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video | un: Mason

I'm not spending any fucking money on a bracelet, so, just as a warning, don't tag me or you will regret it. [ She may not look particularly intimidating but what she lacks in physical prowess, she more than makes up for by being filled with rage and an impressive amount of teenage passive aggressiveness. She gives a rough shake of her head, annoyed, rolling her eyes. ] This shit just seems like a good way to get punched.

[ Huff puff. Debbie Downer here is not into this shit, ok.

She may or may not be bored at work, as well, so if you're in the neighborhood for some alcohol in a dimly lit dingy bar (that didn't bother with getting a sign, so markers away), please come annoy the new bartender. She can be found leaning on the scuffed counter, scrolling through her phone with a perpetual sour expression on her face. Please don't ask for anything too complicated because she'll just make it up and you won't be happy. ]

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[Do they have to back the conversation up? David sighs and gestures to his drink.]

Might need something harder to really talk about people trying to disable alien bombs, providing on the fly assistance for solving serious negotiation dilemmas, and helping people find out what magical form is being used to counteract.

[ It's clear to Heather that David may not want to talk about that particular subject and she feels a tingle of guilt, guilt and understanding, that easily quashes her curiosity. She knows from experience that if you need to drink to talk about something, you probably shouldn't talk about it, yet.

She grabs a clean glass from the rack behind her. ]

Hey, if you don't want to talk about that shit, it's cool. [ Easy, nonjudgmental. ] I'd rather you just sat here and chilled.

You still want some booze? It'll be on me. [ If only because she'd tried to pry and she knows what it's like to have dark things and hard things and difficult things buried in the past; those things don't always need to come out, especially not to some stranger. ]

Chilling isn't typically in my wheelhouse, but thank you. Yes, a drink would be nice. But nothing too hard. Let's go with simple, and a nice burn to it?

[Because his head is in a dark place and he'd rather think about something like 'ugh this stuff tastes horrible' than a lot of his past. Things that are buried should stay there. It just doesn't seem to like to do that for him.]

Simple's what I'm best at. [ She idly informs him as she picks out something for him to drink. She's no connoisseur, not of anything save pain and torture, but she does know a few things, like which whiskey here is drinkable and which one tastes like toilet cleaner. She settles on one of the only mixed drinks she knows by heart and that's only because it has two ingredients: the whiskey ginger.

Whiskey + Ginger Ale = Not too stiff, not too strong, but a little bit of a bite.

She slides it to him on a napkin. ]

Whiskey, just a shot topped with ginger ale. I can make it stronger if you end up wanting more bite. [ She grabs a rag from the counter behind her and wipes up messes that don't exist, just to give herself something to do; just to look busy. ] Drink enough of them and soon nothing will matter.

[ It's a joke. It doesn't sound like a joke. It's probably not actually a joke.

Someone please give these children joy. ]

Oh, I don't want to be that removed from my senses. But thanks.

[Totally not actually a joke, and David respects her for that. He's known people like that before, he just needed to hide behind that dry sort of tone which never really solved anything.]

You know, I could teach you a few things a bit more fun than that.

[ She leans her back against the counter behind her, eyebrow raised, no doubt curious but skeptical. ]

Like what? [ Because fun isn't her thing. She's not sure she even knows what that is these days. ]

How many cocktails do you know? Sooner or later you ;might get people who want fruity drinks.

[Maybe. He isn't sure.]

[ Something about what he says makes her smile, though it hardly reaches her eyes. She'll get there one day; it just takes time. ]

Want to know a secret? [ She doesn't wait for an answer because it doesn't matter: she's going to tell him anyway. She drops her voice to a whisper, not that there's anyone else in the dingy bar but them. ] I picked this place because it's quiet, the alcohol is shit, and most people just want a beer or something hard.

[ Is she lazy? Why, yes, yes, she is. ] I feel bad for the person who thinks they'll get something fancy or good here.

[Oh, that's a good one. David chuckles and nods, he respects that.]

But what about you? Surely you'd want something better for yourself.

Hmm. [ She gives it some thought and then shrugs. What the fuck, why not? ] Maybe. What do you suggest?

Well, it depends on your tastes. Are there any fruits you particularly like?

[There were more than enough X-Men who had known how to mix up a good drink. Mostly, though, he'd picked it up from Gambit.]

[ fruits. boy, do you know who you're talking to? she thinks a fruit is strawberry poptarts, ok. ]

Strawberries and apples. [ She's kind of basic in some ways. ] Don't like pineapple or coconut, though.

How many drinks do you know how to make? [ Why take a tech support job if you know how to mix booze, dude? Booze > Stress ]

So no Pina Coladas. But let's see about a Appletini.

[He raises an eyebrow at that, as if asking to let him come behind the bar and show her way around things.],/small>

I'm going to say not 'everything'. Because there are clearly things not from Earth I don't know.

