2020-02-02 - Screw That Groundhog

Groundhog Day. And for Gray Harbor, that rotten, stinking, wood-chucking marmoset predicted six more weeks of winter. That is not the greatest news after what felt like an already overlong, over dangerous season of snow storms, frozen Dreams, and evil Christmas trinkets. As such, a few folks have turned to the alcoholic comforts of Two if By Sea, to drown out the chill in their bones and fortify their personal defenses against the extra long winter.

Roxy is sitting at the bar, sipping a Sidecar, and monitoring some things on her phone idly. The former ballerina, current dance instructor, is wearing a simple blue plaid dress, with long sleeves, belted at the waist, and falling below the knee. Her outerwear and purse are on another stool beside her as she purses her lips at a message. She's been working on finding some contractors for renovating the studios.

Joey is really fucking over being in the fucking hospital with that drafty ass- okay the gown wasn't bad. Pants were not required. No amount of Dilaudid is worth being treated like an invalid. The swagger has a bit more pull to it as the compact, burly boxer wades in, left arm in a sling still; abrasions still healing in their own time. At least the worst is gone from what Itzhak would remember. Stepping in he's about to head in one direction waiting to see if he's got anyone he knows around, and spotting Roxy veers that way. "You waitin on someone or am I late?"

Speaking of the best schnozz in Gray Harbor, here it comes, with attached Jew. Itzhak swaggers on in, body language tense and grumpy under the bulk of his peacoat. He slithers out of it, hanging it up along with his violin scarf and thick, soft knit cap. Underneath he's wearing a hoodie with a colorful illustration of his favorite Overwatch hero silkscreened on it (Reinhardt, standing on a ruined cityscape with rocket hammer in hand). But his mood lifts a little when he sees Joey. "Kelly! Hey, you're out. Good to see ya, pal. Lemme buy you a drink." Roxy he glances at shyly; he knows her, but he's never been his best in front of her yet.

Roxy looks up at Joey's approach and gives him a bright smile. Her eyes light up to see the known figure, but then they narrow at his condition. "Joseph Kelly, what did you do to yourself?" she asks her business partner, perusing his sling with concern. She moves her coat off the stool and goes to hang it up so people can sit. On her return she ushers Joey onto a stool.

Itzhak gets a warm smile from the petite woman and she gestures to another stool for him. She knows where she has seen him, but doesn't embarrass him by pointing it out.

Joey can't not smile looking at his dance/business partner. His head turns and he eyes Itzhak with a squint that brings a wry smile and a handshake that is more complicated than it needs to be. "Shit yeah you can buy me a drink. Rogue Brown Ale. " Leaning over Roxy gets a one arm hug and he drops into his stool pointed out for him. "Ask this guy. The short answer is I won." Like a crazy ass sunnova bitch that refuses to die but it is, technically, true.

Itzhak goes though that secret-club-style handshake with Joey, grinning a little, lopsidedly. He pulls up a barstool, beckons to the bartender to get Joey his ale and himself a whiskey sour, and tucks a couple bills in the tip jar to start out. Apparently he plans on doing some serious drinking. "...I don't remember your name," he has to confess to Roxy, but nods, eyebrows up, when Joey says to ask him. "He fuckin' won. God damn, what a display. I'll buy ya TWO drinks for that, Kelly." Teasing, he thwaps him on the non-slinged shoulder.

"I am Roxy," the woman says to Itzhak in her Finnish accent and 'too proper' speech, offering a hand to shake. Not Echo, as she went by at the Cabaret. No more need for a stage name now that she is a legit business owner. "Joseph and I just purchased Dance Evolution and reopened it." She looks up and down his sling-wrapped arm. "It does not look like he will be helping with any ballet classes for a while. I am glad you are all right though."

Ainslie is Not Happy. She strolls into the establishment in her fitted denims and a black-and-gray Columbia winter coat that looks rather well-worn... at least five years old. Her dark hair is up in a harried ponytail and her color is high, setting eyes to flashing. She is rattled, but not angry... not quite. Moreso embarrassed because...

.. the seat of her pants is dark with wetness and road scud from when she tripped in the winter sloppiness and landed a good one on her ass. No use trying to hide it.. she stalks her way toward the bar, moving a bit awkwardly. Hopefully people who saw this vision of delight in the parking lot don't come into the place anytime soon.. but by then Ainslie will be a couple of brews deep. She's not driving! Those immediate to her at the bar are given a harried smile. "Fucking hurts.." Uttered to herself as she makes to place her order.

He must've been on the boat, doing maintenance, for Joe's got that faint roll to his stride as he comes in. The sailor's in a navy wool greatcoat, black watch cap, old jeans.....and he's got that sort of vague look that might mean weariness or or might mean chemical indulgence of some kind. Presumably the former, for surely he has sense enough not to mix drugs and booze.....but then, has sense ever been his strong point. He rolls up to the bar and claims a stool, settling in like he doesn't intend to leave until either the groundhog rescinds its decision, or they have to take him home in a wheelbarrow.

