2020-09-21 - Just the Doorman

Absinthe is supposed to be green. Literally, bright emerald green. That's probably what causes some confusion in the tall copper blond whose name tag proudly identifies him as 'in training'. A yachter with delusions of either Frenchness, grandeur, or both, ordered a Sazerac -- which, due to its contents of rye whiskey, Peychaud's, and syrup is not at all green. Even if it contains absinthe.

It's a little painful to watch. The yachter seems mighty pleased, though. When he receives his drink he boasts loudly to his wife that he absolutely found something that the chef did not know how to fix. His day is clearly made. His wife's day is made, even as she in turn asks for a simple Mimosa.

There's a few snickers from local patrons. And quite a few grins from out-of-towners. Flustering rookie bartenders must be a theme.

This isn't Seth's normal hangout. Usually, he is found working over at the Firefly Club making sure people stay out of trouble, but tonight is an exception. It's his day off and the last place he wanted to be was at the Club, so he came here.

Seth reaches up and slides the dark sunglasses off of his face as he walks through the front, folding them and slipping them into the inside pocket of his white linen jacket, perfectly tailored to fit his large frame. He pauses just inside the door, pausing a brief moment to let his eyes adjust, and to survey the area, marking exits and other possible points of entrance or exit, before he makes his way over towards the bar.

Sliding into a seat at the end, close to the wall, Seth sets his phone down onto the bar top and waits, raising his hand to capture the attention of the bartender serving the muddled mess of a cocktail.

The bartender in question looks quite relieved as the presumptious yachter finally leaves -- though not until he's apparently signed the man's napkin with a Sharpie. The blond looks tired, and then lights up in the kind of bright smile you'd expect to find on the face of someone working a bar -- there are certain standards, even if the Two if By Sea beach bar is likely a lot more relaxed than the Firefly Club. He's dressed in black all the way from jeans to turtleneck sweater and gloved hands; one might think it a dress code for the place, except that the other bartender (the one not in training) is wearing a miniskirt and a tank top. Not a very formal place, this.

Blond guy turns to the new arrival. "So what can I get you? Please don't say anything with more than six ingredients. It's alcohol, not a candy shop."

Cheeky fellow. Also, clearly not a native speaker. He's got a pronounced accent that sort of wishes it was British but probably isn't. Somebody who was taught to speak English by British people, maybe.

Smirking, Seth gives the bartender a once over before casting his glance over towards the other bartender for a moment. His eyes linger there a moment before turning back to Ravn, "I like her outfit better, but I am not so sure that you could pull off the skirt. But then again, maybe you can. I don't know, you might have the legs for it."

Seth pauses, letting the comment play on the air for a moment before he continues with, "Can you manage a G&T, Hendricks preferably, with a twist of grapefruit? If that is too hard for you, how about a beer. You can open a bottle, right?"

The other man cracks a lopsided smile and doesn't seem to mind too much getting ribbed a little. "I'm better at mixing G&Ts than I am at balancing in heels. Do you want your grapefruit autographed?" He doesn't wait for the answer. He also doesn't reach for the Sharpie. There has to be some kind of joke here but whatever it is, it's neither obvious nor all that funny.

On the win side, at least the fellow does seem to know how serve up the request. He also appears to have decided that the proper thing to do with slices of grapefruit is to spin them on the edge of the fruit knife, in a display of quite admirable sleight of hand.

"Stop screwing around, Ravn," the woman in the tank top says over her shoulder.

"All right, then." The glass -- grapefruit twist included -- is slid down the bar until it comes to a halt in front of the larger man. "Sorry about that. Being asked to mix drinks that sound like they belong in a dessert shop is bad enough. These boaters thinking I'm a celebrity chef is worse. You a local man, then?"

"Not really", says Seth as he picks up the drink, swirling it in the glass to let the ice chill the drink for a moment. "My cousin is, and I used to come up and hang around here during the summers or other vacations. So while I am not exactly a local, I'm no stranger either."

