01 / 23 / 11 - PEOPLE
=SC= Chuck's Mountain Saloon - Santa Cruz Mountains
This tiny hole of a bar can't be more than nine hundred square feet, and it packs a lot of bar into that space. Wood-paneled walls meet worn hardwood floors that are more practical than decorative, and every inch of those walls is covered with a mish-mash of items that Chuck's taken a shine to at some point. Deer and bear and moose heads butt up against old beer signs and street signs and flashing neon contraptions that allow a curvaceous lady to strip certain items of clothing away in a never-ending cycle. A jukebox in the corner is almost always tuned to classic country, and a green-felted pool table takes up a large portion of one side under a low-hanging lamp. The rest of the space is filled with chipped wooden tables and chairs and the long length of the high bar.
The saloon is thick with the smell of smoke and booze, most of it cheap, and the floor and tables can never be trusted to be what you might call 'clean'. Despite that, Chuck's liquor is well-priced and his food, though basic, is tasty. The clientele is as far from the upscale folk who frequent Los Gatos as you can get - these folks, who are familiar, regular faces around here - live in the mountains for the wild of it, and they're fond of their own personal watering hole.
As evening settles thick on Chuck's saloon, it is anything but quiet with the mild roar of twin televisions playing the game, beer flowing freely to patrons who indulge in food and entertainment with a boisterousness that either means a game is going badly or very well for the favorite. The doors open at regular intervals, people coming and going with a frequency as a normal supper hour ends. At the bar, the blond pays no attention to the game, instead having a low conversation with a bartender, broken often by one order or another. Alden's dressed simply, jeans worn and almost dirty under a crisp white shirt with an embroidered black pattern of a tribal dragon spread in flight over one side of his chest and back. In his fingers is held a glass of bourbon.
Imogene is paying a diffuse attention to the game from a corner of the bar, her elbow slung on the counter, and a half-drunk beer set alongside it. She's canted more toward the television than anywhere else, and she wears that small, observational smile of someone maybe thinking about something else. She has her dark leather jacket and dark leather gloves, but the former is open, revealing a plain white V-tee, and her jeans are a pale, weathered blue.
Harrison is a distractable companion at the bar tonight. A large amount of his attention is focused on one of the television screens where the Steelers are currently beating the Jets. If his expression could speak, it would probably say, 'Fuckers.' He is probably at a table with people? APPARENTLY NOT ALDEN WHO IS AT THE BAR. Fingers closed around a pint of beer, he abruptly yells, "Oh come on!" at the television. Not a happy game.
Jean-Paul still wears the same lazy white shirt that he was wearing earlier but has managed to find, somewhere deep within his heart, the energy to put on jeans instead of wearing damn track pants to the bar. His jacket is lightweight leather, black and touchably soft. In fact he is kind of wearing the same thing as Imogene, apparently, but minus the gloves, and his jeans are darker. He rolls his eyes at Harrison. "Doesn't help."
Lori looks like she literally doesn't know what to do with herself. She keeps edging toward the entrance behind the bar, stopping herself, and then next moment finding something she needs and almost just reaching right over to help herself. She's in a green shirt to match her hair tonight, under her motorcycle jacket. She finally picks up her beer and goes to join Harrison and whoever else is at the table.
Madrox is at a table, probs, and he is eating and drinking more than watching, absorbing company rather than what is actually on the television. He has passed off formal suit for trenchcoat and black shirt and all that, just as he normally wears, and is bright-eyeing all his colleagues' game-related emotion with amused energy.
Xen is at the table with the rest of the drinking and sports watching folks, a beer in his own hand. And while he's not nearly as invested in this game as Harrison, he's a little grumpy himself. Perhaps because his team lost their championship game a little while ago. He glances over at Jean-Paul, "You never know. It might." And as the Steelers score another touchdown, Xen shuts himself up with a sip of beer.
Kate heads on in, black leather unzipped to reveal a purple strapless top that's paired with her dark jeans and black heels. Fingers push through loose hair, eyes catching on faces from the base as she pauses at the bar to order a beer.
"Fucking /fucker/," Harrison laments as the Steelers score another touchdown. He drowns his sorrow in a gulp of beer and says distinctly to Jean-Paul, "It /does/ help."
When Sam Sikorski enters Chuck's on this Sunday night, it may not be a usual place to expect her, but she carries herself with blithe ease anyway, in a purple skirt and really bright yellow halter top and more purple at her boots. She is also texting while walking, which is not the smartest thing a girl ever did on entering a crowded bar.
"Never helped much with hockey games," Jean-Paul says. He reaches across Madrox toward a basket of boneless buffalo wings to pull it closer and filch one. "I mean, sure, I felt better, but they still lost."
Not appreciative of his co-workers, Alden does slide a look over Sam as she enters with a murmur of something to his bartender friend. It ligers only for a moment before he's back to draining his alcohol.
Madrox makes a point of filching just as Jean-Paul pulls, a pointless exercise in food dominance. "/Games/," he says, with faux-mocking emphasis. It's probably faux, we guess.
