Participants:
| Scene Title | Sad Turkey |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Hagan's not American, and he doesn't have many friends. So he ends up in a bar around the time most people are having a warm family dinner. Abby takes pity on him and his bruises. |
| Date | November 27, 2008 |
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.
Happy turkey day. Even here in old lucy's they're celebrating. Colors of the fall on the bartendress's, some kind of holiday themed drink, and abby, oddly enough is wearing a headband to hold back her hair, which has a turkey tail fan made of felt rising from her head a few inches. All in the name of the holiday festivities. Makes one wonder what she'll wear come christmas. ABby hums as she comes out from the back, a plate of really sad looking thanksgiving fare arranged in some palatable fashion. Slices of compressed turkey breast, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberries. That same perky smile on her face that's always there.
The decorations may be festive, but any way you slice it, it's a bar on Thanksgiving. Even if the food was gourmet, it would still be kind of sad. Hagan completely forgot about this odd holiday. That is, until he pushes open the door and sees all the festive decor. He was just here for an after-work pint and he's found himself a paper cutout of the Mayflower.
He looks better than he has in recent days. He's actually shaved, the scratches and bruises are mostly healed and his shirt and jeans have fewer wrinkles in them. His hair's still insane, though. He attempts to make his way to a table without drawing too much attention, but given there's not likely to be many folks here, it's probably a lost cause.
Defiantly a lost cause. The headband bearing Abby veers his way after delivering the holiday special and parks her rear in the seat. "I'm starting to suspect, that your either stalking me….." Her eyes narrow in that comical thoughtful way. "Or you have no place to go to with other people for thanksgiving" The redhead puts her elbows on the table, arms folded and resting against either arm. "How are you doing today?"
Hagan looks up and gives Abby a look. He's not surprised she's sat down. "My work is close. Your beer is decent and a decent price. Food's okay too." No more explanation than that. "If I was stalking you, I'd be doing a piss-poor job, being right here and obvious." He picks up a coffee stirrer and gnaws on the end. "Are you serving turkey or some gobble?" Har.
"I think… it's turkey that's been pressed into some resemblance of it's former life. It's.. decent, if you don't mind processed turkey" She doesn't bother getting up. "So your usual pint? ANd some imitation turkey dinner?" She still smiles brightly.
Hagan moves the coffee stirrer from one side of his mouth to the other. Then he says, slowly, "All right." A beat, "You know, I don't understand this holiday. Especially now. A lot of people have so little, yet people insist on gorging themselves."
"Then don't be like a lot of people. Have your meal, but don't overdo. Say a thanks for what you have, and do a good turn on your way home" Abby offers up. "People, will be people and not understand or want to understand" She leans over "Or maybe, they do it because they don't know when the next time they'll be able to gorge themselves with good company and good food, the state of the world and this city these days"
Hagan scoffs. "I've tried doing good turns in this fucking city. I'm done with it. Every time I've tried I get the crap beaten out of me." He pulls the coffee stirrer out of his mouth. It's jagged. "Can I have that pint?" a beat, "…please?"
Abby grins, rising up from the table the moment he asks for the pint. Her red tank top in tune with the festivities, though slightly clashes with her hair. His dinner order placed, she sings quietly to herself as the cup and the alcohol is poured carefully. No one disturbs Hagan and soon enough Abby is wending her way towards him with the drink in question and places it down. "That what happened to your face?" She eases back down opposite him, pushing the glass towards him. "Your dinner's on me. My good deed for the day"
Hagan pulls the pint towards him and drinks from it hungrily. He squints up at her. "Yes." He says simply in response to her question. "And no, no. Don't do that." He sounds like he honestly dislikes that idea. "I'm not hard up. I have a good job. Save your charity for someone who can't afford a meal." So, it seems he's no -entirely- jaded yet.
