Participants:
| Scene Title | Distrusted Altruism |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lucille chats with Mortimer and meets Joy, who in turn meets Magnes J. Varlane again for the first time. |
| Date | February 28, 2010 |
Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the black and cream risqué wallpapered walls lit up by neon lights and many times, the flashing of cameras from the oft-crowded floor. The mirror behind the bar reflects prices of various drinks, bottles lined up, as well as the entire saloon as seen from the bartenders; bolted-down stools line the other side, and there are loose tables and chairs placed all around, though many times they find themselves pushed back for more space within the center of the saloon. A few speakers are placed at strategic places and around a raised stage to the far corner from the bar.
Above the counter, an obviously well-used bar is hung; it is this that the girls working will use should there be dancing, which is one reason many patrons choose to come aside from the drinks. Across the bar and near the back, there is a door that leads to the back room and owner's office and a stairwell that leads the residence above the floor above the bar.
It's a pretty calm day at Old Lucy's, there aren't too many girls working the bar but the ones that are, seem to be having a good time with the few patrons that are there. Brenda swings her hips to the light music playing as she serves a few drinks to the men, handing out compliments and winks to everyone.
Among them happens to be Lucille, dressed in a pair of low rise dark wash jeans, a dark red tank top and boots. Her dyed blonde hair is tied back into a ponytail and flipped upwards. Her pink streak peeking out from the blonde strands.
"What can I get you?" she asks a male customer with a grin crossing her lips. She's gotten so good at pretending to be happy.
One particular customer that walks through the door is Mortimer Jack, more specifically, Mortimer, the sane half of the dual minds. He wears a dark-green trenchcoat that goes down to his knees, a pair of neatly fitting blue jeans, and some black biker boots.
He doesn't look too rough around the edges these days, walking to sit at the bar where Lucille is serving, propping his black-gloved hands up. "A Rolling Rock, please." he casually orders, not looking much like a criminal now, well, unless he's in some organized crime, or some sort of killer… er, well.
"Coming right up." Lucille says and then she's sliding the drink to Mortimer. "Anything else?" she asks with a raise of her eyebrow at Mortimer's attire. She looks him up and down and shrugs before she's placing a magazine on the bar's surface and flipping through it. Taking a pen and circling some things on it.
"Reading another one of those fashion magazines?" Brenda calls over to Lucille shaking her head and chuckling. "I think you should just go back to modelling. Tons of hot men.. and women." She winks at the younger woman and then goes back to bartending, "Yeah Bren, I've been thinking about it. But I'll have to see how it goes."
"Oh, hey." Mortimer looks up at Lucille, taking a good look at her. In a typical day, he's surrounded by business men and college students who have a wide range of interests, but a common one among the men are models, and it's not uncommon to see them sharing a few posters or photo portfolios. "You're a model, can't remember from what exactly, but I definitely recognize you." He's not exactly what one would call a fanatical person, well, not this half anyway, he just seems calm and cool about it, smiling as he reaches for his bottle. "Name's Mortimer, you?"
"Hmm, you know a thing or two about fashion?" she snickers as she looks at Mortimer and nods her head. "Name's Lucille." She says and then the music is turned up louder and Brenda and another bartender Tisha start laughing and dancing. "Girl this is my jam!" Tisha says and she shakes and twists all the way over to Lucille, who is looking shaking her head and laughing at the other woman. "No! I told you, I would not dance to this song, Tish!"
It doesn't matter because soon she is in fact dancing to said song and bumping hips with the two other ladies. Getting a few cheers and grins from the patrons of the bar.
"Nah, I don't know the first thing about it, I just have a lot of friends. I remember seeing you in a few portfolios and a poster or two." Mortimer leans his elbow on the table, the music thankfully drowning out the low hum of gears in the bottom half of his left arm, which itself is hidden by the jacket and glove.
Taking light sips at his green bottle, he watches the girls dance with a slightly amused look. "This place is a lot more lively than those dives I often visit on Staten, well except the ones that think they're Wild West saloons."
A blonde woman emerges from the back of the bar, and from the looks of her, she just woke up. Her hair's a bit out of place and her eyes don't quite open wide enough to suggest total alertness. Though the fact that she nearly collides with the corner of one table in her shuffle toward the bar sort of suggests the same.
Tugging the hem of a white tank top absently, smoothing it over the waistband of a brown leather skirt, the woman mounts a stool at the bar rather expertly, considering the four inch platform silver sequin heels on her feet. This puts her next to Mortimer and his Rolling Rock. Rubbing her face, the mid-twenty-something stares at the green bottle for a moment before grabbing the dancing Brenda's attention.
