ArchivedLogs:Shots!

Shots!
Dramatis Personae Morgan, Teddy Welker	2014-09-01 '
Location Molly's Pub
This bar is literally a hole in the wall that is the Lower East Side. Grimy tables litter the small common room, nearly pushed up against the small bar in the corner. On the mirror behind the bar, a greasy menu has been taped, with a small offering of pub food to purchase. A jukebox, at least forty years old, sits in the corner, an 'out of order' sign on its cracked glass face. This is a bar to come to when you want to drink to forget, or maybe pick a fight. Certainly the crowd looks rough enough to oblige the latter, and the booze is cheap enough to indulge the former. "Macallan 12," Morgan growls, jutting her thumb straight up to the bar's crummy ceiling. Only after ordering does the would-be detective slide into her seat at the far end of the bar, well past the other regulars. There is a general disapproving grumble at her arrival. She's not dressed to kill. Well, she's always dressed to kill but tonight, it's cowboy boots, denim jeans, and a gray Yankees t-shirt that's seen better days. Rather than crossing her legs, she spreads them as she leans back on her bar stool, pulling out a torn up city paper and flipping it to the crossword. "You openin' a tab?" The bartender doesn't even get to finish his sentence before a credit card slides out in front of him. He scoffs and sets the drink down loudly in front of Morgan before walking off. He doesn't hear her say thanks under her breath. Is it possible to pub crawl solo? Because Teddy is totally pub crawling solo. Well, for a while he wasn't solo. He'd made some buddies at an Irish pub some...where... not in this area and they'd wandered around for a while, and then the guys had tapped out because girlfriends and jobs and good sweet christ can the mountain of a man drink a lot in comparison and they should quit while they're still living. So, Teddy's solo again. This might explain how he winds up in a dive like this one. It isn't even hipster ironic dive bar, is it? No, not really. But as the overly large, overly hairy man shoulders his way into the place, like an uncaring boulder making its way down a treeless hillside, he does so in good cheer, a grin there within that killer beard as he makes his way to the bar actual. Jeans, leather flipflops, and a plain ol' heather gray t-shirt make up his attire. "Yo, dude! Happy early Labor Day! What kinda beer you got?" he calls to the bartender. The stool he chooses to sit on creaks out a serious protest at the weight. Despite doing her best to differentiate from them, Morgan cocks a brow with the rest of the bar's peanut gallery. As Ted's seat nearly gives, the blonde woman shifts her hips in her own as if worried about her own breaking. Bringing the scotch to her lips, she takes a sip and clicks her pen. That's right. She does crosswords in pen. Drunk. The bartender gestures towards the draughts half-heartedly and then, with a finger, the bottles and cans that line the shelf above his head. "Whatever yah want, big guy. Just mind the bear," he thumbs towards Morgan. The other old farts chuckle. She doesn't notice or they'd all be dead. If the pleasantly buzzed Teddy notices those eyebrows, he doesn't show it. Instead, he squints an eye while following the bartender's gesturing. He hmmms aloud to himself, absently scratching at an itch in his beard, and finally settles on, "Dude, Guinness me." Honestly, it is probably one of the better choices for a place like this, right? Right. With the weighty choice of what to drink settled, Teddy sits back to stretch, hefty hands braced on the bartop as his shoulders roll back and he kinks his head to one side, and then the other. His satisfied grimace, though, is cut short with the bear comment. "Bear?" he asks, expression stamped all over with curiosity as he looks to the woman indicated. He squints again, head turning a bit sideways. "Looks small for a bear," he comments, a bassy, rumbling chuckle on the tail end of the words. ...it is maybe said loud enough to carry. He's been into his cups, okay. As Morgan turns to look over, someone on the other side of the bar actually just gets up and leaves. "You old shitheads picking on me?" She asks past Teddy, studying the newcomer for a moment before turning away, clicking her pen. Considering some of the things they've said about her, and to her, she's not even the slightest bit offended. She looks back down to her crossword and fills something in, "I'm hurt." "Take a silver bullet to hurt you," the old men chuckle. "Ohman, thank you," the big man says to the bartender when he's awarded a Guinness, as if the guy just gave him a treasured gift. But then Teddy can like his beer. He takes that first sip with a slow satisfaction, and then licks his mustache clean before laughing about the silver