2020-02-03 - Saint Nic

Late night during the backside of winter in a Pacific North-West coastal town meant a handful of things, but none of them could be described as warm. The raw, unfiltered exhaust putter of a large motorcycle moving down Spruce street grew closer in a loud explosion of rich acceleration that sounded almost like something was being ripped open on a grand scale, and then it came to a much more pleasantly rumble as it came to idle from the parking lot of The Pourhouse.

The thickset figure tapped a finger at the faintly illuminated GPS and kicked the kickstand down with force before leaning the weight of the bike into it and climbed off - and as he plucked the key from the ignition, as if second nature he tucked it with a solid clack of a ring around one of the belt loops of his black jeans that had seen better days and made his way toward the door.

Bald head, beard, glasses on top of his head, and despite the thick heather grey hoodie, and the leather vest zippered over top of it, the presence of a massive slew of tattooes around a robust neck eluded to that being more of the same. Directly to the bar, wasn't that always the move at this hour though? "How's it goin?" the man tossed out generally, with an easily presentable smile and a slight upward nod as he grabbed a seat, "What's good here?"

Despite the thick wood of the front door, the roar of the bike is easily heard outside the old sawmill. An eyebrow is raised in the olive-skinned man's direction prior to his entry. Someone with a bike always had an attitude, whether it be a good one or a bad one. She was assuming it was his bike given the tattoos. His congeniality does cause the corner of her mouth to raise, but not her eyebrow to lower.

"The bartenders." She replies dryly, though her expression is amused. "What are your general preferences?" Maggi asks, sliding a menu in his direction. The cloth she had been cleaning with had been replaced into its bucket of cleanser. She turns away from him briefly to plug her phone into the speakers, "Possum Kingdom" by Toadies begins it's opening notes loud enough for some ambiance, but not so much to drown anything out. She turns back, awaiting his answer.

Thick black eyebrows perked up over equally dark eyes as Nicolas draped one meaty forearm against the bar and scratched the peak of his chin with a brief flash of white teeth in amusement, the beginning of an amused laugh, "Is'at right? Man, finally found where the keep the good ones, you wouldn't believe how many bars I've had to hit on my way up here tryin' to find them" he replied in a banter of playful sarcasm that seemed to come without any added effort on his behalf.

When Maggi asked him what his general preferences were he puffed his cheeks and exhaled in a bit of feigned exasperation, "Damn, that's a loaded question, y'know? An honest weeks pay for an honest days work, really bad decisions that go my way, makin' little old white ladies clutch their pearls when I stand behind them in the supermarket. Y'know. The usual" he laughed at himself and peeked at the menu with a passing glance before shrugging a shoulder, the leather of his vest creaked and he lowered his free hand atop the bar to pair with his other, interlocking his fingertips, "How about I buy you a drink, and I'll have what you're havin' "

The ease with which he returns fluent sarcasm is surprising, but not unwelcome. The upturn of one corner of the right side of her lips is met by the left, contorting to a cheshire, toothy grin of her own. Golden waves spill over her shoulder as Maggi laughs, a tinkling sound. Her evening instantly more lively. From behind the counter she scoops a plastic soda glass full of crushed ice, filling it with water from the nearby soda hose with a click.

"Well as far as the old ladies go, you will primarily be looking for someone with the last name 'Addington' if it's pearls you are after in this town. Looks like you'll be having this water if you wait on me. Mariah doesn't have many rules, so I try not to lose my job. Otherwise you'll have to go back to your search for good barkeeps." Her tone is jovial as she addresses him. "Don't think that H2O will help you with the bad decisions though, so you feeling beer or liquor?" The water is slid over the yellowed lacquer towards him, never hurt to have.

"Addington. Pearls. Old white ladies..." Nicolas paused just long enough to raise one hand and drag its backside against his brow in feigned relief, "Phew, thanks for that. Now I know who to really look at the shitty gas station on Elm when I sneak out for some sweet 7/11 heat-n-eat at 3AM" he smirked and as Maggi filled the glass with crushed ice and water, he canted his head aside while she explained her desire to 'keep her job' and 'rules' and he winced for her, "Damn girl, rough." he replied simply, though as the water was slid over, he accepted it with a raise of his cup.

"Let's just slow down and I'll start with the water, I mean, we just met and you're laugh does this whack twinkle thing to my brain and all..." which he promptly accentuated by waggling two fingers in the sign for 'crazy' about his temple, "...but I'm not sure I want to let you get me all wasted yet, y'know?" he teased, and took a cool, crisp, refreshing sip of what could only be presumed to be high quality H20 from such a fine establishment.

