2021-05-31 - The Beginning of a Good Joke

Ellery Briar picked the meeting location based on what came up first when he Googled 'Gray Harbor bar,' so score one for the Pourhouse's SEO? He's at the bar, looking in his element even though he's an out-of-towner. Red plaid over a white ringer tee and solid, well-cut denim with some signs of wear. He's got a nearly empty pint in front of him and he periodically looks from his phone to the door. "So there's really only like...two bars in this town? Seriously?" he says, his voice not unusual, but somehow distinctive. "Man. My experience says town this size like to drink more. Speaking of." He taps his glass to indicate the desire for a refill.

The door opens and a woman brushes in to meet her friends for a little 'girls day out' chardonnay, past a man who most certainly doesn't seem as home in a place like this or maybe out in crowded public at all. Caed looks fresh off the bus, the large duffel slung over one shoulder and a rolling suitcase a dead give away. He hesitates there near the entrance, fiddling with tucking in his wrinkled cream dress shirt back into the tweed of his pants.

Itzhak rolls in almost on Caed's heels. He's eyeing him warily, from behind, though it'd be hard to miss the intensity with which he's doing it. "Hey, do I know you?" he says to him, abrupt, as Caed hesitates. There's someone else he doesn't know here, too, and Ellery also gets a looking-over, Itzhak's expression closed and irritated.

"Dude," comes a voice from just past Caed, further into the bar. Ellery drops off his stool and extends his arms wide, "I didn't expect you to come straight here. You coulda dropped your bags off first." Before the ex-priest knows it, he's getting a bear hug from the unusually tall man. He slops a bit of his beer that splashes his suitcase. "Oh, shit, sorry man." He smiles dopily in a way that suggests that is not his second beer. "It's good to see you. C'mon. Hop a stool and we'll get you a drink." He meets Itzhak's gaze for a moment, flashes a winning smile and salutes lazily. "Evenin'."

There is a moment when all Caed does is blink at Itzhak. Perhaps he's trying to wrestle the man's likeness from the cobwebs of his memory, "I don't..I am afraid that you've mistaken me for another bloke." He speaks quietly in response to Itzhak, his tongue thick with an Irish brogue most notable by the way he can't seem to form the 'th' sound and it comes out more like 'dat'. But then enter Ellery stage right, grabbing him with bands of arms that leaves him coughing out an awkward laugh. "Where was I to be going then?"

Some rumors might be starting to float around that Fern's started drinking again. This is her second time in the Pourhouse in 2 weeks after not stepping inside of it for the better part of two years. But are you really a fully recovered alcoholic if you can't sit in a bar and not drink? She walks in not too long after Itzhak and Caed, her wide blue eyes looking around curiously. She notably lingers on Itzhak for a few extra seconds before advancing to the bar. She recognizes him from the wild bar fight that definitely didn't happen here the other day.

"Evening everyone." She offers with a polite smile. Her attire is...quirky. A black jumper with a yellow, sleeveless turtleneck. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun. "Just get into town?" She asks Caed with a quirked eyebrow before the bartender makes one of those 'give me your order so I can keep moving' noises. "Whoops...can I get a Coke and fries please?" Flashing the bartender an innocent grin before her focus is back on the trio.

Now they're hugging each other. This is worse and worse. Itzhak growls a raspy little sound under his breath and maneuvers around the two men to sling himself on a barstool. Well, Gray Harbor does not have a great reputation for welcoming outsiders, that's for sure...even though, by his accent, Itzhak is nothing like a home-town boy. "It's an expression, Irish, it means I don't know you." He glances over at Fern, who he kind of recognizes but not all the way. That night was wild. To her, he jerks his chin in an upnod, so that's better than surly snarling at least? "You okay?"

To be fair, Ellery is doing most of the hugging. "Wherever it is you're staying," he says to Caed. "Or uh, did I forget that part? There's not a lot of places for short-term in this town so we're probably staying at the same place."

For his part, he sounds more like a local than either of the other two men. He quirks a grin at Itzhak. "Did we stumble in to some sort of members-only pub or something?" He looks around, as if searching for some sort of sign. "I must've missed the velvet rope." Those words could be snarky from someone else but he delivers them with a sort of gee-golly earnestness that telegraphs that he meant that in a lightly teasing way. He grins at Fern, then cants his head. "Is that the password? Coke and fries?"

