Participants:
| Scene Title | Hospitality |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Two gentlemen and Brian walk into a bar. |
| Date | January 21, 2009 |
Old Lucy's has a vibrant and lively feel to it, from the dark wooden floors to the shady crimson 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 owner's office and just inside a stairwell that leads a apartment on the floor above the bar.
It's a surprisingly quiet Wednesday night at Old Lucy's — except for the low buzz of music in the background and the occasional tinker of glasses amidst murmured conversation, it's almost as desolate as the snow-covered streets outside. The only real difference is that in here it's warm and it doesn't smell like spilled beer and old piss.
Seated at one of the tables closest to the bar are two men — one young and one old, one lean and one stocky — with a pitcher of lager and a deck of playing cards between them. Although they haven't moved from their chairs in close to two hours, neither of the pair shows any inclination to leave, not even to get up and go to the bathroom. But even more curious than that is the squirrel monkey perched on the back of the older man's chair, its beetle black eyes surveying his current spread of cards with guarded curiosity. A discarded ashtray full of peanut shells sits nearby — it, if nothing else, is a testament to how long they've been there.
That monkey has gotten quite a few glances from Abby. What the hell is the bar's policy on… monkey's and how did they get it in here… on her break? No girls dancing up on the bar tonight since there's not really enough people. Finished popping the cap on a couple bottles, carrying them over to a table, her trip back brings her by the men, and the monkey. "What's his or her name?" Curiosity finally getting the better of the blonde. A rag looped in her belt, a black tank top and jeans, flat leather boots on.
The door opens, and in steps…
Brian. Closing the door behind him, the young man is dressed casually today. Stubble already growning on his chin. A thick brown jacket is worn, his hands tucked into his pockets. The young man searches the place with his eyes until they settle on Abby. He draws in a breath as he starts to approach, then, monkey!
Brian's eyes instinctively brighten at the sight of a monkey, his mouth even forming a small 'wow' as he looks on the creature. Monkeys. Love monkeys. His mission in coming here is for now completely derailed as he seems to just be admiring the little animal on the older man's shoulder. It's so cute.
Spidery, pale fingers clasp his glass of lager, bringing it up to sip, pale grin eyes flicking up from his other hand's spread of cards to regard Abby for a moment. The younger of the pair rewards her with a light smile - not the owner of the monkey, it seems, if it appears to be surveying his companions cards, not his. He's dressed well, perhaps a little too well for this place, with an expensive leather jacket drawn over some sort of designer shirt, collar tucked in. "That depends on who you ask," he says, his voice a crisp London accent. "I'm inclined to call him 'pest'."
"Pest," Abby murmurs, looking to the monkey. "And Pests real name is? What does pest eat. Fruit? Cause if so we might have some in the back I can chop up for him" Brian enters, and it's a half grimace half grin that washes across the young woman's face, but he gets a wave to acknowledge him at least before she looks back to the pair. "And can I get you anything else while I'm circling?"
No animal is as capable of vanity as a human being, but you wouldn't know it judging by the way the monkey responds to Brian's attention. It rises up onto its feet and, disdainfully, sniffs at the air in front of his nose, small head tilted at an inquisitive angle as it uses a single finger to scritch an itch at the bottom of its chin. "I'm inclined to call you 'pest'," the older man rebukes his companion from across the table, laying his cards face down. "His name is Tabaqui, and some fruit would be wonderful. Thank you."
His gaze finally breaks from the monkey just long enough to see a hybrid grimace-grin. It takes him a little bit to actually understand this facial expression before the young man finally gives a little nod to her. Brian approaches the men at the table slowly, his eyes locked back onto the monkey. "Do you mind if I pet it?" Brian asks tentatively.
"Tabaqui" She's not about to reach out and touch the monkey, treating it much like a strange dog, and it might be rude, she doens't know. What's the protocol with monkey's. "I'll get Tabaqui some fruit. I have some apples from my lunch in the back." but Brians asking if he can pet it and the blonde slows her steps away from the table so she can hear the answer.
