It's Lio's night off, and so there's the other bouncer today. Fiona may get a little bit more space when he's not here, but maybe she'll miss the witty quips. Or whatever it is that they do when he's here. In any case, she's doing whatever it is //she's// doing, which probably involves throwing some bottles in the air or whatever. Her section is not as crowded as her fellow bartender's section, but she has a good crowd.
Her drinks are better, even if her crowd isn't. She just isn't trying to flirt with half of her customers. She also breaks fewer glasses, but who's counting? Well, management, probably. Casualties (of the glassware kind) are expected, but it's better not to break. She finishes shaking and tossing around her martini shaker, and pours out a lime-green liquid in to the martini glass, garnishing it with an apple slice for the customer to her left.
Her turnover so far tonight is at least pretty quick with decent tippers, so that's good. The guy who sits down right now, though, doesn't necessarily look like a great tipper. Looks can be deceiving, but she's been doing this enough to gauge. He looks to be around 40, with a very 'beach bum' look that looks almost calculatingly disheveled. He smiles at her a little too widely, and there's the distinct smell of patchouli, as well as some other plants that we won't name but everyone knows. "
He's certainly not the typical club goer, but then, it's a resort city, so typical doesn't really mean that much. She at least manages not to wrinkle her nose at the scent of that particular combination of strong scents. At least the "flairtending" bar gives a bit more space than usual between her side of the bar and his. "What can I get ya?" she says, laying down a cocktail napkin in front of him.
The guy pauses, squinting as though he's thinking hard, before he says, "I don't know. What's your favorite thing here? Something that's gonna be good for my aura, you know. Something blue, maybe. You got anything blue?" A group of touristy-looking girls beside him roll their eyes and start whispering amongst themselves, but he doesn't pay them any heed.
"I'm not sure any alcohol's good for your aura, but I can do blue," says Fiona. This is why she isn't the favorite. She's not going to shmooze for a tip. She has dignity. She pulls a bottle, flipping it from one hand to the other and pouring it into a shaker, then flipping it to put it back. The bottles spin and twirl as she throws in a few things, then the shaker itself is capped and juggled with a lemon. Finally ice is trickled into a large glass, and the drink artfully poured. It's the color of a Smurf. "There you go."
Dignity will only get you so far, Fiona. Luckily -- well, unluckily, really -- the guy doesn't seem to be put off. He watches her do her thing, leaning on the bar with one elbow, his chin in his hand. When he gets the drink, he reaches forward for it, picking it up and examining it, as though he really thinks he could see whatever the heck he thinks would be good about it besides the fact that it's going to make him drunk. "Perfect," he says, and he takes a sip. Whatever he tastes must confirm what he'd thought, because his smile widens. "You worked here long?" he asks, still attempting to engage her.
"Glad you like it," Fiona says brightly, though anyone who knows her would be able to see that it's feigned. "A few months." She moves to pick up the bill from someone who's paid and is leaving the bar, giving them a smile. "Thanks for coming. Enjoy your night," she says, moving to the cash register nearby to complete the transaction and pocket her tip. She glances over at her fellow bartender to see if he needs help, but unfortunately, he's got it all covered.
This guy is not to be deterred. "Uh huh," he says, and he takes another sip from his drink. "You have a great aura," he says. "All red and orange." You're welcome, Fiona. "You, like, a surfer? Cliff diver? Swimming with sharks kind of girl?" His voice sounds just friendly -- if sort of dazed -- but he's definitely not picking up on the fact that she does not want to talk to him. Or ignoring that fact, rather.
"Do I," Fiona says, because let's face it, she's not really a red-orange kind of girl. Maybe it's all the Yang she ate for lunch he's seeing. She lifts a brow at his questions and shakes her head. "Nope, not really. Been surfing, but only once. Not my jam, as the kids say," she says lightly, moving to pour a refill for one of the beer drinkers. Usually she's happy for the easy orders, but today, the distraction would be welcome. Thanks for nothing, beer drinker!
"Uh huh. You do." The guy grins, taking another sip of the drink. "You got over to Kaua'i?" he asks, setting the glass down. He apparently doesn't give up. He may need something more direct, though it might lose her a tip. "They got a wildlife refuge over there, Hanalei. Makes you really feel connected to the land, you know? Like you're part of something huge, and you can just sit and, like...be."
Fi takes sa bottle of water from where they stow them below for themselves and leans back to take a long drink. She needs it. "Yeah, it's a nice place," she says, in that very polite, but slightly distant way she has. "You vacationing here?" She can only hope he's not going to become a regular, right? She caps her water bottle and sets it back down out of sight, before picking up a lemon to slice and add to the garnish tray.
"Nope," the guy says, shaking his head. So much for that wish. "I just don't usually come in here. A little..." he glances around, "...touristy." He says it as though it's a dirty word. "But I thought I'd try it tonight. Glad I did." He really can't seem to take the hint. He picks up his glass again, taking a long drink from it, this time. "How do you stand it?"
There's another fake smile when he says he's glad he did, and Fiona slices the lemon swiftly and deftly. "They pay me to," she says a little wryly, not missing the irony that she's also paid to put up with the likes of him. The slices of lemon are added to the little compartment of the garnish container -- it really wasn't empty but she needs something to keep her hands busy. She's sometimes too efficient, with everyone in her section happy and sipping their drinks much too slowly.
