Starting Early


andrew_icon.gif wendy_icon.gif

Scene Title Starting Early
Synopsis Wendy meets Andrew on his first day of work and the conversation that ensues is likely not your run of the mill bartender customer conversation.
Date August 4, 2009


Description of location, if any.

It's just a little after one in the afternoon, and the lunch rush is finally coming to an end. A fair number of the tables are taken, though there are still a couple of the smaller ones remaining, and there is the low rumble of different conversations. Andrew is stood behind the bar, pulling a pint of Murphy's Stout for a customer.

A morning of refrain, a blissful aftermath that lingers, Wendy is looking for some place new, some place she hasn't been yet and one that make her scream from horrid service and sells alcohol. Having stayed the night at one of her artists friends, she's not relegated to the usual number of places around the upper east side.

So in through the door in last nights rumpled silk and leather pants strolls Wendy, a faint aura of high quality weed around her and that slightly wide eye'd look that those who have indulged in the less than legal activities tend to have. It's Andrew at the bar though that garner her attention, cocking her head to the side a fraction and just watching him. Unsure if it's him or the customer who's the one.

The customer pays for his drink and walks away. That's that question answered. Andrew looks around the pub for a moment, frowning as he sees Wendy watching him, then shrugs and goes to serve another customer.

One more for the books. The good mood surrounding her like a blanket, Wendy slinks her way towards the bar on her heels so that she can lean against the bar and wait her time with a lick of her lips and a fishing out of an expensive purse - and equally expensive wallet - a bill to pay for her drink. She'll take a taxi later.

Following not long in behind her is someone a bit on the tall and broad side of the spectrum, and grumpy, unhappy. Ye old veritable visual deterrent to people. He doesn't saunter to the bar or hulk that way, opting instead to take a table. Wendy all but ignores him.

Andrew serves yet another drink, this time a light brown ale, then he walks over to Wendy. "What'll it be?" he asks in his faint Northern Irish brogue, noting but not commenting on the smell.

"Screwdriver please, extra vodka" The ten dollar bill is pushed across the bar. "What's your name?" Simple question to start her off. "My names Wendy" She offers up. The bag is placed on an adjacent stool, relieving herself of her payload before she hops up onto the one that her foot had been hooked onto. One arm goes parallel with the bar edge, her other arm props her head up as she watches Andrew set in to work.

"Andrew," the man replies, accepting the bill and mixing the drink from the various bottles. After a few minutes, he returns with both the drink and some change. "Getting an early start?" he asks in a dry tone.

"Sorta. Trying to decide what to do today. Plaster, or paint. Maybe clay. Need inspiration sometimes. Nice to meet you Andrew" The change is refused but her hand does come down on his around her glass. Deliberate, no deception tried. "and you… well that's just cliche" There's an involuntary flex of her bicep, the fleeting sense that she could lift a car. "Andrew. I bet they love it when you do one handed push up's don't they"

Andrew shrugs. "Well, that's military training for you; gives you all kinds of skills you can use in the outside world," he says with a dry yet slightly cautious tone. "You're an artist then?"

There's a relaxed laugh, a squeeze of that hand on his before she lets go. "Ohhh Andrew, the military doesn't give you that. Why is it that men seem to only get that. I've met so many with that and maybe a very very small percentage have been women" The screwdriver get the focus of her hands now as she nods, her bangs bouncing with the movement of her head. "Uhhh huh. Not famous. But it gets me by. Tell me, Andrew. How much can you lift? I'm always curious about those with strength as their ability. A hum-vee? A tank? Less? More?"

"Could you talk a little more quietly, please? It's not something I like to advertise," Andrew asks quietly. "I could probably lift an SUV if I really had to, but given how some people feel about things like that, I prefer to keep it to myself."

People who want to keep it quiet. Though with what's happened recently, fine, okay, she can understand. SO she pitches her voice lower, head cocked to the side and listens. "Just an SUV? You haven't tried lifting anything more? ohh I bet you could be like Atlas" The smile widens across her face, various thought flitting through her mind as she tips her glass and takes a mouthful of vodka and OJ. "How long have you known?"