Logan taps a finger against the pitcher of lager, raising an eyebrow at Abby. "And another one of these," he adds. "Stella Artois would be grand." The warmth he affords the woman quickly shifts when Brian approaches and makes his hesitant request, and Logan rolls his eyes, hands absently shuffling his cards, flicking through them as he flicks a glance towards his companion. "You really should leave that thing at home on occasion, it attracts all kinds of attention." Head tilts, and he acknowledges Brian with a, "Hello there."
The monkey's keeper raises his hand and gives the animal a quick signal, making a sign that Tabaqui interprets as a release. He hops up onto Brian's arm and grasps at the material of his shirt with his miniature fingers and toes, hand over hand, foot over foot, until he's secured a stable hold up on the man's left shoulder. His tail hangs down across his back, its ink-dipped tip flicking with visible interest.
"Perhaps I like the attention, John," says the man who is not Logan. "Can we buy you both a drink?"
Brian smiles brightly at monkey man's partner. "Hey. Sorry I just walked up on you like that. I.. I lived in Thailand for a little while. My neighbors had a monkey. Not like this. But.." He smiles even brighter as the animal jumps onto him. His hand raises up to offer to the monkey, let him chew on it or whatever. "Oh no. Please. I should get you one. I'm Brian, by the way."
'Stella Artois it is!" Abigail calls back a few others placing their drink orders, Abby seems to be the only one on duty at the moment, someones in the back chugging out food as it's wanted, but it's slow. A second bartender will arrive at some point within the while to give her her break and double team the bar. Then there will be actual dancing on the bartop. Because it ain't happening when she's there. Duck into the backroom, grab that apple, grab an orange and a little knife, make short work of the fruit.
A flicker of a smirk to the monkey man of the group, before Logan leans back and kicks out a third chair for Brian, the legs of the chair skittering a little noisily against the floor as he does so. "John," he states by way of introduction, laying his cards face down on the table before polishing off the last of their lager, making way for the new pitcher. As for the monkey, well, he'll let the other man talk monkey, eyeing the small animal climbing around on the stranger with a little bit of resentment.
"Muldoon." The monkey's keeper extends one gloved hand to Brian in silent offering should he desire to shake it. "If you're certain. My associate and I don't come here often. Well…" He pauses as if in thought, his eyes hooding halfway shut in a lazy, contemplative sort of gesture. "At all, really, come to think of it. But it's a new year, and we're trying new things — so please, Brian, sit."
"John. Muldoon." Brian says, repeating their names as he shakes hands where appropriate, one hand remaining on his new found friend on his shoulder. "Nice to meet you two. Thanks." He says, looking to be utterly fascinated with the animal. "How do you keep him here? Do you have to have like a special license or something. Special monkey license?" His gaze goes to Abby for a moment, distractedly. Oh yeah, he came here to talk to her.
Three bottles are having their caps popped, put on a tray, little bowl of sliced apples minus the cores, and a few slices of oranges, the pitcher of Stella Artois next. There's a flash of a smile to the trioa t the table as she dispenses with other drinks along the way to them, leaving only the pitcher of stella switched out with the near empty one, A bottle of beer for Brian and the bowl of fruit for the monkey. "Anything else?"
Logan readily moves to refill both his pint and Muldoon's, attention divided between his task and Abby's presence. "Actually there is something else," he says lightly, casting a smile back up at the blonde. It never does quite reach his eyes, which remain severe and pale, but the smile is plenty genuine. "Your presence. You've been working so hard, take an excuse to get off your feet for a few moments." He glances back at the slightly desolate number of people that will threaten to grow soon, if not just yet. "I'll keep an eye on things for you before riots protesting your absence begin. Promise."
"Tabaqui and I have been in business together for years," Muldoon explains. "If I ever found myself in a position where I'd need to replace him, I fear I might have something of a difficult time — then again, with things as they are, the police probably have more important laws to be enforcing. It may not be so hard after all." As Muldoon speaks, Tabaqui begins picking through Brian's hair with his fingertips, not in search for parasites like he might in the wild, but simply to explore its texture for lack of anything better to do. That changes the instant Abby sets down the bowl, however, and in one smooth motion he leaps down from Brian's shoulder onto the tabletop, very nearly knocking over Muldoon's glass in the process.
