2021-01-20 - Librosexual

Say one thing for Ravn Abildgaard and it might be that at least his sartorial choices matches the bar owner's? Granted, it's not his black jeans that look distressed -- it's the slashed sleeve of his leather coat. Combined with the redness of his face where his nose was broken the day before, he looks a little more street and a little less Steve Jobs rip-off than usual. He wanders in and claims a bar stool, resting his elbows on the counter and glancing around to tell if one's actually allowed to smoke in here or the place just smells like it.

"So, tell me, is it too early in the day to get started on a whiskey on the rocks, or do I need to eat something first?" He looks at Maggi with a small wave hello of a gloved hand. "Give me something that's not pure kerosene, though, I still have tastebuds."

The last few days have been rough between the emotional rollercoaster of things for Seth, from things found on the beach, to a New Year's fireworks show that leveled a few buildings, and let's not forget adding getting shot to that list. So today he just wants to cast all that aside and plop his ass down into a stool at the local dive bar and drink the feelings away. The door opens, flooding light into the darkened room for the briefest of moments and possibly blinding anyone whose eyes had already adjusted to the dark, and Seth walks in, yanking the sunglasses from his face as he makes a line for the nearest barstool without his usual cautious moment to scope the place out. "Eat a dick, Ravn." he says jokingly as he Rikers himself into a seat before looking towards the bartender, "Whiskey, just bring a bottle."

Icy eyes look on to her fellow monochrome, turning from amusement to concern. A single brow quirks as she looks at his face. "Firstly, I have standards when I am on this side of the bar Casanova. Second, what the hell happened to to your face? You look like fight club meets clown college." Twisting to turn the music a smidgen lower, she grins at Seth's entry. Setting down two tumblers with ice, a bottle of 'WhistlePig' is placed equidistant between the two.

"He's scheduled to eat mine later, you two can share for the moment. Mostly, because I find it amusing." She winks to Ravn. "I feel some stories coming on ya?" Maggi leans forward on her elbows in interest. If Ravn wanted food, she was sure he would ask. She would also want booze if her schnoz looked like that.

"I would but Vic'd hurt me." Ravn nods a hello at the ginger enforcer too. Then he grins slightly at Maggi. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But if you've read about a group of dirty cops shooting up the precinct -- I just had the bad luck of being there when it happened. Never bored around here, right?"

He reaches for his glass and ratios it nicely -- a hell of a lot more whiskey than ice. "So, how's things for you two? Good to see you upright, Irish -- and not bleeding all over the place."

Seth chuckles, reaching for his own glass. He doesn't even bother with ice, picking up the glass and reaching over the bar with his left arm to dump it into the well. The movement is a bit stiff and there is a bit of a grimace on the enforcer's face as it is performed. The glass, now sans ice, is filled about three fingers high with the amber liquid from the bottle, "I don't know. Vic's a big girl, she knows how to share. She also knows how to plug holes, so I ain't got not leaks on me..." he sing-songs to the later to the tune of Pinocchio's old song as he lifts his glass to his lip and takes a sip, using his right arm.

A hearty laugh is heard as someone was pushing through the door, the beefy town locksmith making an entrance, his cell phone held to his ear, “Nah, Billy, you know those guys, probably jammed a screwdriver in the hinge, bent the whole damn door, then are baffled why it doesn’t close. It’s all set... Yep!... Thanks.” Already in the process of removing his self-branded parka, Leon moves further into the bar, spotting Ravn and Seth, lifting a hand, then... pulling up short, face going to concern, he looks across to Maggi, checking but quickly relieved it was only the two men that looked on the bad end of a beat-down, “Someone have a bar fight and not tell me?”

He tosses his warmer clothes over a stool, settling in with his long-sleeved Impact-fronted LOCKSMITH tee, some jeans, his usual heavy Red Wings.