"It helps, but you're cancelled out," Lori says as she wedges in a chair to the table. She holds her beer so she doesn't actually need much space. "By the guys in the other bars helping the other teams."
Imogene watches, a flick of dark eyes from screen to table to Sikorski and back to Alden, all muted half-curiosity. She gets beer in hand to have it in hand, and back to the game.
"Yeah," Xen says in agreement with Lori, taking another sip of his beer. Maybe being here and cheering for the Bears earlier would have helped them win. Probably not. "Still. Can't sit here and expect a game to be quiet. This isn't curling or some ridiculousness."
Once she has her beer, she's heading Titan-table ward. Perhaps Kate is just curious as the bigger grouping of her co-workers than she's seen here before. "Just so long as the Steelers /lose/, I don't care if it's the Jets or the Lollipop Guild." There's a smile and a brief wave of fingers from around the bottle for Xen.
Jean-Paul takes a different wing, then, with a roll of his eyes at Madrox that is fond-- friendly-ly exasperated. "That doesn't sound very scientific," he says as Lori joins them with her theory. "Curling, huh?" He picks on Xen's example, pick pick. "You spend a lot of time watching that?"
"Hey," Harrison says as Lori sits down, expression all seriousness. "Steelers fans are fuckwads." It is possible that all fans for other teams are fuckwads. He does not immediately notice Samantha, engrossed as he is.
Isabel teleports in.
Samantha squints up at the television screen as she looks away from her phone. She watches it for a moment until the score becomes visible. Then her face scrunches up with positively Tommian scrunching. "Oh yeah," she says to the television. Then she tucks her phone into her bright purple purse and saunters up toward the bar instead to squeeze herself blithely in.
Madrox flashes a side-smile at Jean-Paul, and pulls a strip of a bite off his wing before noting to Xen, "The clamor's the reason to come anyway."
Are Imogene and Alden in the same tucked away part of the bar? Probably. There's probably not that many places to tuck yourself away. As Alden slides his glass back to the bartender to fill up, his attention slips to Imogene to ask, "Not going to join your co-workers, get some quality bonding time in?" His attention is fickle as Sam arrives, a smile lifting a corner of his lips as he leans forward across the bar to ask with heavy British words, "What are you drinking, love?"
"No offense, but--" Lori toasts Harrison with her beer. "So are you. So are pretty much /all/ fans, when they start fighting and breaking my glasses."
Isabel wants to make an entrance, maybe. Or maybe she required a shower after crawling around in the dirt with a camera. Either way, she's a bit later than most, and she pauses at the door to glance around the bar. Her hair is still damp and curling around her shoulders. She's dressed quickly and simply - fitted printed tee, black leather jacket, dark denim that hugs her legs tight. She waits just long enough to spot Harrison before she cuts across the bar toward him and wiggles her way through the crowd to call, "So what's the verdict?"
"I prefer my quality bonding time around smaller tables," Imogene says, running her thumb a pace down the side of her glass. "Less chance of collision. Why . . . " But Alden's fickle attention distracts Imogene's to Sam and her purple purse. She opts not to interrupt her co-worker's pick-up line.
"Good thing they're not your glasses anymore, then," Xen amends with a slight grin to Lori. He nods and flashes a grin to Kate with her little wave as well. Looking back over at Jean-Paul, "No, but I just can't imagine a bar full of people going apeshit over moving rounded weights over ice. What kind of smack talk would they even use?"
"In love with me already, English?" Samantha asks, her accent placing her quite firmly to the east -- if not so far east as Alden; New York blazons readily across her blithe syllables. "I usually don't get that one til after my pants are off." She leans her elbow onto the bar, rocking forward into its brace. She raises her voice to cut over the racket, flagging down the bartender. "Hey! Gimme a screwdriver!"
With Isabel incoming, Lori tries to scoot around a little to allow more room for someone to squeeze in. Someone thin, with no personal space. "My first night as a civilian in years," she tells Xen. "It is /killing/ me."
"/We/ aren't going to start fighting," Jean-Paul says with a glance around the table that falls on Harrison and looks a little awkwardly thoughtful. Oh wait. "Clamor enough, anyway." He smiles at Xen, brief and crooked. "I dunno. Trash talk about sweeping?"
"Well, if you'd like to take your pants off," Alden allows with a flick of his fingers in a gesture, his soft smile twisting into an amused smirk, humor echoed in grey eyes. "Go ahead and put it on my tab, if you would." This requested to the bartender, he lifts his glass in a salute to Samantha before settling back on his stool, pulling his gaze back to Imogene slowly. "Ah, collisions. Of course."
Kate takes up a lean somewhere convenient, a grin at Lori. "Would it help if we got into a brawl later, broke shit?" She's glancing around, looking for space to take a seat.
"I think fights are good fun," Madrox puts in. Like deja vu. He has a lot of deja vu.