The bigger man lifts one of his shoulders in a shrug, before taking a tentative sip from the glass as he prepares for the worst. When it isn't half bad, Seth nods to the bartender, "Ok, so you are one for two since I have been here. Maybe your day is turning around."

He takes another sip, a larger one this time, before setting the glass down onto the coaster in front of him, "So, you're a celebrity chef or something? If so, I don't recognize you...so who are you?"

"I'm definitely not a celebrity chef. Just, this lot is hard to convince of it." The blond nods vaguely in the general direction of the bar's out-of-town patrons, scattered around tables as they are. "I'm a backpacker from Denmark. Name's Ravn Abildgaard, definitely not Gordon Ramsay, or whatever it is they've convinced themselves of."

The other man nets himself an appraising look. "You're going to be hearing that a lot," he adds after a moment. "Half this town -- something crazy. I got off easy compared to some. Don't be surprised if people start asking you what it's like being the President tomorrow. From what I've heard, this thing has been going on for a few weeks now." He picks up a few glasses, puts a few bottles back in place, and then leans against the bar, resting one hand upon it.

So ... Monday afternoon. The middle of the traditional workday. The sunny September afternoon admits a woman dressed more for an executive meeting than for a casual beer. She stops a few steps inside, her blonde hair swept to a chignon at the back of her neck, and she gives her eyes a few moments to adjust to the more dim light of the beachfront tavern. From one shoulder hangs a black leather satchel: the sort in which one keeps the Smith file, an important ledger, paperwork to file with the board before the merger, or a slim laptop. She leans faintly into the hip against the satchel and scans the visible patrons and staff with a more purposeful look than someone arriving for a beverage and some potential social interaction.

Inevitably, her attention strays from some kid bussing tables to the bar. One bartender in tank top and mini-skirt: check. One all in black, looking pleasant and chatting up the man at one end of the bartop: check. The latter is what stirs the woman to motion once more, winding a roundabout path past tables and patrons to approach the bar to lean into it with with one forearm pressed along the edge. She's on the other side of a stool from where Seth sits and, while the two men chat, she lifts and sets her leather bag on that stool. "I thought that was part of the job description of a bartender," she pipes in a pleasant tone that responds to the other 'tender's chiding of Ravn. "-- Screwing around with flair, or panache, or amusing antics and flying bottles. Something like that."

She turns from her odd greeting to Ravn to look at Seth as he speaks. And somewhere in there she cants her head just so. "You ... look familiar." But Seth asks Ravn who he is and that absolutely shuts Olivia up. She looks expectantly back to Ravn for his answer.

"Speaking of which," Olivia chimes in after Ravn speaks to his anti-fame, "I brought you a gift, Abildgaard."

"The President?" Seth asks as he raises an eyebrow. "If people start mistaking me for the President, I am going to seriously wonder what people have been putting in the drinks here. That is too bad about you not being a chef though, I was getting my hopes up for a decent lunch. I guess it will just have to stay liquid after all."

Turning his gaze to Olivia, Seth gives the newcomer a once over with his eyes, lifting his gin and tonic to his lips as he studies the woman for a moment. "Do I? Maybe I just have one of those faces. I don't believe I have met you before, at least not anytime recently, but there is something familiar about you. Summer of '09? "

The larger man shrugs his shoulder again, "Or maybe you just saw me over at the Firefly. Anything is possible."

"Please tell me it's not a cookbook," the tall Dane says to the blond woman that just arrived, and offers her a lopsided little smile. Then he looks to the lady in the miniskirt and tank top. "You mind if I call it an afternoon?"

"Nope." his more experienced colleague shakes her head and then looks up. "Read the book, Ravn. You don't need to learn every recipe by doing. Go home and read the book."

"Yes, ma'am," says the man in question. To the other two he murmurs, "I'm better at learning by doing. Classification of mythological archetypes? Read a book. Learn to mix a drink? Mix a bloody drink. We do serve tater tots and other small snacks here and they're not that bad either. But, 'decent lunch' might be a bit of a stretch. Pretty certain the drinks don't contain psychotropics, though."