Maggi looks irked by the ice removal, then simply sighs, shaking her head. Monaghan sure made her job look more like a liquor store and less like a bar. This did make things easier, but it was also principle. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as 'Radiohead's' version of 'Creep' thrums near her ear. "Mac mentioned something at one point...I don't keep up too hard with the law. Authority tends to piss me off." Both eyebrows are now raised. "If I didn't know better, I would say I'm out of the loop." Tilting her head toward Seth her tone goes quite serious. "You help Rudolph out or am I doing all the work today?"

A sarcastic grin materializes with the large man's entrance. A flex of four fingers in greeting. "Hey Lion. At least one of these two knows better than to fuck up your bar." When things needed to be ordered it was hers, when punches were thrown, it was his. Leon did have the ability to serve a deep fried special.

"Had a bar fight at the police precinct and let me tell you, they didn't even offer me a beer. Lousiest bar fight ever." Ravn waves a lazy hello at Leon as well. "I make it sound funny but to be honest, it wasn't very much fun at all. Particularly not for the two people that died and the girl who ended in hospital -- that'd be Mac. Visited her there yesterday -- she's not badly injured but she's taking it hard."

He sips his whiskey and shakes his head. "Besides, if we fuck up this bar, we'll have to open a new one. At least for me -- going back to the Two if By Sea doesn't feel quite right. Something changed there -- not quite sure what, but somehow, the place feels like far too much testosterone for me. I've always been more of a down low bar kind of guy anyhow."

If Seth is bothered by Maggi's irritation at his ice dumping, he doesn't show it. The man likes his whiskey neat, so that is how he is going to have it. "He said he has a guy, so I figured he was going to whomever that is," Seth explains to Maggi with a shrug of his good shoulder as he sips at the whiskey. "If he saw him, they did a shit job. I'll bop him on the nose if he wants, but I wasn't just going to do it. He might bring me up on assault charges." the enforcer says with a smirk as he glances over at Ravn.

As Leon makes his entrance, Seth gives the locksmith a nod of greeting, "I stop fights in my own place, why would I want to come over and mess up yours? I know what a hassle it is. Besides, I'm not actually in the roughhousing mood. Work injury."

“Look, I make jokes, but the last fight was back before we bought it. Hank was telling me Clayton was involved?” He looks to Maggi for confirmation, thinking she may have been part of the same conversation, a common husband/wife mannerism. Leon was halfway through a dismissive gesture when he looks surprised at Ravn, “Hold the phone, you were there?” Leon was shaking his head, “I just heard about it. I swear, I just changed Cohen’s locks. Said his wife wasn’t feeling safe.”

Slipping in a few seconds after Leon, Turner first steps out of the way of anyone else who might be coming in after him, then pauses for a moment to take in the scenery. There's the faintest wrinkle of his nose at the scent, but it passes quickly. He barely looks old enough to be in the bar, and he's decidedly over dressed beneath the bulky coat he removes. He's definitely not the clientele meant for this scene, and judging from his awkward body language, he clearly knows it.

Maggi's expression turns to one of shock. "Hold the phone, Mac's in the hospital?!?! For Fuck's sake she needs out of the police scene. I'll give her a bit, explains why she wasn't returning texts." The blonde attempts to hide concern from her face, but she can't help but ask. "She's like okayish though right? Physically?" She eyes Seth with suspicion. "If you weren't at the station, who messed you up?" That bottle was starting to look mighty enticing.

With another sigh she manages a weak smile to Leon. "If anyone can make someone feel safe baby, it's you." It was hard to imagine Leon being anyone's baby, even harder on the brain than the newest patron to the bar. In a practiced fake smile that came across as sarcastic, no matter how hard she half tried, she side eyes the Yung-un. Speaking a bit loud in the 'Let's not frighten the customers who aren't into the dark shit' voice she looks up. "Oh uh-Hey! You lost?"

"I was signing some papers for my application for permanent residence when officers started drawing guns on each other, yeah. Not the best afternoon of my life. Clayton wasn't there, though. I'm not sure who they actually were hoping to take out, but I'm guessing Thorne? I don't know that anyone else was present whom anyone might consider Important, capital I." The Dane sips his whiskey and nods at Seth. "I'm seeing Kinney later. Need to talk to him anyway -- we're debating becoming room mates."

