2021-02-25 - Every Night and Every Day

A barfly's gotta fly somewhere. And with things being as they are, this one has landed neatly in the Pourhouse. Joe's nursing a Jack and Coke, so it's a middle of the road kind of drunk day, in terms of the alcoholic barometer. High end being a Four Horsemen, lower being a Cuba Libre, or some other oddity like a Link-up. He's at the bar, coat off and hung on a hook on the wall, and thus he's only in jeans and t-shirt. Teasing the bartender about something, by his sidelong smile.

It's not that late in the afternoon when Ravn wanders in, gloved hands in coat pockets, purple scarf up around his nose. He walks slowly -- like someone tired still; might be that gunshot still giving him trouble in spite of all the healing that's been poured into him lately. Limping to the counter to place an order for a whiskey, not too bloody cheap, he scampers onto a barstool and nods at Joe. "Howdy, neighbour. Gonna get back on the water soon at least. How's life?"

Which comment conjures up one of those slow, lazy smiles. "That's such good news, isn't it?" he wonders, blinking as he lifts his glass. "'s what i'm waitin' for. Bein' out on the water, fishin' and hangin' around." Joe props his jaw up on a palm. "I've lived in coastal cities nearly all my life. Can't imagine not doin' it now."

"Can't really imagine living somewhere far from the ocean," Ravn agrees. "In Denmark, you can't be. You can literally not get an hour's drive away from some coast or other, without leaving the country. My home? By a lake, ten minutes' drive from the ocean." He pauses and dips into a pocket for a cigarette -- the law might have issues with smoking in bars but the law isn't here (and the law's boyfriend isn't exactly uptight). "Although right now ocean and me..."

He glances down at his leg. "Fucked up dream. Ruined my legs. Got them back, sort of, but. All underwater."

By now, he shouldn't be surprised by what Dreams can and will do. But that doesn't stop Joe from glancing down at said leg. "Were you a merman?" he inquires, mildly. Hey, it's the first thing he thought of.

No, there's no sign of annoyance at Ravn going for a cigarette, though there is a raised brow. "I don't know why I thought you didn't smoke," he observes.

"I don't smoke a lot. Mostly when I'm tired." Ravn lights the cigarette and tucks his zippo back in a pocket. Then he shakes his head. "Not a merman this time. Some kind of -- D&D party, I think. Turner said we were like characters in a role-playing game. I was the rogue. There was -- well, Turner as some kind of cross-dressing priest, Leon as a paladin in more plate armour than I'd think it possible to walk with. Kyle -- Mac's shop guy -- not sure what he was. The older guy from the library, same. And of course, there was a certain de la Vega with a bow and arrow, taking lead as our ranger."

He grins slightly at Joe, in that way that says, not really surprised if he didn't even mention. Shit like this is par for the course around here. Just another day that ends in -y. "We were in some kind of underwater temple. Fought some fish people. Opened a tomb. Bloody confusing -- and to be honest, bloody embarrassing."

HE should know better than to laugh at what was probably frightening and fraught at the time. But Joe can't entirely help it - he clamps his lips together to keep from smiling, but it's still there in his eyes. "That's wild," he says, mildly, when he can finally trust himself to speak. "No, de la Vega didn't mention it. I guess he's getting so jaded that if it doesn't involve an actual death or maiming, he doesn't bring it up. Glad to see you're recovering, though. I haven't been....." He pauses. "It's not that I haven't been in one in a while. We met a book who was also a black hole.....a personification of one aspect of the Shine." And indeed, Joe's looking a little dimmer than is his wont, but not distressed. "Donated a little bit to keep her going, keep the corrupted version of the words from getting in."

Ravn nods. "I think I heard something about that? Not a lot -- just somebody mentioning books and keepers of books."

He receives his whiskey at last and takes a long sip from it. "So, the embarrassing bit? Rosencrantz was there too. As the bard. And you know that guy, he makes everyone else stare at him like he's made from candy, because that's what a Rosencrantz does. Except this time. For some reason the dream had me wearing tight leather pants and an open jacket and fucking nothing else, and I had Turner staring at me like he was seriously questioning his own budding sexuality there."

Deep breath. "And now that I have that off my chest -- tell me about books."

