You're So Vain


ben_icon.gif dantes_icon.gif hagan_icon.gif laura_icon.gif

Scene Title You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Scene is About You
Synopsis A typical night at Old Lucy's. Hagan insults Ben, Dantes stares at his own face in a mirror and Laura adds a little class to the situation. They all do shots.
Date December 9, 2008

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.

Not the warmest of nights, but it could be colder. This is December, after all. No snow, just rain. Ben's taken up post at the bar, where he's working on some variant of a rum and Coke. He's looked more sober. He looks a little bleary and more than a little depressed. That is clearly not his /first/ rum and Coke.

Hagan rotates locals. Sometimes it's Biddy Flannigan's, sometimes it's a total dive, sometimes it's this place. Often this place as it turns out, since it's fairly close to his work and has a decent selection of pints. He pushes open the door and is followed to the bar by an aura of smoke. Before even looking at who is in the bar, he plunks himself down right beside Ben. "Pint. Pale ale. Thank you." But the way he says 'thank you' doesn't really imply actual thanks.

Ben turns his head to regard Hagan, one eyebrow going up. Them's some serious eyebrows right there. "How's you mom?"

And in wanders Dantes, in leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans. He seems rather mournful, with a long face, hands in his pockets.

Hagan turns, half-startles at the sound of a naggingly familiar voice. "Oh." he says as he looks at Ben for a moment, then away again. "It's Gorgeous George." When his pint arrives, he takes a healthy swallow.

"What, you think I'm pretty?" Ben asks with a bit of a squint. "Sorry. Don't swing that way."

Not somewhere he's ever been before, because it's not somewhere he knew of in his former life. Dantes parks himself at the bar, and orders a whiskey, neat. It's dispatched nearly as soon as it arrives, but he doesn't seem inclined to request another. Not yet. More in favor of dreaming on the reflection in the mirror.

"It's not a compliment," says Hagan with a snort. "Men shouldn't look like you." No, men should look like they have a fright wig for hair and reek of cigarettes, apparently. In his attempt to -not- look at Ben, he happens to catch sight of Dantes staring at himself. "Oy. Carly Simon. Quit fuckin' staring at yourself. It's creeping me the fuck out."

Ben follows Hagan's attention over to Dantes, blinking. "Carly whonow? Don't mind him. He's just a fucktard."

Dantes is jerked out of his little reverie, and turns a somewhat unfriendly stare on the pair. "What?" he demands, voice rather rusty sounding, like he hasn't spoken in a while.

Another patron wanders her way in the front door, pushing the hood of her powder-blue jacket back from a shock of white hair and a fair-skinned face. Not really noticing the bickering males — or rather, disregarding them; this is a bar — Laura heads for a clear space on the bar to order a drink of her own, taking off the gloves that protected her hands from the cold and setting them neatly on the countertop.

"Fucktard. Such a mature, sophisticated insult coming from a girl with a dick," Hagan drawls. He swallows more of his pint and pulls out a cigarette. "Or do you even have one?" To Dantes he says absently. "You know. That song. You're so vain? Come on now." The last words are muffled as he puts the cigarette to his lips and lights it. Laura isn't noticed yet.

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings," Ben mutters, gaze flicking back to Hagan. "You're a faecal-encephalopathic fucktard." He waves his hand a little. "Behold my fancy medical-school speak. Do you feel properly important now?"

Dantes grunts in acknowledgment, but seems inclined to again lapse into a brown study. Before he does, he orders a rum and coke, and finally actually takes a seat at the bar.

"Jesus fuck. What the hell kind of crowd is this here tonight? A girl in drag and a man who can't stop staring at himself." Hagan pulls on the cigarette and exhales in such a way that the smoke is bound to drift right into Ben's face.

"I thought that might not work," Ben says, squinching his face up and coughing. "That's why I used the small words to begin with. Now point that away from me before I shove it up your ass." He's usually so mild-mannered. Rum and Coke. They turn a good girly-boy bad.

"I'm mostly daydreaming," Dantes says, a little defensively, shooting Hagan a glare. He's handed the rum and coke, but seems content to nurse it, rather than pack it away like the first round.

Laura looks over at the two who seem bound and determined to start something physically aggressive. "So… Do you all know each other? Or do you generally go around insulting perfect strangers?" she asks, folding her hands around her glass. "Just asking so I know who to avoid in the future," she concludes with an affable smile, lifting the glass to her lips.