bullet comment. Really, he finds it funny for a /completely/ different reason than everybody else in the place will. You know, they called her a bear, and he's practically a werebear, and... anyway. He studies her again, curiosity still there. The regulars might think him some drunk fool who feels like he has to prove himself by hitting on the chick they warned him about, whatever. Really, Teddy's just being merry and sociable when he lifts off the stool and, beer in tow, wanders over to peer down over her shoulder. "So, like. Actual real copy of the paper aside, because that's a rare thing these days, anyway, I don't think I've ever seen anybody do a crossword puzzle in a bar before." Morgan shakes out the paper to straighten it, her other hand bringing the scotch to her mouth. It stops just before touching her lips, "Guess you've seen everything now," she says without looking over. She takes the sip. After a moment, she looks over, turning the paper so that it's slightly more visible, though the section she refers to isn't even on top, "I only have it because I was looking at job listings. I swear to God." Teddy chuckles, a real heheheh sound that escapes from his chest and right into a sip of beer. "Man, people barely list jobs in the paper, anymore. You'd have a lot better luck looking online." He's just so helpful, all looming there behind her, though he's not crowded in uncomfortably or anything. Well, until he reaches around her to point a thick finger at a clue in the crossword puzzle. "That one's Elbridge. Elbridge Thomas Gerry." See? Helpful. Morgan clicks her pen a few times, "The world's first child protective agency," she reads quietly to herself before slapping down the pen and sliding the crossword over for Teddy to fill it in, himself, "Go for it." Looking down into the golden liquid in her glass, she takes a swig. It's looking low, so she motions with a finger for another. Heavy brows go sky high when she slides the crossword over. "Oh, nah, I don't want to take your fun away. I was just uh... Most people don't know Gerry's first name," Teddy says, his free hand held up in that sort of universal sorry, sorry gesture. "Or, like. How to /pronounce/ Gerry," he adds, emphasis on the hard sound of the G. "Since people know him for gerrymandering." After a long pause, where his booze-red cheeks start to puff out a little, he finally, also lets out, "I'm a history teacher." Explains everything. Really. He nudges the crossword back her way, after. Morgan purses her lips, taking back up the pen to fill in the answer with a raised eyebrow of her own, "Well, you taught me somethin'." She brings the pen to her mouth, looking down to the next clue. She fills in 'Samuel Colt.' "You teach in the city? Private? A charter?" She finishes off her drink just as the other arrives, deciding to lean back in her chair. Actually even facing the other person, even slightly, does accommodate conversation a little better. As if belatedly realizing that he might just come off as a hulking, hairy brute, given his very late August stature, and that being intimidating is totally not what he's after at the moment, Teddy sets his Guinness down on the bartop and claims the stool next to her. It, too, creaks in protest at the weight, but holds steady. "Private school, outside the city," he answers, a little out of order. "Holiday weekend before the fall term cranks up, figured I should go out and live it up," he says, grin lopsided but large, the oversized canines at the right side of his mouth shown off. "Celebrate summer and all that shit," he adds, and another rumbling chuckle follows. Morgan raises her eyebrows, "And ...you ended up here?" At that, she returns the smile and laughs. Hers is more of a purr than thunderous, though. She shifts her weight, testing her own barstool. It doesn't make so much as a squeak. "I'll have a Guinness," Morgan announces when the bartender comes around to eavesdrop. She motions towards Teddy, "And some kind of whiskey." The bartender looks to Teddy expectantly, waiting to hear what kind. "Well I started at uh... uhhh shit, I forget the name. This spot in Soho. And that place was kinda packed and, like, way too expensive, so then I went to this Irish pub by there and met up with some dudes who were pretty chill. And so we were all 'hell yeah, pub crawl' and so we just kept working east and they just bailed out so I thought I'd swing through here," Teddy rambles his explanation for how he wound up in this particular dive bar, topping it off with a long swallow of Guinness. Then there is a bartender looking at him and he looks back with a blank 'wut?' kind of face. Deer eyes and everything. "Uhhhh do you have any Jameson?" Because, you know, Guinness. Irish whiskey. Why not. Satisfied, the bartender disappears to fulfill the request. Morgan lets him