To Seth, Olivia replies, "Class of oh-four. But I don't think it was school." She'd remember that better. "Were you one of the beach volleyball pack?" She tips her head toward her shoulder with a wry smile, contemplating the puzzle of how she might know Seth. "Everyone who's spent real time here eventually looks familiar. I'm Olivia." The smile is mostly in her pale blue eyes, but it suggests itself at the corners of her lips as well.

She looks back to Ravn while reaching into a side pocket of her bag. "No, no. Why would a renowned culinary artiste need a cookbook? I got you something far more practical." From her digging, she produces a pen with a red satin ribbon tied around it in a bow. She offers it over the countertop to Ravn. It is a silver-inked Sharpie. "For breasts or foreheads or midriffs or... really wherever." She sets it there between them as if daring Ravn to pick it up. "You know you've missed me. You don't have to get all emotional." The man was nothing close to emotional. It could be that Olivia is just that dry.

"I don't have time for a drink. Just getting back from a visit to the Walla Walla State Pen and I wanted to check to see if you were working so I could drop this off on my way back to the precinct. Maybe see if you needed to be arrested yet."

Seth shakes his head as he looks to Oliva, "Nah, I didn't go to school here. I was just here mostly for summers and breaks, visiting my cousin Felix. I did spend quite a bit of time on the beach, so that must be it. It's a pleasure, Oliva. I'm Seth. Seth Monaghan."

The lager man offers over his hand in greeting, plastering a smile on his face that doesn't falter in the slightest as his companion starts talking about law enforcement.

As he waits for Oliva to shake his hand, Seth turns to Ravn, "If tater tots are what you have, then I suppose that is what I will be having. Can I hope that maybe they come with some kind of topping? Cheese? Chili? Something?"

The face Ravn makes is a bizarre mix between how can you do this to me and so tempted to sharpie your forehead now. "Don't enable them, woman. I'm almost up to one day without anyone asking me to sign any body parts. The last was a six foot bloke who asked me to sign his pecs. I am oddly disturbed by this on levels I might need to see a therapist about at some point. He had hairy pecs."

He does scoop up the Sharpie, though. Some things are too dangerous to leave about where tourists can find them. Into a pocket in a black blazer it goes, and then the Dane emerges from behind the bar. "It's pretty quiet now. I am going to bail out of here before the next batch of yachters and beach goers comes in -- pretty sure it's Vic's shift tonight and while I enjoy watching her rip the faces off rich boaters from Olympia, she's been kind of grumpy about the fire in the trailer park. Not occupying a space within arms' reach of a grumpy Vic is a really good survival strategy."

"Anything you want," the girl in the miniskirt chirps in, looking at Seth with renewed interest. "I'll take that order -- Junior there needs to go home and do his homework."

"I do," 'Junior' agrees. "I'll be back in the morning to frustrate and terrify anyone who hopes to have a half-decent drink served, though."

Weaving in and out between the tables to depart, the wave he offers is friendly enough. Some people are just generally good-natured; the Dane seems to be one of them. He probably isn't going to end up on Felix Monaghan's pay list soon. That is, unless somebody needs a scapegoat.

"Monaghan. Even the name is familiar," Olivia replies evenly and with the same pleasant and unflappable demeanor she brought with her through the doors. If she's aware of the rather significant speedbump that isn't just a mostly-empty bar stool between herself and Seth, she doesn't show any suggestion of it all. She's either oblivious or someone you don't want to play poker with, given where she said she was heading.