"The Steelers are fuckers," Harrison tells Isabel glumly as she makes her way over. To the table at large, he says, "Who knows. You sweep ice shitty? It's not even a real sport." Perhaps Samantha's voice is enough to catch his attention, or maybe she just caught his gaze as it returned to the television. His brows lower with a frown as he watches Alden's attention on her.
Imogene turns a decidedly faint smile on Alden and Sam past. "Please don't let me interrupt if you're trying to arrange one."
"You would," Jean-Paul mutters.
Well. If she /must/, Isabel will give up some personal space in order to wiggle shamelessly between Lori and Harrison. Sorry, what, were you standing there? "Losing, huh?" she asks Harrison all sympathy before glancing toward the bar with a thoughtful cast. What to drink?
"It's the only sport I know anything about," Madrox clarifies all casual good-natured. "Kicking, biting, kneeing . . . "
"Oh, that's right, I'm not even /wearing/ pants." Sam cocks an eyebrow at Alden, and gives him a slight shake of her head. Her smile is a crooked curve across her mouth. "You're cute, kiddo, but I'm meeting somebody, and he's a jealous little son of a bitch. As I have serious reason to know."
"In the heat of the moment, I'd start working for the wrong side," Lori says with mock sadness, of bar fights. She gives Isabel a nod of greeting. "I bet you could knock someone on their ass on the ice pretty easy. Start a good hockey-style fight."
Xen smirks to Jean-Paul and Harrison, "Hell, the only time I /hear/ about it is at the Olympics anyway." And then, "Wouldn't be the first time Titan broke stuff around here," Xen amends to Kate, then grins at Lori. "Just have to re-learn everything you ever knew."
Kate gives Jamie a grin and a faint salute with her beer at the talk of fighting. "We don't live in Norway." She says to Xen, as to why they never hear about curling, before there's a hint of laughter and she shifts a touch closer to the pilot/her neighbor. "I always miss the fun stuff."
"It'd take about no effort to knock me on my ass on the ice," Isabel observes to Lori before she asks, "What're we talking about?"
"Also the only time you hear about gymnastics or figure skating. Some of their /sports/--." Jean-Paul breaks off and backtracks, half laughing at Lori's suggestion. "A very excellent point. Hockey, Jamie. Tom can even teach you."
"Curling," Lori explains for Isabel. "And how to man it up so fuckwads in bars can break glasses over it."
Attention pulled away from Samantha and Alden with an effort, Harrison scowls at Xen. "Hey, I didn't /break/ anything that time." Looking back to the television, he mutters a low curse at yet another point of bad luck for his team. Without looking at Isabel, he answers, "Curling, apparently."
"So I can slip off my skates on top of someone and then get in a fight? With blades attached to my feet?" Madrox waves under the table vaguely.
"I've seen gymnastics and figure skating both on TV when it's not the Olympics, though. Not Curling, though." Kate points out to JP before she's taking another sip of her beer and looking up at the tv.
"I'll have to manage my hurt, love, but if you change your mind after your date, I'll be here," Alden offers in a warm murmur, his own smile lingering on his lips though the screwdriver still is sure to go on his tab. "Nothing to interrupt, collision or otherwise. I think, though, it sounds more like an excuse to avoid your co-workers."
"I'm not avoiding you, am I?" Imogene asks, and takes a slight swallow of her beer. She is still half watching Sam past Alden.
Jean-Paul gives Kate a deeply skeptical glance, and then slants a look at Madrox. "Hmm. Suddenly this is sounding a little dangerous."
"Sounds lonely," Samantha tells Alden with blithe sympathy. She collects her drink and, with a sunny smile spared to Alden and Imogene both as her bright eyes skip past to meet the other woman's gaze, spins off away from the bar with a fwoosh of long loose hair, backing a few paces as she watches the TV. First she texts while walking, now she walks backwards. Smart.
"Curling," Isabel echoes blandly. "Huh." She rises slightly with a glance around the table, asking, "Anyone need a refill while I'm up?"
"I'm flattered, I'm sure. Who are you avoiding, then?" Alden returns with a mild curiosity, humor teasing along his syllables even as his gaze trails after Sam for a moment.
"Isn't a little danger entirely the point of hockey?" Madrox asks, as he finishes stripping wings and goes back to beer.
Lori lifts a couple fingers in answer to Isabel's question. Her beer is getting low. "Thanks," she says, and then settles back, mostly people-watching now.
"Jesus--" Harrison watches Sam make her way backwards with a bit of baffled concern, like why would you do that? and you are going to break your neck. He sighs and looks back up at the television, though he does answer Isabel in the affirmative.
"I could use one," Xen adds, lifting his glass, even as he drains it. "Just what's on tap." He leans back a little bit to grin just slightly at Kate, "Don't worry. I'm sure there will be plenty more. We used to have a reputation, from what I understand."
"I don't like crowded tables. As I said." Imogene's attention drifts back wholly to Alden as Sam moves. "Who are you avoiding?"
