Participants:
| Scene Title | A Scotch and Conversation |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Ryans stops by to have a scotch and check in on Abby, leaving with a little more insight. |
| Date | March 24, 2010 |
Slow is the name of the game. Brutal weather, piled up snow and the sheer fact that winter IS JUST NOT LEAVING makes for a fairly sedate bar on the hump day. So sedate that Abby sent some girls home to save on paying people to work - poor them - and just her and Brenda there to cover things. Hours cut to boot, the place not opening till 3 now. Everything to cut corners but not service and try and wait out the winter.
Last day before she has to get back to saving people lives, right now, she's counting booze, inventorying while it's quiet this late afternoon. Her plate of food on the counter and being nibbled as she goes. Double layer of tank top shows the normally hidden tattoo's, jeans, belt, boots. The flamboyant redhead that is Brenda is flirting with some piece of ass at the other end of the bar while stairway to heaven plays in the background.
A blast of air accompanies the front door opening allowing a figure, bundled up in a brown canvas duster, a scarf and a fedora, into the bar. After stomping and scraping his feet at the door, showing ID as necessary, before his long strides carry him to the bar, eyes scanning for a familiar face, finding her easily enough.
Once there the fedora is slid off his head and set on the bar next to her, while Ryans slides onto one of the stools. "Scotch on the rock please, Abigail?" The deep rumbling voice from the man familiar, but without that rasp, though it will probably take more then a glance to identify the much younger Benjamin Ryans.
How many people actually call her Abigail? Not too many. So it's enough when someone asks for a drink and invoking something other than nun or Abby. The pen goes behind her ear and she's peering towards the speaker. She's pretty good with names and faces, habit of the trade she had before she was a medic and with the fedora off, she has to take a moment.
"That, looks like a might fine facial there Mr. Ryans" Though it's quietly spoken and only once the good stuff is taken down and poured into a lowball with some ice. It's placed on a napkin, then slid in front of him quickly followed by her leaning a hip against the bar. "If you were maybe a few years younger and I wasn't already sorta seeing someone, you just might make my books"
Her assessment manages to get a chuckle, from the agent as he moves to pull the drink closer, after setting money on the bar next to it. "Thank you, that is a much better reaction then my daughters had." The glass is lifted at her in a bit of a salute, before he takes a sip.
"However, even if I was a few years younger, I think I would still have a hard time seeing you as anything other then a girl the same age as my girls." His lip hooks up in a small crooked smile, the glass settled on the counter. Leaning forward he rests an elbow on the bar.
"I figured I would come take a bit more of a peek at your establishment, especially since Lucille is working here I hear." Brows quirk upward a touch, as Ryans asks. "And how have you been holding up?"
"Wait a minute, Lucille is your daughter?" That brings a bit of a surprised look. But then, a comparison of last names. She rocks her head from one side to the other and nods. "Yup.. yeah, she's your daughter. If you knew me more, you'd be considering me more than just the girl that's the same age as your daughter" His money is folded in half and slid back. "Family drinks free, same for retired paper pushers"
She drags her plate over, a lift of her shoulders. "Back to work tomorrow, been off for a few days with a hurt knee. How's the head coming along? It wasn't too badly cut up was it? I'm sorry I didn't stay with you both but there were other people and then the FRONTLINE woman, she was pretty bad off"
"Yeah, she is." Ryans says with a short nod. "My eldest." Added after another sip from his scotch. He looks a bit amused at the mention of his old job, but he doesn't exactly comment the fact that retired doesn't quite fit anymore. "Screamed when I opened the door this morning." He muses softly, "At least my youngest only stared at me like I was a freak."
Fingers lift to touch his temple at the mention of the Bridge incident. "Actually, it is doing well, and it only took a few small stitches. "The girls freaked out. They have been that way since their mother died in Midtown. Understandable." His head shakes slowly, eyes dropping to the amber liquid in his glass, swirling it a little. After a moment is asks, "Have you see that fellow I helped out of there? His leg had been a nasty sight."
"His leg is fine. He's walking around on it" The tone with which she talks about that man, speaks volumes. She does not like him. Not in the least. "They fixed him up at the hospital and he was back at his strip club running the thing like a day hadn't passed. You don't want to be near him Mr. Ryans" The blonde cautions. "Him, or his ability" Her BLT is consumed a fraction, picking out a slice of tomatoe and nibbling at it. "I have to give your daughter less hours. I'm sorry. Really. Just the whole extended winter thing and people unable to really get around. I can't afford ot pay people to stand around when there's like.. no customers"
A hand lifts in a reassuring manner, "I have a feeling that she will be all right. As much as I dislike it, she has started modeling again." The glass is lifted to his lips again, but there it pauses, "She came by early this morning to show me the cover of a magazine she was on." A careful sip is taken and the glass lowered again. "I am worried about her going back into it.. about that life style and the medication she is taking." Blue eyes drift to his glass, frowning slightly. "She does not think I notice, her mothers death was a real blow, more so them her sister. She tries not to show it, but I see it."