"One of those," a hand is waved toward Mortimer's drink, "and a glass." And then one finger is raised to keep Brenda one moment longer. "And a pickle." When the blonde draws a funny look from the bartender, she squints faintly back at her. "Don't question my breakfast choices, 'kay?" When Brenda laughs and shakes her head, departing to put together the order, the woman turns her attention to Lucille. "Hey there. Name's Joy. Which one are you?" Which one meaning which of the bartenders, not that it's phrased very well in the not-quite-awake state the woman is in.
"Ah well then, I must say thank you for knowing me." She grins lightly at Mortimer and winks and then she's sliding away from Tisha and looking at Joy as Brenda slides the drink over. "Heya, I'm Lucille." Luci says to the blonde and then looks closely at Joy. "Nice name Joy." She says softly and grins at the blonde.
"Living here now right?" she asks Joy before looking back over to Mortimer and then back to the jukebox. Tisha is still dancing away and she's trying to pull Lucille back over, "Come on girl, shake them hips!" The woman says to Lucille.
"No no, I'm pretty tired now actually." She says to the woman but Tish is not giving up. "I said come on!" she pulls harder with a laugh, all in good nature. It's as if time slows down as Lucille's face freezes and she blinks. Sweat can be seen now on her body, noticeably. From the dancing right? "I said no!" Lucille yells loudly and she grabs Tisha's arm hard.
The other woman blinks and gasps in pain, "Lu stop it!" Brenda says and she walks over to grab Lucille. "What the fuck, is up with you?" the flirt asks the blonde, who just looks down at her hands in wide eyed shock. "I'm sorry Tish.. I just.. haven't been getting much sleep. I need to.. I'm so sorry." She says again, the older woman looks angry at Lucille for a moment before she looks at Brenda and then back towards Lucille. "It's okay, hun." Tisha says softly and looks nervously at Brenda. "But don't you do it again." She tries to joke, though the mood in this bartender has changed for the moment.
"Hey, it'd be hard to forget a face like yours." Mortimer compliments, head turning to note Joy and her order, then the pickle. "You pregnant, or just really like pickles?" he asks, grinning and turning back to the mild altercation.
"Stress?" he wonders, leaning in to give her the look of a guy who's more than willing to listen. Hey, he helped save Dreamland, may as well carry some heroic duty over to the real world. Plus she's hot.
Joy deposits her pickle spear in her glass and pours in the Rolling Rock. Mortimer's question draws a quirked eyebrow from the woman. "If I were pregnant, I wouldn't be drinking beer, would I?" She's unimpressed to say the least. She does cast a small glance down to her stomach, just to confirm that she doesn't somehow look fat. Most homeless junkies don't. While Joy is no longer without a residence of sorts, and she's cleaning up, she still has the waif look going for her.
The altercation between Lucille and Tisha is watched through impassive blue eyes. Joy doesn't seem moved in the least. This is made rather clear in the way that she fishes the pickle from her beer and takes a bite out of it, rather than gasp or stop what she's doing, or, heaven forbid, offer help.
As Lucille blinks again and looks at Tisha and Brenda in apology. The young bartender leans against the bar and puts a cold towel on her neck, is it her or is it getting hotter in here? When she vaguely understands that Mortimer is asking her a question, the woman looks over her shoulder at Mortimer and just stares. It's as if she isn't really staring at him, "It's nothing." She finally says and then she's turning back around and wiping down the bar and cleaning glasses.
When she isn't doing something constantly with her hands, they can be seen to be shaking. Lucille inhales and exhales and closes her eyes briefly. "Bren, I need to leave for the night." She says softly to the bartender and then with a brief look towards the two people at Joy and Mortimer, she collects her things from under the bar and then she's moving out of the door fast.
Mortimer simply nods as Lucille makes her way out, then vaguely focuses his attention on Joy. "You never know." he says, as far as drinking while pregnant goes. "Though you certainly don't look pregnant." Another sip, and he puts a twenty on the counter. "Get her whatever, on me." He knows how to make up for a bad joke, at least.
"Apply that to my tab," Joy instructs Brenda. She mumbles a thank-you to Mortimer over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip of beer. It's not very heart-felt, but with Joy, something is better than nothing. Either way, he's forgiven for the ill humour. Her eyes track Lucille's movements, a knowing sort of look on the woman's back as she leaves.
Mortimer reaches into his pocket for a vibrating cell, nodding a few times into it when he answers. "I told them not to touch that puzzle. Just leave it where it is and get him to a hospital. Yeah, alright." He stands, giving Joy a nod. "I'll see you around, having a bit of an emergency."
He heads to the door from the bar, getting brushed by another patron, one Magnes J. Varlane. "Excuse me." comes from the ex-Delivery Boy.