Joey flashes a brief grin on the that mean mug of his before saying, "Worth hopping on that damn grenade. Tell me, I ain't seen de la Vega. I heard he's upright. You seen em?" Roxy's assessment gets her a wink and he takes his lager lifting it to her "Much better business partner than my last one." Ainsley gets a curious look, not a stare but back and he asks, "Don't tell me you rode a bike in this slop."

Itzhak shakes Roxy's hand with that big calloused knuckly paw of his. "Rosencrantz. Itzhak. How's by ya. You went into business with this reprobate, huh?" He smirks at Joey. "Yeah, I seen him. He's okay. Little beat up, nothin' like you." Some things go unsaid there, glinting behind Itzhak's eyes, but someone he doesn't know comes in, and someone he does know comes in, and he lifts a hand at Joe. "Cavanaugh, 'ey." The girl he eyes, figuring out that she took a spill. "Frikkin' slush out there, am I right?"

Roxy looks up as Ainslie comes over and she makes a face of concern and sympathy. "Oh goodness, are you all right? Did you fall? The weather has been just relentless." She waves at the bartender, "Her first one is on me," she informs them. Paying forward a kindness shown to her by another stranger another time.

Joe's arrival gets a bright smile from her, and she dips her head in a nod. Another stranger. She's been very busy since she quit the Cabaret.

Interestingly enough the deplorable onslaught of winter's wrath isn't of much concern to Ainslie. Hey, she grew up in messes like this! Still, that doesn't make it any easier to just about eat shit in a parking lot and have a wet arse to show for it. She doesn't order anything fancy... just a pint of beer. Must be a winter ale, given the dark, brownish-red hue. She doesn't even have her coat open yet as she lifts the glass to her gob and gulps down a few hearty swigs. Joey's query results in a quick glance his way and a cheshire smile behind the glass, "Nossir.. no bike. I didn't mind the slush," Said in affirmation to Itzhak's question. ".. and took a spill. Nothing a pint won't fix.."

A pause... Roxy's sympathy is well-received, "I'll be just fine.. promise.." Ainslie trails off, flushes. "Oh! You don't have to... I mean... well, your next one is on me, alright?" Wow!

"Yeah, it's a hot mess," Joe says, and pulls a face. "This shit is makin' me miss Savannah. Hey, Rosencrantz," he says. His poison this evening isn't his usual mess of bourbon, but a Cuba Libre. He may be a long way from the tropics, but rum'll help. Then the questions about the bike make him grin, and he says, "You gotta see my new bike. Well, new to me, anyhow, she's nothin' like cherry. But she's a two-wheel drive Ural, so I can deal with all this crap." A disgusted wave of his hand takes in the snowy expanses beyond the windows.

Joey squints to Itzhak and says, quite seriously, "You call me that or a thesaurus again and I'm a hit you with my other arm." Oh he might be absolutely serious. Still he hands around to listen for the update on his other dance partner and nods with a grunt. Sliding a look back to Ainsley he surveys, waits, and nods. He doesn't press the issue. No harm done. Looking up to Joseph he offers him his one good hand that's not held captive in a sling. "Kelly." Last names like a damn Irish Heritage festival or some shit.

Itzhak gets a small smile from Roxy. "Joseph is not a reprobate. He has been very kind to me since I came to Gray Harbor." She means Joey, she just seems to call everyone by their proper full first name. She's not against nicknames, at least not to Alexander Clayton levels. She introduces herself to Ainslie and Joe as, "Roxy Kivela, nice to meet you."

Popular place tonight, the twofer. Or the deuce, as it's sometimes more unfortunately referred. Another denizen of this gloomy little shithole town shoulders his way inside, sporting a ballcap and rain-spattered hoodie tugged over his bulky frame. Dark, faded jeans and scuffed boots don't detract from the blue-collar vibe he's got going on there, and neither does the order of, "Tequila, por favor," from whomever's currently tending bar. Looking over as he settles into a seat, he spots a good few familiar faces - including Rosencrantz over there, who gets a long look before his attention's snagged by his drink arriving. "Kelly," he greets the younger man nearby without looking up at him. "Who let you out of the fucking hospital?"

"I didn't call you a thesaurus, I said you needed a thesaurus," Itzhak says to Joey in mock aggravation. "If you was one you wouldn't need one. Drink ya ale." Roxy smiles at him, and he can't help but smile back a little at her, but shyly. The first time he met her she was naked and put a ribbon in his mouth. "He's totally a reprobate, so am I. That's Joe Cavanaugh," he introduces Joe to Roxy, and to whoever this other girl is, "Joe, this is Roxy, and, what'd you say your name was again?" to Ainslie. Ruiz comes in, and Itzhak's attention just ticks right over to him. He restrains himself to an upnod, asks Joe, "A Ural? What year? Got the sidecar?"

