Dobroye Utro, Do Svidaniya


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Scene Title Dobroye Utro, Do Svidaniya
Synopsis Hello, goodbye. Old Lucy's receives a customer who is just passing through New York City.
Date January 31, 2010

Old Lucy's

Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the black and cream risque 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 teh residence above the floor above the bar.

Opening hours are always sluggish on Sunday's. The people who come in during the week after work are with their families and at church, it's no where near time enough for the twenty somethings to start making their ways in to party. odds are they're still in bed and nursing hangovers. But the last chairs have been put down, ashtray's put out on each table and the sound system plays some rock on a far lower decible at eleven in the morning than at six at night. The smell of cigarette's never quite leave the room and the brass pole hanging above the bar gleams in the normal lights that are on during the daylight hours.

Brenda's tasked with running the opening hours this weekend, the boss supposedly getting back some time tonight. Till there, there's prep to do. Lemons and limes to wedge, cups to stock, a wide variety of things that they need for up front. Have to make the place better than it was left. Have to make it perfect in the hopes that by the virtue of a perfectly run bar, none of them will get fired for the images of the couples fornicating in various positions on curlicues upon the wall. Yes, this might be the last night for the staff if the boss isn't happy. Cross your fingers.

Daphne hasn't been to sleep yet, having finished a paying gig in the early morning. A little wired as she always is after successfully finishing a job, she decides to stop in the bar for a drink, despite the fact that it's not even noon. After all, she plans to go home and sleep after this — it might as well be midnight for her. She looks around at the empty place before heading to the bar. "You're open right?" she asks, as she climbs up on a barstool. "Dig the wallpaper. Can I get a glass of brandy?" It's chilly outside, and her normal drinks of red bull mixed with flavored vodka won't induce sleep anytime soon.

Some people might argue that eleven-fifteen is too early to be drinking, but with curfew in place and the last calls at two in the morning a thing of the past, those who appreciate what the city has to offer have learned to adapt. The man who walks through the front door, however, does not appear to be such an individual — tall, handsome and clean-shaven, if a little on the tired-looking side, he carries luggage under one arm that resembles a briefcase and is dressed in the typical fashion of New York's financial elite. The smart black business suit he wears flatters his trim figure, making him appear a little slimmer than he really is, though it can do nothing to disguise the limp with which he walks as he approaches the bar.

He takes a seat beside Daphne at the counter, bad leg hooked over his stool's bottom rung to take some of the weight off it as he sets his suitcase masquerading as a briefcase down on the floor. "I will have what the lady is having," he says, sounding as exhausted as he looks. "No ice, please."

Noriko slips into the bar, perhaps hoping to see someone she knows from Antartica in there, or perhaps not. Regardless, the Asian has taken to wandering listless a lot of the time, and she finds herself in here now. The hydrokinetics eyes look around as she makes her way to the bar and looks over at Brenda. Offering her a smile, Noriko asks, "Can I get some water?" Her eyes floating to those who walked in before her, and the man who limps in in front of her. An eyebrow gets raised at him for a moment or three, but for now, the young woman is content to get a glass of water.

"The sailors said Brandy, what a fine girl" Brenda starts to sing as she nods to Daphne. Flaming red hair teased to heights that the guidettes on jersey shore would whistle appreciatively and wonder if there's a bump-it somewhere hiding in it, she takes to the shelves behind her to find the necessary bottle. Courvoisier for the lady it seems, and with the arrival of the suited gentleman which of course gets a raised brows and a bit of a smile that seems reserved for the men, Brenda points a forefinger at him, almost like shooting a gun. "and a Courvoisier for the gentleman." Brenda offers a wink. "Never to early for a bit of a drink. nope"

The water though, prompts a different look from Brenda as she settled the half filled bottle down so she can fetch two brandy snifters. "You want water? Want some vodka with that water, maybe a lemon wedge. Lady, we don't sell water unless it's in the shape of an ice cube and melting in a lowball of whiskey" The fiery red head -pun intended - fires off.