Color touches the crests of Caed's cheeks like the blush on a peach at Itzhak's words and ruddies up the skin at his collar. "They're always after me Lucky Charms?" He offers, but when the quip sounds more like a question, it loses all validity. "Aye, so it seems." He answers both Ellery and Fern with that same sentence as he takes a step back to safety and rings the back of his neck. "Hadn't had a chance to look yet, the bus was running late and I didn't want to miss our time to be meeting. I guess I'll follow you back and get a room?"

Fern's started drinking again.

Joe Cavanaugh has arguably never stopped from the moment he was legal...and with certain things in his past, he's become far more of a regular in the Pourhouse than he was. The sailor rolls in with his usual limp accented by what must've been a day on the water. He's dressed in t-shirt and jeans, looking comfortable and a little wind-burned. It's Itzhak he greets as he heads for the bar, "Hey there, tall drink'a water, how're things treatin' you?"

Fern flashes a grin and a wink to Ellery. "Might just be." Sliding into a free seat. "Or maybe it's just a Coke and fries. Won't know till ya try it out, right?" She chuckles at that. For what it's worth? Fern definitely sounds like a local. And there's a brief look that crosses her features that might convey she thinks poor Caed is a long, long way from home. "Ain't seen either of you around before. What brings you to our lovely, little slice of the PNW?"

To Itzhak she offers, "Oh yeah, I'm right as rain. You?" She sips her soda when it arrives and gives a wave to Joseph when she sees him. "Hey there Joe. Haven't been playing one the carousel anymore, have you?" She is briefly reminded of the green gem that is in fact tucked into one of her jumper pockets. She really needs to find an expert in potentially Veil-Touched jewels.

Nobody rising to the bait makes Itzhak let go of his irritation, some. It's no fun when they don't fight back. "Youse guys want a room, there's the murder hotel on the pier. But ain't nobody been murdered there in hardly weeks, it's fine." ...he seems to be totally sincere about that. "What brings youse to town?" When Joe rolls in, Itzhak half-smiles at him, lopsided. "Well if it ain't the old tar." Like he doesn't see Joe almost every day. Then he looks Fern over, eyes narrow, as if gauging if she's lying to him or not. "Aight," he settles on as answer.

Ellery, gentleman that he is, helps move Caed's bags out of the way and snugs them up against the bar. He wobbles a little as he does this. Which might be concerning considering he's nearly six and a half feet tall and that's a long way down. But he steadies himself and drops back onto the stool he vacated a moment before, and takes up his pint. "Murder hotel, huh? Sounds charming. Pretty sure that's where I'm staying." He shoots Caed a look. "I'm sure it's fine." Truly. Right?

"What brings us here? Nosiness," he says grinning again in a way that seems to come easily to him. "Mystery. Weirdness. Coke and fries."

"Murder Hotel. That sounds to be about right." Caed's face seems to be a blank slate, which doesn't mean he's impassive, just guarded. If the nickname of the place was supposed to be a dissuasion, it missed the mark. Judging by the threadbare nature of his clothes and the second hand luggage, it's precisely the type of place he can afford. The pair of friends really should have worked on their answer to such questions, because the Irishman answers, "Vacation." About the same time Ellery gives his.

"I stayed there when I first got here year and a half ago," Joe notes to Caed and Ellery. "And someone had been killed in the last few weeks. No one since then, I think. There's a couple'a bed and breakfasts around, though, if that bothers you." No hint that here's a local trying to twit the newcomers.

Itz gets an upnod. "Old tar. I like that," he says, amused, before glancing at Fern. "Nah, no monsters this time. How 'bout you? You doin' okay? Still got that thing's eye?" A flick of a look between Itzhak and Fern, and he adds, "'ve you two met? Fern, this is Itzhak. Itz, this is Fern. Met her the other day in the park. Carousel was goin' haywire, one of the animals on it came to life and was causin' trouble." He says this in all apparent seriousness, as if it wasn't an insane string of syllables to hear out of someone's mouth.

Then he turns that guileless blue gaze on the newcomers. "Well, if you're after weirdness, you sure came to the right place." He's got a soft Georgia accent, nothing like local.