"On the contrary, I'm all kinds of reprobate," Joe retorts, before he realizes it's another Joseph under discussion. He blinks between Roxy and Joey, then takes the offered hand - his own is callused and worn. "Joseph Cavanaugh, pleased'a'meetcha." Speaking of Irish Fest. "If you're Joe, too, we'll just have to do this by last names."

Then his attention ticks back to Itz. "She's a 2017. And yeah, sidecar. Black, real nice. Needs a li'l touch up work, but she runs real nice." A lazy smile for the dancer. "Nice to meet you, too, Roxy." Then he's raising a long palm in greeting to Ruiz. "De la Vega, hey."

"Javier!" Roxy exclaims cheerfully as the ballcap-wearer makes an appearance. She slides off her stool to give the man a hug and kiss his cheek if he allows. "I was going to give you a call. I bought the dance studio!" she declares happily. "I am a business owner! Let me buy your drink in celebration for helping me settle into town." Those who stayed an extended time at the murder motel have a bond of course. And those who ran the woods together. She sets a hand on Joey's shoulder. "This Joseph is Kelly," she provides.

Joey just eyes Itzhak. That squared, unshaven jaw tightens, but he stills his words. It's Ruiz's words he picks up on. He doesn't look and in an equally surly tone without malice says all too casual, "Well I threatened to stay. Figured it was the fastest fucking way to get out of there." He takes a sip of his Rogue as advised. "It worked." He looks to the Captain, down, up again, and bounces a small nod satisfied. Good. He looks to Cavanaugh and sets the beer down to offer a hand to taller-Joe. "Kelly works fine. Enough goddamn Joes in the world." Or the one that kid called J.K. Scowling. He's not acknowledging this. He does pause with the slightest inflect of good news, "She did. She is among the ranks of the self-employed."

Reese brings cold air in with her. She can't help it. It's just cold out there. Blame the groundhog. She takes a second or two to scan the room, the crowd, and orient herself, then makes right for the bar in no particular hurry. Darkly dressed in fitted a black coat open over a dark grey sweater and fitted black jeans, she carries herself with the effortlessly upright posture of someone who's had that habit drilled into them. The boots not trailing too much slush behind her are well-worn and might hide steel toes beneath the scuffed exterior. The ask of the bartender is easy, whatever seasonal IPA they've got in rotation this week. Yeah, she'll start a tab. Burke. Anyone paying attention might catch that her accent isn't local. Or particularly west coast at all.

Heaven help her, but this is good beer. Ainslie lapsed into a companionable silence to down the pint and by the time she is ready for her second, the first is pooling nicely in her stomach. She isn't rude though! Belatedly she offers to Roxy: "Nice t'meet ya, Roxy," Says the dark-haired woman earnestly. There is an accent to her words.... etched into certain syllables. Sounds Scottish.... to a degree. It's a 'flavoring' to her words as-opposed to something that is impossible to understand. "My name is Ainslie O'Connor." Spoken to the other woman foremost but a glancing 'round of her eyes indicates her wanting to get the name out to the others present. Other introductions hadn't gone unheard, either, as Ainslie crushed her pint. Finally she begins unzipping that coat. She looks warm and happy, even with wet jeans. "Right nice to meet all of ya." Ainslie says kindly enough, accepting her second beer and raising it in cheers. She contemplates the accents of the voices chiming around her... such diversity!

Ruiz turns a fraction when he hears that invocation of his name, dark eyes ticking over to find yet another familiar face - right before she throws her arms around him. "Roxanne," he greets with a twinge of warmth at the corners of his mouth, and wraps his unencumbered arm around her waist briefly. Thankfully he's not a blushing man, so the cheek kiss only garners a low, scratchy laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I heard. I guess congratulations are in order. You sure you want to go into business with this cabron?" He hitches his chin Joey's way, catches sight of Cavanaugh from the corner of his eye, and gives him a slight nod.

Would Itzhak taunt happy fun Kelly into a bar brawl? Yes. Yes he would. And he'd lose. If he played fair, anyway. He orders another whiskey sour, and make it a double, would ya? Roxy's exuberant greeting to Ruiz makes his eyebrows tick up, and shoot Ruiz a hell of an amused look.

"How's by ya," he says to Ainslie. "Not a local, huh?" Neither is he, with that New York Yiddish accent that could scrape gum off a wall.

Roxy chuckles merrily and releases Ruiz. "Of course! He is my friend and dance partner! Who better to be in the dance business with," she declares, ruffling Joey's hair. She signals the bartender to put the cop's tequila on her tab as well. "I have also moved into an apartment on Sycamore. I heard you moved out of the murder motel as well?" she queries, resuming her seat.

