2020-04-15 - The Happy-Grumpy Balance

There really aren't many places to drink in this town, but of all of them, this one gives Tor the least grief. So they get his business. Lucky them. Currently, he's seated at the bar, a few bottles in, with a small mountain of shredded label in front of him. He's looking at his phone and consulting a small book, in which he makes shorthanded code notes. The whole book is full of them. The bar itself is not very busy, but that's something that might change at any time.

Someone Else is at the Pourhouse this evening, and she is in fine form. It's been a Good Day for a one Ainslie O'Connor and it shows. She is one of those fortunate sods who can dredge up friends wherever she goes and this instance is no exception. She came to this watering hole by her lonesome, originally; a few ales in she is happy, and relaxed, and leaving behind a table of roundabouts six random buddies that she has made in the span of in hour-and-a-half. "Happy trails b'ys!" She sings, nowhere near at her threshhold for booze but feeling that comfortable buzz. Long legs carry her toward the bar for a refill, and this brings her close to where Tor works his way through a pile of papers. Ainslie spies him, offers a friendly smile. "S'cuse me there, need a refill." She chimes.

Her honey lager is served up and she takes a deep swig. She looks as if all is well in her world, eyes bright and merry.

Tor looks up and spirits the tiny book away just before Ainslie's gets too close. He flicks something off his phone screen too, and raises eyebrows at her. "I want whatever you're smoking. Or snorting. Or swallowing. Definitely an upper though, right?" A toothy grin. Because happiness in Gray Harbor has to be artificially induced as far as he's concerned.

A boisterous spat of laughter, "Nothin' snorted or swallowed... maybe a bit of puff. But that's for beyond these walls." Ainslie offers, looking amused. Look at her eyes: save for the tiniest bit of alcohol-induced dilation to her golden-brown gaze, she doesn't look hopped-up. She honestly looks honest-to-goodness content and happy. She's in a fitted t-shirt and dark wash denims, hair in a pert braid. "The day's been an upper, buddy. What's your story?" She nods toward the shredded label, her pint of ale winking honey-gold in the lighting as she watched Tor.

And Tor? He looks like he stumbled out of the golden age of Seattle grunge - complete with shaggy hair and ill-fitting clothes. "What's my story? Loaded question in this town." He swivels the stool back and forth and then tips back the bottle. "My story is I'm drinking at this fine establishment and staying out of trouble." He side-eyes the bartender who just kind of eyerolls.

Maybe Abby is on something, too. She's not boisterously cheery, but she does have a sunny, friendly smile on her face, and hands it out freely once she's past the threshold. "Hello! Hi." She obviously recognizes one or two people, offering small waves on her way in. She's headed for the bar, but takes her time to look around, like she's possibly expecting to find someone here. She's in a light blue cardigan in a chunky knit pattern, worn over a black t-shirt with a tabby kitten print. It's a kitten. It stares out at the world with enormous, pitiful eyes. Below that, Jeans and comfy hiking boots, and a Reign F.C. baseball cap over a short and moderately messy ponytail.

No judgement here.. that's the good thing about encountering Ainslie on a random evening in this weirdass town: no judgement whatsoever. If Tor's attire is a little scraggly? A little ill-fitting? Not an eyelash batted. She watches this unknown chap tip back the grog. When the bartender is indicated by what is indeed a side-eye, Ainslie glances toward the man in-question and catches the eyeroll. She barks laughter. "I call bullshit. C'mon, really.. are you one to stay out of trouble? Never met you in my life but..." A quick shrug, "Eh! Tender! Get this guy another round on me! Looks like he's working hard!" She chimes merrily... she must be collecting a better payout at her new job to be so generous.

Wait.. hold up, world. Hold up Right Now. Abby arrives and the tabby kitten calls out to Ainslie's soul. Instinctively her tiger-bright eyes swivle to note the lady's approach. "Holy shit! That is the best shirt, eh! Well done!" Called to Abby, no holds barred.. no shyness whatsoever.

Tor looks over his shoulder at most of the bar, who are drably dressed blue-collar type folks - mostly men, then over at Abby and Ainslie who look like explosions of glitter in comparison in both demeanor and dress. He pushes hair out of his face and smirks. "You heard the lady, Morris," he says to the bartender. "Workin' hard." Then he looks over at the two women. "I'd ask you both why you're drinking here of all places, but I know what it is to get bored as shit of the Firefly or Two Ifs."