He actually ends up with one long, inked hand over his mouth. The laugh makes it through, nonetheless, mostly in the form of snorts and snickering. When he's got control of himself, he takes a sip of his drink and tries to assume a more judicious expression.

A moment to collect his thoughts, and he says, "This is the second one I've encountered. First one - I came to on a plain with a thunderstorm comin' and a door before me. Frame filled with what looked like quicksilver. Others were there. Through the door, we ended up standin' in water. There was a waterspout ahead of us, with a book in it...A book made of precious stones, somehow. We helped destroy it, in order to be remade new and uncorrupt."

He licks his lips. "This second one was less of a ....battle, I guess."

"Your boyfriend dragged me through half of that temple by the belt," Ravn murmurs. Or, let's be honest here, whines. "Not sorry he didn't abandon me to the fishmen but Christ, I'm never going to look at my belt the same way again."

He listens carefully to the description of the books though. Books are his turf, very much so -- as are archetypes, and nothing speaks so highly of the very fundamentals of how Gray Harbor and the Veil works as the symbolic value of a book. Books are more than simple repositories of human wit and knowledge; books represent creation itself, the laws and structure that shapes life out of chaos. Books are rules, they are symbols of creative power harnessed for a purpose. It is written. Words that recur in every culture possessed of script.

"There are beings on the other side that are the sources of our powers. It's....I don't even pretend to understand it," Joe says, after another mouthful of booze. "Not a bit. But these books are also beings, somehow. This one....she showed us a picture of herself. She was a shadowy figure, but resolved into something like a woman, at the end. But she was also what I'd swear was a black hole, some sort of singularity....like.....maybe our art is a form of energy, generated by things that are somehow like stars. But taken out of the world or refined by these other things. De la Vega was there...."

"This place does a number on how you think reality works, doesn't it." Ravn sips his whiskey again. "It's kind of funny when you think about it. We're battling existential forces and very mundane things at once, never anything in the middle. Cosmic horrors, itty bitty drama. Speaking of which, don't be too surprised if -- fuck, I shouldn't gossip like an old maid, but, things got complicated for Vic lately."

"It sure does," Joe allows, but he sounds....eager somehow, rather than frightened or uneasy. "It's like....when I was in Japan, I heard a Buddhist saying. 'Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water'. In other words....the daily stuff goes on, no matter how drastic or life-changing the big stuff gets."

He shifts on his stool, trying to find another point that'll ease the bad hip, takes a sip of his drink, cocks an eye. "Yeah?" he asks, mildly. "I haven't talked to her in a while. I was helpin' her with her house...but we kinna fell out of touch."

"She did just spend a lot of time in hospital rather than bar hopping," Ravn points out. "Nothing major -- just some confusion about the whole no labels thing. Another girl was eyeing up Seth and you know how that goes -- suddenly no labels sounds like a really bad idea. Reminded me why I'm not on the dating scene, to be honest." He pauses and adds, a little more modestly, "That sounded conceited as hell. It's not like I've ever had two women eye me up at the same time anyhow."

The sailor fixes him with a dry look. "Part of it is that I eventually came to the realization that her flirting with me had very little to actually do with me in any other capacity than a stepping-stone to Javier," he says, lazily. "And....if you're not willin' to commit, you don't get to make claims. If you keep it so casual you can't put a name to it, there's no boundaries involved, y'know?"

"I know that it's not my business to tell either of them what to do," Ravn agrees. "Imagine they'll work it out -- not like anything happened besides another girl thinking Monaghan's a looker. But it might be time to sit down and have that talk, sure."

He empties his whiskey and motions for another. "My legs feel like they're frozen. And this reminds me of my dead ex. Who threw absolute fucking ragefests if I even talked to another woman, regardless of how bloody well not available that other woman might be. I need another drink."

"Time to fish or cut bait," Joe agrees, with that crooked grin. "Man, the more I hear about your ex.....the more she sounds like a complete piece'a work. I'm sorry, man. The whole situation seems like it was a tragic one, but at least you're free and wiser."

Whereupon he looks a hair guilty. "You mind if I, uh, snag a cigarette from ya?" he wonders. He shouldn't be smoking. He's said he's quit. He's mostly quit. "I was lucky - I only really got taken to the cleaners by one woman, and we broke it off 'fore we were married. Which is a damn good thing, because I bet I'd be payin' alimony yet."