"Thanks Abby." Brian says softly as she delivers him a bottle. Though Logan gets a slightly wary glance when he urges she sit so.. charmingly. But his attention is quickly diverted to Muldoon. "Well.. I mean if you're trying to get rid of him." He starts but then Tabaqui jumps off his shoulder, much to Brian's frownieface. "Uh. Where you guys from?"
"I'd love to sit, but, I can't. A nun's work is never done. How about… I stand? That way if I need to head to the bar, it doesn't look like i'm slacking?" She leans a little with one hand on Brian's chair with a charming smile for the two, the tray effectively covering her ass from Logan's hands if they should try to wander. "Abigail, or the Nun as they call me here" There's an appreciative glance for the monkey, glad that it's going for the fruit. Good deed for the day. "Besides, I have Dr. Scholl's. 'I'm gellin' as they say in the commercials. but thank you, for your concern"
"A nun?" Logan says, with a wry chuckle. "I suppose you don't mean that literally but all the same. Wonderful. It's nice to meet you, Abigail." He relaxes back in his seat, throwing a glance about the place as if he truly were keeping an eye on it for the bartender's sake. "Is it true they get up and dance on the bar? I've seen that movie. No shortage of pretty women in New York, I suppose, even these days." Pale eyes narrow on Brian, glance to Muldoon, back to Brian. "I'm from around. Mostly here. London originally."
"London originally," Muldoon agrees, but does not elaborate further than that. Instead, he leans back in his seat, folds his hands in his lap and watches Tabaqui sort the fruit by colour, size and shape, nibbling at the edges of the pieces that appeal to him the most. "I work for an investment firm here in the city, but I've been dabbling on-and-off in other projects since two-thousand-and-six — I'm sure you can understand why. What is it that you do?"
Brian gives Abby a roll of his eyes at her statement of gelling. So corny. Then he looks back to Muldoon as he continues his very adult conversation with the man. "Uh. I dabble, also." Brian responds, tipping the bottle into his mouth.
Brian gets a gentle elbow. "Coyote Ugly. Yes indeedy. I don't get up there, but the others do. When Brenda comes in, soon, she'll likely be doing it within the hour. Ugly night like tonight, doesn't pick up until later. But they dress less than me, and get up there and do their twists and the like so if you hang around, you should get a show. When the mu sci cranks up high and they get the pitchers out, then, it's coming." Abby drawls in her deep south accent, keeping a sharp blue eye on the others, levels of drink, any of the little indicators that say hey, I need service. But there doesn't seem to be any so far. Abigail cants her head to the side watching the monkey do it's thing, taking delight in it's focus and intelligence. "He's beautiful"
"See, I told you, Muldoon," Logan says, gaze switching from Abby to his companion. "We just got here too early for the real excitement, is all." A pack of cigarettes, along with a light, is dug out of a pocket, a cigarette drawn and lit up, and now he actually does give Brian a smile, as mild as it is. "So we're all dabblers then. I'm a business owner, myself. Bloody hard work in this city but it certainly pays off in the end. Who owns this place, Abigail?"
Muldoon gives Abby a grateful smile that shows only a small sliver of tooth, ceding the conversation to Logan — the much smoother talker.
"Isabelle." Brian interjects for Abby. She might get mad at him for it, but he knew the answer! He should pop those out when he does. His brows narrow at the faint sound of vrrr vrr. His hand dives into his pocket pulling out a cell phone. Flipping it open he frowns deeply at the thing that just suddenly came up that he has to attend to or else. "Ah. Well it was really nice to meet you two, and you, Tabaqui. But I need to get running." With that he starts to stand, offering his hand to the two men again, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Abby, give me a call later, okay?"
"That you did. So, I'll give you that pitcher on the house, since we've disappointed you" She shifts, shuffling her feet and looking around. "What he said. You'll know her when you see her, tall, dark hair, big lips, She don't be around till later. If you need to talk to her, I can take your number and leave a message for her" But then Brians phone is ringing. 'If I don't, I'll get you tomorrow Brian. Take care" Offering him a soft smile.