"I could use one, too." Kate says to Iz, swishing her already mostly empty beer before she's favoring Xen with a grin. "Don't tease me."
"I'm fine," Jean-Paul says with the lift of his bottle to Isabel, half-full. World's slowest drinker. "Danger is certainly part of the point, yet not the entire point. As in all things. It sounds like Xen wants there to be more danger in drinking. That eager for a fight?"
"Avoidance is futile in our line of work," is murmured dismissively, Alden twisting his glass against the grain of the bar before he looks up to curve a brow at Imogene. "Would you like to get married?" The question is bright, teasing, and aprops to nothing.
"Good grief, guys," Isabel teases as she slips away. "How many hands do you think I have?" She cuts across toward the bar with a mental count of orders before she delivers them to the bartender with an added one for her own. Only then does she turn, hitching her elbows up on the bar, and give the room a more thorough sweep. Her gaze catches on Alden and Imogene and lingers there for several moments before she rips it away.
"Maybe not an intense fight. I'm thinking bruise level over broken bones and teeth level. First tier fighting." Madrox holds up a single finger. "Minor scuffle. Or I can just drink some more."
"That I suppose it is," Imogene answers to the first and is halfway to taking another swallow of beer when Alden's question lands and she is forced to lower her glass, her eyebrows raised. "No, not particularly."
Xen grimaces slightly, shaking his head, "Not tonight. Or, perhaps not so close to our place of employment." His gaze moves from Jean-Paul to Madrox, and he grins just slightly, "We have tiers for fighting? Or maybe that would only be considered a scuffle."
"Five," Harrison tells Isabel before she darts off to the bar.
Kate leans, tipping her head to look at Madrox. "Well, if no one else takes you up on it, let me know. I'm sure I can arrange it for you." Laughing low in her throat, a playful elbow to Xen. "Don't be a wuss."
Samantha's eyebrows pop up as Isabel passes her field of vision; it takes her a beat or so to place the younger women, and when she does, she smiles. Sipping through her straw, she sidles up to her from behind. "Isabel," she says in a bright carol of her voice. "Hey!"
Xen grimaces slightly, shaking his head, "Not tonight. Or, perhaps not so close to our place of employment." His gaze moves from Jean-Paul to Madrox, and he grins just slightly, "We have tiers for fighting now?"
"Alas. Let me know if you change your mind, then," Alden offers, accepting the answer easily as he lifts his own drink to his lips to sip at bourbon.
"Drink," Jean-Paul mock-encourages. "Oh, sure. Of course we have tiers. Scale things by the amount of broken furniture, the number of broken bones." He gestures, left-handed, a little clumsy due to the bandage still in place. In a lower mutter, he adds, "Number of gunshot wounds," because it is subtle if you mutter it.
Madrox drinks. And. "Yes. There's the fight that's invigorating, and not too debilitating, versus the fight that lays you out for a few days, versus--" and Madrox nudges Jean-Paul's leg under the table, "competing with each other for hospital stays. You up for it, then?" he directs to Kate.
Harrison tracks the meeting of Samantha and Isabel with some hint of wariness. "Maybe by the size of the bill the bar gives us," he contributes to the conversation even as his gaze only flicks between the women and the television.
"Certainly," Imogene says with a trace of half-humor. She finishes her beer.
Isabel jerks her head around in a sudden startle, complete with a jump. "/Sam/," she says, sweeping a hand back through her hair. "Holy shit, you scared me to death." She turns toward the other woman and looks automatically for a Tom at her elbow before wondering, "What're you doing up here? Meeting Tom?" After a beat she adds, "Those rasperry lemon bars were fantastic, by the way."
"Sorry," Sam says, her grin a bright and crooked flash that does not bespeak much repentance. "Should I wear a bell?" She lifts her drink to her mouth for a sip. "He's supposed to be here, but he texted me all 'fuck I forgot', so who knows where he is now." She flaps a hand through the air away from her glass, and then tosses her hair back over her shoulder with it. "I'm glad the bars made it to you. Never know what's gonna go astray."
Xen smirks at Kate, "I prefer to range a little further if I figure a brawl's going to start." Slightly amused, he looks back to Madrox, "Where on your scale would a Donnybrook fall?"
"So does that mean we'll have to take a little field trip? San Jose, maybe?" Kate teases Xen, polishing off her beer before she's sliding her jacket off, revealing bare shoulders.
Alden drinks silently, his gaze only flicking to Imogene with a mild study of her features. It is brief, curious but then gone as he returns to whatever he was doing at the bar. Drinking, and whatever.
"Not as much pink as I expected from you, but they were pretty fantastic," Isabel answers with a brief laugh before she says, "You should yell at him for cursing at his mom. Mine'd never stand for it." She glances behind her at the bar, where drinks are finding their way to a large tray. "You want to keep us company, since you're up?" she offers. "Or will he kill me if I start introducing his mom to all his coworkers?"
Nudging back, Jean-Paul's leg stays pressed against Madrox's because -- look, it is just a crowded table, all right? "Seriously?" he asks the table, all disapproving in the face of this discussion of brawl-seeking. Mock? Maybe. Not? Probably.
