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abby_icon.gif conrad_icon.gif deckard_icon.gif hagan_icon.gif

Scene Title Expletive Deleted
Synopsis Three assholes walk into a bar and Abby wants one of them to apologize for her face. Poor choice of words, sister.
Date November 25, 2008

Old Lucy's

The "Old Lucy" up somewhere in greenwhich village. Recently opened and recently staffed. Bottles of every manner of spirits, booze, taps of various brews, cups ect ect. It's an alcoholics dream. As are the staff. Eye candy, that's for sure. At the bar are a few people, serving, and the one end seems to be lacking the crowd that the other end is attracting. A redhead in form fitting jeans, simple blank tank top, is leaning over the counter, reading some kind of list while music blares.

This is a new place to Con, but he figured he'd try something different since Deckard is socially inconvenienced these days and his man-date (mandate, get it?) is to be watched. He dug up a San Francisco 49ers jacket this evening and is already enjoying the place. "All right. This is just the right level of T and A so far…" he observes right in the door, making for the bar.

Hagan is probably the only man in the world whose priority is pints over boobs. It doesn't help that he's had a rather rotten week or so. He's staked out a spot at the end of the bar and is halfway through his first pint and his second cigarette. His hair is its own ecosystem on a good day. Today, it's practically a fright wig. The curdled milk look on his face doesn't help the overall image. He's not going to be on the cover of GQ any time soon.

Man date. That's Deckard. A beat up brown leather jacket, white shirt, and jeans fill in for the usual grey suit, marginally reducing the haze of scuzz that typically clings to his person. He hangs back at the door, half a cigarette pressed into the corner of his mouth while he scopes out the crowd. Two days out, he's better rested, but paranoid.

Fortunately, with the atmosphere being what it is, there's plenty to be distracted by. His path follows Conrad's to the bar, and the promise of boobies and booze that goes with it. He's a little terse and a lot quiet, but he'll get over it. Probably.

More people, her end of the bar. Abby's baby blue look up, "Just a moment! Need to finish this" and down they go again. Wait a minute. Now the eyes look back up at the two men, and her face blanches, the new gold cross dangling from around her neck. Not who she was expecting to walk in on her first day. She glances down to the others, they're busy, and ignoring them for a moment, looks to Hagan. "Another one?" Because beer on tap, is easy to serve and not mess up.

Without further ado, Conrad orders, "Gimme a gin and tonnn…" He looks up at the perky young bartender. "Aw fuck." And promptly cusses at her. "This is a joke, right? The Holy Virgin? Is workin' bar??" He pauses and lays down a wad of sweaty money. "Gin and tonic." So far he hasn't noticed Hagan Scissorhands at the end yet. Too distracted.

"Yes yes, yes. Beer. Keep beer coming. Thank you. And thank fuck I'm not asking for one of those…" Hagan waves towards Abby's attempt at mix drinks with a wet coaster he's in the process of shredding. Then he takes a moment to look at her. He squints, perhaps rudely. Then, "Shouldn't you be making sandwiches? Or did a panini press do that to your face?" Subtle. He's not usually this blunt but. Bad week. "You have to feed those things or they turn on ya. Like that." He's also losing volume control. And the evening's young!"

"This isn't actually that bad," muttered aside to Conrad once Deckard has shouldered up to the span of bar next to him, he…hesitates when he looks down the opposite side of the bar and gets an eyeful of Hagan. Spoke too soon, maybe. His fisheye lingers there for longer than it should while he orders, "Whiskey. Whatever's cheapest," and looks forward again. To see Abby. His jaw works, he stiffens. He looks back at Conrad. Ok, so, what's the punch line?

Abby, has long since even stopped trying to get people to not swear. It's useless, pointless and she's so far this night, learned to shut her mouth and stop asking. "Nope. That job fell through. Instead, i'm here. Someone promised me a job and she intends to make the virgin mary into a bartender" Conrad is eyed, Decker is eyed the longest though when he looks her way. Her lips thin in regards to him and if anyone happens to notice her hand tightening into a fist well, maybe it's a coincidence. "One Gin and tonice, one beer, one whiskey. Lets see if I can't mess this up" And she turns away, to start filling orders.