The copper blond speaks with a mild accent that nonetheless clearly identifies him as not a native speaker; it's not quite BBC British though one might suspect that whoever taught him wanted him to sound that way. The new arrival gets a guilty look, presumably inspired by the bartender's quick warning about not frightening other patrons and he adds, somewhat more low key: "She took a head hit that probably hurts like hell but she's going to be all right."

Then he nods to the younger fellow and offers a small smile. "We're not actually a gang of brawlers and thugs, we just sound like it."

Lifting his eyes to Maggi, Seth shrugs the shoulder that doesn't seem to cause him any pain and smiles, "I don't know. I didn't get a name." Lifting his glass to his lips, Seth drops that particular subject like the hot potato it is, hoping the others will too as he turns to regard the newcomer.

It takes all of a second for the enforcer to register Turner as someone not likely to be a threat, so he once again turns towards his companions as the bar but keeping his body in a way he can see Turner in his peripheral, adding after Ravn's comment "He speaks for himself. I actually am a brawler and a thug...some of the time."

Leon tosses all of them a chiding look in that inexorable way a man comfortable in his domain does, but he was grinning. It was an affable one, as Leon was most oft to give, he glances in Turner’s direction and makes a circular waving motion, something meant to welcome, trying to assuage the nervousness Leon unconsciously felt coming off the boy, “C’mon over and pull up a stool.”

It was notable that of those that Shone in the room, Leon was probably the strongest. He squints at the boy, “I feel like I’ve seen you around, but never here.” Something that very well could be as often Leon was about town, working on doors. “I’m Leon.” Like his truck said out front.

"I was supposed to meet someone here... but... he's not here." Turner states with a slight shrug, his expression carefully schooled. "I think someone was playing a joke on me." he sounds resigned, as if it's something that happens to him often. With the softest of sighs, Turner makes his way up to the bar, taking the seat Leon's offered, favoring Ravn with a small smile. "Don't worry, I don't frighten easy." To Leon, he nods, "I work at the library, but this isn't my usual sort of hang out. No offense intended." he smiles toward Maggi, clearly nervous, but oddly at ease with that.

Maggi had borderline lived at the library for a several month period and had never seen him. She was usually a bit wrapped up in her own world in all honesty, someone as even keel as Turner was likely to fall through the cracks of her mind in the face of finals. She side eyes Seth. "Monaghan you are the sketchiest mother effer." At least one half of the couple had social skills. 'Thanks' Maggi mouths to Ravn with thin lips. She was most definitely headed to the hospital this evening.

The strangest version of a customer service persona returns. "You are welcome to schmooze at the bar all you like 'Pretty Boy' but, I gotta get an ID to serve you anything but soda and cheese fries." The try hard grunge gal didn't think she had ID'd a single person since she took the bar over. This was all a strange overly responsible experience.

"This is the down low, pretty relaxed bar in town," Ravn says with a small laugh. "I should know, I used to work at the touristy one. I think an actual bar fight is more likely to happen at the Twofer than here. Also, Maggi likes to give people nicknames. I'm Casanova, apparently, and you are -- Pretty Boy. You might as well get used to it."

He takes a cigarette out of a pocket in his slashed-sleeve leather jacket (why would anyone assume that these men are thugs, come on) and toys with it, making no move to actually light it. It dances across his gloved knuckles instead. "Name's Ravn, Ravn Abildgaard. I'm sort of turning into a regular here, I think."

Well, it isn't like he can just come out and say the offering party got a bullet for his effort now, can he? Seth just smiles sweetly at Maggi and takes a sip from his whiskey glass. "Am I? Ravn, am I sketchy? Should I be offended by that, or should I take that as a compliment? I am so conflicted right now..." the enforcer retorts with a chuckle.