As he sat the fanciful plastic drinkware down atop the bar, he extended a baseball mit of a hand, thick, meaty digits coated by a comparable sheet of pitted leather formed from a life of... whatever it is that he did, "Nicolas..." the enunciation rolled with a bit of an accent to the name, something Hispanic, "But everyone just calls me Nico, or Nicky. Pick your poison, they all get my attention. Sometimes 'hey, guy with the throat tatt' - y'know, if we're at IHOP at 2AM and there's too many strippers named Nicky or something"
and with that he flashed a bold display of a white-toothed cheshire grin of his own.

Icy iris' give a calculated flick towards the couple in the corner to make sure neither their beverages nor fried app was running too low, her attention easily redirected toward towards the clever individual before her. She gives a slight snort at his assessment of her laughter, eyes glittering at his words. Slender pale fingers of her own meet his rough grasp with firm and even pressure. A sign of respect or recognizance of an equal rather than an attempt at dominance. "Maggi," she states simply. There were very few people who called her anything else.

"Also we can't both feel bad for the other, if you have been grabbing gas station food you are likely in need of wings or a burger. Luckily, we do both adequately here, amazing if you have 7-11 standards. Everyone I put in orders for gets a nickname their first night so it will be your choice of 'saint' or 'stripper'." She releases his hand, but not her smile. He was kind of infectious, way better guest than drunk Henry who started in with slurs a few shots in anyhow. Maggi's heart-shaped jaw tips toward the menu. While she did much enjoy the company, she couldn't imagine water was the reason someone so obviously not from Gray Harbor had wandered into the Pourhouse.

"Hey, 7/11 is a national treasure, lady. Back where I'm from in Cali? Shiiiit - Where else can you walk in at two in the morning and get a giant slushie and some hot taquitos!" he laughed a nodded his head affirmingly once in recognition of the woman's name, "Maggi it is, don't think I'll forget that one anytime soon" he remarked and despite his playful protests, took her advice and actually picked up the menu when she pointed her jaw toward it.

"I guess I'll bite the bullet and get a burger - and I guess, shit, why not, some wings too. I'll take your word as a good bartender" he smirked and let the menu fall back flat atop the bar, which he then slid just a few inches back toward her. "Those are my only two options, huh? I mean, Stripper is great, 'cause I can't wait for people to try and figure that one out, but why Saint?"

Thin fingers are already tappingg on the ipad when he tells her what he would like, the tab started. Her heels clack on the lamanent with the removal of his menu. The raised eyebrow makes a return as she does so in a bit of a dramatic flourish of her arms. "Seriously? That's the dent your quick wit gets hung up on? There are like five ways that works. For instance: your name is Nicolas, you work with your hands. From an ironic aspect you are obviously trouble." She looks him up and down at that. The clicking of her black shoes already more towards the screen again, the name decided for him. "Do they not have Christmas in Cali? I mean the boozeless slurpy is forgivable, but an entire hallmark holiday?"

Her teeth withdraw and she gives a faux judgmental look of disapproval. "What did those old ladies do with all their time? Annnnd...Bbq, hot, or mild?" She changes the subject craftily. She eyes the booth again, printing the receipts. The encounter for those two did not seem to be going well, accurately named 'Failed Blind Date'. Thank God the customers could never see what she called them.

"Trouble? Aw, c'mon, that's just racial profiling, gringa" Nicolas playfully spat back at her with a roll of his eyes, and took a sip of his delicious water, a few stray bits of crushed ice caught between his teeth and he crunched them contentedly. "Besides, I never said I didn't add booze later, why the hell else am I going to 7/11 at 3AM?" he smirked and sat his water back down, returning his hands to interlocking at the first joint of his fingertips. Eyebrows arched, he was helpless in the defense of the double entendre and laughed, "Only hot for me, bring on the spice" he replied and gave a bit of a wink, though she was likely too preoccupied to really catch it, then again, he was't trying to hide. It really didn't seem like hiding was his forte in any regard.

"So what's up here, anyway? How you wind up the only good bartender in a thousand miles? Local girl?"

Gringa elicits an eye roll from the blonde the tapping on the screen continues. "I was talking about the strippers at IHOP." She does her best to tilt her head enough to make the facial gesture apparent. The small grin she gives at his frozen beverage philosophy though is towards the screen. In one hand she has the check for the booth, raising a finger in a 'jest a sec' sort of deal. She strides over to the table from behind the bar, a fake smile plastered onto her face. The determination of fake can only be reached by someone who had seen the real kind, which Nicolas had managed. She doesn't acknowledge his comment on seasoning, but his order was correct, under 'Saint Nic'.

A moment later she had returned with the bill and cash, the couple leaving. Must have been disastrous for them to have payed cash and not asked for change. She bites the inside of her lower lip in a kind of cringe. She replays the conversation she had been having with Nic in her head for a moment. "I am a Masters student who would at some point like a registered car instead of Courtney Love. I am a local." She had not been entirely sure if he had meant Gray Harbor or the Bar, so she had answered both. Maggi hoped he came back, he was one of the more clever individuals she had seen come to town.