Participants:
| Scene Title | Sociology |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's alot of watching, comments, silent plottings of relationship downfalls and a trip to Japan. |
| Date | April 27, 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 7 o'clock and all is well. Old Lucy's is happening, although less happening on Monday night than it was, say, Saturday. Wood floors, classic decor, plenty of booze and an abundance of boobies, some of which may or may not currently be involved in dancing.
For Deckard, it's been a long day. It's been a long week, actually, and it's only really just getting started. It's warm enough out that he's shirked his overcoat off before he's in through the door, the charcoal suit that's left behind marginally more professional than his norm. He's been busy. Probably with actual business, as opposed to…you know. Killing people and scooping out their kidneys. Overcoat slung over his arm, he doesn't make it more than a few steps in before he starts to hesitate, black sunglasses decidedly bleak in their removed reflection of action ongoing within a bar he hasn't set foot into in months.
Behind the bar working is Abigail. Not the emaciated blonde that he saw so soon after Staten Island. She's healthy looking, Blonde now red and swept back in some plastic brown combs to fall down her back. Red tank top reading "Jesus Saves" gold cross. The other bartenders had just done their dances on top of the bar, thrusting hips to the sides, screaming and yelling, otherwise making slightly lavicious fools of themselves while Abigail worked diligently to gets drinks out to the people who came to her end of the bar. Three reporters have already been tossed out and learned their lesson. Brave brave souls. Stupid too. She doesn't notice Deckard in his entrance, just too busy trying to mix a new drink that she's never heard of and fast as possible for the customer.
Adam is sitting off in a corner of the bar. He has a veritable bar of drinks in front of him as he looks for just the perfect taste. Apparently, none of these have been to his liking. He turns to tell Lita, "You know, in Sweden they have this beer and it tastes like cherries. /Cherries/."
One of the employees on the clock(just barely, her shift is almost over) is Huruma; the woman is perched at one end of the bar proper, sitting with her back against the edge of the countertop and her eyes on the meager Monday night group. In her more direct line of sight are Adam and Lita both- but she has a few minutes yet before she is technically able to 'socialize'. The early week contains some of her most leisurely shifts, incidentally. Not many patrons seem as keen to make trouble when the work-week has only begun. As it progresses is another story entirely.
Across the table from Adam sits a dainty, red-headed punk in bright colors. Lita takes another drink from her third rum and coke, eyes fixed on the show atop the bar, clearly enjoying the bartenders' performances. While she does her fair share of drinking, her booze is normally stolen; it's rare that she actually has the cash to go to a bar. So with the strange British man covering her tab for the night, she's going to make the most of it.
"I've had something like that," she says with a nod, still watching the girls across the room. "'Cept it was raspberry. Lambic or someshit. I jacked it from a liquor store 'cause I liked the bottle, turned out to be pretty good. Not real strong, though. So what's this thing about Japan? You expecting me to go with you?"
With two eyes and a few weeks worth of decent and semi-regular meals in him, Deckard also looks more like a human being than he did when they saw each other last. Still scruffily shorn and not shaven at all, he takes his time scanning over the patrons that are already present. Cute, hot, dog, Huruma, interesting — Huruma. His jaw swings open a little on the end of a short-lived double take, and spine stiff, he looks away only to have his eyes catch on Adam's increasingly familiar skeleton instead. Jesus Christ. Overcoat drawn in a little closer to his chest, he angles himself slightly away on his way ooon and on and on to Abby's section of bar, head down just enough to make it readily apparent to everyone that the scruffy 6'2" old dude in the suit doesn't want somebody to notice he's there.
Drink fired off to a happy customer, Abigail looks up and though she doesn't freeze, she does stop what she's doing. There's a few empty seats where she is, and the redhead watches Deckard with a tilt of her head before she's locating the whiskey bottle. Whiskey, on the rocks. That's his drink. Without a comment the glass is placed on a napkin where Deckard is subtly being pointed at to sit. "Evening" She's aware of where Adam is, the strange girl with him who she can't prove isn't 21, but the ID passed muster. Huruma too. Relief, a little happiness fluttering through the redhead at seeing Deckard alive, and apparently… in one piece. "Anything else?"
Adam leans back in his seat as he considers Lita quietly. He finally murmers, "Well, Lita. You work for me now, and you'll have to go where I need you. And currently, I'll need you to come to Japan with me." his head tilts to one side as he considers her thoughtfully and then says, "I'm mean, it's not quite like you have anything going on here." he looks over as Deckard walks in as he notices her approach Abby, he quietly takes note of their interaction.
Even if he wasn't seeming like he wants to be unseen- there's something Huruma sniffs out that makes her at least trail her eyes after Flint Deckard. Yes, she does remember him- and she hopes he remembers her. Hard to forget a hand, isn't it? What catches her attention better is Abigail's silent reaction to him. So, for now, the two are watched- but in Huruma's usually subtle manner of doing so.