Are his ears burning? Maybe? If not they should be, but in any case one half of the topic of conversation walks into the Poo/urhouse, opening the door with a little more force than is probably required. He looks around first for Maggi, and not seeing the owner/bartender he saddles up towards the bar to flag down whoever it is that does happen to be on shift tonight. "Whiskey," is the only word that makes its way out of his lips as he plops down into one of the barstools. He doesn't exactly join Ravn or Joe, but still remains close enough to be 'social' as the need arises.

He gives both men a slow upnod as he pulls out his phone, not realizing that he was just the topic of conversation. "Ravn. Joe," he greets before his eyes flick down to the screen in front of him and he starts to tap away on the keyboard.

"Help yourself." Ravn slides the packet over along with the lighter. Then he nods in approval as his glass is topped up and rests one elbow on the counter. "She was. I was this lonely idiot who was grateful that somebody attactive and intelligent would give him the time of day. Didn't realise that what she wanted was a dog. Got around to breaking it off with her before the wedding. She went and got herself killed in a fit of pique. So yeah -- older, wiser, and more importantly, free."

Seth gets a glance and a nod back. "Irish." Maybe Ravn doesn't want to prod a man who so very obviously is off his balance. Might be he has some human decency left in him after all.

"Don't mind if I do, thanks," Joe says. He taps a cigarette out of the packet, settles it at his lips, and lights up. A few puffs, and he slides pack and lighter back with a little nudge of a fingertip. "Man," he says, shaking his head. "Mine wasn't quite that bad. But I realized that was she was into was what she saw as the glamour of datin' an astronaut. She didn't actually like me all that much....and that job is fuckin' hard on relationships, even when you ain't trainin' for a mission. You're on the road one day out of three...."

He grins at Seth, conspiratorial. "Hey, man. You doin' a'right?"

Seth hitches a shoulder in a shrug and glances up from the phone screen to Ravn and Joe. "Surviving one day at a time, one day at a time. This fucking place is always tossing a new curveball at you just when you think you have shit figured out. You?" If Seth is privy to the topic of conversation being the men and their exes, he doesn't elaborate with a story of his own. Maybe he doesn't have a story that compares, or maybe the topic is just a little too much of a raw nerve to poke at the moment.

As the whiskey arrives, the glass doesn't even have the chance to touch the wood of the countertop before Seth has it in his hand and is taking a sip from it, cradling it in his hand like a valuable jewel.

Ravn reaches for a cigarette for himself as well. He must be tired. "Same deal. Wasn't in love with me, was in love with what I represented. Which is why she got so bloody upset if I talked to other women -- didn't want to lose what she had, didn't want the competition. Bit ironic considering that if she'd just kept calm about it, we'd probably have been married today and she'd still be alive."

"Got my legs frozen and unfrozen in a bad dream," he replies to Seth's question. "And, yeah. That's Gray Harbor. Go low, we'll knee you in the face. Go high, we'll knee you in the fork. Either way, we'll get you down. The Veil plays hardball. We're here to hold your hair if you need, man."

"I'm doin' okay. Recovered, lookin' forward to summer and real sailin'," Joe enthuses, blue eyes bright. He snorts at Ravn, reaches up to tug one of his own curls. Longer than ever - he's a much scruffier looking creature than he was when he arrived a year or so ago. "I s'pose we are," he says, more gently. He shifts, props an elbow up on the bar, and takes a long drag with his free hand, exhales through his nostrils.

Seth eyes Ravn and smirks, shaking his head. "I'm nowhere near shoving my face into a toilet to hurl, and even if I was I can handle my own hair." There is a pause as Seth takes another sip from his glass, "But thanks nonetheless. Legs were frozen?" he asks, this topic of conversation for more interesting than whatever is going on with him, at least to him. "You ok?"

Seth nods to Joe, "I can't wait to get out of the winter gear. I've always hated the winters. Way too cold and dreary," he agrees as he watches the pair with their cigarettes, eyeing the smoke as it trails up towards the ceiling. "You know what this town needs? A hookah bar."