Fern just laughs at the miscommunication between the friends and their respective answers. "A vacation spent on weird, mystery hunting. You definitely came to the right place." She agrees wholeheartedly, chuckling again. "Hope you don't have anyone missin' you back home." Is added, almost idly as she picks up a fry and turns that smile of hers towards Itzhak and Fern again.

"Meet is a strong word. Saw him here the other night when things went sideways. Was pretty impressive to watch." Fern mused. "Though I got a few good hits in myself which is always satisfying." More soda is downed and she makes a thoughtful noise. "Nice to officially meetcha Itzhak." Fern reaches into her pocket and pulls out the emerald looking gem that is definitely not a normal emerald. "Sure do. Still gotta find someone that knows literally anything about jewelry and this stuff."

She tucks the gem away and clears her throat. "But yeah, I'm good. Definitely felt like I needed a drink but successfully got a fruit smoothie instead of a rum and coke."

Itzhak's eyebrows pop up when he gets two related but dissimilar answers. His mouth twists like he's trying not to smile. "Christ, did you ever come to the right place." About to say more, not to mention order a drink, he pauses when his phone chimes. He digs it out of a too-tight hip pocket. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he's calling whoever it was back, weaving his way between people and tables to slip out the back door to the alley.

"Nosy vacation, yeah," says Ellery. Sooo slick, mushing together the two responses like that. "I like weird. I chase weird. The stuff that no one else believes is real. I mean, I don't necessarily believe all of it is real either, but it's fun to look for proof." He waves down the bartender and makes sure Caed has a drink. Then he drapes an arm companionably around the Irishman. "I'm Ellery. This here spiffy Irishman is Caed." He claps him on the shoulder, then watches Itzhak as he trails out.

Is anyone missing him back home? Well that question only brings about another touch of red to Caed's face and an awkward glance away. But as Fern talks about looking for someone who knows things, Caed's mouth opens and a half step is taken towards her as he looks about to offer something. Perhaps he's an Irish jeweler? But he seems to think better of it, two fingers pressed to his lips in a self-shushing gesture. There is a tight smile for the bartender as he gets an amber beer, and gives a nod to the others at his introduction from the much more personable Ellery. Eyes trace not Itzhak's exit, but Ellery's line of sight with a subtle glance from a down turned face.

Joe's clearly a little disappointed that Itz slips out, but he turns to the others again, after offering him a little wave. "Itzhak's good people," he explains, mostly to Fern, but also for the benefit of Caed and Ellery. "And someone you'd wanna talk to about things like that. He's pretty familiar with the Veil and some of the things from the other side of it. So's a guy named August Roen, owns a place called Branch and Bole...." He comes padding a few steps closer, eyeing the gem, but doesn't hold out a hand for it.

Then he's advancing on the new arrivals, one tattooed hand held out. "Joe Cavanaugh. That guy what just left is Itzhak Rosencrantz. Pleased to meet y'all, Ellery, Caed...."

Fern shoots a Joe a brief look like these two newbies aren't going to last long at all. But her smile is ever present and welcoming even. Friendly. She'd be a great friend! Probably. "Nice to meet ya both. I'm Fern Michaels. Yoga instructor and general mischief magnet." Apparently. If the last couple weeks were any proof of that. "Is August doing okay after the carousel thing?" She asks of Joe, not having had a way to check on the older man or time to drop by the Branch and Bole to see if he was about to ask.

She eats another fry and eyes Caed for a moment. "Oh no. You can't be shy now. You're already in the weirdest city in the USA. You think you might be able to help me out?" Brow quirked. Though she doesn't take the gem back out. It's safer tucked away from prying eyes.

If sort-of-drunk Ellery registered the weirdness they're all casually dropping in conversation, he doesn't show it. Instead, he leans a bit heavily on Caed to steady himself. He reaches out to grip Joe's hand and shake it firmly. "Pleasure, pleasure. Briar. Surname," he adds, gesturing to himself. Then he unhooks from the Irishman to take a swig from his pint. "I am a photographer and videographer and general capturer of images. S'how I got into the weirdness department. Captured some shit I couldn't easily explain."

