2020-04-09 - The Non-Interview

An Amazonian woman with damp hair that looks to be caught somewhere between blonde and brown, saunters in from the deck where she was likely smoking. Vic is a long-legged 5'11" tall and is clad in worn in jeans, tactical boots, a white tank top, and a burgundy leather jacket. Her dark blue eyes have a strange, feral sort of intensity. They are the eyes of a predator. Her most distinctive feature, however, is the beauty mark resting off center between her brows. She slides up to the bar, having spotted Easton's arrival from outside.

"Marshall," she states, not asks, as she looks the far shorter man in the eye with an impassive expression on her face. "I'm here about the bartending job." Wait, was there a bartending job advertised anywhere?

Starting up his shift, Easton is dressed as ever for his work at the bar in a black dress shirt, dark jeans and his boots. He's just settling in behind the bar, fiddling with the sound system to start playing some country tunes, a musical portent of things to come. He seems for once to be in a relatively good mood and sober, an unusual combination in the man. He is just delivering his first drink to a customer when Vic calls out his name. He turns and looks her over, curiously and without any recognition or awareness of what's to come. He confirms, "Yes." and waits for her to continue.

"Oh."

The look on his face remains perfectly neutral, but he does give her another look over, this time with some understanding. Someone stopped by to make sure that he was aware that it would be a good idea to increase his bartending staff. A favor. A good idea. All the things you say when you mean, do it or else.

"Do you have any experience?"

It's said in the most neutral of tones as well, trying to keep the expectation that she is a complete novice out of his voice. Who knows maybe she's at least bartended somewhere before? He's not very hopeful though.

"My father owns a bar." He does, actually, back in Portland. She's slung a few drinks from behind it but truthfully, the scowl on her face makes it look like she's a really, really shitty listener. Isn't that a requirement to be a bartender? If so, it also looks like her field is barren of any fucks regarding it. She needs a cover job to explain her income, and Felix has oh so nicely chosen one for her. At least it's better than the Last Chance hotel in Hoquiam was.

"I'm good with my hands." Also not a lie, but also no in reference to her bartending skills. The dead-eyed stare she gives him might be a bit creepy. "My references, however, are impeccable."

Easton's eyebrows raise a bit at the mention of her dad's bar, that's a good sign at least. Even if she didn't answer the question, she might understand some of what goes into running a bar. He doesn't seem all that perturbed by her lack of cheerful demeanor. "How many hours do you actually want? Your references failed to mention if this was going to be a full time gig or a grab a few hours here and there type thing." He tries really hard not to lean on the 'your references' part of the sentence but can't quite keep the distaste out of his voice.

This is supposedly his bar. And boy does he not love being reminded that he isn't quite as in control as he might like to pretend. But he's a smart guy and picking battles was literally his job at one point in time.

As if coming to terms with this arrangement he offers as a token to her possibly not being that experienced, "It's a touristy bar, with a good amount of locals. If you don't know how to mix something ask the customer, if they don't know, make it up."

“Picking up hours here and there is best. If I have to call in due to being indisposed I’ll let you know.” Vic recites that as if she’s done so many times over the years to many reluctant bosses. It’s a job for appearances mostly, so the authorities have no reason to question her presence in the town, or her real income.

“Anything in particular I should be aware of? Troublemakers and the like?” She asks flatly. She hasn’t looked around at all. Maybe she did before he came in?

Easton nods, well aware that as much as he doesn't like this situation right now he's going to love it a hell of a lot less when he's covering for his own bartender. "Okay." He stares at her, clearly voicing that he is not in fact 'okay' with it but has no recourse all the same.

"I keep a shotgun and a glock under the bar. If you know how to use them please only do so if shit gets weird. If you don't know what I mean by shit getting weird, let me know. Has anyone read you the welcome to Gray Harbor pamphlet?"

He at some point in this discussion decided that he needed a beer to help him through it, and mid pour he asks, hospitability, "You want a drink? I need a drink."

The pamphlet question gets a mild snort from the woman. “I had a crash course in weird five years ago but it feels even weirder here. So enlighten me,” Vic requests, in a tone that is really NOT a request. He can sense her glimmer, not staggeringly bright but with a good deal of potential. In this place, They will notice her eventually.

The drink offer gets a vague nod. “Bourbon,” comes the request. She is half-tempted to order tequila just in case Ruiz comes in from the deck, just to irk him, but she’s had a dislike for it since the cartels Op they were on I’m Portland. “You’re ex-military,” she states. Felix must have given her the rundown.

Easton nods, understanding all about crash courses in weird. He didn't have anyone to explain it to him when he got here, all the locals seemed spooked or vague or possibly malicious. He pours her a drink first, as if she might need it before he starts in. "You, stand out. Just like I do. And lots of other people in this town. Because people like us are drawn here." He says these simple innocuous sounding phrases and waits for her to either ask him what the hell he's talking about or nod. No point in throwing out words like Glimmer and Veil and Dolorphages if she's going to balk at 'standing out'.