"Bad dream," Ravn says, as if that explains everything; in Gray Harbor, it does. "One which I spent half naked in questionable Renfaire gear that made me look like the cover of some middle-aged housewife's bodice ripper novel. If I blush crimson next time I have to look Rosencrantz or de la Vega in the eyes, this is why. Can handle my legs getting frozen and unfrozen but I am officially Not Okay with being designated male stripper, or whatever the hell that was supposed to be."

Ravn's comment has Joe nearly choking on his drink. "Dammit, Ravn," he says, when he can speak again. "That's....both awful and hilarious. Rosencrantz at least probably enjoyed the show, he ain't got a lot of shame, and he does like a pretty man."

He scoots an ashtray over to them using Glimmer, merely because he can, and ashes delicately into it. "I hear that. I'm from somewhere where it don't snow, year to year, and even livin' in Russia for a few years wasn't enough to prepare me, y'know? And you're right, it does. I like a good hookah, though I ain't had it a lot."

"Oh, so you mean how I feel when Itz is around and I am in a kilt, except you have more shame and embarrassment involved than I do," chuckles Seth as he sips at his whiskey. "Just go with it, man. Nothing wrong with being someone's eye-candy as long as they aren't obscene about it...but this is Itz we are talking about. Yeah...you're fucked."

The enforcer nods to Joe, "Maybe I will just get a hookah from online. I'm sure you can get everything you need, right? I haven't had hookah in forever, and there is nothing like lounging around and just passing the pipe with some nice flavored tobacco and a good drink."

"I'm not worried about Rosencrantz. He likes what he sees, power to him -- not like he's going to get awkward about it." Ravn sips his drink. "That kid, Turner, though -- looked at me like he couldn't decide if he wanted to rip my leather pants off as well, or run away screaming. And that bothers me, because I don't particularly want to make anyone uncomfortable, and I don't like being objectified either. Ixnay on the male stripper career. Not for me."

He quirks an eyebrow at the other two in turns. "Would you believe I've never tried that?"

"You surely can," Joe agrees, on a sigh. "Man, first time I tried hookah I was stationed on a carrier in the Gulf, had leave in Bahrain." There's something reminiscent about that smile. "Never have owned one, though. How much can they be?"

Joe cocks a brow at Ravn. "That kid is so deep in the closet he's in Narnia," he says. "I find him....mmm." A moment where he looks for the right words. "How does a boy with access to the internet stay that naive, even here?"

"They can't be all that much," Seth says as he taps on his phone a bit more, "Looks like an average of about $40 for a single hose one, and I am sure you can get higher quality for a higher price. Charcoals and tobacco aren't bad either. Hell, you can be set up easy for a single person for under $80. Maybe I should open up a hookah bar, stop working as a bouncer." the enforcer says with a smirk.

"Turner...have I met the kid? Maybe someone needs to give him a lesson in manners...or at least some gay porn."

"Beats me. I wasn't exactly a fast developer either when it came to girls myself, but I did have a basic idea of how stuff works when I was twenty." Ravn upends his glass. Whiskey like water -- it's one of those days. Sometimes he drinks very lightly. Some days, not. "I should be limping on home, though. Got some letters to write, about that community centre idea. Don't have a lawyer in mind yet so I'm harrassing my own. He's nine hours into the future so he loves it when I call him in the afternoon."

He glances at Seth as he hops off the barstool. "Red-headed kid. Pretty as a girl. Neighbour to Tumnus the Faun. See you two guys around, all right? Hell, I practically live here these days."

And off he is, though at a somewhat less brisk pace than usual. Frozen legs do not move fast.

"Last thing I need is this kid convinced I'm a chickenhawk that's after him," Joe opines, raspily. "My rep in this town is bad enough. But.....seriously. Porn's no good guide to how to actually have sex but....I feel like it might be the eye-opener he could use." He cranes his neck, glances over. "That ain't bad. Maybe you should. Or suggest they have a hookah room where you work."

Then he lifts a hand in farewell to Ravn. "You have a good day, man. Tell me more about this community center, sometime?"

"Later, Darth," Seth calls out to Ravn with a raise of his hand. "We'll talk."

To Joe, Seth hitches a shoulder. "I can ask about doing one at the Firefly. Might be something to get more people in the door and that is never a bad thing. I'll have to chat about that with the boss."