"No ice in mine either, thanks." Who puts ice in their brandy? Daphne nods to the man and then laughs as the bartender breaks into song. "Holy shit, I walked into a Broadway musical. Except there's no such thing as Broadway any more." She makes a face at that and then nods to the man and his suitcase. "Working on a Sunday? I thought only plumbers and retail people had to do that these days." The speedster smirks at Brenda's retort to the hydrokinetic's request for water. "I think Starbucks has to give you water for free. Except in airports," she says helpfully to Noriko.

The word Courvoisier earns Brenda a small smile from the rumpled businessman, and as he scrubs at his nose with the back of his hand and fends off a sniffle, he looks Daphne and his suitcase on the floor before his eyes wander vaguely in Noriko's direction. "My first time in New York City," he says, steering his attention back where it belongs: on the blonde's face. Speaking of airports… "I have a flight at—"

A glance at his watch confirms the time, heavy brows lowered over those drowsy eyes. "Two. My associates tell me that if I am to stop anywhere in Manhattan for a drink, then it should be here. The owner— is she in?"

Noriko shrugs her shoulders and says, "What's the difference when you're selling it to someone. Still puts money in the cash register." Her eyes watch Brenda for a couple of moments before she shrugs her shoulders once again and then waves a hand. "Then sell me a screwdriver. Just something that's wet and doesn't taste too much like alcohol," she finally decides.

"Nah, they moved all their plays and shit off Broadway. Plenty of shows still if you know where to look in the community arts paper, but if you come back later in the evening, we put on shows every hour on the hour" The cap is unscrewed with some flare that shows just because it's not happy hour, doesn't mean she won't show off a bit. What with the guy there and all. "Airports will charge you just to breath in their parking lots. Rip off to fly anywhere anymore. I mean, fuck, five bucks the next time you fly, the won't even give you blankets because of that Nigerian who was lighting stuff underneath his on the plane."

An amount of money is rattled off, the price of the brandy which comes out to be reasonable as both brandy glasses are put in front of the respective customers with the expectation of payment and possibly tip. Maybe a phone number.

"Boss Lady? Abigail's out, supposed to be back in town tonight. She's been in Mexico getting a tan…" He wouldn't be the first suited individual coming in and looking for Abigail. "If you want, you can leave a message. She's pretty good at getting back to people" Takes her a few moments to dig up a pen and then an order pad and with a flourish, scribble her own number on the bottom and rip it off, passing it over, followed by the pen and the paper.

But Noriko deserves her attention too and Brenda sighs. "God, you're no fun you know. You can tell it's Sunday morning yeah? I'll get you a bottle of water." The price rattled off too as she rummages in a built in cooler below the counter till glass, ice and an unopened ice cold bottle of flat water.

The petite blonde laughs. The sass in this place is definitely up her alley. "Cheers," she says, lifting her glass to Brenda, and smirking a bit in appreciation of the other's humor. "Oh, I know where the plays are, just sort of … making a bad joke. I haven't slept yet, so my humor's off, I guess." She nods to the man. "You probably should head for the airport soon — even on a Sunday traffic can be a bitch, and you know how with security and all these days, they say to be there way earlier than you need to." Not that it's something she has to deal with. "Where you heading back to?"

The businessman takes the torn shred of paper between two fingers, gloved to protect his hands from the cold, folds it in two and tucks it into his front suit pocket for safekeeping. "Back?" he asks Daphne with a chuckle. "No. I do wish. It will be some months before I see my home again." Curling fingers around his brandy, he lifts the glass to his lips and drinks more generously from it than might be wise for someone who is supposed to be getting on a plane in a few hours. When he sets it back down again, he's raking his teeth over his lower lip.

"I do not mean to complain," he says, then. "I enjoy my work. What do you do, Miss—?"

Noriko turns her attention slightly to the man and Daphne, but for now, the Asian's attention is kept more on Brenda as she takes with the lady. "Well, sorry, really haven't been much in the mood for sarcasm and the like," she says by way of apology before she reaches into her pocket and hands over the price quoted, plus a little over for the tip.