Caed lets his duffel slide from his shoulder onto the top of his rolling bag, jostled by Ellery's shenanigans by using him as a leaning post. People are looking at him again, and really Caed would just like to disappear into the bottom of his pint glass. He glances up with an expressive push of his eyebrows in a 'hmm?' gesture. "Oh. McCullen. Caed McCullen." Before adding his own hand shake into the mix which is firm despite his shy demeanor. His eyes shift to Fern, sharp and observant for a moment before they demur. "I...no, 'm sorry."

Joe's got a firm handshake....and his hand's callused on the palm and fingers. Not one of those guys who feels compelled to make it a competitive thing, though. "Well, you'll find this a rich hunting ground, but I'm not sure you'll get much in terms of concrete images. The local stuff tends to have a kind of built-in self-protection, odd as that sounds." Either he's dead serious, or he has an amazing pokerface.

To Fern, he adds, "There are those who can sort of....read objects. Psychometry. I'm not sure who's around who'd be real good at it, but I bet I know someone," he explains. "I can see if he's willing, if you like?" Only then does he finally toss his order over his shoulder to the bartender: a Four Horsemen.

"I think you're lying, Mr. McCullen." Fern mused. "But I'll let it slide this time. Since you've just got in town and all." She winked to him and picked up a couple more fries, listening. "I'd love to see those pictures sometime, yeah. Like Joe said - trying to document anything around here typically always fails."

"...The hell is a Four Horsemen?" Fern asked, tilting her head and watching the bartender put the drink together. It sounded good...mysterious. She exhaled, almost disappointed at something and took a long, long sip of soda. ""And yeah if you know someone...definitely. I'll give you my number before we part ways."

Back to the newcomers, "How long you two been working together?"

"Funny you should say that. My evidence does have a way of just kind of...fading away or blurring into something that is obviously a wolf or a weather balloon when I swear it was not that when I first took the photo." Ellery sounds engaged and fascinated. And drunk. But mostly the first two. Mostly. He leans on the bar to steady himself. "Working? Ah, about...how long've we been here? Thirty minutes? An hour? We met about a year ago. Some stuff happened. We kept in touch. And some shit led us here. That's..." he makes a vague hand gesture, "...broad strokes. First time I've seen Blue Eyes here since then."

At Joseph's nonchalant offer to Fern, Caed sort of perks up, "So there are others here." As if all this spooky talk wasn't already some sort of confirmation. He turns to Ellery and reaches out for his arm, hesitating before any contact is made but surely enough of a gesture to have gotten his attention. Their research was right!

Joe wastes no time - he's got a scrap of paper and pen in his pocket, and scribbles down his name and phone number, which he proffers to Fern, between two fingers. "A Four Horsemen is basically a big mess of whiskey," he admits. "Shot each of Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Johnny Walker, and Jamesons. It does not have tequila in it, that's another drink entirely." One that he declines to name.

He turns that blue gaze on Caed and says, "This is damn near the wellspring of all of it," Again, that seriousness...maybe even intensity, at odds with his usual good ol' boy air. "I'm not even kiddin'. The veil's real thin here, and there are plenty of folks that go back and forth. Lots of people have that...ability to sense and work with the energies that bleed through. In my case, it called me here from nearly half-way around the world."

Fern put a couple bills down on counter as she rose to her feet, plucking up the paper from Joe and pocketing it. "Ugh, stop talking, you're gonna make me start drinking again." She laughed. Only partially joking. "So I'm gonna head out before I break my streak." Flashing a grin and looking towards the other two. "I was born and raised here and the shit followed me when I left it felt like. This town has a way of reeling you in and making you stay. Or drawing you back if you try to leave." There's a fleeting look of some negative emotion that she pushes back down. "So be careful yeah? "

She pauses a moment and then takes out her phone and puts in Joe's info before borrowing his pen to write her own info on the other side and pass it to Ellery and Caed. Joe was going to give him his info too anyway, right? Too late now. "Feel free to text or call if you wanna chat or learn more about this place. " She send a brief text to Joe so he has her number. "I'll see you boys around. Have a good night." Giving them all a final smile and wave before heading out.

"Thanks, thanks," says Ellery as he steadies himself on the bar. "Seems like we've come to the right place. Or the very wrong place. Or the place that we had no choice but to end up? Maybe I should stop drinking. I got here early," that last bit is said to Caed by way of an apology. He gives a low whistle when Joe describes his drink. "Four Horseman of the Hangovercalipse." A beat, "Was that a good joke?" A dopey grin. "If I have to ask the answer is no, right?" He lifts a hand in farewell to Fern.