He takes a sip of his beer and then grunts, "Marines." He narrows his eyes and looks at her again, he noticed the boots but didn't think much of it, until that question slash statement. "You?"

Vic takes the drink and tips it to her lips for a long pull. “It was pretty weak in Hoquiam, but stronger in Portland. Not like this though. Here it’s so strong it feels like a tangible current. You can almost taste it behind your teeth.” She slides her tongue across the back of her front teeth reflexively, tasting the coppery tang of Glimmer.

She shakes her head at the military question. “No. Dad was army though. Gulf War. Lost a kidney in the sand but he’s doing all right.” She takes another swig of bourbon. “I was a cop.”

Easton nods and says, "Yea, I barely recognized it outside of here. I'm from out east." He nods along as she explains it. "Well if you know that feeling, it comes with certain tricks. Those tricks can save your life, but they also attract unwanted attention. Sometimes means you get lost." He looks at her, trying to determine how far to go. He adds, "Or shit get super fucked up, in other words. It's happened here at the bar at least twice, so hence the shotgun and the pistol. If someone tries to rob the place, just hand over the money and make sure no one gets hurt, that's not why I have 'em."

"Sand has a way of stealing body parts." He says with a wry smile at the phrasing on her part. He can't help his eyebrows from lifting at mention of her former profession. He does stop himself from repeating 'was' but it rings in his head.

"Oh.." He considers that for a minute before shrugging, "In that case, we get robbed, shoot the fuckers." It's a lame joke but he feels like he needs to fill in something after letting slip that oh.

Vic listens to the information on getting Lost. She's done so a couple times in her life, but it usually happened when she was asleep, not in broad daylight in a public place like Easton is describing. Her impassive expression turns into a scowl for a brief moment, then fades again at the instructions about robberies. A brow slides upwards. "Anyone trying to rob the place while I'm here will be in for a serious mountain of deep and instant regret," she says flatly. Not that she gives a fuck if they rob Easton, but robbing Easton is effectively messing with Felix, and that can't be allowed to happen.

She takes another slug of her bourbon and finally her eyes slide around to examine the bar, before returning to Easton and finally sizing him up. Or down, as the case may be. There's nothing lascivious in it, it's perfunctory, assessing. "Places in town to avoid?" she asks, looking for some solid information.

"Most of the staff doesn't get it." Easton says in regards to the part about getting lost, "And I think your friends would appreciate you doing your best to avoid anyone dying in here almost as much as I would, so please keep that in mind if shit goes south." Easton's still a little touchy about the ghost shootout that nearly killed three people in the bar last year, including many of his closest friends. He gives a soft laugh at her comment about them being in for a mountain of regret, "Yea, somehow I don't doubt that." It's not like Easton's asking for protection from Felix, but he's also not going to argue with it, especially when he's planning to kick some low-life hornet's nests of his own pretty soon.

Easton doesn't mistake the look, he knows exactly what that is. "The sawmill." Easton answers immediately when the topic comes up, and then with a smile, "My office. My life." Because he can stomach having an associate of Felix's around for her sake, but if she's here to keep tabs on him? That's a whole other story. And he's not sure which it is quite yet.

"Believe me, I have zero interest in either your office or your life, unless The Boss does, at which point I hope you would be accommodating," Vic notes with the faintest quirk of her lips, as if she'd enjoy it more if he wasn't accommodating. This one has that sort of energy, the sort that says she's happier when there are fists flying and blood being spilled. "All right then," she pulls a card out of her jacket pocket and slides it across the bar to him. "That's my number. If shit otherwise goes sideways and I'm needed? I'm in space 44 at the trailer park. Don't fucking bother me there if it isn't an emergency."

"And nobody wants that." Easton /agrees/ that keeping Felix from having any reason to want to have an interest in his life. Sure it's not what she said but he's happy to throw that out there, not as a threat more as a let's not even discuss the possibility conversation stop. He gets that she's itching for a fight, or at least would be more comfortable in one and he'd rather not play that game just yet. It's early days here. He takes the card and nods at it. At the part about not bothering her, he lifts his eyes and says, "What you worried I'm going to call you up for a slumber party so we can paint our nails and talk about boys? I think I can manage to contain myself."

"Listen, Three Apples," Vic snarks back, holding up one hand about 6 inches above his head, "You need to be this tall to ride this ride." She smirks. "Anyway, I'll be in tomorrow maybe. We'll see. I need to talk to someone first." She gets up off the stool, finishing her bourbon. "See you around."

"Yea, congratulations you're tall. It must have taken a lot of work. But listen Xena, don't get any weird ideas about blong wigs and weirdly close friendships, I'm a happily married man." He doesn't seem all that put off by the comments on his height, in fact it looks very much like he's surpressing a smile. Perhaps he's just thinking about the last time someone tried to tell him he must be this tall to ride the ride.

"Yup."

He shakes his head and pulls out his phone and stares at if for a bit before deciding that he can cross that bridge late.