Ravn accepts her 'gift' and the blonde laughs, just a brief collection of notes before the mirth is gone and she's looking back to Seth with sparkling blue eyes. Reaching out, she clasps Seth's hand with her own, soft and warm, the handshake solid yet not trying to prove anything. "I'm sure it must have been the beach. I know I spent a good portion of my high school summers there." The bartender puts in an order of 'topped' tots for Seth as Olivia slides her hand free of his eventually, a thoughtful expression there to see. "So you live here now? Does Harbor life suit you, full time, Mr. Monaghan?" At the Firefly. It's an interesting detail. Olivia gives the impression of one who collects such things like puzzle pieces.

Lifting his gin and tonic in a little bit of a salute to the departing bartender, Seth takes a sip before focusing his attentions fully onto Olivia.

"I'm not surprised. As far as I know, Felix is a respected businessman in the Harbor so it doesn't shock me that his name, and therefore my name, might be familiar. " Seth replies as he returns his hand to rest on his right thigh, hooking his thumb into the belt loop. "Yeah, growing up I spent most of my summers and breaks here with him and his family. I think my parents enjoyed the fact they could ship me off to my Aunt and have some time to themselves. I probably spent just as much time on the beach as you did, hell maybe even more." Seth lifts the glass to his lips and takes another sip, "To answer your question, yes. Felix needed some help at the club, and so I came up to offer my services. I currently reside here and look to be for at least long enough that I rented a house."

"So", he says, "I take it by some of the things you said that you are a LEO?"

Olivia settles into one arm against the bar while tipping the closer heel-clad foot to its toe as she watches Seth with a gaze that somehow manages to be both sharp and inviting. It's not so much flirtation as engagement. The man -- for the time being -- has the larger portion of her attention, all plans to get back to work after her long drive aside. "Maybe even more," she echoes, muses of what he's said about those summers.

"I haven't met your uncle, but the man's name does get around. And now I can say I've met you for a second time a decade and a half later. Those summer bonfires were something, weren't they?" There's that almost-smile that reflects a far more profound, if less-specific, expression in her glacier blue eyes. She idly taps her midnight-blue painted nails in slow succession against the edge of the bar as she regards the man past the stool her bag occupies.

"Rented a house. That's certainly a commitment of a sort. What do you do at the club?" It wouldn't be difficult to construe that the blonde's questions are, at the very least, multi-faceted, maybe a bit daring.

"No, no I'm not an officer at all. I was teasing Abildgaard, there, over a confidence he shared." She pauses as if that fact needed some wait time, before she continues, "I'm the resident Criminal Psychologist for the GHPD and surrounding area, although 'Forensic' is oftentimes interchangeable in the title. It really just means that I ask the questions and suggest possible answers. But more than that, I watch and listen." She idly splays the fingers of the hand not resting against the bar to accompany the last three words. "The actual 'enforcement' isn't so much a part of my purview, per se. Is that disappointing?" A playful smile teases at her lips.

"Sure, it's isn't flat out buying a house. I concur that the act of renting seems far less permanent than outright buying one, but it is a small step in that direction. The bonus is that it doesn't have shared walls, so you don't have to worry about hearing what the neighbors are up to, and vice versa." Seth relents with a chuckle as he finishes off the gin and tonic, plucking the slice of grapefruit from the rim and devouring the flesh of the fruit. "The summer nights were certainly something to be remembered. I at least have some fond memories of them, at least of the nights that I can remember."

As the plate of loaded tots arrives, Seth slides them to the space in front of Oliva's bag, indicating with an incline of his head the offer to share. "Nothing special, really. I am just working as a doorman." the large man explains as he idly rims his glass with the tips of his fingers. "It's nothing glamorous or anything of the sort, but it is a job. I also work on the stage lighting at the club, that is really where my talents lay."

Seth pushes the glass away from him, motioning towards the bartender for another as he continues to speak, "No, why would it be disappointing? I just assumed, and yes I know what they say about assuming." He chuckles, "But a shrink, now that is something to fear."

Olivia listens. Oh, does the woman listen to the words and whatever else it is that she sees and hears along with the conversation. Or perhaps that's the charade, itself. Regardless, there's a faint bit of shared amusement at his insinuation of avoiding the sharing of sounds better kept to oneself. When he speaks of fond memories, she parts her lips to ask only to close them again with a faint shake of her well-coiffed head.