Caed slips off the stool he just claimed to stand as Fern departs, "Miss Fern, a pleasure. Many thanks," Or 'tanks', "For this." He hoists up the piece of paper, claiming it for he and Ellery as the latter is likely to lose it in this state. "What it sounds like is a bloody insult to Jamesons." Caed remarks about the Four Horsemen, cracking his first tiny smirk of the evening. "You can apologize to me later, Ell, when I'm cleaning your vomit off m'shoes."

No objection from the tall sailor, when it comes to them having his information. If he's this evening's appointed town greeter, might as well. Joe pauses a moment to save Fern's information, squinting a little at the screen.

He does, however, chortle at Ellery's joke. "Pretty much exactly," he says, as the drink in question is set down on the bar, and he hitches his way up onto a stool. It's a rather gingerly motion, as if his hip were giving him trouble. He doesn't look old enough that that might be expected - there're only threads of gray in the blond hair. A snort for Caed. "I'm willing to accept that Jamesons might be the best of the lot," he concedes, magnanimously.

"Whuff. Look, pal. If I'm close to vomit-drunk, you're gonna know it. I'm not gonna be so good with my words when I get to that point." Which sounds like a lie, but Ellery says it with confidence. The bar ends up holding up a fair bit of him as he slurrps his beer. "So look. Should we move from the murder hotel to a B&B? For serious?" This to Joe.

Caed's eyes roll to the heavens as if to ask for divine mercy for the sake of his modest wardrobe. "We'll need to properly rent a place if we're planning to stay, but there are moth balls in my wallet, Ell. No shooting for the moon, yeah?"

"I honestly haven't heard anything about it lately," Joe says, and again, he seems quite serious. "Even back when, nothing more than that murders had happened there. I don't think it's haunted. But if the idea creeps you out, yeah, bed and breakfast is what you want. Motel is cheap, but if you do decide to stick around, there's plenty of lower end places to rent, too. And some will do short- term leases." He lifts the drink in salute to them, and takes a swig. Not even a flinch. Maybe the anchor tattoo on his arm has something to do with it.

Ellery seems to be tattoo-less, and it's hard to say how much he's put away. But given the size of him, it seems impossible for him to be a lightweight. Which means he's probably been here awhile. Also that pint of his is almost empty. "What, you not gonna keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed?" he half-slurs to Caed. "Top shelf, baby." He thumps a fist on the bar. A few glasses rattle and he gets a dirty look from someone down the bar. He puts on a contrite expression, then drains the rest of his glass. "Maybe risk murder tonight, look for something else in the morning?" he asks, deferring to Caed the Sober.

Caed is not a heavy drinker, in fact if he put a nipple on that beer is the only way he could be nursing it slower. "I'm willing to risk the fact I'm not typically the prime target for murder if it means I can afford the luxury of coffee in the morning." He tells Joe with a modicum of thanks in his voice. "And if you were looking for a keeper, I'm afraid you've asked the wrong person to be your travel partner. There is no sugar in this 'daddy'."

Something in that has amused Joe intensely, by the way he has to hastily hide a smile behind his glass. At least he seems to be sipping that whiskey concoction, rather than throwing it back. "On the other hand...a bed and breakfast might just have the coffee for you, in the morning," he points out, when he looks up again. "If not, there's a diner called the Grizzly that's good, or a coffee place downtown called Espresso Yourself. It's worth checking out, too....and it's owned by Roen's wife, Eleanor."

Ellery opens mouth, closes. Opens. Closes. Seems he's sober enough to not walk into the trap that is Caed's 'sugar daddy' comment. Instead, he just drains the rest of his glass while looking up and to the right. "Welp. Good news is, most people need photographers. Even in small places. So if you hear of anyone needing pics, lemme know?" He pats himself down before finding a basic business card which he hands to Joe. It has 'Ellery Briar, Photography and Videography.' The phone number has a 604 area code, which people who have spent time in the PNW might recognize as a Vancouver area code.

