Ain´t thinkin bout Thursday or Friday cuz tonight´s a Saturday night

[gotbottle]

It's Saturday night, and as befits a good old Saturday night, the Luna bar is hopping. The bar's near capacity, and it seems anyone and everyone has turned up, whether to just enjoy a drink or three or for more secretive purposes.

Jack Malone is seated at the far end of the bar, his body half-turned toward the crowd. It's force of habit; seated

Comments

[archangelet]

For some reason, Tay has decided that the best place to take her awkward self when she's nervous and jumpy and a little overwhelmed and a little bit confused because she almost kissed Buffy when they were sparring earlier is into the city, for booze. She can't find a liquor store that feels like not carding her, and the first couple bars she tried laughed her out, so she's giving the Luna a try.

Or... she will once she finishes making it to the bar. There are so many non-mundanes here, it's a bit unsettling. Sure, she's used to that in the Conrad or the Gauche, even that damn coffee shop she and Buffy tend to hang out in when Mattie comes in to see his girlfriend. But in a random bar in Chicago, it's... odd.

And almost comforting.

But she's going to just stand here for a moment, towering over a good chunk of the patronage, feeling a little lost and looking a little bemused.

[why_dowefall]

The bodies are congregated a bit more heavily through here, and Bruce turns his body sideways to edge between two groups. One girl stumbles into another, sending her reeling back a couple of steps, and it's only Bruce's exceptionally quick reflexes that keep him from tripping himself, and from dumping his beer all over the very tall blonde on the other side of the narrow pass he was trying to navigate.

"Ah, sorry," he murmurs with an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to almost flatten you there."

[archangelet]

Tay jumps a little, startled, then smirks a bit at him. "I think it'd take a lot more than a clumsy dude with a beer to flatten me, but I appreciate the concern."

She also smoothly eases her hand away from the knife she's got strapped under the back waistband of her pants. She's not jumpy at all.

[why_dowefall]

Bruce may be playing the clumsy innocent, but he knows enough to know when someone's reached for a weapon. And this girl? Started to reach for a weapon. It interests him enough to make him ignore the fact that she looks a bit young to be in here; he supposes that's really hard to tell, for certain, between his changed eyesight, the dim light, and her height. She certainly doesn't carry herself like a teenager.

"Glad to hear it," he responds. "Seems like you've got to be made of tougher stuff to make your way around in here. Headed for the bar?"

[sarkraticmethod]

And lo, there was a Sark in the bar, because while he can't abide crowds and he's not even all that fond of hard liquor, he's had one hell of a week, and while the period of hiding in his flat and hitting his head against the nearest wall and wondering what the hell happened down in the Conrad basement is over, the abject melancholy is not.

Thus, bar.

He'd get drunk with Suzie, but Suzie has enough on her plate and avoiding people he's too close to right now seems like the best bet.

Without considering who his barmates might be, he slides onto the stool about two down from Rachel and waits for the bartender to come by.

Look, Rachel! You totally can see Mr. Sark when he's not stuck in a tree or half-drowned. It's a miracle!

[gotbottle]

Rachel has set aside the salt shaker, and is sucking on her hand, about to make short work of this shot of Patron, but she just happens to turn her head enough to see who's settled on the stool two over. She removes her hand from her mouth and instead of downing the shot, she holds it out in front of the man between her and Sark.

"Hey, mister. You can have this if I can have your seat, okay? I didn't drink from it." The guy casts a dubious glance down at her; it's met with an entirely deadpan expression in response. "It's not roofied. If I was gonna carry you off and rape you, I'd just sucker-punch you and drag you out of here, okay?"

The guy blinks down at her, and then apparently decides the best way out of this conversation is to just take the drink and move. Rachel hops off her stool, beaming her thanks, and trades seats with him.

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" she asks, that deadpan face still firmly in place as she waves to get the bartender's attention.

[sarkraticmethod]

Unexpected Ms. Conway is unexpected... Although from the look on Sark's face, you wouldn't think he was that surprised. This is because he both isn't and his face always looks like that.

And it's probably for the best that he missed that whole exchange that allowed Rachel to switch her seat, as it probably would have made him hit his head against the bar. Really, no one should bribe someone with tequila to get near him. That's just strange.

"Theoretically, drinking," he deadpans right back. "Though I suppose I could ask you the same question."

[gotbottle]

Rachel grins faintly. She genuinely likes Sark, though he strikes her as the kind of guy who might not do well with such declarations, no matter how honest. "I'm drinking tequila," she informs him. "And there ain't nothing theoretical about it. Want one? I've got a tab open..."

The bartender sees her and nods in her direction to let her know, just a minute, I'm coming. She nods back and turns her full attention back to Mr. Sark. It's nice to see him under more normal circumstances--in a bar, as opposed to a tree or the lake--but she decides not to remark upon that, either.

Instead she merely asks, "How are you?"

