

"That's real true. I did not like having to deal with lawn stuff when I lived in Houston," he agrees. "I mostly rented and just paid someone to do it, to be honest. Better to have it done on the regular than forgotten when I was away, you know? Though the boat needs maintenance enough as it is...."

"That's true, boats need work," Cecil says. "I think an apartment where bitter divorcees politely ignore one another and keep their televisions down sounds about perfect, surly cat optional. I'd hate to adopt a nice one, thus setting it up for a life of disappointment. Back in Galveston I ignored it and it died. I'm sure my neighbors weren't sorry to see me go."

"I hope you mean your lawn, and not a surly cat," Joe replies, venturing a teasing little grin. "You seem too nice to neglect some poor animal." Another mouthful of that whisky concoction - he's started to flush, just a little.

A soft burst of laughter comes from Cecil, and he says, "Yes, the lawn. I never had a surly cat, but I can see myself as the type who might have one. Keeping the ingrate well-fed and well-cared for would be part of my thankless lot. It wouldn't do to fall down on the job." He tips his glass toward Joe. "And thank you for saying I seem nice. That's very nice of you. I know I'm a little odd, but I do try to at least be polite."

"I dunno, every cat I've ever been around was grateful and affectionate. I mean, I haven't lived with one since I was a kid, but..." Joe shrugs. "I mean, I've met people who I right off the bat though would be the kind of asshole to kill a cat by neglect...." He pulls a face. "Thankfully, it's been a while."

Cecil shakes his head. "Those people are my pleasure to help put behind bars. That's how it starts, you know. Cruelty to animals. No, I could never do that." He takes a drink, then says, "It would be my luck, though. I'd end up with a friendly cat who loves attention and makes me feel important." He pulls a face. "You just can't get a proper furry bastard this side of the pond. I suppose I'll have to find a place first before I can worry about animal companionship."