The Pourhouse isn't de la Vega's usual haunt, but maybe he's decided on a change of pace this evening. Or maybe a little birdie told him Joe might be here. A little birdie in the form of a text message. He is, in fact, in the process of shoving his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans as he shoulders his way inside. His ballcap's looking a little soggy from the rain, as is his battered leather jacket. He veers toward the bar to place an order; no surprise what for. Then turns slightly to take stock of which locals have braved the miserable weather to be here tonight.

It's become one of Joe's, after getting banned from the Twofer. And really, he's comfortable in far worse dives than this, after all those years in the Navy. "You should do that," he agrees, tipping the rim of his glass at the bouncer. Jack and Coke, one of his regular things...and honestly, probably mixed stronger here than at the bar on the water.

The sound of the door makes him look up, and he grins, lazily. "Hey, Javier," he says, beckoning the cop over with a languid curl of his fingers, after he hastily stubs out his cigarette. "Come have a drink."

The name 'Javier' doesn't cause Seth to look up, in fact he does the opposite and moves to avert his gaze towards the cop almost like a kid afraid he has been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. The last time he saw de la Vega, Seth had just finished putting a round into Reyes, something that really hasn't been discussed as far as what ramifications that action may have. The bouncer just clears his throat and shoots back the remainder of the whiskey in his glass before setting it down and sliding it over towards the other side for a refill.

"Yeah," he nods, "That sounds like a plan. Hell, if I can't get it done at the Firefly, I am sure the idea won't be lost. Maybe Maggi or Easton will like it."

The familiar faces seated nearby at the bar aren't too hard to spot. Once he's got his drink slid over, and a sip skimmed off the top, Javier pushes off the counter and ambles over slowly.

The still-smoking cigarette is noted, dark eyes flicking from it to Joe as he claims the seat next to the sailor. A quick rifling of fingers through blond hair, in lieu of a greeting. "Monaghan," on the other hand, gets a steady look unaccompanied by a smile. "Am I interrupting something?"

"We just gossipin'," Joe allows, lazily. He's reoriented himself on the stool, just a little. Not yet drunk enough to get touchy-feely in public, though that threshold surely isn't far...but that lack doesn't stop him from bunting his head up into the ruffling of his hair. The Chief'll end up with a lapful of sailor, sooner or later. "He was talkin' about suggestin' that they have a hookah room at the Firefly, or maybe somewhere else. Nothin' like sittin' around smokin' good flavored tobacco."

"What he said," Seth agrees with an acknowledging motion of his hand. "I just saw him and Ravn sitting there smoking and got to thinking I haven't had hookah in a while, and that there isn't a place in town to have it. It seemed a shame to waste that market," the enforcer says with a shrug. "A den where people can just chill with a hookah pipe and just shoot the shit seems like a good idea to me."

Gossiping? The admission's met with a slight raise of the cop's brow as he settles in, and another sip of his tequila. "I'm honestly surprised no-one's thought to open one by now," he admits. "A hookah lounge, I mean. Saw a few of them in Seattle." Though he does think to ask after a moment, "The fuck are you smoking again, then, Cavanaugh?" If he has any beef with the enforcer, it's certainly not something he's announcing. But de la Vega tends to play his cards close to his chest.

"I kinna am, too. We ain't that far from Seattle that ideas don't filter out," Joe notes, with one of those languid tips of his head. Ruiz's question is greeted with an innocent look, and he nods at the ashtray. "Whatever kinna cigarette Ravn smokes," he offers. "Plain ol' tobacco. You know I don't smoke nothin' but tobacco." Edibles are the way to go, it seems. "Fell off the wagon a li'l bit." He's supposed to be quit, after all.

"Maybe I will start one up. Can't be too hard, right? Step one, rent a space. Step 2, buy some hookahs and tobacco. Step 3, profit," smirks Seth. "Start off with basic drinks like juice and soda until you get a liquor license. Maybe get a kitchen for snacks. This really doesn't sound all that out of the realm of possibility."

Even if de la Vega isn't showing outside signs of any issue with Seth, the enforcer still keeps one eye on the man. His last name alone is all the beef needed, really. "I mean, of course, unless you have to deal with smoking laws, and even then I believe there are permits or something."