"You can say I twisted your arm," Samantha answers brightly, slanting a glance at the tray and then grinning cheekily back at Isabel again.
"What the hell's a Donnybrook -- /oh what the fuck come the fuck on/!" That last part probably wasn't meant for the table. It was probably meant for the television. Harrison scowls fiercely at the screen as the Steelers score another touchdown.
"Somehow I got caught playing waitress," Isabel supplies with a glance toward the tray before her gaze jerks toward Harrison across the bar with a flicker of laughter. "Ah," she says. "The Jets must be losing again." She straightens and turns, hefting the tray up as she jerks her head at some. "Come on, I'll do the rounds. He can murder me later if he wants."
"Maybe a tier two. Everyone's sore a couple days, but no worry, no big nothing," Madrox says, and maybe he's already had a few, or maybe he just gets looser anyway in a group. His leg stays next to Jean-Paul's. "I think it's all ~theoretical~ anyhow," he adds, complete with tildes.
Kate tries to stifle a laugh at Harrison's violent passion for his team's failings, and just can't. There's a slide of a glance to Xen, before she's stretching.
Studying Imogene's features is maybe a study in boredom. Other than that titch of amusement, she is pretty darn neutral. But she does regard him back until he stops regarding. Hello again, game.
Samantha follows Isabel's gaze back to the table and her eyebrows sweep up, a blink startling her smile off her face. It returns a little sharper and a little more crooked. "Stupid old Jets," she says. "My dad is probably making those same sounds." She falls in step with Isabel easily, shaking back her hair with another flick of her wrist. Her eyes gleam brightly with humor as she marks the table and its crowd, lingering here or there. Harrison she knows. Jean-Paul she has only seen naked ...
Alden's boring, too, the state of his drunkenness kept well under wrap as he sits at the bar.
Jean-Paul still goes, "Tch," which is one bare phoneme from being better called a 'tsk'.
Once he recognizes that, oh, Isabel and Samantha are coming back /here/, Harrison starts looking dreading -- and then just ends up a little hopelessly resigned. Well, this day was going to come eventually, right?
Xen leans back slightly in the face of Harrison's explosion, both amusement and commisseration on his face, having watched his OWN team fall not so long ago. He looks sidelong at Kate, his eyes lingering a little bit at the bare shoulders as he returns her grin, his gaze sliding back to Madrox, "Right. Theoretical. I'm just curious about the scale is all."
"S'all the scale I got. Right here." Madrox tips his hand at his forehead, then shoulder-nudges Jean-Paul with a, "Come on, you like a good fight, too. This isn't a church picnic."
"Harrison wants to go to the superbowl," Isabel fills Sam in as she weaves through the bar with remarkable (teke-assisted) balance. She pauses in a hover behind Xen's chair to lift her voice over the ruckus and announce, "I brought a civvie. Tom stood his mom up. Everyone, Sam Sikorski. Sam-- everyone." She focuses for a moment on doling drinks to the appropriate location with a brow-arching glance at Madrox and Jean-Paul.
"Oh, right. My mistake," Jean-Paul says, sidelong-glancing back at Madrox with a slow but growing smile. "All the beer, it's so easy to get confused." He turns up his good hand and says, "I am not going to say that I don't /like/ a good fight, but--." Oh, civvie. He breaks off, and looks at Sam with eyes widening. His smile grows that much wider. "He stood you up? Ground him."
Kate toys with the gold chain at her throat, looking up at the television, before there's a smirk. "Just purely considering the scale. Inquiring minds and all." She looks innocent, JP. Really." Her head tips back further, a warm smile for Tom's mom. "Nice to meet you, Sam." She accepts that beer when Iz gets to doling hers out. "Thanks, Iz." "
"Hey everybody." Samantha's smile is crooked but bright, her eyes glinting a blithe humor; they pause on Harrison, long enough for her to go so far as to waggle her eyebrows at him before her gaze slides on. She takes a sip of her drink. Her eyes are bright as they pause on Jean-Paul. She does not waggle her eyebrows at him, reason being, he wasn't there when she saw /him/ naked. "You're all pretty cozy -- I feel like I should try and steal somebody's lap, except if he actually /does/ turn up it'd make his little noggin crack." She opens a hand in the wide sweep of her palm, indicating the television over her shoulder. "Enjoying the slaughter, ladies and gentlemen?"
Xen half turns in his seat as Isabel comes stepping up with Sam, crooking his arm over the back of the chair. There's a wide, and amused, flash of a grin on the pilot's face. "Pleasure to meet you, Sam." Then, he turns attention to Iz and the drinks, "You want help doling those out?" He'll spread them out appropriately when he's given the okay.
"I'm here to guide your /way/," Madrox asserts with a poke-poke to follow the nudge, "and there should be a fight, if everyone stops being pansies--" And he, as well, turns over to Sam with a bright, "Oh, hello, Ms. Sikorski. Tom says we're a lot alike." (Count: definitely had a few.) "I was hoping for a better slaughter in here, but no one'll provide."