A warm handshake for Kelly - Joe's not one disposed to turn those interactions into pissing contests. "Amen, plenty of us," he agrees.

He's got enough rum in him now to feel warm enough to shrug off coat and scarf, the cap already tucked away into a coat pocket. Cavanaugh's only wearing a plain t-shirt underneath - it hides neither the scars nor the ink. The newcomers get a curious look....but the booze seems to be only making him a little sleepy - at least, by the way he props an elbow up on the bar, and the way the lids droop heavy over the blue eyes.

Much as Roxy's concern had done, Itzhak's manner just seems to help put Ainslie at ease. Not like it's typically her way to give much of a whit about how people receive her but... hell. Her entrance wasn't the classiest. Shrugging off her coat to reveal a dove gray blouse, she bundles her coat into her lap. His accent amuses her, "Not at all.. been a year, but I've kept to myself... getting back the money I spent getting a place to live, heh." There's not much polish to her words; it's an easy, lyrical way of speaking. "What of yerself? Itzhak, was it? Ya been here long? Ya like it?"

A familiar face to some assembled, but certainly not a familiar face at the bar, Leon lumbers his way through the door. He probably had come here all of once, and it takes him a second to adjust to the layout, as often as he visited the other bar in town. He moves a little deeper inside, eyeing the bar for a seat just long enough to pick out some familiar faces. He breaks into an easy, if not slightly nervous grin. If this got back to a certain blonde, he'd probably have his battleship sunk. He was here, though, it'd be awkward just to leave. So he's peeling off his branded parka, flannel jacket and thick hoodie. Yup, three layers. It was cold outside, and he had to work in it. The shirt beneath was simple speckled gray, and his vulture-bone tattoo was on full display. Gloves and knit cap find their homes in some pockets before he's tossing the whole lot over a stool he means to sit on. He orders bourbon, single ice cube, and puts down cash.

Joey dryly corrects Ruiz, "I ain't a cabron I'm a reprobate this week. Get it right." He takkes another drink and informs, "Roz promoted me." Says he of Itzhak. Looking to Cavanaugh he demands casually, "What's your deal?" He introduces, "Roxy, my business partner," he likes saying it okay? Maybe the grizzled, blown-the-fuck-up curmudgeon is a little proud of her here. "That's Rosenkrantz. I'll assume you know him becuase he's fucking loud enough everyone does. Ge la Vega." He points to the grumpy cop withthe neck of the bottle and says, "She's soggy," of Ainsley and then of Reese, "She owns the waffle place. Good to know."

Well, de la Vega's contractually obligated to give Joey a hard time. So Roxy's perfectly logical rebuttal makes him snort softly, and tip his glass toward his mouth for a sip. "Mm, I did, about a month ago," he tells her once he's swallowed and set his glass back down on the bartop. Inked fingers rest atop the rim, like some old habit designed to keep his buddies from roofie-ing his drink. Not that that's happened, but it totally has. Marines are shitheads sometimes.

"Sycamore, is that where those rental units just went up?" His eyes tick from Roxy, back to Joey. "You did good, the other night, by the way. Didn't die, and didn't get me killed." He scritch-scratches at his beard with a thumb, then hoists his drink in a request for Joey to do the same. "Go mbeirimíd beo ar an am seo arís." May we be alive at this same time again next year. Yep, it pretty much sounds like what it is: a Mexican man trying to speak Gaelic.

Reese mururs an easy, "Thanks," for the bartender when her beer's delivered, golden yellow with very little head. She doesn't mean to eavesdrop as she sets into her sipping, but her proximity to the others gathered at the bar makes it easy, the occasional glimpse toward this speaker or that to attach a voice or a thought to a face gives her away, though she does try not to be too nosy. Even the quiet one over there not saying nothing gets a look, a little longer than the rest for some sense of camradery in quietude... but then she's called out. Directly. The owner of that waffle place clips a wave with her empty hand, offering an entirely noncommital, "Hey." Then getting right back to her beer.

Itzhak jerks a thumb at Joe and tells Joey, LOUDLY, like maybe he wants everyone in the bar to hear, "His deal is he's an astronaut."

"Mister Cavanaugh, nice to meet you as well," Roxy says, offering a hand to shake. She smiles back to Ruiz. "Yes, but I moved into the Broadleaf apartments. I may have a get together at some point, sort of a house-warming of sorts." She waves to Reese, because she quite likes the waffle place in town. At Itzhak's outburst she blinks back at Joe. "You have been to space?" she asks, her eyes widening, looking awestruck.

"Soggy?" Ainslie sputters gently around the rim of the glass, amber eyes shooting a glance over Joey's way. "Makes it sound as if I pissed my bloomers." She snorts, laughs outright. That gaze roves 'round to look upon another unfamiliar face, indicated by Joey... she lifts her pint in greeting to Reese. "Better than being called soggy... I love me some waffles." Spoken sagely as she sets the glass down, enjoys the buzz that is beginning to take up residence in her mind. Ahhh...

