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Scene Title "Oh."
Synopsis Two members of the Linderman Group share a bottle of rum at Old Lucy's.
Date February 9, 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 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.

Four in the afternoon is a time when only the most lush drinkers are out at a bar, even with curfuew cutting off bars before midnight, hardly anyone braves the snowy streets when the sun's still up to get some alcohol in their system unless they have a problem. Old Lucy's is no different, and while it may be considered a dive bar in one of the worst neighborhoods in New York City, it's also a famous dive bar, or perhaps infamous is the right word.

With a murder outside just days ago, it's a wonder the bar has managed to not see a significant dip in its clientèle. At these hours of afternoon, it's hard to say that it hasn't. There's only one man seated at the bar when the door opens, a blonde haired man in a pinstripe suit, tangled locks of greasy hair hanging down in front of his face, a bottle of rum at his side and an empty glass nearby with a few drizzled droplets of amber liquid near its base.

It may take a while for anyone to recognize the unshaven man in the wrinkled suit as anything other than an out of work businessman. But to those who recognize the blue eyes and growling Cajun accent, Kain Zarek has taken a long and hard tumble off of whatever wagon he must have been on.

There are people you just recognise no matter what state they're in. Nicole Nichols has three: her abusive late father, her beloved little sister, and the insufferable Kain Zarek. Whether he recognises her or not is up for debate, however. With a newsboy cap over her head, and dark sunglasses over her eyes, most of the woman's distinguishing features are obscured.

Keys and wallet thunk! on the bar as the woman peels out of her coat with no small amount of agitation. "What are we drinking?" she asks the man next to her, tugging off gloves and unwrapping the scarf around her neck. A small groan escapes her lips as she fans herself, obviously uncomfortably warm. "Whatever it is, it had better be chilled."

"Away mah problems." Kain comments with a toothy grin, offering up a half-lidded stare towards the brunette seated next to him. There's not a single flash of recognition from where Kain's at one the bar stool. "Ya'll must got yourself some pretty fine troubles too, for a pretty little thing like yerself t'be out in this ol' shithole at…" Kain wobbles, looking up at the clock above the bar with a squint. "Quarter past four in'a afternoon."

Waving to the bartender, Kain motions for another glass of ice, then pushes it towards where his company sits. "Drinkin' straight from ol' Captain Morgan's private stock." He grabs the bottle, drizzling out a half full glass of straight rum from the bottle to Nicole's offered glass. "Drink up sweetlips, Ah've got another one've these with mah name on it when ya'll are done."

"How much have you had?" Nicole's ever-present bracelet dangles at her wrist when she lifts her glass. "Don't even recognise an old friend?" Colleague, same thing. All the same, she drains the glass of rum swiftly, like an oversized shot. When the BlackBerry in her pocket chimes, she's quick to retrieve it and send a response to whatever message she just received. "Ludicrous. Who does this? Who sits on information like that until…" Nicole shakes the phone in her fist, turning her head to Kain in some sort of askance.

"Ah'm still depressed…" Kain murmurs, "So 'parently not enough." There's a slurred laugh after that comment, and Kain sways from side to side on his stool. Nicole's comment doesn't quite draw a reaction from him at first, not until the words actually un-jumble in his brain and he's forced to lean over and inspect the brunette a little better. Blue eyes drift down to the blackberry, then back up to the brunette.



"Y'know Ah'm surprised little miss muffit ain't draggin' you back t'her ol' campaign office with her claws by now, darlin'." Considering the bottle of rum, Kain slouches forward as if his head is becoming too heavy to hold up. "Surprised y'can jus' sit on out here at a bar, tip back some drinks an' forget your problems. You got yourself a future… me?" Kain snorts out a laugh, swatting the rum glass aside to noisily hit the bar and then careen over to the other side and land on the rubber mat behind it. With that little outburst, the bartender quickly takes away the rum bottle when Kain's looking away. "Me? Ah'm stuck in this shit-hole career for the rest've mah miserable life."

Nicole slides her glasses off and sets them next to her keys. "I didn't restart your heart so you could drink your life away, you know." Again, the phone chimes. "Back… in… one… month," she growls as she punches in her reply. The phone is set down a little bit harder than perhaps intended. "I have a future?" Nicole raises her hand and gestures for that bottle of rum to be brought back, patting a spot next to her on the bar, on the other side of Kain. "If I don't pull Chesterfield's ass out of the fire, I am fucked. And if I do pull her ass out of the fire, I'm fucked. How the fuck have you done this for so long?"

