To Do What's Right


abby_icon.gif matt_icon.gif

Scene Title To Do What's Right
Synopsis Matt comes for a single drink and runs into someone who can give him a front row seat to the Volken affair. They both agree, that doing what's right, isn't always fair, it's just what's right.
Date January 31, 2009

Old Lucy's

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.

One beer before going home. Matt Parkman deserves that much with all that he's had to do in the last few days. Interrogation after interrogation of victim after victim, and that's not counting the paperwork associated with each one and looking over the paperwork done by others after their own sessions with victims and bystanders alike. It's a lot to pour into one's skull, but right now, all that Matt wants to pour is a glass of beer.

Saturday night at Old Lucy's is usually busy, but perhaps it is because of Wednesday's events that the bar seems to be a little emptier, business a little slower. It makes sense though; after a catastrophe, one tends to pull all that is near and dear close and cling to it for awhile. Not many people include bars with flirty waitresses on that list.

Matt's only here for one drink.

His coat is open and his tie is loose when he sits down, resting his elbows on the bar/runway. "Yuengling," he orders as he sits, banking on one of the ladies behind the bar catching his order for the lager. He's looking at the bar top and his own hands rather than them.

"Yuengling" Abigail answers. first day back on the job. Between healing others and sleeping, getting moved into her new place minus her roomate, it's good to get back to work, get back into her groove and schedule, loose herself in serving drinks. Matt's voice isn't familiar to her, so down she squats, rummaging in the cooler beneath the counter to bring up that clear bottle with the golden liquid inside. The cap is popped, a frosted glass dug up and both are placed before the Homeland Security agent. It's then that she realizes who's right in front of her. "Parkman" Abigail offers a slight smile along with the greeting, taking her hands off the glass. "Drinks on me. You look like you need it" That little gold cross dangles at her throat, snug jeans, black tank top, golden hair back in a ponytail instead of loose.

Matt looks up at his name, but it takes him a moment to recognize Abby. Blame it on work. "Hey," he says in lieu of her name, his hand slowly moving to curl around the glass. "Thanks." Matt lifts it and takes a drink, sighing as he moves to set it down again. You can't beat Yuengling.

Thoughts buzz through Matt's head, but for once, they're all his own. He grits his teeth, his head angled down once more to hide the tension, then breathes in sharply through his nose. "Got your work cut out for you, I bet." The remark would be innocent enough if it weren't for that dry edge to it. Something's got Matt's goat, and it's not letting go anytime soon.

"Maybe" Is softly spoken. Someone places an order for a draft beer, and she parts, just long enough to fill it and pass it over, exchange of money before she's back in front of Matt. "If you have a headache, I can take care of it. I don't mind" there's a small bowl produced from those hidden spaces beneath the bar and soon enough there's a bowl of pretzels beside the beer. "I'd ask how's work, but, I think I know how it's going"

"You should save it for someone who needs it more," Matt mumbles, taking a few pretzels and popping them into his mouth. He takes another gulp from the glass a moment later. "I'm fine. You learn, after awhile, how to tune things out." How to not listen. How to not care.

There's another pause in which Matt watches Abby carefully. "So how'd it go?" Sure, he could read the papers, but an eye-wittiness account from someone he strongly suspects had a front row seat is something Matt won't pass up, even after a day like today.

"It's nothing, getting rid of a headache. I promise, I won't even pray out loud" but they're moving on and her lips are pursing as if not knowing what to say or not. "Mr. Volken will no longer be an issue to the world" If he wants more he can dig for it, or ask. "You can look, if you want. Can I ask how my roommate is? The grapevine says that he's enjoying your hospitality. I'm worried about him. Alexander Knight. So I know how long I'm covering our rent or whether I need to look for a cheaper place"

Matt does, indeed, dig. He squints, leaning over the bar in front of his glass as he wheedles out the events on the bridge, plucking name after shouted name, and finally…

If his stool had a back, Matt would lean back into it. Instead, he catches himself with his palms on the bar top, stretching out his arms to back away from Abby. Kazimir Volken, gone, just like that.

"Good job," he says with a nod, though any smile he might have otherwise offered is solely in his eyes.

The Healer doesn't lean forward, staying put, her hands on a rag on the bar, waiting till he's done. She can guess that when he backs off. There's a glance down to her hands and a slight shrug. "Maybe. Lets just pray that it doesn't need to be done again." Abby takes a deep breath, pouring a glass of cola for herself, a glance to see if anyone else needs anything. Nope, it's still quiet. "Do I need to come in, give my account or anything? Or is what you saw good enough"

"It'd be nice if you did," Matt says in as polite a manner he can think of. "Something verbal. Something that can be recorded and kept on record. That way everyone can breathe a little easier, I think."

That glass of lager is half empty when Matt sets it down for the third time, and he moves back to bracing himself on the bar with his elbows. "You feel proud of yourself?"

"Not proud Mr. Parkman. Be strange if I felt proud wouldn't I?" It's in her face. She does not like at all what she did. "But we do, what we have to do, do we not?" The rag's ran across the bar top, then tossed down into a bucket. "Horrified. That'd be a good word. Unhappy. There any officers that needs healing? I can get time off and come take care of them. After I come and give you a record. Can you promise that I won't be handcuffed and put in a cell? Or is that too much to ask?"

To say Matt is quick to finish his beer would be an understatement. Maybe he's trying to give Abby a fighting chance. "Get time off tomorrow, but meet me here. We'll get you taken care of." Any injured officers are left unmentioned, partly because Matt just isn't aware of any that Abby wouldn't be able to easily find in the hospital along with all the other casualties.

"Tomorrow" She'll be there for ill or good, it's easy enough to see, she keeps her promises. "Do I need to bring anything special?" Unlike others, she seems to have lost her uneasiness around him. "Thank you Mr. Parkman, for everything" Her blue eyes stay affixed on him, her head tilted just a bit to the right. "We do whats right. Not always what's fair. Just what's right. Even if others don't like it or understand" She offers her hand out to him, to shake, nothing more. "Would you let me take care of your headache?"

"We do, Abby," Matt says with a nod and a tight-lipped smile. "We do. And no, thank you though. I'm really just fine. Thanks for the beer." But Matt still reaches into this coat to pull out his wallet, laying a twenty dollar bill on the table. Even if the barmaid picks up your tab, you're still supposed to tip. "See you tomorrow."

"With bells on. Have a restful evening Mr. Parkman. You need it" The twenty is tucked away, with other tips in jars, the lager bottle taken, rinsed out and put with other bottle to be recycled. A minute later, it's like the Homeland security agent was never there, and his spot soon to be replaced by another customer who gets Abigails endearing but empty smile.

January 31st: And The Hits Just Keep On Coming
January 31st: The Bad Touch
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License