"Well at least there's that." Brent finishes off his drink, setting the empty glass in front of him and pushing it toward her a little bit. "What do you call that drink?" he asks. "Just so I know so I can order it again." Oh lord. Those are not good words to be hearing. "It was just what I wanted." His slightly dazed eyes somehow manage to meet hers -- or at least they settle on her face.
"Blue Monday," Fiona supplies, picking up another lemon and slicing it. She doesn't look up to meet his gaze. There's a very slight, very subtle, probably not noticeable rosy-ing of her cheeks. He, on the other hand, will feel the very slightest chill, a little tired. Nothing strong. Nothing really noticeable -- or at least, nothing unexplainable. The alcohol... the air conditioning... Any of it could explain it all away.
"Blue Monday. Very nice." Brent might have said something else -- in fact, he probably would have. But suddenly he shivers, and sticks a hand into the pocket of his shorts. They aren't exactly made for the cold. However, he shrugs it off, and pulls out his wallet, taking out a bill or two to cover the drink. At least it looks like there's a tip included in there. "Can I get your number?" he asks. "I'd love to show you some more of the islands."
It's not the first time she's been asked out at work, of course, but it's still never fun when it's unwanted, and when she's done very little to encourage it. "Oh, that's nice of you. I can't, though, sorry," she says with a smile. "The boyfriend wouldn't like it, you know," is said in a falsely sweet 'what can you do' sort of tone, because, well, no one wants to piss off a customer, even if he's slightly annoying and smells like a hippie's dirty laundry.
At the 'boyfriend' comment, the man gives a laugh, and he shakes his head, as though disappointed. "Of course," he says. "All the good ones do." He stands up then, looking at her for a few more seconds, and his gaze looks a little more steady than it did previously. "Thanks for the drink," he says. "I'll see you around, I hope." With that, he turns, and starts out of the bar. At least he doesn't order a second one!
He doesn't come back in, thank god, and she's allowed to do her shift in peace. She has the unlucky job of closing tonight, and the bounces stays there until she's done, but he isn't really the chatty sort. So he's just there to make sure nothing happens to her, which is...nice? When she tells him that she's done, he holds the door open for her, and then heads his own way.
"See ya," she tells the bouncer. It's pretty sad when Lio is downright amiable and social in comparison! She heads in her own direction -- parking's at a premium around here, so she's parked a couple blocks away, the closest spot she could find. She walks with purpose, keys in one hand, cell phone in the other. Her legs aren't long, but take long enough strides that she makes pretty quick work of the pavement between her and her car.
There's no one here. At least there's that. It doesn't feel creepy or anything either! One hopes, anyway. There's not really anyone else out on the street, though there are some lights on in windows. One window in particular, in fact, and something catches her eye, just as she hears a bump, and a loud, "Oh shit!" She looks up with just enough time to see a potted plant falling toward her out of that open window and a stricken, backlit face framed in it now. "Watch out!"
Fiona manages to jump back as the plant comes hurtling down at her. It crashes with just a few inches or so to spare, and Fi puts her hand to her chest, which of course is pounding like a red muppet on a drum set. "Shit," she breathes out, before peering up at the window. "Be careful, yeah?" she calls up, not too angrily, but, well, people can't go knocking potted plants out of windows when people might be walking below. It's dangerous. Even at 2 a.m. She resumes her walk, though a little shaken.
"I'm so sorry!" the guy calls. "Sorry! Are you okay?" But she's walking again, so she must be, right? The face ducks in the window, and she does hear a little bit of noise behind her, probably to clean it up. He doesn't say anything else to her, though -- embarrassment is strong.
When she gets to her car, she notices something unpleasant, though not as unpleasant as being brained by a falling potted plant. She can't find her keys.
She gives a thumbs up that the guy can maybe or maybe not see, but she's not dwelling on it. At her car, a little pale-blue convertible VW beetle, she frowns. She just had them in her hands. Of that she's sure. She pats down her pockets, turning in a little circle. She couldn't have left the club without them... she couldn't have dropped the heavy ring without noticing or hearing it. She can almost still feel the cool touch of the metal in her hands where she had them a few seconds ago. Didn't she? "Fuck," she says, beginning to walk back... they have to be somewhere.
If she backtracks, she sees them. A little glint of metal from a streetlight, in a storm drain right where she nearly got her lights put out via falling flora. Hard to know if she can reach them or not -- they seem to be caught on something so they haven't fallen all the way down, but to get at that angle is going to be difficult.
"The fuck," she says, stopping to stare at them and tipping her head to consider how the hell they got there. "I don't believe in fairies," she says loudly, more to amuse herself with the thought of a fairie dying somewhere because of her words. It might not be a good idea to piss off any fairies there actually are, of course. She finally moves to the storm drain, stooping down careful to try to reach the damn things.
There are a few harrowing moments where the ring nearly slips from her fingers down into the depths of the drain, but a few minutes and a few skipped beats later, the ring is in her hand, which she still has. No sewer-dwelling trolls with a penchant for Jade Court flesh, which is always nice. And there's no other incidents while she goes the rest of her way to the car, either. So maybe just chalk this one up to a little bad luck.
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