2020-09-24 - Who the Fuck is Godot, and Why Are We Waiting For This Asshole?

It is finally the weekend and in to the TibS (or Deuce as some prefer) walks one of the meanest motherfuckers in the Harbor; Gym Coach Joey Lee Kelly. Now whether he runs a boxing gym or the high school gym is up for debate but he seems to be putting in a mass of time at both. 5'10" and wearing a scowl and a too tight t-shirt under his leather jacket. Fingers go through the hair smooshed from his helmet and left with the bike. He looks around like some mother fucker here has the poor distinction of owing him a lot of fucking money, and surprise surprise, they are not immediately available. He walks over and sits at the bar at the end so he can see who is entering and who is leaving.

Sometimes, privilege doesn't just show; it jumps up and down screaming look at me, look at me! while flailing its arms. This is one of those times, at least where Ravn Abildgaard is concerned. The Danish apprentice bartender has no idea who Joey Kelly is. He has no idea that there are people like Joey Kelly in Gray Harbor. He has no idea that when 5'10'' of mean, money collecting, debt settling, face breaking Joey Kelly walks in with a grudge against somebody, the last place you want to be is within their range of sight. This guy is not playing with fire; he has no idea that fire exists.

That's why the bloke in black strolls up to Kelly like he's just another yachter in a slightly muscle packed shirt, flashing a smile. "And what can I try to ruin for you, then?" in an accent that screams educated person from abroad.

Joey looks to Ravn, jaw slightly offset tapping his molars together. Looking over Bennie's new meat behind the bar he almost asks who the fuck are you? but manages, "Vic here?" He looks 'Steve Jobs' the bartender over and waits before he orders anything. Let's all hope this isn't one of those asshole boyfriend moments. There's a squint at Ravn not trying to put the fear of hell itself into him but some people can't help how they look. It's a different sort of armor: Vyv and Byron have their suits and manners an d Joey and Ruiz have, well, battle aura.

"No soot stains of yachters stared into spontaneously combusting in terror and shame on the floor," Ravn returns with a lopsided smile. "Sorry, she'll be in later if you're looking for her. This early in the day all you get is me."

And that is a third form of armour on display right there: Some people project a charming smile and a nonchalant attitude. In the retail industry, it's called 'being service oriented' and 'having people outreach'. It translates to, a costumer who thinks you're funny or charming is a happy costumer. This bloke seems to be pretty good at it.

There are psychiatrists who write treatises on human interaction; the exchange of transactions that is communication. Eric Berne wrote the bible of behaviourial therapy, "Games People Play", in 1964. People who study those things should spend more time in bars, because that's a perfect place to find exchanges like this one to watch.

"So, let me guess -- you're a straight up whiskey drinker. No sugar water for you, no paper umbrellas, and absolutely no maraschino cherries." The guess ventured by the bartender is just that -- a guess.

Joey nods slowly. Vic's not here. Right. And the guess comes, and ears a dead stare from the burly boxer. "Shirley Temple." There's no blinking. Okay, his dead pan is good, but he does look at the menu above and shakes his head, "7&7?" Gin and 7_Up. "Neat." Ice is for quitters.

From behind there's someone leaving who might be old enough to order the tater tots but not much more who says "Ummmmhey coach." There's a sigh and the eyebrows go up and he looks at the teen walking around with a limp. "We put you on those goddamn crutches to take the stress off the knee. This is not elevating and icing it. It's not gonna get fucking better if you're hobbling around like a penguin."

The teen looks admonished, but pauses and asks "Can you say fucking to a student?"

Joey shakes his head, "Who fucking knows. Go home. Ice that thing. I wanna see you play Thursday, but not if this keeps up. Hear me?"

There is however in the look of defiance a faint look of hope, and the kid thinks it over and nods "Sure, coach."

There's a nods and a grunt. As the student leaves there is a deep sigh from the soul as he tells the bartender, "Having two jobs is gonna be the death of me. Here I thought it'd be something totally else. Can um, ho wings, if ya would, man."

Oddly, perhaps, the request for a Shirley Temple seems to net Kelly a glance of respect; might be the whole notion of big macho men like him not always feeling quite comfortable ordering that particular drink. Wings go in the microwave -- and then, the maraschino cherries that Ravn absolutely was wrong about decide to dance a little on the toothpick that they end up garnishing. Because why not? This fellow's gloved hands absolutely cheat, not even touching the cherries and yet they hop onto the toothpick on their own, in a display of sleight of hand that anyone not having Gray Harbor's special talents would no doubt perceive as just a neat little trick. It is just a neat little trick. The glass slides down the bar and comes to a halt precisely in front of the gym coach.

Ravn leans his elbows on the table and looks curiously at the other man. "Gonna venture a guess. Coach of some kind? Wrestling team?"

Joey looks like he should be a lot of things, but whatever grievances he's got with today (if any) it's not with guy handling his food. Fingers go through his hair with a murmured, "Thanks" taking the drink. Yes it has fruit in it and fruit is good for you. Fight him, world. He does answer tho. "Boxing. And now High School gym and sports apparently." Apparently. Looking back at the Dane he shakes his head, "Wrestling's not til winter. Basketball and Football." Weirdly, Alexander was right about him being technically qualified though. He asks curiously, "Vic alright?" That is a note of actual concern. "I heard some shit went down and tried to melt half her house."