"I'm sitting here calling you a girl and dickless. And me -smoking- at you is what sets you off?" Hagan chuckles in dark amusement and shakes his head. "Can't believe what I was fucking thinking, trying to help -you-." But his habits are generally those of a polite smoker, so Ben doesn't get any more in his face. He eyes Dantes sidelong. "You just walked in. You haven't had enough to fucking drink to be doing that. Right." He slaps a hand on the bar. "Shots. Both of you." He pinches the cigarette between his lips and pushes aside a spot on the bar. With waving, he gets the 'tender's attention. "Whiskey. Three of them." When Laura approaches, he swivels a bit on the chair and blinks at her. "Him I've never met before." He thumbs to Dantes. "This little shit here needs some bloody street smarts."

"He insults people at random," Ben says, rolling his eyes and jerking a thumb Hagan's way. "Dunno, uh, 'Carly' there." Back to Hagan; one eyebrow goes up. "I've heard the girly shit before, guy. That's lung cancer in a very small dose." Ben raises his glass and takes a sip of his drink.

"Ed," says Dantes, flatly. At least there's been enough booze to take the edge off. And then he's being bought a drink, and he blinks at Hagan. "Well, sure, if you're going to be like that about it," he says, bemused.

"Thanks. I'll remember that," Laura replies, looking between Hagan and Ben as she takes another sip of her drink. She glances to Dantes, shrugs a little, returns to drinking her own alcoholic beverage and keeping an idle eye on the surroundings.

"You're welcome," says Hagan to Ben in reply to the lung cancer comment. "And I don't do it at random, but your face put me in a very sour mood." The three shots are poured and he sets one in front of Ben and Dantes each. "Now drink, you pissers. Maybe you'll magically turn into better bloody company." He pulls his cigarette away from his mouth long enough to shoot back the whiskey. He looks over towards Laura. "I suppose you want one too then? Or does it have to be pink and frilly for you to drink it? Maybe with a little umbrella and a sparkler and served by an underwear model named Juan in a thong."

"Nice to meet you, Ed," Ben says pleasantly. He picks up the shot glass and eyes it. "I think you missed making that Juan joke at me."

"I make no promises, but I'll drink what you buy me," Ed says, amiably, lifting that new whiskey in salute. The severe face is somewhat more relaxed by now…..apparently he's more of a lightweight than his size would seem to indicate.

Laura snorts, fortunately right before she takes another drink, and briefly sticks her tongue out at Hagan. "I'm not nearly that demanding. Rather the opposite! I'll settle on not having a surly sourpuss for company while I drink." Her voice is light and lighthearted; no offense was taken and none is meant. She pretends to think about it for a moment, casting her gaze up towards the ceiling. "Though I wouldn't turn down an umbrella, I suppose."

"Sometimes I miss the opportunity for maximum insults. Anyway. Gay jokes are rude." And Hagan calling someone Fucky McFuckerson or making sexist jokes isn't? "I've been the butt of enough leprechaun jokes to be sensitive about that sort of thing." Really? "I'd prefer to attack you personally. Besides, if you are gay then my insult falls flat. Can't have that." Laura is given another once over. "No one's keeping you here if you don't want my drinking company. However, if you stay and don't tell me to stuff it, you can have a shot of your choice." His voice takes on a half-wry, half put-on congenial tone.

"Please stay," Ben tells Laura, blinking. "He's unpleasant and I'm very comfortable here."

"Sounds like a decent dare," Ed opines, letting his eyes half-lid. Apparently the free drink has done much to dispose him a little more favorably to Hagan.

Sitting back on her stool, Laura evaluates Hagan through half-lidded eyes. "Well. When the alcohol is no longer worth putting up with the company…" She grins, her version of a congenial tone markedly more upbeat than Hagan's. "I shall let you know!" Laura concludes, sketching a mock-salute with the glass.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hagan almost looks put out by Laura. There's a marked difference between the way he's talking to her and the way he's talking to Ben and Ed. It just doesn't feel right to snark at a woman he just met. Besides, he's met Ben lots before. He's got lots of ammo. "Right. Another shot." And it's not long before each of the men has another whiskey in front of them. He quirks a brow and looks to Laura by way of asking her if she wants to join.