Con replies readily, "Thanks." and waits for Abby to turn to her business. "No, it's pretty nice except for the bartender that hates me." he answers at Deckard. He's not gonna do anything crazy at Abby. Truth to tell, he doesn't hate her so much as just not get along. And about then he notices (and thinks he might recognize) Hagan at the end of the bar. Stares. "I think I know that guy." he says, jerking his head, Hagan-ward.

Hagan watches Abby's progress, as if checking to see if she's going to explode the beer before he can drink it. He drains what's left in his current pint and pushes the glass away. Then he happens to catch sight of Conrad. "Aw, fuck," he mutters around the cigarette pinched between his lips.

Deckard's chilly eyes follow Abby off along her merry, fist-tightening way, and he doesn't reply until she's out of easy listening range. Do Christians spit in drinks? "I punched her in the head. What'd you do?" It's an uncomfortable line of conversation. One he's happy enough to be distracted from when Con's stare and head jerk action directs his attention back towards Hagan. "Looks like a douchebag."

Hard to make the tap explode. That and someone actually taught her how to pour it properly. A fress glass taken from eblow the counter, she works hard to pour it /just/ right and carry it over to hagan. First try! Gin and tonic. Not hard! She flips to her little cheat book and starts. two ingrediants. A highball glass plucked and she starts to make his drink. Fully in view of the two and between the trio. Ice is dumped in, 1 parts gin, 5 parts tonic water, just like the recipie states. Up it goes onto the bartop and the appropriate money taken out of it. Deckard though, gets another look. "You don't get yours till you apologize for my face"

"Me? Really I didn't do anything to her." And then Abby has to come up and say that shit in front of Conrad. He busts out laughing at her. Obviously at her, too, hand over mouth and still laughing. Hagan is forgotten for the moment.

Hagan narrows his eyes at Deckard and his laughter. He's too far to hear what exactly was said. Well, really he's not, but he was focusing on the first few drinks of his pint. But now his attention's back to the end of the bar. He eavesdrops quite blatantly as he smokes and starts to make quick work of his pint.

Smoke blown (courteously) out of the side of his mouth rather than up Abby's nose, Deckard is slow to bring his focus back around to her from Hagan while Conrad laughs. His head tips down towards the drink, further down to watch the drum of his own fingers against the bar, and then back up again. "I think what he means to say is that you should probably take up that particular line of complaint with your mother."

Deckards reply is not that satisfactory, so much so that her hands flash's out. Instead of quite possibly balling into a fist, it catches around the front of deckards shirt, fingers sink into the shirtfront, a button even popping as that hidden strength in the former waitress is yanking him against the bar and forcing his face close to hers. Whats heard, seems to be fore deckards ears only, and it's an unhappy looking virgin mary.

(You sense Abby's voice is erie calm. her battered nose nearly pressed to the top of his ear. "I don't remember a single thing from that night. Save going for a ride before I was supposed to do a miracle and instead I wake up beside a dead man and someone shot and cops asking me what happened. I've had to deal with people asking me about a boyfriend or a husband who beats me, and urging me to go to a shelter. Teo told me you did it to save my life. Is that true?")

"Damn Flint, you must've really pissed her off." Con says, laughter simmering down to more of a chuckle as he watches this go down. In spite of himself part of him hopes Abby doesn't lose her job over this. And he looks to Hagan, who is snooping too much. "What're you lookin' at, fuckface?"

"Fuckface? Well, aren't you a wizard with words." Hagan harumphs and takes a pull from his beer. "Because putting fuck in front of everything automatically creates an intelligent and painful insult." He smokes and exhales slowly. "I think your buddy there's about to get his nuts crushed by a girl."

Some things are difficult to anticipate. Being hauled over the edge of a bar by a girl half your size probably qualifies. The hand Deckard manages to brace against the barside isn't enough to keep the cage of his ribs from following suit, and he doesn't quite manage to suppress a wince around his cigarette while she murmurs less-than-sweet somethings into his ear. "Would you believe me if I said 'yes'?" is said for all concerned parties to hear, and he lifts his brows at the back wall, or something on the other side of it. There's a pause while his eyes scan sideways back to Hagan, and then, "I think I lost a button."

It's a moment, two. One of the other bartenders looks ready to come down if Abby needs it. But the virgin mary lets Deckard go. "Getting your whiskey" is all she says. There's some perk gone out of her now though. "His men bits are safe. I don't hit people. Straight or rocks?" Asked of Deckard, after he's managed to settle back on his seat.