Abby blinks in Ainslie's direction, eyes flicking down towards her shirt. "Oh. Why, thank you!" She grabs the hem, gives it a little tug to straighten out the shirt and the kitten on it, then beams a smile over. "I got it in a thrift store. How could I not get it, right?" She raises her hands in a small shrug as she continues along towards the bar. Then she tilts her head slightly with a friendly look in Tor's direction. "Well, I live - not far. Some people I know come here sometimes. Oooh, I've never been to the Firefly, though!"

The cheery-miserable balance is out of kilter but here comes Ariana to balance it. The blonde in boots, jeans, and t-shirt (it has 'Trust Me I'm Russian' on it) - it's a hot day for her. The grumpy scowl is there as she heads for the bar without hesitation, slamming her palm hard to attract a barkeep's attention. "Vodka. What you call a double...which I would call a mouth rinse."

Only then does she look around and spot a familiar face. "Ainslie" she greets with a curling of one half of her mouth that could be interpreted as a smile if concentrated on. "Nice to see you looking so nice."

Abby's response to Ainslie's exhuberant greeting is satisfactory, and the brunette grins hugely. "How could y'not, is right. It'd be a mortal sin to leave that on the rack." Cackles Ainslie, turning her head back toward the bartender to utter something. Can't be important.. but it results in a pitcher of what Ainslie is drinking: a moderately-strong winter brew... smooth with hints of vanilla. "Partake! Have some!" She gestures, and out come extra glasses. Tor and Abby are welcome to that which Ainslie orders, "To hard work! To kittens!" That covers it...

Another arrival catches her attention and Ainslie grins wide, meeting Ariana's half-smile with her own wide smile. Ainslie is nowhere near at-capacity... she looks relaxed and happy. "Not too unlike what you're wearing... fancy some beer?" Ie. tapwater to Russian tastes.

"I'm not cheerful enough for this conversation I don't think," says Tor, though there's a sparkle of amusement in blue eyes. "I think I'll stick to my cheap swill. Because well, it's cheap." Then when Ariana comes stalking in, he lifts his beer in a salute in her direction. "Now see that? More of a Pourhouse vibe than kittens."

"I have another one with a kitten I got at a yard sale. But on that one she's playing with a ball of yarn," Abby adds, on the subject of her t-shirt. And then, to illustrate, she tilts back ever so slightly, raises her hands above her face, and... pretends to paw at an imaginary ball of yarn, probably. She's not a professional mime or anything, but that's probably it. Then she actually leans against the bar. "Everyone loves kittens." That's for Tor, with a friendly smile, only vaguely admonishing.

"Oh, was going to have something light and - light," she says to Ainslie at the offer of a drink, an eyebrow arched in a dubious look at the pitcher. Her glance follows Ainslie's grin to the new arrival, who also gets a friendly smile and a curious look after reading the t-shirt.

It shows the leaps and bounds in Ariana's social skills that she doesn't laugh in Ainslie's face at the suggestion of beer, or even come close to hitting her. Instead, it is more of a pitying look that someone so smart thinks beer is worth drinking. It's almost like Ainslie doesn't want to get drunk. "Maybe later" she replies; actual evidence of consideration for other people? There is a Russian accent on display to help verify the t-shirt.

A nod to Tor's salute before she narrows her eyes at the scruffy man. "Turpentine is even cheaper if you want to lose yourself" she points out before a dismissive wave at what he is drinking. "That won't even give you a buzz."

Abby and her cute kitten t-shirt get a curious look right back before a shrug at American sensibilities. "Ariana Volkov. You want something light, Miss Kitten? I suggest bourbon."

The brunette looks pleased at Ariana's approach.. especially so, in fact. She plants her skinny ass onto a stool right up at said bar and is content to keep the pitcher to herself. "What say you, Ari?" She completely overlooks the Russian blonde's disdain for weak-as-piss winter ale. Ainslie is in her own contented bubble. "I think the kitten shirt is fuckin' brilliant." Said honestly.. not an ounce of jest. Ainslie means it.... might she be a closet-crazy-cat-lady? Golden-brown eyes twinkle in the lighting, and to the bartender she offers next: "I have her first drink," A gesture to Ariana. She is smart to not offer to cover further tabs because: Russian.

Tor wobbles back and forth on his stool. He watches Ariana and glances at the other two. Then he pulls air between his teeth and points at the Russian. "I like her. She's gonna start some shit. And I make my living as a driver so I'm trying not to get shit-faced." Which doesn't really explain the small mountain of shredded labels in front of him which seems to suggest he's been here awhile. "I'd wear the shirt if the kitten was carrying a machine gun. That shit'd be hilarious." Which tells you everything you need to know about his taste, realy.