Ruiz starts to respond to something said, but is cut off by his cell phone vibrating with a call. Frowning, he downs another sip of tequila before digging it out to check the number. "Shit, I've got to take this." Followed by him speaking gruffly into the phone as he ambles off down the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.

"Might as well," Joe chuckles, finishing off his drink. "I mean, it does sound easy enough. And this town needs more places to hang out that aren't either bars or the coffeeshop. Might talk to Dante Taylor - he opened that fancy restaurant. See if he has any advice about startin' a business here."

"I could talk to Dante, or I could just call Felix." Seth snorts, "Ok, as I would actually bother Felix. About anything. I'll hit up Dante and see what his take on it is, I owe Vic a dinner over there anyway."

A flicker of that impish humor, at the mention of his kinsman. "Why not? You and Felix not get along?" he wonders. And then he cocks his head. "Owe her a dinner? What, you lose a bet?"

Speak of the Devil and She shall appear. Vic steps into the Pourhouse, clearly just off a shift at the Twofer, since she's still wearing the tee with her jeans and coat, and her hair is back in a ponytail. She zeroes in on Seth like she has some sort of GPS tag on him. "Yes, he owes me a fancy dinner," she announces to Joseph as she plunks down beside Monaghan.

"Felix and I get along fine," Seth says with a hitch of his shoulder, "When I see him that is. But he has more important things to do with his time than having his younger cousin bother him about the possibility of starting a hookah bar. I know better than to waste his time over something so trivial."

As Vic arrives with her comment, Seth rolls his eyes a bit exaggeratedly and glances over at Joe, "Yes, I owe her a fancy dinner in way of an apology because I am supposed to be a mind reader and just know things, even when things are the opposite of what I have been told." He smirks, giving the blonde ex-cop a wink to show he has no real animosity about the whole thing. "But at least things are clear now, so there is that."

"What - 'd you leave the seat up one too many times?" Joe offers, after a moment, gaze flicking between them. "I mean, back in Georgia, that's grounds for divorce." The sailor scratches the end of the scar on his brow with a fingernail. Deliberating a moment, before he summons the bartender on duty with a lifted hand. Another Jack and Coke - either he's got the big Russian bike out in the lot, or he intends to walk home.

"Seth here was wholly uneducated on the fact that a woman showing up at his door with Tequila, in a tanktop and full makeup, is not there to say thank you, she's there to show thanks by way of her vagina." Vic smirks at Joe and orders a bottled beer for herself. "But yeah, everything is crystal clear now," she says with a grin and a brow arch.

"Oh, no, I was very aware of her intentions. She wasn't subtle about them what so ever," clarifies Seth, "I, however, I still said no...multiple times. I have a witness. Now, I am sure her goal was to get me drunk on tequila, get my inhibitions lowered, and then pounce on the whole 'no label' thing. Wouldn't have worked though, I have a rational fear of lead poisoning, and I am enough of a mindreader to know some things."

The comment about showing up with a bottle of tequila and the intention of intimate thanks has Joe looking faintly puckish. He refrains from noting aloud that that method's often worked for him. No better way to tame a certain somewhat surly Mexican.

What he finally says is, "So there is a label. It's just unreadable."

Vic snorts at Seth. "The look on Ravn's face was priceless. I think he thought there was going to be a double murder right in front of him." She looks utterly amused, even as she sets a hand on his knee. Yep, she's evolved to having a label, dammit. "He's my boyfriend. There. I said it outloud in front of a witness!"

Wren rolls in, shaking his umbrella off just outside the doorway. Brr. He gives a shiver and shakes his black wool overcoat to warm up. Right then, to business. He tromps to the bar, looking for a free seat. The umbrella gets tucked under, against the bar. He calls to the bartender as he settles in, "Hey, boss. you have anything back there old enough to vote? I need to celebrate, here." He pats a little tattoo on the bar top with his enthusiasm.

"Truth be told, I wasn't sure there for a second there myself," laughs Seth. "Or at least one, and I wasn't entirely sure if that one was going to be me, or Nova. But now that we have all the cards out on the table, it will be easier for me to decline. I think she was hoping our situation was open. Hell, she was even talking about you being involved." Seth says with a grin, "Her trying to 'say thank you' aside, she seemed alright. Almost blinded me when I looked at her shine, strongest I think I have ever seen. Very street. Almost stabbed Ravn once because she thought he was a cop. I guess he went asking questions about a murder in her strip club? Not exactly the place I would go for questioning like that."