"He can handle his girl." Con says, putting it that way partly to irk Abby and make it sound like she and Deckard are a thing. Although at this rate Con's starting to believe it's the case. "Hey, aren't you the guy I saw looking all surprised that stripper friend of yours was a stripper?" Yeah. Now he knows where he's seen Hagan before.

Hagan thought he was more memorable than that. But saying so would leave Conrad an opening. And he can't have that. "She has a day job," says the Irishman before swallowing another mouthful of beer. He eyes the end of the tension between Deckard and Abby, but doesn't comment. Provoking both men at once would seem ill-advised.

"On the rocks," expelled in a noxious huff, Deckard drops back down onto his stool and straightens his collar, nose wrinkled when he swipes a hand back over the hollow of his cheek. His left hand claps back over the bar to retrieve the popped button. Clean shirts don't grow on trees. "On three different notes, they aren't 'bits,' she's not my girl and no matter what she does during the day, hundreds of guys have still stuffed dollar bills into her lacy black panties while you weren't watching."

'Man bits, is the polite word" Abby shoots back, ice, whiskey. Any particular attention, it's easy to see it's not the cheapest, and Conrad get a little bit of his money back. Not a word spoken. "The scruffy man here is just the object of my good christian morals. And help on occasion. Besides, he's old enough to be my father" Not a hint of Malice, the redhead just leans against the bar, waiting for anyone else to come and ask for drinks. "And don't beat up on this guy. He tried to get me a job in piccoli's. He's good in my books" An evil eye given to Conrad.

"This guy?" Con asks Abby, pointing at Hagan. "He was a total ass to me. For no reason, kinda like you. No wonder you all get along." Because Poor Conrad is an innocent victim who never brings any of this on himself. He spends a moment looking at Abby critically, asks, "Something's different. You changed something." He glances at Deckard. "Do you see it? Aside from the busted face."

"I don't care what her bloody day job is. I barely know her. I was just surprised." Hagan mutters, then drinks. He's doing a lot of that. "Oh fuck off. Poking at strangers isn't a way to earn you new drinking buddies." He's sounding more and more miserable. And the alcohol isn't helping. He looks up at Abby. "Don't try getting in the middle, else you'll just earn yourself more harassment, I'm sure."

Deckard doesn't quite roll his eyes at her insistence about the whole 'bits' thing, but the impression of annoyance is there anyway while he tucks away the button and sits up a little straighter. "I am not." Whiskey taken while he narrows an eye at Hagan, he mutters a less audible, "How old are you?" before taking the first sip. Conrad's question earns a glance back at Abby, but no immediate answer. "What, like a haircut?"

"Conrad is always harassing me. We don't see eye to eye on personal principles and my behavior. So we agree, to disagree on that. I got a new cross. Flint here punched the old one off me and the chain was already weak" Abby smiles to Hagan. "I can handle the con man. He's just a big grumpy bear looking for someone to love. He just doens't believe it's jesus who does" She purposefully says it while looking at Conrad and throws him a wink. No ones seeming to come to her end, so, back to mixing drinks for practice, as the other ones holler down an order from a patient customer who might be too inebrieted to notice if it's off a little. "Sex… on a beach. Oh heavens."

Grumpily Con grumbles, "I'm not a grumpy bear…" And he nurses his gin. "Anyway who said I needed a new buddy? You wanna hang out with us? C'mover here and hang out." Conrad kicks the barstool next to him, inviting and bitching all at the same time. Because guys don't have to be friendly to be friends. Hell, they don't even have to be friends to be friends. "Somethin' like a haircut. Or maybe she's pregnant." he says in a lower voice to Deckard.

Hagan eyes the stool, then Deckard. Like it's a trick. Like it's a trap. The stool might have a tack on it. He scratches the side of his face and pushes hair back. "Why do I feel like the high school bullies are holding a door open for me?"