Harrison tries to mute that exasperated amusement from his expression at Samantha's brow waggling, but there is only so much he can do. He hesitates a moment, then stands out of his seat, at first just to reach for his new beer, but then he offers his seat to Samantha with a jerk of his head. Like a GENTLEMAN. Or something. "I'm going to drive to Pittsburgh and fucking trash it," he declares dourly.
Drinks doled out, Isabel lowers her voice a bit to give Sam more thorough introductions. Each person is picked out in turn and named before she blinks at Jamie with a surprised "Really?" before she tells people, "Scoot," and steps to slide next to Harrison just as he stands. Her head pivots toward him with raised brows, all silent question.
"Guide, huh? Virgil or Beatrice?" Jean-Paul asks Madrox, lazily waving away the poke-poke. "Heaven or hell?" He studies Sam, trying to make out the similarities to Tom, and notes both her eyebrow waggle and her pause. His smile goes crooked. "Nice to meet you."
"Thomas is an excellent judge of character, so I guess that makes us pals," Samantha says, wiggling her fingers at Madrox in a little wave away from her drink. "Call me Sam." Her mouth slides sidelong as Harrison tries to give her his chair. She tips her head. "Now you /know/ I'm not going to steal your seat, big guy," she says.
"Sure not /Beatrice/," Madrox says, poking /again/ despite the waving. He is such an emphatic poker. "So maybe hell. I guess." And back to Sam and now Isabel by extension. "Why yes, really. We are not dissimilar in--" Madrox is apparently not quite drunk enough to say /exactly/ what the comparison is, and softens last minute in bright, "bonhomie." Well, not exactly exactly.
"Where else are you going to sit?" Harrison replies to Samantha, mildly exasperated in a way that is probably more familiar than it should be for two people who just met. He gulps his beer.
Isabel's brows slide further up at the interchange, and her gaze snaps toward Sam and back toward Harrison before she says, "We can scoot."
Kate elbows Xen, perhaps accidentally, eyes fastening on Harrison and Sam for a moment, as she takes a sip from her beer.
"Oh is /that/ the kind of story Tommy boy is telling out of school," Sam says to Madrox with highly arched eyebrows. Her mouth curves, a sly kind of humor in the skew of her expression. "It sounds like I owe him a cuff across the ears." She spreads her hands, her drink in one, and does not fight; she says: "Scoot, scoot. I love to scoot. I'm a scooter. Sit your butt down."
Xen merely watches the little interplay with Sam and Harrison, though he says nothing, drinking a sip of his beer. However, at Isabel's suggestion, he stands only to catch an elbow from Kate. He makes a soft 'oof!' and grunts, glancing sidelong at her, "We can certainly make enough room."
The curve of his lips a slight thing, Jean-Paul takes Madrox's hand -- by the wrist! that is friendly! -- and redirect it to his beer. No more poking. He lets the subject of guides lapse. "Thomas," he repeats, sounding out the two syllables. "/Tommy/. He is really going to regret standing you up," he predicts.
"I'll just be half in your lap, Brandt. That works for you, right?" There's a lighthearted laugh out of Kate, before eyes slip from Xen to Harrison, one eyebrow lowering a bit as she glances.
"This is what I get for trying to be nice," Harrison says with a long-suffering sort of scowl. He plops back down in his seat and scoots.
"You are out of practice," Jean-Paul shoots at Harrison with a /muted/ edge.
Isabel scoots as well, leaving space between her and Harrison for Sam to slip into before her eyes flick toward Jean-Paul. "Don't get me yelled at for bringing her over!" she objects as she finally reaches for her rum and coke.
Madrox is redirected, hand on beer, which he further uses by drinking, draining, really. And back to Sam, "Bonhomie is positive, isn't it? It means you are open and delightful! I don't know what you think I was employ-- implying!"
"Thomas Edward," Samantha offers helpfully to Jean-Paul across the space of the table as the seating arrangements begin to fall into place. Her eyebrows dart up with humor bright in her eyes. "I'm afraid I neglected to bring the baby pictures," she adds, squeezing blithely in between her new best friends and setting her drink at a small corner of the table. Her smile lingers as she eyes Madrox across the table, humor lingering in the expression. "Open and delightful," she agrees, and laughs through: "Okay."
"You being nice may throw the universe out of its usual order, Brady. Of course it backfires." Kate says, teasing even as she makes sure everyone has room and such.
It is a while before Alden finishes his drink, slowing slightly as he falls silent. Finally, he shifts, incling his chin to Imogene. "Enjoy your night, love," he offers, marking Sam as being swallowed by the group with a soft snort as he fetches up his own coat.
Xen sits back down as people all scoot in, making the table quite comfortably close. Maybe it's a big table. The pilot smirks at Kate, "Just watch the hands, Abrams." And then Sam speaks up, and his eyebrows climb slightly in surprise. "I think we'd be a little surprised if you carried his baby pictures everywhere when you were planning on meeting him. Amused, but surprised."