Pouring another glass of rum, it hits her.


"Hey at least yer goin' somewhere…" Kain laments with a wave of one hand in the direction of Nicole. "Ah'm stuck workin' for Danny even if Ah' didn't want to because— like you so clearly put— Ah'd be dead without him. See, ol' Danny-boy came first in that little race to pull mah frickiseed corpse outta' the fire, darlin'." There's a furrow of Kain's dark brows at that comment, leaning to the side and away from Nicole as one elbow steadies him on the bartop.

"You can do somethin' else, keep tryin'. Ah'm gonna' be pinned under ol' Danny's thumb for th' rest'a mah miserable life 'cause he owns it. 'Cause that stupid shit heel Dicky couldn't pull his shit together and got his ass killed!" One weathered hand comes up to rub across Kain's forehead, and the tired drunk spins half way on his stool and rests his back against the bar. "Now Ah've got mah'self some dumb ditch Cajun chick tryin' t'tell me all sort've dumbass ideas like she thinks it'll change something— it ain't gonna change nothin'!"

"What makes you so sure Daniel doesn't own me, too?" Nicole chooses not to respond to the bulk of Kain's ranting, mostly because she really can't make heads or tails out of it. And aside from all that, she's more interested in how screwed she is. Glass number two is downed and number three is filled. "You wanna help me out? I could really use you, Kain. I've got a lot on my plate right now… I'm in way over my head. Please?" To her credit, Nicole doesn't play the I saved your life, so you owe me card. The poor guy's likely had enough of that for one borrowed lifetime.

Silence is Kain's answer at first, just staring down at his lap, back up against the bar, shoulders slouched and head down. Were it not for the fact that his eyes are open, it might be easy to think he fell asleep. When those blue eyes shift to the side, considering Nicole in a side-long view, his words that follow are grumbled in discontent. "What makes you think Ah' can do anythin' 'bout some god damned political race?" His head finally turns, less venom in his expression than something a touch more pitiful.

"What makes you think Ah' even want to?"

Nicole doesn't miss a beat. "Because I have a slammin' bod' and deep down, you know you like me." Her eyes lid, fixing the man next to her with a look of disdain. "Let me be honest, I really couldn't give two fucks about the campaign right now. My sister's dropped off the radar, and that's really my concern. So, either you can help me by using your connections to see if you can track that little scamp down, or you can use those same connections to dig up dirt on my competition." One brow lifts. "I'll make it worth your while, if that's what it takes. Whatever I can do for you, I'll do it."

Rolling his tongue over the inside of his cheek, Kain exhales a slow breath through his nose and narrows his eyes at Nicole. They drift up and down her silhouette briefly, before he gives her a response. "Ah' ain't playin' babysitter…" Kain grouses with a grumbling tone of voice. "'Sides, why ain't you asked ol Johnny where your little sister is? Ah' saw her headin' inta Robert Caliban's office like a week or two ago, an' ol Pimp was already in there with 'im. Guess she had an appointment or somethin'. So maybe you should see if Johnny boy put her to work down at his little club?"

Kain's lips press into a frown, but despite his sharp words, his weakness for children has him honestly offering up helpful information. After all, he has a big enough soft-spot for kids to privately donate to the Lighthouse, even if he won't admit it. "How's that for doin' somethin' for you, sweetheart?"

Nicole responds by sliding off her seat so as to better cup Kain's face and plant a long, lingering, spiced rum flavoured kiss on his lips. "What would I ever do without you?" Then, as if it had never happened, she reclaims her place at the bar and pours another drink, scowling when her phone chimes again. "Oh for fuck's sake," she mutters at whatever's on the screen. This time, she doesn't even respond to the message. "You will, of course, help me break Mister Logan's face if he's got my sister working a pole, won't you?" Of course, Nicole sincerely hopes John Logan isn't stupid enough to do something like that.

That, at the very least, elicits a smile from Kain— not the kiss, but the comment about Logan— Kain's tension and awkwardness in that affection seems remarkably unusual for him, as if he just didn't derive any enjoyment out of the act. Instead, his dark brows furrow and he slides a side-long stare towards Nicole. "Any time Ah' get t'lay a smack inta' John Logan is a good day…" the blonde admits as he pushes up from his seat, wobbling a little.

"Now, if'm you don't mind, missy… Ah've gotta go let little Zarek have a conversation with… ah…" Kain's brows furrow, fingers drunkenly working through his hair. "Ah' gotta take a piss."


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