"I got nothin' against Japan, yo," Lita assures, setting her glass on the table and reaching up to lace her fingers behind her head. "It'll be cool to get out and see other places. I grew up in a bumblefuck little town, and since I left that behind I ain't been anywhere 'side New York. I just wanna get all the details straight. Not real keen on surprises."
She reaches across and takes one of Adam's drinks at random, something faintly greenish, and knocks back a hit of it. "Ugh. Too sweet," she sasy with a grimmace as the glass is placed back in front of the man, far away from her. "Man, you got enough drinks here ya think? Plannin' on gettin' totally wasted or something?"
Adam blinks at Lita, then laughs as if he's heard something extremely funny. Then he pauses and says, "No…I'm not planning to get totally wasted." he says in response, "I'm just looking for the perfect taste." he says, "And I can't seem to find it." he lets out a bit of a breath, then he looks at Lita, "We'll be leaving for Japan soon. It's…well, ,a long story."
"Hey," is Deckard's rather low key greeting in turn, conspicuously dark sunglasses retained even once he's settled himself down onto place she pointed out for him to take. He's uneasy and trying not to be, tense despite himself, and not quite able to choke off another glance down the bar in Huruma's direction, only to find that she's looking right back at him. Them. He swallows, resettles his coat over his knee, and reaches for the whiskey, bristled chin dipped just enough that he doesn't actually have to look at Abby when he faces forward again.
"You in one piece or did you come for a little bit of healing?" Abby doesn't bother trying to make him look up at her. She's not going to ask how he's doing, she can see. Better. contentment. A bit of worry suddenly alleviated. Usually she saw him now and then, but this had been the longest she hadn't seen him. "See the news?"
Huruma turns her eyes from Deckard and Abby towards the black clock at the rear of the counter, the edge of her nose wrinkling. You know what- it is close enough to shift change and she is going to be here anyway- so…
Gathering her feet to the floor, Huruma rises to her heels with an upward stretch of her arms. One look is given to Abby as she does so, just before the tall woman starts to saunter her way over the span of floor towards Adam and Lita. Extra chair? Mine.
Adam leans back languidly in his seat. He leans over and puts a companionable arm around Huruma, "Well, I've been busy." he says as he watches Abby and Deckard. He leans in and says, "We'll be going to Japan soon."
"No." Deckard's not an avid watcher of television anyway, and cable is hard to come by on his end of Staten. Right hand curled lax over the open rim of his glass, he rakes the tips of his fingers through cold condensation while he watches Huruma head over to take up a chair at Adam and Lita's table out've the corner of his eye. Grrreeaaat. "I'm fine. This place was just…" on his way. Or something. He fails to patch over the end of the, giving he creative license to do it herself if she cares to. Blah blah blah. He finally tips the whiskey up for a swallow.
"Filled with lovely ladies who like to dance on the bar and shakes their chests in the faces of the patrons at the bar" Which really, is what Deckard likes, but given that the last time he saw her was when he kissed her. Abigail tilts her head to the side, remembering Teo's words. Someone hollers out for a coke and rum and she turns to take care of it. "It's okay Deckard. I understand. I was stupid. I was scared, and …" you were a great many things. She'll let him finish that sentence. It's a subject she's talked about a few time with her shrink. The drink is shoved off to the customer, money exchanged and Abigail dips down behind the bar to rummage for something
"I know you'ave…" Huruma's reaction- or technically lack thereof- to Adam's familiarity will certainly make at least one frequent customer tilt his head at it. The usually volatile bouncer is suddenly… not-so-much. Her attention does seem to stick to the duo across the bar as well. "Busy litt'e bee. How soon is… 'soon'?"
Adam shrugs his shoulders, "Soon…I have to meet with a man who will be providing us the plane ride. Then, while I've got the people on the plane, ,I want to have them meet each other." he pauses, "Then have you…determine who's actually with us and who's…" he pauses thoughtfully, "Best left behind."
Damp glass tipped in lazy acknowledgment of the draw certain brands of live entertainment tend to have on him when he's making bar selections, Deckard sips again before he starts to set it down. Only, Abby starts talking before he can quite get there, and he's left still holding the damn thing while he coils back into himself on the barstool, jaw hollow and sunglasses a reflective blank. Drip. A droplet of condensation pats down onto the bar surface just shy of his napkin, and he fails to finish the sentence.
"I missed you" He'll accept it or he won't. "My hours are less, thanks to school, it's safe for you to come in here again when you need a drink. Teo can tell you when i'm not working but your safe to come in on sunday's and Wednesdays" Abigail doesn't even look up at him either, it's a game of playing around the real issue. Dance around it like young children bearing ribbons at a maypole.