ramble. She's used to getting a lot of information out of people, anyway. "Yeah, you look like you might be able to hold your alcohol," she observes, coolly amused. Cocking her head to the side, she mock-gloats, "Not better than me. But some people." She lifts her glass just a tad off the bar and lets it fall back into place, making a tapping sound. That gloat comes just as the big mountain of a man takes another sip of his Guinness. One brow lifts while the other drops, and he peers at her sideways, eyes turning to do so as first his head stays still, and then turns as well. "What," Teddy says, at first, just sure he's misheard her. And then he starts chuckling, unable to help it, as he sets his glass back down. "How do you figure that one?" he says, still chuckling away, the sound like heavy rocks tumbling down a stream, deep within his chest. "Thanks," Morgan says as a Guinness is set in front of her. She wets her top lip with the creamy head of the beer, turning to look back to Teddy as she licks it off. Her own eyebrows flick up coyly, "You don't believe me?" She brings a finger up to dry the corner of her mouth. Teddy grins. He's unable to help it, really. He gives a shake of his head to go with it, eyes practically merry. "No, not really," he says. With a glance to her, though, he makes a serious attempt at sobering his expression to add, "You don't exactly know what I'm capable of, you know." He's not just banking on his big size, honest. He sniffs and rubs a thumb against the side of his nose, though, after that, and does admit, "Guess I don't know what you're capable of, either." Morgan pouts, nodding her head as if to guide him to the right conclusion, "Yes, you do. I just told you," she downs her shot, "I'm capable of out drinking you." She laughs - no, giggles. He squints one eye down at her while leaning back a little, as if this will give him a better vantage point for sussing out if she's got some trick up her sleeve. "Nuh-uh. Even with the head-start I have, I don't believe it," Teddy finally surmises. That merry light is back in his eyes. He may be a big dude, but he doesn't exactly reek of being overly prideful. Really, he's just more entertained by this more than anything. "Shall I educate you?" Morgan Vanna-White's her beer as she brings it up and takes another luxurious sip. Dabbing the corners of her smirking lips, she sets the pint glass back down, "It's okay if you aren't up for a challenge. I'm sure your students will still find a way to respect you. Mister mmm-?" His grin returns at the Vanna White gesture, lopsided again. "Sure, why the hell not. Tomorrow's a holiday." That small, responsible bit of Teddy chimes into his thoughts with a reminder that he will be cabbing home, now, and there will be no thoughts to the contrary later. He strikes a deal in his head about it. And then he goes, "Ohshit, yeah. Wyatt. Wyatt Welker. Only, most everybody calls me Teddy," with a rush while scrubbing a big mitt on his jeans. He then offers it over for a shake, a real paw of a hand. Morgan looks to the hand, and then back up to Teddy. She offers her trigger hand, dwarfed by his, "Morgan." She says the name in a lighter tone, accustomed to using her last name to introduce herself. "Nice to meet you, Morgan," he says. A quick glance goes around the room after that shake, his hand swiping up his glass so he can polish the remaining beer off. What was the deal with the peanut gallery picking on her, anyway? She doesn't seem all that scary to Teddy. "So, uh. Morgan. What's your poison of choice for this, then?" he asks, and the grin that follows is ridiculous and huge and can leave little doubt about the fact that all four of his canine teeth are just too big and sharp to be considered normal for the average dude. Teddy couldn't have been looking away for more than a second, right? Surely, not long enough for Morgan to be running her finger along the rim of an empty glass. ...Surely. "Guinness seems like overkill, but I'm not picky. Lager?" Morgan watches him with heavy dreamy-eyed lids, looking overly casual. A suspicious half-squint goes to that empty glass, but then they are talking about alcohol choices. He laughs a little, and although it is only a little for him, really the sound is still heavy and booming, if short-lived. "No hard liquor, huh? Okay. Lager it is," Teddy says, and he turns some to look for the bartender so he can flag him over. Though, the place doesn't exactly seem to be jumping, so it isn't all that hard. Morgan full squints, "Oh, I thought the Jameson was a given." She laughs. Planting both palms on the bar, she bends over it some, "What the hell are you doing down there, Frank? Crocheting?" "Playin' chess," the old man behind the bar answers, already starting to pour. He's been listening in. "Both?" Up go those heavy brows again, before