"Thirty years, give or take. If the government stops posting names and photos online, I'll probably even register," Andrew answers quietly. "The government and the police needing to know, I can understand. My next door neighbour or those lunatics from Humanis First, not so much."

"You realize right, that it's only for cops… " THe cant of her head a sure sign that she's all for registering. "Not like they pass out your name and information like your a .. sex offender. It just sits in some database in a building and only touch it when they need to" Well, that's what she's been told. "Be you'd just be like, a tier 1, tier 2." There's a scrunch up of her nose at Humanis First and the rest of the screwdriver is consumed with no small knowledge of the irony.

"They are assholes, and idiots and morons who don't know how to properly keep people locked up. I mean really, who puts skinny girls in a shipping container and expects them not to escape through the A/C vent when they can fit. And do they seriously think that we just drink diet coke and granola bars? Another one please" The empty glass pushed across. "They're dogs"

"For you, maybe; my strength makes me Tier 1, which means anyone can go online and find my name, my ability, my photograph and which part of New York I live in. If I were strong enough to warrent Tier 2, you could add my home address to that list. Fuck that. As to Humanis First, they might be idiots, but an idiot with a gun can be more dangerous than a smart guy with a gun. The idiot won't think twice before firing."

"Yeah.. yeah they fire a gun" Anti-registration. "They're smart though, they won't go for people on the lists. Haven't you figured that out yet? They don't sit at a computer and go "hmm, who will I kidnap and use today… ohh how about her. Yeah, her cause she can find us other ones" Wendy shakes her head. "Cause then the list would go down, if people were being targeted by Humanis from it. No. They go through the bars, and on the street and they wait to see if someone disaplays an ability, or someone spontaneously manifests. They go to that library. Avoid the brooklyn library. You're safest on the list"

"Like I said though, I don't see that it's any of the public's business what I can do and I've no desire to have my name and photograph online for all and sundry to look up," Andrew replies stubbornly. "The day they permanently take that list off of the internet is the day I'll register; not before."

"Okay, now you're just getting grumpy. Can I have my second screwdriver please?" She was starting to see claws, and that was never a good thing. 30 years though, that was… interesting. She drags out another ten, folding it into quarters and tapping it on the bar while waiting. "Biddy's huh. Interesting name"

"Sure, sorry," Andrew answers with an apology, sorting out the second drink and handing it back, offering change once again. "Here's something for you to think about, though: how did they find you? I mean, you're Tier 0, surely, so your name isn't on the internet, and your ability isn't exactly the easiest to spot…"

"Because I was stupid. That's how. Because I went to a bar full of evolveds when I knew I shouldn't and there were too many and my own ability fucked me over" Change refused again, here you go for the tip jar. "Because my friend spilled the beans and threw me under the bus. It wasn't because I was a card carrying member of the evo brigade"
Andrew shrugs. "Fair enough. Well, I guess we may as well agree to disagree. Can I trust you not to turn me in at least? A grand is quite a hefty fine for wanting a little privacy…"

"I may be for Registration, Andrew the barkeep. But that doesn't mean that I run around touching people and telling the cops what they do" She shrugs her shoulder, pulling the drink closer. "besides what would you do if I did, come after me with your Gun?" A gesture is made to his arms. "I just like.. knowing what the hell i'm feeling. I can detect other evolveds, something to do with me being able to locate others with the gene and with a touch" well, he's been on the other end of that.

Andrew shrugs. "Thank you. And believe me, I've nothing against registration, because the cops and the government do need to know about potentially dangerous evolved. My only problem with it is that I'm expected to tell the entire state what I can do as well."

Ohh the things she coudl retort to that, Instead she just gestures with her hands, a shrug and a 'who knows' before hte screwdriver is picked up and promptly drinks it down, mouthful by mouthful. "Well, Andrew the barkeep. Delightful as this conversation has been I have art to make and a guardian over there who doesn't like what i'v ebeen doing all morning so you… you stay safe and I'm going to head home"

"Very well, have a safe trip home," Andrew replies. At that moment, another customer comes to the bar, and Andrew walks off to serve him a drink, frowning slightly as he wonders just what the potential fallout of the conversation may be.

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