Wait what... ".. space?" Ainslie, too, turns to look upon Joe.

"My deal?" Joe says, looking up from his drink at that, as if he'd drifted off a moment, contemplating the depths of that drink. "Uh, retired Navy, got myself a boat, goin' where the wind takes me. Blew in about six weeks ago, decided to at least finish out the winter here, I'm so fuckin' tired of fightin' the Pacific swell in a thirty-si-"

And then Itz is answering for him, and he stops dead, color flooding into his face, lips slightly parted. A beat, a deep, shivering breath, and he continues, quietly. "....yes." By his level of discomfort, Itz might've just dragged him out of a very different closet indeed.

The door swings open and Beth steps inside. She has the look of someone trying very hard to hold themselves together. Her usually neatly applied eye makeup has streaked from crying, and the mascara has pooled a bit under where the rims of her glasses touch her cheeks. She doesn't really look at who is in the bar. She comes in, sits down, and lifts a slightly trembling hand to get the bartender's attention. "Can I get a double scotch with soda, please?"

Turning a bit in his seat, Itzhak's raised voice is a bit infectious in nature, Leon not resisting calling out a correction, "Hey now, that's a Cosmonaut Squid." The drink he'd ordered is raised in salute to Joseph before he takes a sip from it. And then he's just kind of watching with slightly widened eyes as Beth comes in like a nervous wreck. His eyes flick to others nearby, as if asking if any of them see this.

Joey doesn't look up at Ruiz for the compliment, but doesn't brush it off. The thug processes it. Simply put he says drinking his beer, "Told you no fucker's putting a hole in you. I don't get my people killed." Dark green eyes shift right to let the cop process that . He tacks on, "Got a follow up offer if you're interested. You did good getting us out of there for being a gerriatric sunnovabitch." High compliment, really, with the contractual amount of guff-giving. Ainsley gets an amused grin and a shrug. "Didn't catch a name. Good job on being upright. Who knows what's under the snow to trip on." It's Gray Harbor and hte grim truth of that deserves more than teh casual acceptance of a lifer. Looking to Cavanaugh he asks, "Why'd you come back?"

"Everybody does," Reese agrees with Ainslie, a lazy little smile curling her lips. "Maybe a little less so when they're soggy." But she's not entirely sure about that. Catching the rest of the conversation--hard not to--other details start to click into place. She tilts her head curiously as she studies Joseph Cavanaugh. The astronaut. Retired Navy. Expression brightening somewhere beneath her, "Huh," it's not difficult to guess that, yeah, she recognizes him. That little lift of her glass in his direction might give her away, too. "Torch." It's a question, sure, but without the appropriate rise at the end, lending it a little certainty.

Roxy continues staring at Joseph as if he is a celebrity. "I would love to hear about that some time," she admits, then blushes when she realizes that may be construed as flirting, which she is absolutely horrible at. "I mean I knew someone once, I think, who went to space. They," she pauses, trying to put the pieces of scattered, shredded memory together. She leans forward, suddenly, to stare pointedly at his face, blinking, and a hand covers her mouth. "You were There," she whispers through her fingers. Recognition.

Ainslie recognizes 'tread carefully' territory when she sees it.. Joe's response to Itz's declaration immediately causes the dark-haired woman to cut her eyes away, not wanting to add to the man's discomfort. She picks up her glass, worries the rim of it briefly with her fingertips, and is just about to toss more of that fine winter ale down the hatch when yet another arrival especially catches her attention. A woman in such a state is hard to miss and Ainslie's brow furrows above eyes that have softened some with concern... okay, somewhat from the booze.. but her worry is honest.

Where she is seated is within calling distance to Beth, "Eh miss, y'need some help?" Asked outright with honest worry.

"Oh, fucking drop it," growls Ruiz, all sharp edges and agitation as his dark eyes slide Itzhak's way. A pointed look for the man, like, you done fucked up and I'm going to deal with you later. Then he knocks back the rest of his tequila, and nudges the empty glass toward the 'tender who stops by to ask if he wants a refill. And what kind of question is that? He nods, sniffs some cold out of his nose. Tugs his ball cap off briefly to scruff fingers through his close-cropped hair, and happens to spot Beth making her way in, streaked mascara and all. She's watched quietly, not a word as she takes a seat nearby. The geriatric sunnovabitch isn't even acknowledged.

This is a little overwhelming, by Joe's expression. Well, there goes incognito in the rearview mirror. "Oh, sure, I'll talk about it sometime," he says to Roxy, trying a smile, even as he lifts that long hand to Leon. Only to have that recognition mirrored in his face. A sort of feeble upnod....