Twisting a bit in his seat, Ryans views the mostly empty bar. "This extended weather is rather worrisome." He admits softly, glancing back at the blonde across from him. "I would say that the city is reaching record breaking temperatures, since around this time I'd be usually prepping for planting the garden.
"You'll just have to start your seedlings indoors and transfer them out of doors when it lets up" When, not if. She's still catching herself looking at the former agent, occasionally shaking her head. "Okay, I gotta ask. How'd you get the fountain of youth because I have seen some women with their befores and after, and you are like, the miracle of after"
"It is — complicated." Ryans explains gruffly turning back to her, without a hit of a smile, he doesn't seem too happy about it. "I have talked to doctors and I have been physically aged back twenty years. I am roughly the age I was when Lucille was born." There is a soft sigh and a slow shake of his head, "It is nothing I asked for, I can assure you of that. It was forced upon me."
"And I have not yet decided if it is a miracle yet." Ryans looks away and then down at his glass again, fingers turn the glass slowly on the bar top. "I was to that point in my life where I was — accepting that I was moving into the end of my time."
Abigails hand comes out, fingers settling around his on the glass. "I had a gift once, one that.. I didn't know at the time, would have me living forever. Forever. I would stop aging in about… ten years, look forever young and be forever healthy so long as no one shot me or saw fit to wound me beyond what I could heal." Her hand on his is warm, soft hands of someone who does light work and takes care of them.
"I'm sure, that when I hit your ages, I will wish I still had that gift. Whatever happened, to do this to you, and so long as it hasn't done anything bad to your body, i'd cherish it Mr. Ryans. Accept is as a gift, maybe not a miracle. Miracles are.. different. But you're physically twenty years younger? Enjoy it" She lifts her shoulders. "I would"
The hand on his own rougher scared hands draws his gaze for a long moment, before that smile returns and Ryans looks up at Abigail. He considers her, then slowly his head give a slow nod of understanding, but not at her words. He could understand why Winslow had done what he did, the fear of growing old. Everyone feels it until they get too tired of living.
"Maybe your right." He says softly, "I did tell Lucille it meant I had a better chance of seeing grandkids." The agent's lips tug to one side into a smirk. "Though I barely look old enough to be her father now. Though," He gives a soft chuff of a chuckle. "…she promptly told me to take advantage of my new youth, but not to take too many numbers."
"It will take a hello of a lot of time to get use to." He look at his own younger hand turning it over, opening and closing it. "Hopefully, it won't take too long, and I stop seeing a stranger in the mirror."
Abigail pulls her hand back, a shrug of her shoulders. "Like a new haircut I guess? Give it a few weeks, if you don't like it well.. Well you're stuck with it. Much like a new haircut" Another sage nod. "And I think your daughter is right. Enjoy it, take advantage. How many people would be envious of what you just got? I mean, I assume it wasn't painful so… there you go, and you don't have that obviously had plastic surgery look!" Trying to find the silver lining. 'The grandkids thing is a absolute bonus"
"It was not painful." It's admitted with a small furrow of brows as he thinks back, "In fact, I had no idea it had happened until a saw my own hand." He holds it up for a moment, before dropping it to the glass so that he can finish it off. It is set down on the bar and pushed back towards th bar owner. "I'm staying within the city till this weather blows over, it was getting to be a pain to try and commute with all this snow and ice."
The fedora is picked up and lifted to be settled on his head again, "So you may or may not see me a bit more often, though I will probably steer clear of Lu's working hours." White teeth are flashed when he grins. "Embarrassed I will see her dancing on the bar I suppose."
"Don't come in at the top of the hours, and you won't see her dance" Abby points out. "It's not that bad, really. I mean, I own the place. It's all harmless and the guys aren't allowed to touch, but.." She can respect that he doesn't want to see it. "Take care Mr. Ryans. Try not to get into any more age defying accidents" She turns away to pick up her clipboard and go back to her inventorying.
Sliding off the stool, there is a firm nod of Ryans head at her advice. "I will keep that in mind." The duster is cinched tighter as he prepares to step out into the icy cold. "Good to see you again, Abigail." And with that he turns towards the door to leave for his hotel room, glad for a bit more of a pleasant end to his day.