another grin surfaces, although this one isn't so toothy. Maybe a little more calculating. "Okay." At the mention of chess, though, Teddy looks back to the bartender with a ramble of, "Ohman, have you ever played chess with shots, dude? I did that one time. Where like the different pieces were different liquors? Man. That was a crazy-ass game." The bartender regards Teddy sternly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement. "Aww. Your sorority sounds like it was a lot of fun," Morgan slinks back onto her barstool, patty-cake slapping the bar as drinks are set in front of them. She laughs, combing a hand back through her hair. Under the stern regard, the big man, the man who could enter a boulder contest and actually has a shot at winning, slaps on a cheesy grin that is definitely an expression used for when he's caught out doing something mischievous or otherwise. "Huh?" he grunts out, at the sorority line. Then he throws his head back and laughs, belly and chest shaking with the weight of the sound. "Was one of my teammates that talked me into it, actually. Football," Teddy says, even as his eyes light up at the drinks. Morgan lifts her shot glass to cheers Teddy, showing mild interest, "Oh, yeah? What position you play?" She arches her body on the stool to face the giant bear-man, crossing her legs. Her other free hand lingers in her hair, toying with it. "Fullback," Teddy says, swiping up his first shot. The glass a bit dwarfed in his hand. "I played for Boston College," is added with a touch of pride. "We had a couple of really good years there." Turning some on his stool himself, he sits a little more faced her way, one hairy arm resting on the bartop. He tinks his glass against hers in that cheers, and then throws it back, an appreciative harrumph sounding after from the burn. Morgan does the same, though rather than hiss, she coolly chases the shot with a sip of lager. "Where you studied history," Morgan confirms, you know, for the biography she's going to write on Teddy. She sets the empty shot glass down, motioning with a finger for another. "Yup," he confirms, his own lager picked up for a sip. "And got a teaching credential, all that jazz." He scratches absently at a shoulder after that, considering her as he waits for the next shots. "What about you? What's your story? I talk too damned much." At least, Teddy talks too much when he's been drinking. Or is around food. Or just excited about something in general. "No," Morgan drinks her beer while she waits, "I like it." She lets the glass loosely set back into place, smacking her lips, "Used to be a cop. Now, I'm not." Idly, her finger moves to where her engagement ring used to be. When the shots appear, she holds hers up to cheers again - smiling mischievously. And cheers they do again. Down goes another shot for Teddy, and he looks none the worse for wear. Of course, they've just barely started. "Huh. Now, you're not, huh?" he questions, but he's slightly hesitant about it, some instinct suggesting he tread lightly around it. Cop is usually a lifetime career choice, after all. He knows cops and not cops, but he doesn't really know any ex-cops. Morgan flips her city paper over, revealing the very meager job listings. "What do you think? Plastic surgeon's office receptionist? Cafeteria lady? Or stripper?" Two more shots appear, and she repeats their ritual. "I feel like I could still solve crimes whichever way I go, here." "Uhhh personally, I'd go for the receptionist gig," Teddy offers helpfully. He is then very, very quick to word-stumble over himself with, "Not that you couldn't. Do the other things. I mean, if you wanted. I bet." Oh, look, another shot what a great distraction it makes. He totally throws this one back, too. "What about, like. A private eye gig? If you wanna still do that kinda stuff." "I don't know if I could, you know?" Morgan mock frowns, "I'm a terrible cook." The shots start become a blur, two turning into four, four turning into eight. Truth be told, Morgan doesn't know if she still wants to do 'that kinda stuff' or not. Eventually, quite drunkenly, she admits defeat in a slurred, "Mmmkay, Y'win," while slamming down her last shot glass. She holds a hand up in a jolting motion, as if to halt Teddy. To everyone around them, it might have looked like a sloppy, incoherent wave goodbye before she walked out of the bar-room door. However, to Teddy, it would look like she disappeared in the blink of an eye. Teddy quite gamely keeps up with the shots. But he'd be a lying liar if he tried to play off like they ain't no thing. When she concedes to him, he laughs a good, long, hearty laugh, deep and wide as a old caldera. "Aww yiss," he gets out, and he's not much better in the slurring department. But then... she's gone. She leaves behind a thoroughly befuddled bear-man.