The enforcer looks over at Joe, "Not so unreadable. Not anymore."

As Wren enters, Seth's eyes shift over to him and watch him as a hawk would prey for a moment before shifting back to Joe and Vic, "I wouldn't worry Vic. I think you probably scared her off and/or got her pissed off enough at me she won't talk to me again."

Joe's only sipping lazily at his Jack and Coke, as he listens. Expression a little arch, but friendly enough. "Well, it seems like a reasonable enough assumption to me," he says, finally. "I mean, if you don't call it what it is, how was she to know it was closed off?" He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Which....you know, I don't know how closed off what I'm in actually is," His tone is musing, rather than uneasy. "Itz used'a have a couple girls on the side."

Wren gets a nod, a faint little grin. "What's the occasion?" he wonders.

Vic sips her beer as it's delivered. "Good. She was way too thirsty for my comfort. I don't want her sniffing around waiting for an opening. Besides, if she tried to stab Abildgaard, she's already on my list." No one stabs her apprentice. She chuckles at Joe. "Whatever you have, it seems to work for you. So enjoy it." Wren gets narrowed blue eyes sweeping over him. Unfamiliar face.

Wren hears more about this 'Shine' business. Oookay. Maybe he isn't crazy? Wait, what? More about people stabbing each other? How violent /is/ this town? He slides an askance glance over at Seth on his way to look at Joseph and smile, "Hiya. Joe, right? Vicky says, 'Hi,' by the way." He waves for her. "New job over at Dance Evolution. Guess I'm staying longer than I thought," he says wryly and shrugs.

"Well, I don't know if it was a literal stabbing. I'll have to ask Darth about the details, but he and she seemed to be at least getting along. Maybe even more so now that they have the shared experience of...whatever that was," Seth chuckles. "I should have asked him what happened after they walked out. I'll have to find out." The enforcer looks over to Vic and leans in, giving her a quick peck on the cheek, "You know how you once told me a little jealousy was hot. I can confirm, you're right."

Seth's eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of Dance Evolution, "That place is already reopened? The fuck?"

The passing on of greetings makes Joe chuckle. "Thanks, man. And yeah, it's Joe." But he's already fishing in his pocket for his wallet, coming out with enough to cover tab and tip. He leaves it on the bar in cash, heaves himself up with the kind of care that means his leg is giving him trouble. "Good to see y'all," he says to the couple, as he snags his greatcoat from the hook. "Glad to see you doin' all right," he adds to Wren, he shrugs into it, settles it with a hitch of his shoulders. Then he's meandering into the rainy night.

Vic drains the last of her beer. "Definitely hot," she agrees, waving Joe off. "I'm gonna head back to your place and shower the Twofer off of me. See you there soon?" she quips at Seth.

Wren takes it easy on the bartender when he gets the What-kinda-fuckin'-fern-bar-you-think-this-is,-sissy-boy look. He shrugs and laughs, "How about a neat scotch, then? Do I see Bowmore up there?" He nods to Joseph then turns to Seth, "Sure is. I'm assuming you are talking about all the wall patches?" He makes a mock-eye-twitch, "Seriously. How violent is this town? Everyone says it's fine, but I keep hearing about crime waves and stabbings and doors being kicked in and arson when they aren't discussing what a person should do in a gun... fight...? This is a reasonable topic for daily life around here?"

Seth nods to Vic, a smile forming on his face. "Yeah, I'll be right behind ya as soon as I settle up the tab here. Don't use up all of the hot water."

Turning to Wren as he stands, Seth shakes his head and sighs. "More violent than any town this size should ever be, but hopefully, things are going to drop down to a more reasonable level for most people now that certain things have been settled. Gunfights are not the norm, no. You should be good."

Seth pulls out his wallet and tosses a few bills onto the bar to pay for Vic and his drinks before he heads towards the door. "Later."

Wren chuckles and shakes his head. Good to know? The smoky drink arrives. Mmmm... Local potential for violence is forgotten for glorious burning happiness. He lifts his hand in goodbye and pulls out a ratty paperback from his coat pocket, settling in to enjoy his evening.