[ A professional would swiftly decline, as would someone who gives a single fuck about job security, but Heather is and has neither. She shrugs and gestures for him to come behind the bar, stepping to the side and out of the way. The bar isn't well stocked and what it does have is cheap. Cheap, and old, and mostly forgotten. There was a reason she picked this place to work, after all. ]

If you can find the shit for it, be my guest. [ She says, crossing her arms across her chest all while watching with somewhat bright, curious eyes. Luckily, there's vodka, an old bottle of apple liquor (half-empty with a tight lid), along with some strange variation of Cointreau that may have never even been opened. This place really seems to cater to the less picky of those in the city.

She'll have to make sure to pay attention so she can make it in the future. ]

So, you're saying you know every Earth drink, though? [ Everybody has to have their hobbies. Or maybe he's capable of eidetic memory. ]

[Don't even get him into a discussion of neurodivergent things like eidetic memories, and the continued debate back on earth whether that truly exists or if it is an unrelated genetic quirk that yield awkward socialization.

Instead David just moves behind the bar and looks around, quickly familiarizing himself with things and pulling out the needed liquors and tools. He moves with an easy confidence, explaining each step as he takes it, measurement sizes, all that good stuff. It's when he's shaking that in the cocktail shaker that he managed to dredge up from some forgotten shelf under the counter that he explains.]

Perhaps not many, but a good deal of them. Knew a few bartenders. And Wolverine. That man had an impressive range of skills and knowledge sets that continue to astound me even to this day.

Wolverine, huh? [ She's mildly amused. People adopt such strange nicknames, though she won't deny that it's an interesting one; one that sounds like it has some story. Unless he was a biker. Wolverine sounds like a biker name. ] A guy with a name like that has got to be interesting.

[ She pays close attention to him as he works, mildly impressed. He talks of Wolverine and his range of skills but Heather can see that David himself has a fair share of impressive skills. ]

Why bother getting into something as frustrating as tech support when you could just tend a bar? [ He clearly knows more than she does.

Oh, fuck, so that's what that strange thing is for. The more you know. ]

Logan can be very tedious. [Don't find him interesting. He's problematic, like all your favorite X-Men are. Except Ororo. Storm is just a blessing. A queen. Literally and figuratively.]

First rule of bartending? Don't let the guy with the psychology degree do it. Or he really does turn into a cheap therapist. That and, well, there was a job fair when I arrived. Put in your qualifications, the system spit out a job you were given. That was what I got.

Whoever runs those things? Doesn't like me. Clearly.

[He strains the fluid through the mixer and there, a nice, slightly amber, martini.]

This should taste a bit better.

[ She lives and breathes problematic, sadly. ]

Ah, see, that's where you went wrong: you answer for the job you want on those things. [ The advice of a girl who lies habitually and one who knows how to work the system—most systems—to her advantage. It feels strange that they'd stick someone like him in such a position but, maybe he's right, maybe someone doesn't like him.

She takes the drink and gives it a sip. She doesn't mean to but she smiles—small but genuine. ]

All right, doesn't taste as much like cheap liquor as I thought it would. [ Warm, impressed. It still burns on the way down and settles oddly on her empty stomach but it's better than anything she could have whipped up. He's going to waste away his talents where they've stuck him. ]

You might want to consider opening up a boozy therapy lounge. Charge a shit ton and then you're not a cheap therapist. [ You're an expensive one who fuels bad habits! She's a genius, obviously. ]

See, that's the thing. I did. I did everything I could to answer for not what I'm going.

[David knows how to construct computer systems and filters. No, there was something else up there. Something complicated. He's a better doctor on paper. And yet here he was.]

It would taste better if there was better liquor. And I'll say this right now, alcohol is the wrong way to handle mental health and therapy issues. Chemical depressants are inhibitants to the process.

[ As fascinating the effect of alcohol is on mental health, Heather finds his earlier statement a little more interesting. She frowns. ]

What job were you going for? [ Maybe his particular skillset isn't needed here, though she really doubts it. ]

Anything other than what I am. I hate tech support.

[Too much abuse of the agents.]

[ She feels a touch of sympathy for him. It's one thing to be kidnapped for some greater good or what the fuck ever but to then be saddled with a job you hated? That's a lot. ]

That's shitty. [ No, really. ] Maybe there's a way to get out of it? A little bit of customer trolling?

[ Though, she knows just how impossible that just might be. Contracts or something else. Everything here rubs her the wrong way. Or is she just not used to having to make her own decisions? ] Play dumb?

Looked at the contract. Those are damn tight. I’ll live with my personal hell. But I never learned how to play dumb.

[And he is damn smart. Already he is whipping up another drink from materials behind the bar and no alcohol. He could do this.]

[ She raises a brow as he makes another drink but says nothing, taking a sip of the last one he'd made. It's a good thing she doesn't care much for rules. ]

It's never too late to learn. [ But what does she know? If he's fine with it, good on him. Hopefully, the pay isn't too bad. ]

[When he's done he circles back to his stool on the other side of the bar and he slips some money into the tip jar.]

Perhaps, but I'd probably need someone to teach me how. I'll have to manage it.

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