But it's Reese who really throws him, by the way his gaze snaps to her. "Yeah," he says, shocked. "How'd you know that?"

Joey, for his question, gets another puzzled look. "Back where? To Earth? Not much choice on that one. To Gray Harbor?....never been here before the end of last year."

Roxy's face goes a few shades paler as she sits back heavily on her stool. "I...I should get going. I have some contractors to meet with tomorrow for renovations." She's spooked, seriously spooked. She pays for the drinks she put on her tab with cash and leaves a healthy tip. "It was nice to meet you," she says to the newcomers, and sets a hand on Joey's shoulder for a light squeeze, and drifts past Ruiz with an aversion of her eyes, before hustling to her coat on the hook, and rushing out to call an Uber.

Itzhak has a downright wicked glint in his gray-hazel eyes, watching Joe color. Troublemaker. He absolutely did that on purpose. Then Ruiz is growling at him and he glares right back at him, unrepentant and certainly not about to back down. And also maybe a little drunk. There's several more people in here now, though, most of whom he doesn't know, and he growls something mostly to himself in Yiddish. Beth's tears don't seem to move him.

The scotch and soda is placed in front of Beth and she picks it up gratefully. Her hand trembles even as she brings it to her lips and the ice clanks at chatters against the glass. She stares ahead through the large windows out to the sea beyond. Ainsle's question startles her a bit and some of her scotch and soda splashes onto the bar when she jerks. Not much but enough. She stares at the other woman blankly for a moment before she asks, "Do you have an iPhone charger on you by chance?"

Reese's head bows just slightly toward Joe, just enough to imply apology--or, at least, that no offense had been meant--even as her smile solidifies. "Stories," surely isn't answer enough, but she tacks on, "Thirty-second Street," to offer a little context, a little glimpse into her own history. Her gaze strays to other movement, toward departures and arrivals, irritation and impishness, before looking back to the identitied astronaut and concluding, "Didn't meant to interrupt."

Tears seem to be Ainslie's downfall.. even the remnants of them. As the others chat around her, and Roxy takes her leave (she waves goodbye to the other woman) ... Ainslie is still startled and worried by Beth's arrival. She looks sheepish as she shakes her head, ponytail shaking between her shoulderblades. "Shit, I'm sorry... I don't have one but, ah.." Ainslie turns to her immediate barmates. "Anyone got a charger handy t'help her out? iPhone?"

Leon hears the request, holds up a hand to get Ainslie's attention, still watching Beth quietly, but just offering what was requested rather than trying to dig deeper. "Yeah, I got her." He redons his parka briefly to make a quick trip outside, returning a few minutes later with a charger cord and base. He'd hold it out toward Beth, "All yours. I got tons." Because honestly, the things went missing too damn often, then always showed back up again when you bought one.

Joey watches Cavanaugh answering his rhetorical question. The world got active. Does Joey notice? Strangely? Yeah. Yeah he does. When Roxy gives him that look. The bottle is set down and turned a quarter inch. he tells the dancer, "Wait up." That glance shifts back to Itzhak also giving him That Look(tm) but he doesn't way anything. "Cavanaugh, be seein you. Swing by the gym if you're so inclined." He'll figure out which. He pauses at the cop's shoulder, noting Beth's mood but not getting involved unless that's followed by someone moving through the door without slowing their roll which...does not seem to be happening. "Cap, we need to talk. Soon." He lets it sink in and holds the look long enough to suggest business, not a problem per se. To Ainley he nods offering a hand up in a wave to Reese. He heads out to make sure Roxy, however, is 5x5.

Roxy's departure makes him frown a little...but then here's a little snap of recoil at Reese's explanation. A more genuine grin follows, creeping its reluctant way over the long face. "Shiiiiit," he says, invoking the Southerner's long habit of stretching any given four letter words into something multisyllabic. "They still tellin' those stories? Bet they grown in the tellin'." A flick of a look for Beth, but she seems to be taken care of, for the moment.

No charger, much less one for an iPhone, judging by the look on Ruiz's face. He watches Roxy go, dark eyes lingering on her retreating form. Thoughtful rather than lascivious, that look. Is he comforted a little by the fact that Joey's headed out close on her heels? He shouldn't be, but he is. "You've got my number, drop me a line," he tells the younger man, not quite a smile under the shadow of his ballcap.

Even as she focuses upon Beth, Ainslie is yet aware of comings and goings around her. Joey is the next to take his leave and the woman lifts a hand in farewell. She's just about to give the room-at-large another imploring glance with those amber eyes until---thank God! Leon! She grins widely to him, lifting her drink. "Bless yer heart." Said next with no shortage of relief. Ainslie observes the passing of the charger to Beth, and she hopes inwardly that it will help stabilize the upset woman. During the exchange between Leon and Beth, Ainslie sneakily slides some bills over to the bartender and mouths, pointing subtly to Beth: 'for her'. Hey, Roxy didn't take her up on her offer (since Roxy paid for Ainslie's drink! Pay it forward! Plus... tears...!)