"Not charity. Not charity in the least. It's the same reason I'm sitting here. I've seen you come in a couple days now, and no one with you, and tired. At the deli, same thing. Just, it's thanksgiving, and I have thanks to give. For my job, my new place, for friendly faces, for not having mine more.. colorful. So, I'm giving thanks, and sharing. But if it offends you, you can pay for your own dinner. Never said i'd pay for your pint"
"Save your money. My saying no to this is my good deed, how's that?" Hagan drinks again, but this time more slowly. "Honestly. I make good money. I can actually afford to live like a person, even after everything. I'm fortunate. You just got a job. Keep your money." He says this with an edge to his voice, lest he be thought of as being, gasp! Nice.
"Fair enough" Abby replies. Though she sticks her hand across the table in an offering of handshake. "Abigail Beauchamp, former waitress, now bartender. pleasure to meet you"
"Right. We haven't done this particular ritual yet, have we?" He tentatively reaches out and shakes her hand. "Hagan O'Sullivan. I'm…a graphic designer. I work for one of the big firms."
"No we haven't. Sometimes, very annoying, and I figured I'd do it now while I didn't have four people waiting on alcohol. Sorry about my friends the other night, harassing you. If it gets too much, let me know, I can have his woman sic on him and he'll behave. Did you work here before the, you know. Or just come after?" Abby's grip is firm, a squeeze, then she releases.
"Those guys were your friends? Lass, you need some better friends," Not that Hagan's volunteering. He's in the same class. He drinks. "And yes. Two years before it all went to hell. They have me in a contract. Can't go home. Not that things're that much better back home. Same politics, no smoking crater."
"Where's home? If I may ask. If I can't just say "Abigail, shut up" Wait a moment, would you?" She bolts away from the table, bearing a left to the counter and pours herself something to drink, non alcoholic, and makes her way back. "Not really friends, more like.. acquaintances, and I don't run into them all that often. But they're good, both of them, when they're not trying to push buttons"
"Dublin," says Hagan. He doesn't qualify that further. He figures from his accent, she's not going to assume Ohio. He watches her go and return and he pulls out another stir-stick to gnaw on between sips of beer. Hey, at least he's not blowing smoke in her face. "That guy. With the big chin. I don't know if he's trying to piss me off or be my friend."
'One and the same and, both. He does that to everyone. Tell me that you didn't conveniently ignore that he was calling me the Virgin Mary? Or alluding that I was pregnant. he's a jerk, but… He's a jerk you want on your side when you get caught in a dark ally" She sips from her seven up. "The other, he came into my diner a few times. He's okay. Another guy, well, you may or may not want to meet him in a dark alley"
"He called me a flasher, so I learned quickly not to pay attention to his descriptions of people." Hagan's clearly not used to not smoking while he drinks. He's on to his third stir-stick. "I'd rather not have much to do with either of them. Bloody trouble, seems like."
Abby grins. 'They are, both of them. Bring me lots of trouble. but then, I bring lots of trouble to others. Let me go get your dinner and you, get to smoke hmm? Since you haven't had one since you've come in" Abby pushes herself back from the table and makes her way to towards the kitchen.
Oh thank god. And here he was being polite. Hagan digs into his jacket. By the time she comes back, he's already puffed several times. He looks calmer. "It doesn't matter what dinner tastes like. I don't think I have tastebuds left. Just textures." That's what years of smoking will do.
"Really?" The plate is settled down /just/ so in front of him. She's not used to the smoke still, but she's used to it. "Don't you miss… taste?" She inquires, sitting to one side so he can blow to the other is he wants. He cna have his cigarette and smoke it too!
Hagan is a considerate smoker, at least. He makes sure to breathe away from her, towards a vent that will take the bulk of it away. "It disappeared so gradually until everything tastes like oatmeal that is occasionally crunchy." He butts out the cigarette just so, so that he can finish it later. He picks up a fork and knife and pokes around the plate of food. "Granted. Right after the whole city when to shite, I started chain-smoking." And binge drinking. He's only just started to get back on a slightly more moderate lifestyle - but not by much.