A smile is drawn over Huruma's lips at his words, and she spares a glance to fix Adam with a somewhat mirthful look. "Mhmhm." The noise is between a laugh and a hum. "I see. Oh, m'goodness…" The woman's neck lolls back, and her smile cracks open to show teeth, the breath in her words turning to an inevitable purr. "Tha'will b'th'best plane ride ever, hm?."
Adam continues to watch. He leans over and says quietly, "Is that her boyfriend? He's the man supplying our equipment."
Further awkward silence on Deckard's side of the bar is eventually punctuated with a muttered, "Things've been busy." The fuzzy lines around his mouth have little to say on the subject — the black field of his glasses, even less. The glass finally goes back down after another pause, half empty. "Maybe I'll stop by if I can find the time. I dunno."
"When I said what days I was off, it meant you can visit here while I'm not here" Abigail clarifies."Or you can visit when I am. Or.." There's a hesitant moment before she mumbles "I could use someone to kinda watch over me as I head off to school. There's some people worried that someone might make a run for me again thanks to the whole central park thing. I'm sure it would make someone we both know really happy that someone's watching my back"
Even with a curl on her top lip, Huruma makes the expression look good. "I'ope not. I woul'ave t'kill'im." Because that is not right. Huruma is the anti-Shipper. "I bought from'im b'fore. Seems t'be good at th'work." She'll not give him the best of reviews, but the African woman makes one nonetheless.
Adam hmms a bit, "Kill him? That seems a bit extreme. But they have the look off two people together. They won't meet eyes, the nervous energy that seems to temper all their emotions. If this were television, we'd threaten to stop watching unless they did something about it."
Last time he tried watching out for any part of Abby, back or front, Deckard lost an eye. It might be understandable then that he doesn't exactly leap upon being given an opportunity to go through the same thing again. "If you're looking for another lecture, I could just write the original down and have you read it back to yourself any time you think about doing anything."
"I remembered it the first time" Abigail answers, a little twinge of emotional stabbing pain. "I'll give my schedule to Teo. Ask if you want it so you can make up your mind. If you want your shirts ironed, give em to him, he'll drop them off. I have homework to do. I can't learn British history by osmosis" His whiskey is topped up by the redhead before she turns away. What she rummaged for under the counter is finally brought to light, a tootsie roll pop , unwrapping it and clunking it into the right side of her mouth as she turns away from Deckard to head towards the back room door. "You have my number if you need help" She'll always heal him. No matter what really. Flowerpot or no.
Huruma is the embodiment of Extreme(tm), what are you talking about? "I know. Bu'tha'does no'mean I'ave t'like it." Point duly noted. The woman leans back carefully in her chair, arms folding over her stomach. "She is much too good fo'him." Not that it matters to her. Really. There you have it. Sowing the seeds of Ship Wars.
Adam arches a brow at this and chuckles, "A tad bit protective there, hm, Huruma?" he pauses, "British history, I can help her with that. I know a lot of British history." he rubs Huruma's shoulder, "I don't know, what's so bad about Flint Deckard? He's a good gun runner. Although, he does seem massively old for her." of course, he hasn't been with a woman who would be younger than his own grand daughter."
Deckard's feelings would be hurt if he had super hearing. Or feelings. Back to withdrawn silence again past a skeptical tilt of his brow at her saying she remembered last time (CLEARLY she failed to remember all of it), he hunches his shoulders enough to rest his elbows on either side of his drink. Eventually he reaches to acquire a straw and sets to intelligently poking it around in his ice, like a monkey with a termite mound.
She's getting off work now too, though Deckard's offered a parting glance from Abigail before the redhead disappears into the back on a wave of disappointment and hurt. Wounded pride.
Huruma only has a small response, and that is a disgruntled noise that comes out much like a growl. That is her only answer to the matter of Flint Deckard. But- at the last moment she cracks a smirk, glancing at Adam with a teasing volume. "Look who's talking."
Adam frowns, "It's not my fault that I'm the only immortal in the world." well, there's Claire Bennet, but she's on the start of her immortality, ,"What else am I to do? You of all wouldn't have me be celibate."
White eyes narrow just a touch, and Huruma watches Adam out of the side of her sight. "No." Her eyes close and for a moment it looks as if she is holding back a sharp laugh. Hk. "I don'consider you 'old'. You look m'age, bu'Flint Deckard looks like Abigail's father." Not that he does not have a handsome quality- just keep it away from all the little girls.
Not long after he's watched Abigail skitter out the back way by herself, Deckard gives up on his ice prodding and finishes off his drink in one long swallow. No flinching, coughing, or clearing of the throat. Old and a boozer. Wallet shuffled out, he drops a few crumpled bills on the bar and heads for the door, glancing only once to Adam and company as he goes. They're still there. Fghh.