[stopdropanddie]

Not far from Malone is another Jack, sitting at a table very close to the bar that offers a marvelous view of the entire establishment. He also has a scotch by his elbow with his laptop/journal open, but he's really keeping an eye on the area. Ideally, he'd be enjoying a drink in a much quieter establishment, but quiet establishments invite being noticed by the lonely and the drunk.

Of course, Jack's been keeping his eye on the only other person (or one of them anyway) here who seems to be keeping track of the exits and whether or not a fight is going to break out. He can admire that in a man, given he's also not quite big on relaxing.

He clears his throat in Malone's general direction and notes as casually as if he were commenting on the weather, "The exit directly behind me would be the most likely strike zone. No cameras, plenty of shadow, and just enough civilians to provide cover, but not enough to invite a stampede should the hit go sour."

He takes a sip of his scotch as if he didn't just make that comment. What? Former spy?

[ihadarashonce]

Jack blinks, sparing a glance in the direction of the man who's just addressed him. He'd wondered what a guy with a laptop was doing in a crowded bar on a Saturday night but while he's got a good eye for things, he's nowhere near as practiced as someone in espionage.

One eyebrow twitches, and a hint of bemusement curves Jack's mouth. "That's true," he allows. He cants his head nearly imperceptibly at the front entrance. "But I got a lot more experience with morons who get it wrong than with efficient hitmen who get it right, so I always pay special attention to the front door. Morons always come in the front, and cause a scene."

And then he goes on drinking his scotch as if the small talk were merely about the weather or the stock market, not about where murder's likely to break out in the place.

[stopdropanddie]

What? That's not small talk? Man, has Bristow been doing it wrong for twenty years.

"Local or federal?" Said in the same tone one might say "Business or pleasure?" when asking why someone's hanging around in Chicago. He's not CIA, that much is sure and certain, and he's a bit too practiced for Jack to even consider local, but, for all he knows, cops in Chicago have upped their game. It wouldn't surprise him. That or he's a wanderer and that's even more likely.

This? This is how Bristow conducts his small talk. By making it about something one does not usually expect small talk to be about and pretending like he's not doing it. For all practical purposes, his eyes have barely left his laptop.

[ihadarashonce]

"Federal," Jack replies just as casually. He sees no need to add any exposition concerning how that's no longer the case, Rift, blah blah. Not important to this conversation. At least not so far.

"You too? Or private sector?" The guy's clearly not a cop of any stripe; security of some sort, or a spy, or some sort of "consultant." Observant and knowledgeable enough to peg Jack for what he is.

[francis_barnam]

"You got a reason to be staring at everyone?" Francis asks as he plants himself in front of the bar. He'd already been in a bad mood before he'd stepped in, and well, maybe a few drinks later he'd be feeling more personable. Or less. Doesn't really matter.

He's less than personable as he calls the barkeep over, too. Waiting for his drinks (which, thanks to his attitude are gonna take much longer than they ought to), he glances back at Jack out of the corner of his eye. He already doesn't like him too much.

This is what he gets for coming into a bar with such a heavy wanderer population, though.

[ihadarashonce]

Jack watches this all unfold, a hint of bemusement coloring his standard lineface.

"Dunno," he replies, finishing his scotch and signaling for another. He knows it'll arrive before Francis' order--he's doing that just to rub it in. "Somebody piss in your first-thing-in-the-morning maintenance beer, or you got a specific reason to be such an ass?"

Never let it be said that Jack Malone didn't enjoy calling it like he saw it.

[francis_barnam]

"Nah, they got my fourth or fifth," Francis says. "Too bad I wasn't wasted enough not to notice, though."

He tilts his head, looking back at Jack, his words not matching his facial expression at all. "Although, I gotta be saying, your face is definitely going to be putting the sour in my whiskey sour."

Francis. You really fail at being funny.

[ihadarashonce]

Jack shrugs elaborately. "Yeah, well," he replies. "Somebody's gotta pay you back in kind for what you're spreading around, Sunshine."

Jack's second scotch arrives; he raises it in mock(ing) salute.

[gothamshope]

Harvey's in the mood for a drink -- so clearly, the place to go is the Luna Bar. It's crowded, he finds, much more so than the last time he was here. Then again, the last time he was here he was feeling very sorry for himself. Tonight, however, he's feeling much better.

He makes his way to the bar, attempting to navigate through the crowd. Can he really be blamed if he bumps into a few people? All he's trying to do is get a drink, honestly.

[why_dowefall]

Bruce's shoulder collides with someone else's in the crowd; he manages not to spill his solely-a-prop beer, and to keep his balance.

He turns to apologize, and stops short when he sees who it is. "Harvey." He hesitates a moment, not sure what kind of reception he's going to get; it stops him being too familiar, and also too formal.

"You're looking... better than when I last saw you."

[gothamshope]

"Hi, Bruce." He nods and offers him a guarded smile. Today's one of his better days, one of the days he can keep Twoface mostly at bay. It's why he decided to head to a bar.

"I, uh. Yeah. Thanks."

[why_dowefall]

"It's... it's great," Bruce replies. "Rachel told me. But seeing you... Wow." He offers a harmless smile. "How do you feel?"