"It's just Abby," the woman thus named replies when Ariana calls her Miss Kitten, nose crooking slightly to the side at the suggestion of bourbon as something light to drink. "Hmmm! That really doesn't sound light at all. And I don't normally drink brown liquors. They taste very - brown." As if that makes some sense. Instead, she gestures to the bartender and - look, it's a light American beer! She looks almost sheepish.

Glancing back at Tor, she furrows her brow in thought for a moment. "Hmm. No t-shirt with kittens and machine guns. I do have a mug with a kitten holding a knife, though?" Obviously, there's a theme going on with Abby's purchases.

"Thank you" Ariana nods respectfully to Ainslie about the drink purchase. "I should have asked for a bottle" she adds drily. "I am settling in" is finally a reply to 'what say you'. "Working on equipment. There is a lot of background interference in this town that I am still trying to figure out. You are looking very happy today, Ainslie. What happened?" That last asked with a little concern - exuberance is seldom for good reasons.

"Abby" Ariana nods to the non-drinker. "Though I would rather call you 'Miss Kitten'. That is a much sexier name" she smirks. "Why does the cat have a knife? It has claws" the Russian points out logically.

"Damn right I am gonna start shit" Ariana states with quiet conviction to Tor. "And of course you like me. You are only human" she deadpans.

The brunette smiles mysteriously to Ariana, her head tilting, one long leg folding over the other. "No huge reason.. it's been a good day at work. A good week." Long story short: she received her first proper paycheque but unbeknownst to most, she's not here to drink it away. Most of it is being sunk into 'something' that she isn't at liberty to discuss, not here. But there is a glimmer to her gaze as she turns to watch Tor and Abby for a time, smiling with approval at their drink choices.

Back to Ariana, "Start shit? You fixing to mix it up?" Asked casually, the meaning hard to miss.... hopefully not to pick fights?!

"If I didn't have somewhere to be soon I'd try and drink you under the table," says the scruffy quasi-grunger to Ariana. "I'd completely fucking fail, but it would be fun to try." He pushes hair back out of his face and shreds a bit more of a label. He looks around at the three women. "I'm Tor, by the way. I'd tell you my last name but since I don't think any of you are from here, it wouldn't mean anything to you." He squints at Abby. "Cept you. You're not giving off as strong outsider vibes as these two." Accents, Tor. It's called an accent.

Abby blinks at Ariana, the bottle of beer halting on its way to her lips for the day's first sip. "Oh. Hmm. Okay! I guess," she replies to her 'sexier' name. With just a hint of color rising to her cheeks. So it's time for a long sip of beer, such as it is. Someone's definitely not getting drunk here. "Well, why have 18 knives when you can have 19? Right? And it's - bigger? I don't know." She sets the beer back down with a small shrug.

She shifts in her seat to glance in Tor's direction, lifting her beer. "Nice to meet you. Oh, I'm from Elma," she says. Elma is, of course, a tiny town about 20 minutes away from Gray Habor along the road to Olympia. "Go Eagles." That's their school mascot.

"I am glad that work is going well" Ariana offers Ainslie as her drink arrives. "Your boss likes that tight skirt he wants you to wear?" she adds with a wiggle of eyebrows before talk turns to violence. The Russian looks around the customers of the bar, pursing her lips in thought. "I always mix it up, Ainslie. Though the pickings around here are slim. Nothing that looks like it could put up a fight. I thought there were loggers here."

A snort of amused derision at Tor's claims of taking her on at drinking...though he did admit he would lose. "I have already out-drunk a cop, I think I can take on a Tor. That's a hill, isn't it?"

Ariana downs her vodka in one go before holding up her glass in the direction of the barkeep. "I asked for a double, yes? Another. Maybe a double-double?" An arch of an eyebrow for Abby. "Elma is your mother's name, Miss Kitten?"

There is the sound of the 1812 Overture played in a death metal style and it takes a few moments for Ariana to realise it is her phone. Stepping away from the bar to answer, there is mumbled words in what must be Russian, before she is hanging up and looking apologetically at the trio. "There is something I must do. It was nice to see you again, Ainslie. Send me a photo of you in your work uniform. Pose how you like. Miss Kitten, Mister Hill, I hope to see you again." And then she is off.

Tor is about to say something about how he's not Mr. Hill, but then his phone is making a noise too. He tap-taps at it and then says, "Duty calls," as he slides off his stool. He holds up his phone to show the Uber Eats driver app with an incoming order. "Nice t'meetcha. More drinking another time." And then there's a salute, and an amble towards the door.