Seth turns his attention towards Turner, fixing the librarian with an icy stare, "No offense intended? You know who says that, people that mean to offend but just don't want to be called out on it." The enforcer keeps up the intimidating charade for a moment before letting it drop into a smile, "Just messin' with ya. Everyone here is pretty much a teddy bear, isn't that right? I'm Seth. Seth Monaghan."

The cigarette's emergence in Ravn's hand causes Seth's eyes to flicker over in that direction and the tip smokes, turning a nice cherry red.

"Monaghan, I swear, no bullshit," which translates roughly from Army to mean 'I'm absolutely about to bullshit you.' "The other night, you were sitting at that bar, and someone was sitting over in that booth," he points in example, really selling the bit. "And he looks at you..." At this point, Leon labs forward, taking a squinting look in the distance, pantomiming a look of concentration, likely the face of the imaginary patron he was trying to spin the story about, "And I see him mouth the words, 'Da Vinci?'" At this point, Leon sits back, lifting his palms in an innocent posture, "I'm not sure what they meant, but it's probably nothing, right?"

The smile follows not long after, though Leon was glancing between Maggi and the new possible patron, "Aw, c'mon, Magpie, he's probably good. You twenty one, man?" Leon looks to Turner for an answer.

It's not like Turner is the sort to really stand out, normally, either. It's like he saw one of those teen movies where the 'nerdy' girl gets a make over (which is actually just removing her glasses and brushing her hair out of the ponytail) and decided the 'before' would be his permanent go to look. He just needs some paint stained overalls and thick glasses... In fact, he looks distinctly on edge at the 'Pretty Boy' comments. He pulls a slim wallet out of his back pocket and offers his ID, just to reassure Maggi. Turner Quinn, 21 as of December, and dear gods that is an unfortunate photo. "Soda and cheese fries sound amazing, actually."

Oh, look, he can shrink, too. The young man positively wilts under Seth's charade, then finds himself laughing nervously. "Turner Quinn. Nice to meet you." to Leon, "As of December. I still can't rent a car, however..."

Maggi has absolutely no clue what the bull Leon was spinning meant, but if it had the chance to keep Seth's ego in check she would take it. She ponders Turner's reaction and wrinkles her face. The scrappy man gets another side eye at the use of his abilities. Sure, don't try to see if Ravn actually got to see a guy about a nose, but by all means, light a cig. The place was mostly empty so if someone was going to say anything about indoor smoking it would have to be her other half. Personally she didn't care.

Leaning forward, she raises a conspiratory palm to block her face to everyone other than Turner. Her nails are painted black and chipping. "Just for you I'll give a one time swap, but you'll be stuck with December. Something has to make up the karma for that shit ID" She winks and punches in an order to the kitchen, grabbing Turner a coke. "Ravn, don't sell yourself short. Nothing about you is normal. You don't have to be regular."

Ravn looks startled as his cigarette lights itself -- and then glances at Seth and chuckles. He quirks an eyebrow at Maggi and Leon alike -- possibly to find out whether he's supposed to put the blasted thing out. "But I like being normal," he tells the barkeep, grey eyes glittering with amusement. "You know me, I go to pretty great effort to not stand out."

Of course a statement like that doesn't help the Dane's cause. Maybe he knows it's a lost cause. It was lost from the day he decided that walking around in all black was a way to avoid attention. At least the plan has misfired consecutively for all five months he's been in town, so he's either not that serious about it or he's really slow on the uptake.

"Going to help myself to another whiskey while the bottle's here," he informs no one in particular and proceeds to do so. "Today feels like a multiple whiskey day. If I'm going to hurt like a hangover, I might as well get one."

Seth's eyes go wide and he snaps his head over towards Leon with a look of utter shock and surprise on his face. "Shhhh," the enforcer says, using his hands in a 'hush down' motion. "You can't say shit like that in public man! Shit. Now I am going to have to run again," the enforcer sighs dramatically with a shake of his head. "God damn it, I can't believe they found me again."