He's wearing a tight black leather vest, zipped up with long white sleeves covering his arms. He doesn't seem too worried about the cold. And on his legs are just a simple pair of loose-fitting blue jeans and black sneakers. "Hey!" he calls over the music, moving to place a hand on Joy's shoulder. "I've been looking for you. Mind if we find a seat further away from the music so I can talk to you? I'll buy you drinks." he smiles, not seeming to be there for anything threatening. And he did seem to know Abby the other day.
Joy is quick to vacate her seat when she finds a hand on her shoulder, dancing away from Magnes with the wary look of a wounded animal. There's no recognition in her features as she studies the man who seems just a bit too friendly for her tastes.
"Okay," she responds cautiously. There are a few different sorts of people who could be looking for her. Joy isn't really sure she wants to run into any of them right about now. All the same, she gathers her beer and follows Magnes to a table away from the noise and the action, taking a seat. "What can I do for you, Mister…?"
"Magnes J. Varlane. You probably saw me on TV, but if you didn't, good." Magnes takes a seat across from her, leaning with his arms on the table. He doesn't seem inclined to order a drink. "A friend told me you were having drug problems. He's a weird guy who goes around wearing a mask. I just wanted to see if I could help you at all, or, y'know, we could just talk, about anything."
Joy squints dubiously at the man across the table. "Magnes J. Varlane," she echoes, trying the name out on her own lips. "No, I don't know you from the television. Don't watch terribly much of it, sorry. You supposed to be some sort of star or something?" She doesn't really care what the answer is. She just moves on. "Your friend," she sneers, "needs to mind his own business and not broadcast mine."
The blonde leans back in her seat, her expression stony and exceptionally annoyed, "What do you want from me?" Because this must be some sort of blackmail attempt. It must be.
"I'm not famous, I just screwed up a lot and cameras happen to always be there." Magnes shrugs, keeping eye contact with her as he moves on. "I just figured I'd help you, if you want or need it at all. I don't expect you to just accept my help and open up the floodgates or anything, but… I just wanted to put my hand out there, y'know? I can give you my number if you ever need anything."
Joy supposes she should be thankful that of all the multitude of times she's screwed up, there haven't been cameras around to capture it. Just sometimes trained government agents with sniper rifles.
Bastards.
"If you want to help me, you'll forget my face." Joy shifts to lean her elbows on the table, staring the man across from her down. "I don't want to be found. I don't want to be bothered."
"If it makes you feel any better, I don't even know your name. But I can understand that you're suspicious, I mean, I have a pretty close friend I think is still suspicious that I'm so nice to her." Magnes reaches into his vest pocket, pulling out a Twix package, then offers one over to her. "I won't bother you if that's what you really want, I just don't feel right, letting someone who might need help just… go without it. You can understand that, right?" he asks with a bit of an awkward smile, obviously not used to these sorts of conversations… well at least not in the context of drugs.
One slender hand is held up to refuse the offer of chocolate. Instead, Joy nurses her beer, listening to what Magnes has to say. It's obvious he's not getting through to her. But she isn't telling him to just fuck off, either. "Look, I appreciate the offer," she doesn't, really, "but I'm fine." She isn't, but, "It's none of your concern." One leg crosses over the other and Joy's eyes narrow dangerously. "Do you really think I'm so stupid to just trust you? You tell your friend in the mask that whatever he wants, he won't find it here."
"Well, no, I don't think it's stupid to distrust me, you don't know me, so I understand. And, well, he's not around anymore. I'm here because I want to be, and I don't expect anything in return for helping you." Magnes crosses his arms and sits back in his chair, hmming in a not-so-serious manner. "Maybe I should start telling people I want something. As ironic as it is, I think it'd come off as less suspicious. Altruism is difficult and borders on implausible to most people." He smiles, then shakes his head. "I really will leave you alone if that's what you absolutely want, but could you at least take my number?"
"If I take your number, will you leave me be?" Joy huffs faintly, tipping her head back to look down the length of her nose at Magnes. She's still trying to figure out what his game is. Nobody does something for nothing. What could he really offer to her anyway?
"I will, I mean, I can't force you to accept my help, whatever that help may be. I mean, being completely honest? I have no idea how to help someone on drugs, except what I read on the internet, but I'm not the kind of guy who'll just look the other way." Magnes reaches into his vest pocket, pulling out a pen and a sticky note, then writes his number down and slides it across the table to her.
Only once Magnes' hand is no longer touching the paper does Joy reach out to take it, folding it in half once, and then again, before tucking it away in the waistband of her skirt. "Guess your friend found better things to do," Joy scoffs as she rises from her seat. "You should try it sometime." The look she shoots at Magnes suggests that she means sooner, rather than later. It's on that sour note that she excuses herself to the back room with what remains of her beer.
"I don't enjoy anything more than helping people." Magnes says quite seriously, despite the fact that there are a number of things he enjoys more, but will probably never admit to. He doesn't follow her, he simply nods and heads for the front door, before he has to face any potentially angry Southern women.