Beth takes another long drink from her glass while Ainslie asks for a charger for her. "Thanks." She says weakly to the help given. She doesn't seem to notice Leon go outside, but when he re-appears the look she gives him is downright grateful. "Thanks." She says again, and her voice sounds a little thick. She takes her dead phone out of blazer and plunks it down on the bar. The cord and base are plugged in with those shaky hands and she plugs in her phone next. Her drink is reached for so she can take another hard swallow.

"Bet there's still some truth to 'em," Reese counters, that lazy smile sharpening just a shade. She, too, spares a look thattaway, toward the tears and dying phone, but there's not a lot of concern given how well-tended Beth is. When she looks back to Joe, she offers, "Lieutenant Commander Teresa Burke." A couple fingers lift from the bar in a shallow gesture as she adds, "Retired a couple years back. To go into the waffle business." It almost sounds like she's making some terribly dry joke there, but it's difficult to place. "In the middle of nowhere."

Itzhak, uncowed, scowls back at Joey. "What?" Roxy and Joey head off, and he yells after Joey's back, "He oughta be fershtunken proud of it!" Probably Joey will give him his answer next time he's in to train. In the form of bruises.

Finishing her second pint, Ainslie decides that the seat of her pants isn't quite so comfortable to be sitting in afterall. She's still damp from that assplant out in the slushy parking lot. Sure if she leaves now, she will snag a town bus out to her neck of the woods. It wouldn't be a long walk from there... a good thing with this coldness. Walking alone at night does not scare her... but she'd better get a move on...

Payment is produced now for her own two drinks, and she's shrugging her coat back on. One more worried look to Beth and she's sliding off of her stool. "Everyone have a good night... I'd better get a move on." A cheeky smile, the tugging down of her long-ish coat to cover her damp pants, and as she pulls up her hood she waves out.

"Well, if there's any species prone to hyperbole, it's fighter jocks," Joe says, ruefully. "We're as bad as fishermen. I'm guessin' you were after my time. Glad to meetcha, Burke. Hell, I feel ya. It's a nice piece of nowhere - the waffle place is yours? Good food..."

Then he gives Itz a patient look. Not even really angry, but it promises further conversation to come....and then it trails over to Ruiz, and he lifts a bronze-colored brow. This your fault?

Itzhak catches that look Joe gives Ruiz, and he cuts right in. "I read ya book. Amazon recommended it to me, of all things."

The Lieutenant Commander part of Reese's introduction gains Ruiz's attention. His gaze is drawn her way as if by its own accord, and the younger woman given a slow sweep with his eyes, before her face is scrutinized carefully. Not that the likes of him would've been fraternising with the likes of her. But stranger things have happened. And they're sitting right there, and eyeing him suspiciously. Nope, not gonna touch that one. The Mexican sips his drink, minds his own business.

Welp, all the support Beth seemed to have from the other woman had evaporated, and Leon finds himself with a drink to finish and someone he was circuitously acquainted to in some sort of way not too many seats away. Might as well attempt that good-natured thing, his voice a little low, eyes turned sideways toward Beth, "Wanna talk about it, Lawson? Or just wanna drink 'til it's fuzzy."

Reese gestures toward herself at those first words from Joe, filing herself in with the pilots. Even if the look that goes with it is vaguely aghast, unconvincingly innocent. She would never. "It really is," she says of this nowhere, expression softening into some sincere appreciation for this terribly weird place. She follows his look toward Itzhak, the admitted assist from Amazon earning a laugh quiet enough that it might not carry. One eyebrow tilts upward at the look she catches from Ruiz, but she doesn't stare too much longer than might be polite as she explains to Joe, "Bought it--" The Waffle Shoppe. "--a couple years ago. Always a sucker for good, greasy food, and there's just not enough of it out this way." Not like there is on the east coast, anyway.

Joseph's grin is a little sickly, at that. Of course he wrote a book. More than one. "It does have pictures in it," he admits, dragging his gaze away from Ruiz to eye the musician.

IT brightens as he returns to Reese. "We'll have to trade fish stories, sometime," he says. "And no, you're right. You don't find good diners north of LA, or so I've found thus far. I mean, admittedly, I'm only sampling what's on the coast but...."

Stranger things, indeed, by the way he keeps cutting looks at Ruiz.

Beth's eyes flick towards Leon when he asks her this before she looks back to the windows and she is silent for a few long moments before she says simply, "This town is fucked up and it's filled with fucked up terrifying shit." She doesn't elaborate. Instead she drinks more scotch. Her glass is half empty already but at least her hands have seemed to steady a bit.