There's a slightly torn look on the woman's face, before she leans forward. "Would you quit? If someone could give you a really good reason to? If they could wipe the slate clean and you could be, as you were, before you took it up?"
Hagan barks a bit of laughter. It's humourless. "Abigail," he doesn't know to call her Abby, because she didn't introduce herself that way. "…if it wasn't cigarettes, it would be something else. I have one of those…you know," he waves a fork. "…addictive personalities. And I don't have strong willpower."
There's no condescending look at all, she understands. "Gimme your hand" is all she answers. "And trust me"
"What? No…" Hagan's taking a guess it might have something to do with being Evolved. A wild one, but one that might be true. "Look. I'd just start smoking again. It's my hands. I need to do something with my hands."
'This isn't for your hands, or your lungs, or your.. addictions" One corner of her mouth is turned up. "I promise, it won't hurt. You wouldn't let me pay for a meal, so let me do something else?"
"You're not going to pray, are you?" Hagan's got a funny look on his face when he says that. "Because I warn you, I'm a very jaded Catholic." Him? Jaded? No kidding.
"And I'm a very devout baptist, who yes, is serving alcohol in a bar. But no, not out loud, but I need to. Just… trust me. Give me that at least" her hands are out, palm up towards him.
"The Baptist thing'd never fly in Ireland." Not much of a joke. Hagan eyes her again. He's got a sour milk look on his face. Then he very cautiously reaches his hands out.
"Wouldn't it? No, but then, what I do, I'm sure would… well, you'll see" Her hands close around his, no special movements. They're warm, and a few moments after she starts whispering silently, the warmth starts to transfer as does a light tingle. Traversing to places of injury, namely his face, to start ridding him of the rest of his bruises and what not. Her own blue eyes though, never leave his face, and her lips fall still once the silent prayer is spoken, and the light warmth still continues.
Hagan's face cycles through emotions. At the first sign of something strange, he nearly rips his hands away. He's not sure why he doesn't. It's strange. Even stranger is how he starts to feel. "What are you doing?" But he already has the answer.
" you know" Abby answers quietly, studying his face. Not his eyes though. If he's keen he can see them flickering to the places where bruises would have shown, gauging how long she has until she can let him go. That and not be in need to downing more than half a red bull.
Hagan watches her and half-squints. "You don't need to do this. They're just scratches." His hands tense and prepare to pull away. Apparently he doesn't like being given favours.
"I don't need to, no. The same you didn't need to not smoke at the table while I was here, Just.. a moment.. more" And then she breaks off, teh warmth and tingle fading at her touch. "Who'd you come to the help of, to get those scratches?" She pulls her hands back to herself, letting them close around the cup of seven up instead
Hagan looks a bit spaced out for a moment. Then, when it's all over, he goes back to his beer and his by-now cooling turkey dinner. He's quite uncomfortable with what just transpired. "This evolved girl. Think they were going to rape her." he mutters, barely loud enough to hear.
"She live?" Abby question, her voice going quiet.
"She's the one who hurt me," says Hagan. "Blew me through the door of a store. Freaked out." No wonder he's jaded. He mashes his potatoes purposefully.
I can imagine why" Abigail answers. "Eat. I should go practice some more. Your foods getting cold, if not already and it's my fault. I should leave you be. Thank you though, for letting me sit with you. I appreciate it"
Hagan is not going to stop her. His discomfort shows by fingers raking through his hair and a distinct lack of eye contact. "Sorry for distracting you," he mumbles. Which is as close to a thank you as she's going to get.
"Never a distraction. Never a distraction Mr. O'Sullivan. Hope I see you around still. So many changes.. I could do with something that doesn't. Holler if you need anything else, or another pint" Abby rises, taking her glass with her and starts heading back for the bar counter.
By the time she turns back, Hagan's gone. He's left payment and a good tip, and perhaps tellingly, a pint unfinished and the half-cigarette still in the ashtray. Strange. He shouldn't have been able to get out the door that quickly.
 November 27th: The Cat's Cradle |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 28th: Unofficial Business |