Imogene has been watching the growing knot of knottiness with growing amusement, but does turn a glance back to Alden with a mild, "You too. Need help getting home?" Less polite, Imogene.
"If you make me some copies," Isabel remarks to Sam, "I'll start carrying them around for you."
"I can do without the baby pictures," Jean-Paul says, blank-baffled as he sips beer.
Kate laughs at Xen, before one hand reaches out to grab at his side just under the table in a tickling manner, just to be a smart ass.
"Oh, fuck off," Harrison grouches, mostly to Jean-Paul, but a bit to Kate as well. He /drinks his beer/.
"Okay!" Madrox repeats, and lifts his empty glass before realizing that it's empty. "Damn." And he shifts, perhaps using Jean-Paul's leg as a counter-weight, to get to his feet and get more something-something.
"Living dangerously," Sam says to Isabel, cocking an eyebrow as she takes a swallow of her drink. After a beat, she asks brightly: "Oh, is this a groping table? Should I start groping?"
"I'll manage," Alden murmurs with only a slight slur to his words as he shrugs into the dark wool coat, though his gaze lingers over Imogene curiously. Whatever answer he's looking for, he either finds it or gives up quickly as he turns to retreat past the crowds.
"Danger," Isabel murmurs into the lift of her glass. "That's me."
"Don't let your death be on my hands," Imogene says with a tilt up of her glass, and her expression still excessively mild as she lets him go.
"This is not a groping--" Jean-Paul pauses, slightly, as Madrox shifts and stands. "--table." His argument is flawed. He calls after, "Get another bottle for me, would you?"
Kate laughs at Harrison, eyes bright. before she glances at Sam. "Groping? Not that I know of." She looks at Xen. "Is there a memo I missed?"
"I think you're writing the memo," Harrison tells Kate dryly.
Alden laughs, the sound brief and surprised before he calls back, "I'm sure you can just write it off as another drunk doing something stupid." Then he continues off.
Imogene watches him go with a faint brow furrow, a faint narrow of her eyes. And then she's back to people watching.
"I didn't know there even /was/ a groping table," Xen answers Kate. He shifts slightly in his seat, glancing over at Harrison and back to the brunette, and then to Tom's mother. He doesn't really have words.
Samantha grins, her glance sliding sidelong across Harrison toward Kate. Her incredulous expression is pretty good. Maybe Tom learned it from her, or maybe the other way around. She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table as she roofs her hands over the half-drunk drink. "Okeydokey, smokey," she says. "I have no idea what half these names are. Should I make up new ones for you guys?"
Madrox decides he also needs to hand-push Jean-Paul's shoulder to get up properly, and then he's a-stagger away with a, "Sure, sure. I'll bring -- four more, just in case."
With Sam settled, Isabel lapses into momentary silence while she nurses her drink. Her gaze fixes on Madrox's rise, then whips back toward Jean-Paul. She blinks across the table at him.
"Might want to try water," Jean-Paul calls after Madrox, something less than half teasing. He remains shifted in the seat, watching as he navigates his way to the bar. It could be dangerous! He glances briefly back at Sam to say, "New names sound great," and meets Isabel's look blankly. WHAT?
"New names for what?" Harrison asks blankly.
There's a snort and a roll of her eyes at Harrison. "Kate." She offers to Sam, still all brightness and warmth.
Isabel arches her brows at Jean-Paul and sips.
"/Somebody/ is not paying attention to me," Samantha tells the table at large, while sliding the toes of her near foot up Harrison's calf. Who let her sit next to him? What a bad idea. Damn it, Iz. "I already know your name, though," she confides to Jean-Paul, sunnily. "I heard a rumor. -- Hi, Kate!"
Kate tips her beer Sam's way, that smile still in place.
Jean-Paul glances oh-so-mildly away to see if Madrox has managed to drunkenly trip and fall ... but then Sam is confiding. He shifts, turning back to the table a bit. "A ru--m--oh." He flashes Sam a smile. "I heard you'd like my number." He can't be needling Harrison if he doesn't know, right??
"Xen," the pilot adds after Sam greets Kate. Pronounced 'Zen'. And then he quirks an eyebrow at Jean-Paul, and his lips half pull before he takes a sip of his beer.
"Nah," Madrox calls over his shoulder, but does his stagger get less as he goes? Couldn't be. He goes a-plying bartenders, and maybe still trying to listen in.
Harrison does not quite /jump/, but he, uh -- straightens up a little. Hello. "Oh," he says. "/Those/ names." He does not offer one to Sam. Jerk. "It's the playoffs," he says defensively at the whole /not paying attention thing/. But it's probably halftime by now anyways.
Harrison also scowls at Jean-Paul now that my lag has caught up.