Itzhak doesn't seem to be in 'friendly if rough' mode tonight. He seems to be in 'ex-con from a bad part of New York' mode. Bad decisions are being made at the speed of light. "Pictures of you when you were twenty five, no less," he says to Joe, pronouncing pictures 'pitchas'. "...it was a good book," he adds, grudgingly, and finishes his drink. Getting up, he catches what Beth said, and looks at her with zero pity, but a lot of interest. "Amen to that." Then he's making his way out, digging his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket and grabbing his coat.

Well there's a sentiment Ruiz can get behind. He gazes at Beth for a beat or two, a twinge of sympathy in his otherwise staid mien. He's not going to disrupt her conversation with the other guy nearby, but he looks like he's got plenty he'd like to say. Itzhak's departure makes his jaw tighten a little, but he doesn't look up from his contemplation of his drink. And then his knocking back of said drink. Sobriety can fuck right off.

"Good talk." Leon asserts as Beth breaks it down for him. His bourbon is knocked back in a single pull, then he signals the bartender for a second. He isntempted just to leave it at that for the moment. She at least looked to be steadying, and he was reasonably sure she had people that knew her better that could be supportive. "You driving?" He asks curiously, suggesting his concern that she probably fucking shouldn't, but stating it more succinctly and politely.

"Or west of the Mississippi," comes on a breath of laughter from the Baltimore native. There's another laugh, just as quiet, from Reese for Itzhak's description of the book, and she politely returns her attention to her beer. Briefly. It's hard not to glance toward Beth at her lamentation. It's hard to keep the good humor in her expression from flagging. Falling quiet herself, she rubs a hand at the shaved side of her head and really pays a few seconds of devoted attention to her IPA.

Itz is right. He should be proud. But somehow.....pride isn't what's rolling off of him. One (admittedly rum-heavy) drink isn't enough to really pin him in place....and whatever else he might have, it's apparently also a ticket to the land of Bad Decisions. "Burke, we'll have to shoot the breeze, soon. Leon, ma'am," But Joe's taking care of tab and tip with haste. As if it were just a sterling idea that he go figure out exactly why his old career has Itz acting that way. That's apparently the plan, though, the way he's hastily shouldering on his coat, looping his scarf around his neck.

Beth is quiet again for several moments. Her ill humor is not directed at Leon and it's not personal but clearly she has not had a good night. At his question she shrugs before admitting, "I'm supposed to stay at someone else's house tonight because there was a vague concern for my safety, but I feel kind of bad asking them for a ride. But I really don't want to be alone right now even if it's in the car. I might call Ciprian and see if he'll come get me but I'm trying to keep him out of this." She finishes off her scotch and raises her hand for another.

Reese answers Joe with a nod. No exchange of numbers or information. He knows where she works. Her gaze tracks after him for only a few seconds, just long enough to take in who's sticking around, to consider whether or not she'll have another when the bartender comes by. Yep. With a nod and a, "Thanks," she accepts the offer while keeping half an ear to that other conversation over there.

Ruiz's phone buzzes, and he swaps his drink to his left hand so he can answer it with his right. Look on his face suggests a tetch of irritation.

A thumb's up for Reese, and then Joe's ducking back out into the cold, scarf flung over his shoulder. A glance for Ruiz, as if puzzled why he's not following...but he leaves it at that, for now.

Leon gives Joe a parting wave as he sees the cosmonaut go. He takes a slow sip of his drink, considering if this was going to be his last drink as well. "Ah, so you need the phone charged for an Uber." He surmises, giving Beth a side eye. "Steph?" He wonders, remembering they had been pretty tight at New Years. "I can give you a lift if you need. I think I remember where she was from after the Gatsby thing."

"Stephanie and I aren't talking." Beth says with a little shrug of her shoulder and leaves it at that. "I need my phone charged to call people to go back to my funeral home with me because there is a mess now that needs to be cleaned up." She grimaces at the memory, and when she receives her refreshed scotch and has a swallow to chase it away. "Before tomorrow morning. Which means I get to be there all night long fixing shit and being downright terrified."

There's a soft snort from Ruiz at the next message he receives. A quick response is tapped out, his phone shoved into his pocket, and his drinks paid for with a crumpled bill tossed on the bartop. Then he is indeed trailing Joe out, in his own sweet time.

"Ok, I'm not trying to get in your business, Lawson," he starts, his gruffness hiding genuine concern for another human being. He turns in his seat to regard her fully now, the attempt at giving her space just getfing too tiresome, "But I'ma ask the dumb question, then." He pauses, eyes glancing aside, mental arithmetic adding up to something. "Well, after the other dumb question anyways. Why are you alone, now?"

Beth's head turns to look at Leon and for the first time since she's walked in she smiles. It's indulgent instead of happy. "I'm in a bar. You're never alone in a bar." Duh. She takes a swallow from her glass. "As for why I was alone...well, I'm a workaholic and I didn't realize it was for real."