"Humor's way past the shitter and down in the sewers with the crocodiles" You know, the ones rumored to be running around in the sewers of New York, released by some poor soul who thought it would make a great pet and then realized that they get big. "Don't worry, I won't charge you for no sense of humor. Not this time, first hit's free" She brandishes a paring knife with no little skill and starts to attack the small bowl of lemons and limes. The money from Noriko tucked away with a shrug of her shoulders as some form of acceptance for the apology. It's Sunday. There's no accounting for a great many things on the seventh day.

Daphne likewise reaches into her pocket for some money, and then raises a brow to the stranger beside her. "Traveling a while then?" And then the question of her own work. Why does everyone want to know what she does for a living? "I do temp work. I'm not really a 9 to 5 sort of girl, and I don't like having to be responsible for long stretches at a time. I don't have a degree but I can type a mile a minute, so it works out for me." It's close enough to the truth, except for the typing part. She can type fast, of course. "So what do you do that has you out and about for so long?" Her dark eyes flicker down to the morose but apologetic Noriko, and she winks at Brenda in shared amusement.

"English is not my first language," the man tells Daphne, his voice soft and contrite, and although his accent isn't nearly as heavy as some visitors to the United States, the absence of contractions in his speech suddenly makes more sense. "I do not know the American term, but I am a little like yourself — I have always gone where the work is. You will forgive me, I hope, for being evasive. I promise it is not intentional."

Noriko shrugs her shoulders a little and just falls silent, it isn't like her to be all out there and in someone's face, unless they're trying to kill her. For now, she's quiet and just sipping at her water, thoughts already somewhere other than there.

"Traveling salesman, gypsy, nomad, there's a buncha different things that it could be called. Freelance though, seems more like it with your suit. What did you want with the boss lady?" Since she hadn't seen him write a message yet for Abigail. Wedges make their way to the respective bowls, and the scent of the lemon wafts up and around this end of the bar. "She know you from somewhere or are you one of her lawyers or you know uhh" Brenda snaps her fingers in though. "One of the ones that owes her a favor? You doing okay over there sweet cheeks?" The last is asked of Noriko. "I can get up on the bar to put a smile on your face"

"Mercenary?" supplies Daphne, and there is a bit of a sparkle in her eye as she suggests this. "But Freelance, or independent contractor, perhaps, is what you are looking for. Where you from? I can't quite place your accent, and I've been just about… everywhere." Her brows arch up at Brenda for offering to get up on the bar and she gives a chuckle. "I didn't know it was that kind of bar…"

"I am not tsygane," the man says, a sardonic smile curving his mouth at Brenda's suggestions as he reaches out to take the pad of paper and pen. Daphne's contribution gets a hoarse bark of coughing laughter. "Freelance will do! I am from Saint Petersburg, originally, but home is Berlin. Have you been to Berlin? It is one of the greatest cities in the world, second only to Barcelona. I am quite fond of it."

As he speaks, the tip of the pen is moving across the paper, creating a dull scratching sound with every practiced stroke the man makes. "Yes," he says in agreement with Brenda, angling a glance in Noriko's direction without pausing his work, "you should smile more. You have a very pretty face."

Noriko manages a grin at Brenda before she replies, "You'd have to do quite a little more than just get on the bar to make me smile." She winks, before her attention goes back to the man, and his words. She blushes a little before replying, "Um… thanks." Her eyes going to the water bottle for a moment, before she adds, "Not used to getting compliments from random strangers." Well, unless it went along the lines of: Holy God! Those are /huge/ tits!

"Ladies and gentleman, we have" THere's a pregnant pause and a raised arm that rotates around like a helicopter rotor in the air. " A sense of humor! 'Bout fucking time" The bartender swears, flicking the rag down on the table. "ANd sure do, All us girls get up and dance. Gotta come in later in the day though to see that. Gets a lotta tips" There's a glance to the suited guy and then Noriko. 'Boss lady doens't, she refuses to, but the rest of us do. But that's why she was called the Nun, before we called her the boss lady"

Daphne raises a brow at the come on from the patron to the tender, and then chuckles. To the suited man, she nods. "Both cities. Very nice. Barcelona's fun. Paris is my favorite, I have to admit, but for the architecture, you can't beat Barcelona. You can stare up at La Sagrada Familia and see something you never noticed, if you went every day for a year, I think." She takes a long sip of her brandy.