Sam grins. "You are pretty damn fine," she tells Jean-Paul with every evidence of a shamelessnes her son probably /lacks/, "but I heard I'm not your type." She blows him a kiss across the table, and then picks up her drink for a longer swallow, finding that she is coming to its end all too quickly. She is not well behaved; Harrison's shift beside her earns an irrepressibly smirkish curve to her smile. "Hi Xen!" she adds, at just a slight delay.
Isabel's glance shoots toward Sam, and her brows remain arched for a moment before she swallows a drink and leans slightly back behind Sam to inquire of Harrison, "Do you have your phone on hand in case they win?"
Kate looks terribly amused, lazily sipping at her beer, looking at Harrison briefly, before she's smiling at Sam again.
Grinning back, Jean-Paul drops his shoulder in a brief shrug. "True enough." A glance at the screen to check halftime score has him /snorting/ at Isabel's question.
"Hey, you have no idea what's going to happen next half," Harrison growls to Jean-Paul's snort. IT COULD HAPPEN. "Yeah," he tells Isabel with stiff stubbornness. "I do."
"Maybe, but I can extrapolate," Jean-Paul says with an eye on the screen. /This/ needling is /purposeful/.
"You're walking on dangerous ground," Isabel observes as she leans forward again.
Samantha props her chin on her fist, her other hand falling beneath the table to where it is not precisely in view as she leans on her elbow. Her eyebrows lift as her head twists, gaze narrowing toward the television, and then sliding away again to consider her son's coworkers in an idle sweep. "I have /my/ phone on hand for if they lose," she says. She squeezes Harrison's knee under the table, which might make it a bit harder for him to punch people who aren't right next to him, and surely no one will see that. "Tom's grandpappy will need somebody to swear at."
"The Jets have pulled off more unlikely victories than this. Last week, for example," Xen adds, sticking up for Harrison's team whether he believes in them or not. Probably not.
"And the Steelers aren't /that/ good." Kate chimes in, beer on the table as she leans on her one arm. Because maybe the Jets winning will make Harrison less of a jerk. Maybe.
Madrox comes back with -- only two beers, not four, and he holds them with reasonable firmness. One he sets firm down in front of Jean-Paul, the other he takes with him as he slouches back into his seat.
"Nothing wrong with a little danger," Jean-Paul answers Isabel, but with his smile for Madrox as he takes the beer with a, "Thank you."
Harrison coughs and leans forward to brace his elbows on the table in some feeble attempt to block anybody's view to the hand currently /groping him under the table/. "They're coming back the second half," he says stubbornly.
"Why don't we go drinking somewhere there's dancing?" Isabel wants to know over a drink.
"Got me." Kate answers Iz, following a sip of her beer. "Do the guys dance?"
"I like the ambiance here," Jean-Paul says with a wave that rather specifically includes moose heads.
"Because why would you want to dance when you can watch sports in a bar with a goddamn moose?" Sam points at the moose head, her mouth slid into a lingering and crooked smile that dances bright in her eyes. While she is busy groping Harrison under the table with the /other/ one.
There's a sudden stiffening to Xen's posture at the table and a glance down before he sits up a little straighter and adjusts, his grip a little tighter on his drink. He looks over at Isabel, "The clubs don't show the games, even with them determining the Superbowl in two weeks."
"No," Isabel answers Kate with a blow of a breath before she wrinkles her nose at Xen and glances to Sam and, beyond her, Harrison. "Good question," she answers all dry. "I must be insane."
"Because you nag me to dance," Harrison answers Isabel flatly.
"I dance. Occasionally, when I can balance," Madrox says as he uncaps his bottle. "I could dance now, but the moosehead makes me feel self-conscious."
"Well screw them. We should go dancing and leave them here to wallow in sports while we dance with hot men." Clearly, Kate is only sort of serious. But her team isn't playing, so screw it.
Isabel meets Harrison's gaze briefly and then looks away at his tone. She subsides into silence and finishes off her drink with a brief swallow as her eyes flick to Kate. "Yeah," she answers vaguely, and slides her chair backward to stand with a lift of her empty glass in explanation.
Jean-Paul glances over at Xen at that twitched note of his posture. The speculative curve of his brow slides to Kate and then on with a sip of his beer. "I /have/ been known on /occasion/ to dance," he defends himself.
"You guys can go dance," Sam says promptly, her grin flashing wide. "I'll sit here surrounded by moose at a table full of hot men."
"Hey, let me." Kate says to Iz, rising. "Anyone else need a refill? It's my turn."
Harrison's gaze, upon meeting Isabel's, is caught somewhere between regret and exasperation. Looking back to Sam, his smirk winds slowly and half-suppressed.
Madrox leans his chin into his non-beered hand and smiles at the table in general. No reason.
"Already up," Isabel points out to Kate with a glance that sweeps by Harrison just in time to catch that smirk. Gosh, now seems like a /great/ time to slip away toward the bar. Glass in hand, she does.
Xen glances back at Jean-Paul, his lips settling between consternation and vague embarassment. And then he eyes his drink, measuring the level, "Not yet, thanks."
CHUCK'S I.