Seth sits back and leans against the counter, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. After a long enough pause, he eyes Leon and smirks, "Da Vinci? I'm not that sketchy. I can't be, Clayton likes me. "

Leon throws up his hands in mock disgust. The gig was up. The cat was out of the bag. He rolls his eyes. He grins. In his dramatic response, there's no response from Leon. Smoking was absolutely allowed in the Pourhouse. Let De La Vega come tell them otherwise.

The last bit of Seth's statement gets a short bark of a laugh, "Oh for fuck'sake." Another spot of laughter, Leon covering his face. "People have got to stop using Clayton of all people as an endorsement." He looks up again, trading glances with Maggi, "I mean, Isolde has been a solid hire, but come on."

"It's really bad, they didn't tell me they were taking it yet and wouldn't let me take it again because it was already laminated." He smiles, much more pleased with December. "Normal is overrated. Normal people don't make history." he wraps his hands around the cola, but doesn't take a drink yet, staring down into the dark liquid as if he might see the future reflected in it.

"I would say this is a judgement free zone but..." Maggi points at her face which more or less seems stuck in the 'J' portion of Myers Brigg. Regardless, the bottle is there under her direct action so there isn't much to be said. Ravn would have to fight Seth for the amber liquid anyway. That seemed more than enough of a gauntlet on it's own. Ravn's burning tobacco made her want one rather desperately, a habit she only indulged in when stressed. "Clayton was almost as weird as I was in school, that's like using Marilyn Manson as a professional reference.

Maggi nods to Turner, "That's what I keep telling people, it's how Ravn got Casanova and he argues!" A 'Ha' is thrown in after this remark for punctuation.

"I like Clayton," Ravn murmurs. "Good man. A lot sharper than he wants to look like. Solid ethics. Twitchy as hell but who isn't." He can't help a smile at Turner's observation about normal people, though. "Quite right, normal people don't make history. Those who can't do, teach. Guess what I do to pay my rent."

He appears to survive the brief and largely non-existent battle for the whiskey bottle, as well as decide that if his cigarette is going to light itself and no one is going to whine about it, then he's bloody well going to smoke it. Grey eyes glittering with amusement at Maggi's little ha! moment the Dane adds, "I argue because Casanova sounds like I'm prowling the dark corners for unsuspecting girls. You know me better than that. I prowl for unsuspecting cats."

"Clayton's moral compass only points one way," Seth says with a chuckle. "So I can't be all that bad, is all I was trying to say," the enforcer finishes as he lifts his glass to his lips. "He is an odd duck, to be sure, but he means well."

Seth surrenders the bottle of whiskey, but as soon as it is replaced onto the bar top he drains what is left in his glass and pours himself a refill. "Should I be offended I don't have a nickname? I'm just 'Monaghan', but that is just a cheap copout. Nicknames shouldn't be someone's last name."

Leon points to Turner with a smile, a confirmation he was taking the wisdom in what the kid said. He didn’t have a drink yet, or he would have raised it. There’s a dip of his chin to the repeated mixed praise of Clayton, shrugging, “Alright, I’ll defer to you two’s judgement.” He adds a gentle laugh, then looks to Ravn, eyes conspicuously going down the man’s clothing, “I mean... you usually dress for it?” He softens it with another grin to mean he was joking.

Turner falls silent, contemplative and thoughtful, but looking like he's enjoying the banter, too. He raises his drink to Leon, slightly, though it's only soda, then takes a drink, smiling. At least he doesn't look like he's going to leap out of his skin anymore.

Maggi shrugs towards the dark clad man. "It's all pussy." She states blatantly, bringing out Turner's cheese fries. She set's the order down before her patron, snickering at Leon. "I don't have anything against Clayton, just nothing for him either. Humans render opinions based on personal experiences and bias' though, so we will have to agree to diverge." Sometimes it was easy to forget Maggi had a masters degree and had only chosen to run the bar.

Cocking her head toward the rebel -rouser she adds flatly. "I would have given you Mulligan because you are always adjusting what cards you play and your last name rhymed so here we are, you all don't see the Whiskey complaining about it's name."