"Santa Maria del Mar," the man counters. "Too many tourists at Sagrada. I once took a woman to La Boqueria and then Liceu. She would pick up fruit and turn it over in her hands just to feel the skin. They were very small — her hands, not the fruit." The lines on the pad are beginning to take the shape of a flower that resembles an orchid, and while it isn't finished yet, it's already clear that his artistic prowess is considerably better than the flow of his English.

Noriko blinks at Brenda for a couple of moments, before she chuckles and takes another drink from her bottle. She leans over a little, to look over the man's shoulders and take a glimpse at what he is drawing.

"You can take me with you next time" Brenda nearly purr's to the foreigner, a glance down to the flower that blossoms forth from the pen onto the pad of paper. "I could show you a good time"

Brenda gets another chuckle as she turns her wiles from Noriko to the foreigner. Daphne nods to him, picking up her glass and turning it slowly in her hands. "Santa Maria is lovely, especially in the courtyard, someone always busking or doing some weird performance art," she agrees. She sips her brandy and sighs, feeling the itch to travel now, her feet restless on the rung of the stool, bouncing a bit. "La Boqueria and Las Ramblas are so colorful, if overrun at times with tourists. Here, I guess the equivalent are the stalls of knock off Coach and Balenciaga purses in Chinatown." She winks. "Not quite as romantic."

The man lifts his eyebrows at Brenda, seeming to consider her offer from beneath their expressive arch. A flourish of his wrist completes his illustration and ends at the base of a long, flowing stem. It isn't very elaborate, but in this case detail has been deliberately sacrificed for the sake of style. The message he leaves in what little white space on the paper remains is also minimalist and written in Cyrillic script, making it impossible for the women to decipher.

This done, he slides the pad back across the counter but keeps the pen to twirl between his fingers so he has something to occupy his hands. "If I am ever back in New York, I would like to see them just the same," he says of Chinatown's wares, and there's a certain smugness in his eyes that wasn't there before. To Brenda: "Perhaps I will take you up on your offer as well, should it still stand."

Noriko hmms a little before she says, "Pretty drawing." Looking down at her water, and the bit that is left in it, the hydrokinetic decides to forgo safety and anonymity for convience as she uses her ability to get that last bit to her mouth to drink it. She can finally use it in public legally, so, nothing wrong with doing that.

"Oh, it'll stand" Brenda offers a wink as she takes the note with a glance to what's on it before she folds it in half once it's ripped off, then quarters and tucked right. Into. Her. Bra. "I'll make sure she gets this. Now, anyone need refills?"

"Nope, I think I'm done," Daphne says, putting her empty on the bar after one final swig, then hopping down from her barstool. "Safe travels, mister." Noriko gets a little head shake at the water trick. "You should be careful. If I remember right, some chicks got kidnapped from this very bar for being Evolved. You never know who might think that's worth putting a bullet in your head for, girly."

The man trades the pen for a print-out of his boarding pass, procured from his suit jacket's dark interior. As he checks the flight time, presumably to be sure that he isn't mistaken about when his plane is due to depart, the women may glimpse his destination city in thick black lettering at the top of the ticket: JACKSON, MS. The name of the ticket holder, on the other hand, is covered by his thumb.

"Regretfully," he says, tucking the ticket back into his jacket, "I should be leaving also. It was a pleasure meeting you lovely ladies." Noriko's display gives him pause, and for the first time since he set foot in the bar he looks strangely ill-at-ease as he too rises from his seat. "Do svidaniya."

"Yep. Be careful, Faucet," Daphne tells the other woman as she moves toward the exit, her feet needing the ground to move beneath them, perhaps a jaunt over to Europe if she can check on the weather. She gives a wave to the stranger as he picks up his suitcase, preparing to head to the less exotic locale of Jackson, Mississippi to seek whatever "Freelance" business he has there.

He didn't even pay his tab.

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