Tots arrive. Olivia never ordered a drink. It seems apparent that she truly did simply mean to drop by that strange 'gift' for Ravn on her way elsewhere. She does, however, look to the plate of tasty looking tots with interest. The Twofer is fairly famous, at least in Gray Harbor, for its tots. "You're working for your cousin as a doorman with a specialty in lighting? Don't mistake me, Monaghan, I have no argument that you likely do both jobs with marvelous presence and insight, but it seems as though your cousin might have offered you something more ... indicative of the skillset you no doubt have by this point. Something to make buying a house more compelling." Maybe she just can't help it. If she is anything, Olivia is inquisitive. It's fairly clear that she's not going to settle for the argument that the man's ambition is orchestrating stage-lighting effects at the family club.

As he motions for his second drink, Olivia remains in her somehow casual-yet-poised lean into the bar. "Tell me why you think shrinks are something to fear. The different answers to that question never cease to fascinate me." She lifts her hand again to beckon at him with two fingers in a bring-it motion and the faintest arch to one brow.

Seth waggles his finger at Olivia, "Ah, see, that right there is why. You all start with these innocent enough questions, and then it dives into the 'Tell me...' lines. 'Tell me about your mother, your father, your line of work, why you think shrinks are something to fear.' Going down that path right there is what gets people into trouble!" the large man explains with a kindly spirit to his voice. An attempt at humor, perhaps? "Next thing I know, I am going to be on your couch paying you a few hundred dollars an hour just to tell you my feelings." He laughs, taking a tot and popping it into his mouth.

"Felix didn't drag me, I offered. He needed someone to do some work around the club, and I was in between jobs, so I figured why not. I like the area, it isn't like being a doorman is a difficult job, and I enjoy doing the stage lighting. I take pride in that. It isn't as easy as it sounds. It's a good career. There is much more to it than just screwing in a lightbulb and pointing the light where you want to go."

Seth looks down to his phone as it chimes, a line furrowing in his brow as he moves to pick up the offending device. "Excuse me a moment." he says to Olivia as he picks the phone up, "Yeah. Now? But it is my da...no. Ok. You're right. I'll be there soon." He slips the phone into his pocket, "Cancel that drink." he mutters to the bartender as he tosses some bills onto the table. "I'm sorry," he says as he turns to Olivia, "Something came up over at the club, and I am needed over there. It was a pleasure to meet you....again, I suppose." he says with a smile. "Please, enjoy the 'Tot's, they have already been paid for so someone might as well enjoy them. Maybe I will catch you around again, Olivia."

Pale blue, keen and perceptive eyes follow the waggling of the tall man's finger. She listens to his lecture on the dangers of her particular road with a half smile. "You've seen many-a-victim of that path, have you?" The next thing he knows ... "I don't have a private practice, Monaghan. But I'm sure any number of women, and quite a few men for that matter, would pay you to be on their couches saying whatever the hell it is you want to say." This is somehow both playful and significant all at once. There's a quiet murmur in her throat that could be amusement in response to Seth's laughter.

"Again, please don't misconstrue that my words speak ill or patronizingly of what it is you choose to do." So many words unspoken. So many directions to go from there. "Some night I'll come see a show and marvel at the lights because you've made me curious. And that, Monaghan, is a dangerous thing." Making her curious. She never gave her last name, yet she insists on calling him by his.

Seth's phone chimes and Olivia, too, looks to where the sound came from. His half of the conversation tells a story, and Olivia is all about stories. The bartender makes a face as the drink she's half finished is canceled. Olivia would offer to take it, but she's on her way back in to work, if what she said when she arrived is true. "Good luck with the emergency." He supposes? She chimes in, "I"m quite certain it was my pleasure." Maybe he'll catch her around. How fast does Seth run? "Good afternoon, Monaghan. I'll come catch those lights one night soon."