"You'll always be Irish to me," Ravn murmurs, and pointedly looks at a spot between Seth and Leon -- they get to decide which one is Irish, or if they're both Irish, or maybe his face is Irish. "Wearing black is practical, goddamnit. You try living in a backpack for a year or three, you learn to appreciate keeping things simple. Besides, I like black -- you should know, Leon, you got to meet me as the teenager I never was."

For all the ribbing he gets, the Dane seems pretty good-natured, though. One could get the impression that these are old jokes, banter between blokes who've developed some kind of understanding. Turner must have stumbled on that bar -- the one where the weirdos hang out. Or maybe the local cult. He looks up from his whiskey at Maggi's last comment there and snorts. "Yes. Yes, it is. All pussy, and I don't usually catch the damn cats, either. All right. You win this one."

Seth winces and spit-takes the whiskey he is currently sipping, casting his eyes over at Maggi as she unveils a nickname for him. Grabbing a little cocktail napkin, he wipes his face and the bar in front of him from the "Mulligan?! Really? For fuck's sake stick to Monaghan, for the love of all that is holy never call me Mulligan." Seth shudders and shakes his head, bringing his glass to his lips again to try and get a sip in without expelling it everywhere this time.

Making a hand motion, pointing to his own chest, then Seth, then Ravn, Leon asks the bouncer, “Does that sound like a jab?” He smiles regardless. Yes, it was all friendly ribbing in here. Propping a single elbow on the bar Leon leans down, the knuckles of his fist against his forehead as he assumes a somewhat dreamy pose. He stares at the blonde behind the bar, smiling at his wife as he looks her over. The man she’d called ‘Lion’ speaks in a breezy admiration, “Yeah, but the birds are always the best to chase.”

There's a smile of thanks from Turner as the cheese fries arrive, and he begins to tuck into them with obvious enjoyment. The weirdness within the bar is ignored with an easy banality, as if it's either something he sees all the time or something he's choosing not to notice. "I'd stick to Monaghan, too, if I were you." The look from Leon to Maggi is noted, however, and he stops in his devouring of cheese fries to appreciate it for a second... before realizing that might be weird and going back to the fries.

The brash woman snorts, to which of the men folk the reaction is aimed is ambiguous. It would have been valid at each for varying reasons. With a raised brow she looks on in challenge toward the bouncer. "You better work on being as straight up as you take your whiskey then, sketch-ball." She grabs a cloth to clean anywhere they may have become stickier than usual, not that it would help a situation.

"Casanova, What kinda folk are you even in to? I don't set up Mac because she doesn't like...uhhhh...people?" This was close enough to the truth, the two bonded over a dislike of the human race often. She leans forward and kisses Leon's cheek in the 'I'm not going to acknowledge your gross comment but I still kinda liked it' way. She squints at Turner while waiting for a reply, like she just noticed something about him.

"Mac's ace, isn't she?" Ravn blinks over the rim of his glass at Maggi's question, and then chuckles lightly. "I'm straight, if that's what you're asking, Magpie." He looks at the bartender as if the question genuinely surprised him for a moment, and then hitches a shoulder. "Mostly, though, I'm just too busy. Women tend to like attention -- and I tend to wander off in random directions, pursuing some story or book I haven't read, or otherwise getting distracted."

Seth smiles sweetly at Maggi and sips at his whiskey. "Maggi, you ask the impossible and you know it. I am as straight up as I am ever going to get unless some act of God happens, and I don't see that happening in this God-forsaken town anytime soon. So, I am what I am, and that is all that I am." Pause. "Yes, I just did quote Popeye."

"Ravn is a librosexual."

Leon grins when he gets the peck from Maggi, both eyes closing in amusement and pleasure, almost as if he were just winking with both eyes. There’s a short bark of a laugh at the ‘librosexual’ quip, but now it seemed it was Leon’s turn to look on in appreciation of a chill day at the bar, one of the chief reasons he had wanted to buy it in the first place. He briefly checks his phone, a habit he seems to recognize in a weird moment, then sets it on the bar. He gets temporarily lost in thought.