"Hopefully you're slightly more tolerable with large doses of alcohol," Ben remarks, downing the first shot and reaching for the second. "Just what the doctor ordered." Snicker.

"I don't know yet," Laura answers. Glancing over at Ben, she snickers briefly; it's a good verbal stab, have to give him that. "We've only just met. If this counts as meeting," the woman adds. At Hagan's inquiring glance, she nods. Sure. Count me in. …Why not?

"This is my last," Dantes says, very mildly, as he lifts it in salute to Hagan. "Liver can't take it like it used to." Used to? He's what, thirty?

"I'm not," says Hagan to Ben. There's a ring of honesty to those words. "I start cursing more and my insults become more incoherent." He reaches out for the shot and nearly tips it back when Laura answers in the affirmative to a drink. He taps a hand on the bar and another shot appears. This he hands to Laura. "Slainte." And then he tips the shot past his gums like a pro. Dantes gets a look for his comment. "Oh fuck, Mr. Ed. If my liver can take it, yours sure as hell can."

Ben glances over Ed's way, downing shot number two. He thunks the glass down solidly on the bartop before nodding. "It can. But run while you still can. His liver's going to pop out little arms and legs and start scrabbling to run, too. You don't want to go there."

Picking up her shot, Laura doesn't down it as artfully as Hagan, but she's not foreign to the drink. The word, however… "Slainte?" she echoes afterwards, tone inquiring. "I assume that's…" A momentary pause. "Irish?" The shotglass is set down with a little less enthusiasm than Ben's was.

"No, mine can't," Ed states. His tone is matter of fact. "Though I'm much obliged for what I've had thus far. Yes, it is. Health, if I remember right." He knocks back his own shot, almost lazily.

Hagan gives Ben a toothy, humourless smile. He raps his chest, then returns to his beer. Laura is eyed. "No, it's Swahili. Yes, it's Irish!" He motions to Ed. "Yes. Because drinking is healthy." He clearly doesn't mean that. He punctuates that with a large swallow from his pint. Two shots of whiskey and a pint almost gone since he walked in the door.

"Don't ask him about Angela's Ashes," Ben murmurs into his rum and Coke, his original drink.

"Well, I probably wouldn't know the difference!" Laura admits, rather cheerily. "I don't do languages, really." She picks up her original drink, then sets it down again as the phone tucked away in a coat pocket beeps. "All right, I won't," she distractedly assures Ben.

Dantes finishes his last shot…..and with that, he's murmuring his excuses, and slightly more loudly thanking Hagan, before wandering for the door.

Hagan watches with arched brows as Dantes heads out. "Well, looks like I've taken the stick out of the arse at least one person here. I've done my duty." He finishes the rest of the pint, then is fishing into his wallet to pay for the two rounds and his beer. "You…" he points a finger at Ben. Then he stops. "Fuck it. I don't even know what to say to you." With that the Irishman's shrugging on his coat.

"Thanks for the booze!" Ben says cheerfully. Cheerful is going around. "No more words of wisdom? Damn." Feel the sarcasm.

Laura laughs softly at Hagan's remarks, as she returns the phone to its place in her pocket. Apparently the message requires no instant reply, nor immediate relocation of its recipient. Instead, she picks up her original glass and finishes the drink. There's another gesture of the glass in Hagan's direction. "As he said. Thanks." A bright smile. "Nice not meeting you." Wry words, but in a more teasing fashion.

"It's Hagan," he says by way of general introduction. He's forgotten if Ben knows, but that was really for Laura. Speaking of Ben. As the Irishman's walking away, he's given the finger that wriggles around and then clenches into a fist. Then he's out the door and onto the cool street to make his way home.

Ben leans toward Laura; he's gotten blearier. "I think that was him advising me to fuck myself. Not so wise."

No, no Ben. That's what they call the 'Irishman's wave.'

Hagan's gone before Laura can reply in kind; just as well, anyway. Setting her glass down on the counter, along with sufficient bills to cover its cost, she chuckles at Ben. "Maybe he's reminding you that your liver's going to run away from the drink," the woman suggests with a grin. "Me, I'm heading home before it gets even colder out there. Take care!" And she also heads for the door.

"Naaaaaah," Ben says, waving his hand again. "I never do this. Be careful out there."

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