"They might, they might not. They won't bite too hard" Abby's dumping perhaps a bit too much peach schnapps into the drink, Spears a cherry with a little sword, and purposefully in front of the three men. It's balanced across the top of the glass, thin black straw and she's passing it off to the appropriate drunk customer. "I'll protect you. I know their weakness"

The lack of an answer on age is enough to earn a suspicious (and possibly slightly concerned) sidelong look from Deckard, but it doesn't last. What it does do is keep him facing the other direction until Hagan is finished looking at him, effectively masking an upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Sure. Come on and have a seat over here by Uncle Deckard. And if she's pregnant, it sure as fuck isn't mine."

"Not mine either this time." chimes in Conrad, turning a shoulder to the stool he offered Hagan. Like he could give a damn. "So Abs, you really hard up for a job or did you just want to try your hand at this? Because I know another job that pays a whole lot better you could do." Glance at Hagan. Like he oughta know what job Con's thinking of.

"I don't know Conrad, gee, let me see. I had to leave my other job, dye my hair… move to another apartment… Gosh, golly, good heavens…" She grabs the tonic water tap and aims at him. No a drop leaves the tap. Yet. "Isabelle offered me a job when I went into rapture. I was going to do the diner during the day and work nights here. But maybe once i'm settled here I'm going to looking into becoming a masseuse" It's spoken with all seriousness. Then she holds up her left hand. "And we've been through the whole biblical relations thing before Conrad. Pick something else to try and bait me" Look! Another order. Gin and Tonic. Surprise. "Would any of you gentleman like another?"

"Yes, the girl who is concerned about her crucifix is going to get up in white platforms and shake her ass to 'Papa Don't Preach.' Because that's exactly what God-fearing girls do." Oh hoh, the sarcasm. Though Hagan's tone doesn't have the bite it did before. This is just the way he normally talks. The claws are away for now, it seems. He stands and moves down the bar, nearly empty pint in hand. But he doesn't sit, not yet anyway. He gives Deckard a look. "And I'm seventeen. Precocious scamp, aren't I?" He smiles a totally false smile that serves to produce very subtle crow's feet in the corner of his eyes. He glances to Abby. "Just the bill. Fucking work tomorrow." He would lose his ability to speak without f-bombs.

"I told you to stay away from the fucking diner," Deckard mutters, leaning to snuff the stub of his smoke out into the nearest ash tray. That's his only contribution to that line of conversation, mostly because Hagan has decided to slum it on over and he's busy trying to size him up, nearly empty glass and all. "I don't care how old you are. Man tits aren't a personal point of interest for me." In a war of crow's feet, Flint has the definite advantage. Because he’s old.

"I like you like this, Abby. You're a little meaner. It looks good on ya." Conrad says with a grin at Abby, staring down the tonic tap. "And yeah, I'd love another. Thanks." There's a glance of sorts at Hagan and Con says to him, "If you're seventeen that stripper was your girlfriend."

Abby names some price for the appropriate amount of alcohol that Hagan drank and smiles to him. 'See you again. Take care okay? God bless." and looks at deckard before leaning over this time, just be nice. No need to pop another button. 'And if people walk into said diner, and decide to do as /you/ did, then what good is just staying away from the diner going to do me? They'll have my address, and someone else was tailing me before you poked your nose up. So someone else knew what I looked like. It just changed my path that god set me on flint. That's all. Maybe for the better or the worse, that changes by the moment' Her blue eyes looking into his before they flash to conrad. " Glad you do. See, I can still be a good christian girl and you can still like me a little. The two don't have to be polar opposites. Another for you Flint?"

"Why would you? You must have enough fun playing with your own." Though Hagan's comment to Deckard has an edge of amusement to it. He glances to Conrad and wobbles ever so slightly. Lots of pints. Close together. He can hold his liquor, but that doesn't mean there are -no- signs. He digs out money from his wallet and hands it to Abby. It includes a decent tip. Then he focuses back on Conrad. "Hah." he barks. "Bloody hell. She'd have better taste than me." And with that, he steps back to his original stool, scoops up his jacket, zips it and heads for the door.

"Yeah." No reply on the subject of the Nite Owl. Deckard just gives Abby a hard look and pushes his empty glass back over to her to be refilled or replaced. Nothing's said on the subject of religion, either. He's back to being broody and quiet with no more Hagan to antagonize, attention turned fully to getting as much alcohol into his system as is humanly and affordably possible before he has to follow Conrad back out to his doghouse for the night.

November 25th: Their Weaknesses

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

November 25th: Think Outside The Box
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