Turner smiles toward Ravn, “Nothing wrong with getting wrapped up in a good book. If people didn’t do that, I’d be out of a job.” He stops, noticing Maggi LOOKING at him, and meets her gaze ever so briefly before immediately looking away, down to his cheese fries, which are suddenly ever so interesting.

Maggi nods to Ravn, to confirm his statement. "I meant more like which Spice girl would you go to lunch with, but librosexual it is..." She is still looking at Turner. Her eyes go a little bit more blue, like there is a fire behind them. She nods again as if confirming something for herself. The woman spins on her heels and delivers a tumbler of bourbon to Leon, after all, he is on that side of the bar.

"If anything Monaghan, you defiantly won't find him in this bar. Too many heathens." Cocking her head, Maggi's gaze continues to be directed at Turner. "You're a Tri-bred, December."

"It's true," Ravn confirms good-naturedly. "I like awake at night, fantasising about the Encyclopedia Britannica in all its leatherbound glory. Also, Posh Spice, definitely. Though I base that completely on looks and I am no doubt a very shallow man with no understanding for the rich spiritual lives of uh, British teenage idols from when I was a kid."

Seth sips at his whiskey and snorts, "Regular den full of gypsies, tramps, and thieves." Or educated bartenders, locksmiths, history teachers, and sometimes assassins. Semantics.

"Posh? Really? Interesting. I would have pictured you for a Baby or Ginger fan myself," Seth retorts toward Ravn. "And just be careful of those papercuts."

Leon looks a little surprised at the bourbon, mostly because he was a bit distracted by inner thoughts. There’s a moment when he looks down at his phone again, tapping it to check the time. Then he shrugs and takes the glass up, smile and winking to Maggi, deciding he’d probably be fine if he got a call. He gives the current line of conversation thought but shrugs, “Shit, I don’t even remember what they looked like.” He Looks questioningly over at Maggi, as if wondering where she’d sort him on this one. He was shaking his head at Ravn and Seth’s antics, wincing.

"Tri-bred?" Turner tilts his head to one side slightly, "I promise, my last name isn't Mikaelson." He smiles, clearly trying to make a little joke of... whatever Maggi is talking about. Nope, nothing unusual about Turner, not at all.
"You're the reason we have to keep reordering the 50 Shades series, aren't you?" to Ravn. Look! Distraction! He continues with the cheese fries, keeping his expression light.

Maggi was perfectly pleased with Seth's determination of her bar and herself. This is possibly the first thing he's said that she has been overly pleased with all day. "You guys are goofy." Maggi says smiling her sardonic half smile.

Looking from the other three to Turner in a knowing way she refills his coke. "Means you are a three-way sparkler December, welcome to the weirdo's." She winks one coal lined eye before heading over to take care of a table of official customers that has entered and not just some hooligans at the bar.

"Scary Spice was the hottest of the lot but she was always making faces. And I'm honestly not certain what disturbs me more -- that we are seriously discussing which spice girl was best looking, or that I even know what they were called." Ravn laughs softly. "Also, for the record? If this is a den of gypsies, tramps, and thieves, I'll have you know that I have at some times in my life managed to meet all three qualifications for residence."

The copper blond nearly chokes on his whiskey at Turner's quip, though. Coughing, he puts the glass down and makes a face. "Please. God, no. No. I have had students turn in essays to me on those, claiming that they represent -- " he makes air quotes " -- 'modern folklore'. Newsflash: Bored housewife BDSM porn is not folklore. Whether it's even literature I'll leave for the literature critics -- but to qualify as folklore, even in the capacity that things like Slenderman does, it needs to convey a lesson, some kind of life instruction. Rich white dudes are hot is not a lesson. I'm not convinced it's a fact, either."

He takes a breath. No one actually asked for a lecture. "Goofy is my middle name, anyway. Ravn Christian Goofy Abildgaard. That's me."