Participants:
| Scene Title | It was a Mobile Minefield |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Trask and Ygraine meet over a liquid lunch at their favourite punk bar |
| Date | September 18th, 2008 |
A punk rock pub through and through, The Surly Wench is dim, cramped, and incredibly popular. It's a small, rectangular venue with a bar bordering one entire wall. Despite this, ordering a drink on a weekend can be an exercise in line-waiting and rib-elbowing. There are a few small tables ringed with high stools for seating, but these are prime real estate. The majority of the patrons are forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder on any given night. Almost half of the cramped interior is devoted to a low stage for live music. There's no dance floor. If you feel the need, you'll have to thrash in place.
At this time of the day, the Wench is quiet — almost docile. "Enter Sandman" plays on the jukebox, while a few patrons enjoy a liquid lunch. Perched atop one of the high stools, Ygraine hunches bleary-eyed over a pint of something dark, a magazine folded over to rest open on the table before her.
Trask comes in on his afternoon off, makes his way toward the bar and pulls up a stool. Ordering a drink, he turns to look over the room, eyes falling on Ygraine.
Ygraine notices Trask a few moments later, blinking slowly at him before recognition registers — and she offers a smile and a cheery little finger-wave.
Trask smiles and moves down the bar near her, "So You picking up a second job here at the bar?"
Ygraine snorts softly, shaking her head. "No…. Just passing by, and thought I'd try to gather my wits a little. I prefer to be awake when I show up for my shift. It's not the sort of job I can afford to be dopey at — too much chance of getting hit by a truck."
Trask smiles softly, "Drinking and driving is never a suggested activity. Much less doing so half asleep. How strong do they make the coffee here?
Ygraine arches a brow, then laughs softly. "It's Coke, not Guinness. And I confess that I've not dared try their coffee. I'd hazard a guess it might hold up a spoon, however."
Trask chuckles softly, and shakes his head. "So what are your plans for the day Miss Fitzroy?
Ygraine shrugs, somewhat ruefully. "Work. Make money. Try not to get hit by any morons…. To be fair, the streets now are for the most part rather quieter and more sane than they were when last I was here. I've got rather a lot of admiration for the couriers who dealt with central Manhattan at its busiest."
Trask nods, "It was a bit of a moving minefield back in those days. These days it is much more…sane, if a little more irradiated."
Ygraine chuckles softly, shrugging amiably. "Well, I was on Broadway on the day. Any damage my body was prone to receiving, I probably got then…."
Trask says, "You were very lucky then. I was over seas myself. My mom was downtown though."
Ygraine arches a brow at being described as lucky, then winces. "I… in the blast zone?", she inquires awkwardly.
Trask nods and sips his scotch, early still for a scotch, but hey it's his day off. "Yeah. She was working cleaning apartments." he swallows, "I was pulled away on my guard duty so …" he shrugs, "Bright part is they say she wouldn't have felt anything, or known anything happened."
"I was, well…. I'm sorry. But if she was close enough, yeah…. I was far enough out that facing the other way, and being in full bike leathers and helmet…." Ygraine shrugs awkwardly. "I got put through a storefront and my next clear memories are from two days later, but…"
Trask sighs softly, "I'm sorry…" he looks away, "It was pretty bad for everyone in thier own way. So what have you been doing the last couple years, if your just coming back?"
Ygraine quirks a wry smile. "I spent the better part of a year recovering. Tried to get back into work… and realised that I needed to deal with a few personal demons. So… here I am. Fighting demons and rebuilding the city, one parcel at a time."
Unfinished scene, hopefully to be completed at a future date.
 September 18th: Murder is My Métier |
 September 18th: The X-Files This Isn't |