"When she told me about that she was pretty pissed off at the fire damage. She's not hurt, though -- fortunately, no one was. From what I gathered, though, the place that burned was somebody's pot stash, and she's probably going to smell like Amsterdam for a while since she lived downwind." The bartender talks about Vic with the fondness you'd expect from someone thinking her a good colleague. Maybe not the label the hard-eyed woman usually gets saddled with. "She was pretty grumpy about that, but if you know Vic, then you know that grumpy is her natural state."

Ravn studies the other man a moment. "Hey, maybe you're the right bloke to ask, then. Even if I'm a little old for high school I reckon you might still know if there's a decent gym in town. One that's not all big sweaty men scoffing at the asthmatic guy who figures he needs to pick up the basics of self defence if he plans to live to thirty-one in this town."

Joey arches an eyebrow and points north...ish. "You probably want Pump It Up. Foggy Bluffs strip there. Guy named Cameron runs the place. hey got all the machines, but have the room for like yoga and Pilates and shit. Good for the cardio which won't fix the asthma shit, but help you get some PT on them without stressing them completely out. Dance studio too. Lots of fucking cardio. Some go because they want to move around and not tie themselves into a goddamn pretzel." He considers and with a pause, "You want to learn fight training you wanna go down to Elm. Few assholes there, but it makes it satisfying when you get to hit em so there's that." He takes a drink and muses, "I can have Vic tell you when we're running a defense class again... haven't in a minute."

"Self defence is what I'm after, yes. Not -- I'm sure yoga and pilates and whatnot is all very healthy, but what I need is to be able to punch undead horsemen or very dead murder victims in the face." Ravn's voice is quiet as he makes that statement -- even though by now, he surely realises that in this town, anyone not 'special' are prone to assume he's talking about the newest video game. Because reality does not contain undead horsemen and walking murder victims outside of Netflix. "That your place, then? The Elm gym?"

Joey levels a look to Ravn as he receives his wings. It's not condescending so much that the statement just is. "You know the best way to win a fight is don't be in a fight, right? Now I ain't saying that because you have limp lungs, I'm saying that because it's true. Also it's wrong to punch horses. They're gentle creatures. You gotta be patient with em and shit. Punching them to get them listen is for sharks. Same thing applies. Don't be in a fight with a shark if you want to win a fight with a shark."

The Dane blinks a few times and rests his elbows on the counter, watching the other man with interest. Those are some rather unusual mental pictures. After a moment he says, "You know, I can't quite imagine punching a horse. I'm not great with horses. I don't much like them. But anything that big that lets you sit on its back and flail like an idiot has to be exceedingly kind in the first place. Sharks, though... Of course, the only sharks we have in Denmark that are big enough you'd be able to punch one are either too deep sea or giant krill eaters who'd probably look at you in a very sad and disappointed way if you decided to do something like that to them."

He cants his head slightly. "What I want is to not be a bloody liability in those ... experiences. You know the ones, I bet. The ones where you're suddenly on a beach with five other blokes, and two hundred zombies are closing in to eat you all. The kind where you wake up with bite marks."

"Denmark? That like Europe or somethin?" He is not well-educated, but takes a well-educated guess anyways. Don't get excited, his second guess would be screwing it up with Colombia and thinking he's South American. He is listening though and whether any of this registers as him knowing or if he is ultimately pedestrian about the explanation? well it boils down the same.

"Look in life sometimes we all outnumbered, guy. Don't really matter by who. I went down to SoCal and had similar trouble with a motorcycle club there. Big dudes too, like they had all of Venice beach on standby. Seriously, step one is cardio, and step two? Figure out how to use the environment to your advantage. Same with the ring, same with a whole football field full of dudes that want to take your ass to ground for carrying a ball around. But yeah. You want you can come by.' Shit a lot of people do it for the damn stress relief cause it's too fucking difficult to be mad at the world when your ass. is. tired."

The bartender cants his head. "Hadn't thought about that angle. Too tired to worry, you say? Heck, I might give your place a shot just for that." Really. Who says 'heck' instead of swearing properly. This guy, that's who. "Never been to California, but I imagine that big guys with bad attitudes are the same everywhere. Always some bloke who thinks he can sort everything out by hitting it enough times with a lead pipe. Anyhow, I might drop in. You got any instructors there that you'd recommend, and can a bloke walk in just off the street -- or is it a by appointment only affair?"

Joey arches an eyebrow as if to wonder what planet the guy fell off of. he's being nice though and as a coach he's not going to become fitness rabbi and try to dissuade the guy from trying. "I'm usually there after 4:30 on days without a T. Come by or as for Danny Duarte. Duarte is... a good guy to start with." He dies finish his wings and leave cash on the counter for him waving his hand at the change It's a hassle and tipping is fucking important. "Let Vic know Joey dropped in for me?"

"Can do. She'll be in in an hour or two unless something came up. Danny Duarte, gotcha." Ravn makes mental notes. "Thanks -- and have a good one." Then he watches the boxing trainer saunter off, and for a second or three thinks about the man's words.

Limp lungs.

The best way to win a fight is to not be in a fight. Use your environment to your advantage.

Denmark's in Europe, isn't it.

He shakes his head, smiling. A guy like Joey is a very fine example of street smarts contra book smarts. He may not know his geography but he's a survivor. In this town, taking a cue from a survivor is probably not a bad idea. Not everyone is cut out to be up front, fighting zombies with squid heads with their fists and teeth. But anyone who has eyes can try to be creative and use the environment to their advantage.