Caed's head tilts as he looks from Joseph to Ellery and then back. The hidden smile form one, the guppy impression of the other. "I did it again, didn't I?" There was once a whole conversation about his inadvertent word usage when asking for a refill of his drink. "Is this something I have to use The Google for?" Not that isn't packing away all the knowledge about where to find coffee, mind.

Watching someone given to a raw directness try for verbal delicacy is like watching an elephant try to stop on a dime. Joe visibly flounders for a moment, without the shield of the glass of whiskey. "Well," he says, finally. "I'd say you're a little young to qualify as a daddy." It's evident he doesn't mean it in the sense of mere fatherhood. Gravely, he leans to accept the business card, tucking it away in a worn leather wallet. "I'll keep that in mind - so far's I know there isn't a pro photographer in town. And as an aside, in some parts of the US, 'sugar' means a kiss."

"So that means if we go down south, don't ask your neighbours for a cup of sugar," drawls Ellery to Caed. "Unless you're trolling for makeouts." Cue a big grin. To his credit, he doesn't order another beer for himself. Instead, he signals to settle his tab and makes motions at Caed to indicate he's covering the Irishman's drink. "He's also too broke to be a Daddy. At least right now. Give him a beard, some investment payoff and a decade and we'll see."

"Alas, being that sort of father was never in my cards." So Caed took it as Joseph's definition as fatherhood after all? "But I thought a sugar daddy was a gentleman who provided monetary favors for a young woman who then would provide her companionship? No? But a kiss. Interesting. A cup of kisses. Southern Yanks sound quaint." He looks to Ellery paying them out, and he gives a fast eye crinkle of mute thanks. "I'd dare to explore the town some, but I think if I let you go off by yourself to the hotel, I'd never find it and you'd end up in some gutter." His lilt is melodious and airy, as he adds, "And then I couldn't make you help carry my bags."

Joe turns over a hand, at that. "Well, southeastern US. Other coast entirely. Southern California, not so much so," he says, grinning. "And what he said," he adds, jerking a thumb at Ellery. "As well as....if you reach that opposite corner of the US, Yank's a term reserved for those in the northeast. I don't mind sayin' it used to throw me pretty bad when I was overseas and someone'd call me a Yank."

"Maybe exploring is better in the daylight anyway," says Ellery as he fumblingly pays their tab. "You can stay if you want," he says to Caed, "...buuut I drove all day and then started drinking and should probably get some sleep." He waves a hand vaguely at Joe. "Listen. You're talking to a Canadian and an Irishman. Yank ends up being a catch-all. Cause frankly, it's rude that you guys took American when there's two continents' worth of countries who have just as much claim to that. Besides, I don't think you'd like being called a 'Merkie. Which is what we sometimes used to call you folks." Caed should probably make him leave about now.

"And I'm pretty sure that would be our divine sign that we should be leaving, accept my apologies on behalf of my inebriated friend here. We'd surely like to thank you for your hospitality, and you may be expecting a ring here any day. Have a good night, Mister Caomhánach." Caed reaches up to nab Ellery's ear and give it a twist, "Alright, to bed with you, before you earn a black eye you can't remember, and rightfully so."

The proper pronunciation of his name makes Joe dimple in response, blue eyes going narrow with amusement. "And a good evening to the both of you. I wish you both luck, but I imagine you brought enough of your own," Joe tells them, with another lift of his glass. "No apologies needed, he's got a point, though rude isn't exactly the world I'd use, myself. Y'all take care," With that, he's turning back to the bartender, with the air of man about to pick up a long-lived argument again.

"Hey hey hey! Vulcan ear twist," says Ellery accusingly as he swats at Caed. "Don't mean disrespect. But hey, Merkie is just our answer to Canuck. Which, by the way..." oh dear, "...should only be used when discussing hockey." A slap on the bar and thankfully that seems to be the end of it. He heaves up, grabs Caed's other bag, then lazy salutes Joe. "Pleasure to meet you Mister Not-Yank." And then for the love of god, Caed should steer him out of there. Joe might be humouring him, but some other patrons might not.

"It's better than calling your country the Staties' hat?" Caed muses as he directs Ellery out the door with a bit of arm steering, not as hesitant to touch the man now as he's helping navigate tables and chairs. There is a bit of a nod and a sliver of a smile for Joseph as this Outsider pair of newcomers goes to find to this so called Homicide Hostel.