Extending his hand to take Brian's in a handshake of departure, Logan gives him a tight smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Brian," he says, and then, dismissed. To Abby, a slightly more generous smile, and he shakes his head. "No need. And thank you, that's very kind. Perhaps I should let you get on." He shares a glance at Muldoon, a flash of a smile that's likely motivated by however many lagers he's had, before its hidden with a sip of said lager.
Muldoon is observing Brian's retreating back by the time Logan slides him that look. He gives the other man a slight tip of his head in response, but the meaning behind the silent exchange is unclear, spoken in a physical language only he and his companion recognize and understand. "We wouldn't want to keep you from your work, no," he says with a small nod, reaching inside of his coat with one gloved hand, "but let me give you my card. I have a feeling we'll be stopping by again soon — say what you will about the atmosphere, but I can't complain at all about the service. You've been exceptional this evening. If you ever need anything— "
"I do my best gentlemen" Abby smiles to the pair. "Don't know how Isabelle will feel about Tabaqui. But I can ask whats the policy on real monkey's in the bar. Your welcome to move to the bar if you want conversation, stools are open" offered to the two men, all bright southern hospitality.
"I'm more curious on their policy about fake monkeys, actually," Logan quips, ashing out his cigarette into the peanut-husk filled ashtray, picking up a random piece of fruit that had gone astray and offering it to the apparent 'pest' himself. "I think we're good here. Can't let the little critter near too much breakable glass, now can we." To Tabaqui, he adds, "No we cannot."
At first, Tabaqui appears hesitant about taking the proffered piece of fruit from Logan, but with a little coaxing he edges forward and delicately maneuvers it from the man's fingers and into his sharp-toothed little mouth. "If he's a problem, I'll take John's advice and leave him alone next time," Muldoon concedes, sliding his business card across the table to Abby. "Again, thank you."
"Fake monkeys get shotglasses embedded in thier forehead by the panther. Or in my case, usually with a pitcher of beer in their lap" Abby slides closer, leaning over a bit to get the card. "I'll tack it up. She'll see it. You gentleman have a good night. Hope to see you around" There's a moments hesitation before the blonde reaches over to give the little creature a stroke with a few fingers. "Nah, Knowing Isabelle, she'll get a kick out of Tabaqui" Abby turns then, gathering up brians half touched beer in one hand, tray in the other, heading back for the bar.
Logan watches as Abby makes her way back towards the bar, pale green eyes focused mostly on the catch of light playing on blonde hair, then down to rather more crudely stare at what he can see of her ass, before turning back to Muldoon. His current glass of lager is slid back, sighing contentedly once he's done and setting it down. "I like her, don't you?"
Only once Abby is out of earshot does Muldoon reply to Logan's question, and it's in a low voice, whisper hoarse. "She's a nice girl," he says, rising from his seat at the table and ushering Tabaqui onto his arm with a subtle gesture of his hand. "She'd be missed."
Abigail's oblivious to the whispers, not so to the stares at her ass. There is a mirror back of the bar for a reason. It's par for the course here though and it's promptly brushed out of her mind as the tray is slid into it's resting place, beer dumped, bottle ringed out in the sink before it finds it's semi-final resting spot in with other bottles to be recycled. All while brenda's making her way onto shift and the 'nun' is punching herself out on the computer. Coffee!
Logan's long-fingered hands grip the edge of the table as he pushes himself up to stand, maneuvering himself around the chair. It's a less than graceful movement, but nothing particularly noticeable - he just keeps his right leg a little straighter than he might normally. "You'd be surprised," is his dismissive response to Muldoon, picking up his leather jacket and pulling it on. "Come on, before it gets too dark out. I have something to show you."
Muldoon leaves a generous tip on the table — two twenties in addition to a fifty to cover their shared tab — and follows Logan out of the bar, monkey huddled in the gap between his collar and throat, tail wrapped around his master's neck for warmth.
"I look forward to seeing it."
Abigail's not close behind them. She's got a jacket and purse to get, Brenda's cleaning up the table but the money's shuffled into the appropriate jar and their tab closed out. But she comes out soon enough. A look around before heading for a green scooter that's parked in with two other motorbikes.
 January 21st: Caffeine |
This is the beginning of the 'By Hook or By Crook' storyline. Next in this storyline… |
 January 21st: Upstairs, Two Doors Down |