Summary:Hod and Anya stop by for drinks, and leave with jobs Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Hod likes old things. He still plays regularly at Arthurs just because it was here in the 30's and he loved it then too. This place isn't /that/ old, but it's not 'young' comparitivly either, and so it's as close to feeling like home as anywhere Hod goes. And there's booze. Lots of booze. Which as it turns out increases it's homeiness for the exiled Prince by geometric factors. He shoulders his way in, cane weaving metronome like before him while an old guitar case dangles from his opposite hand. The case has seen Milage, capital M. The black leather has been scuffed all over often enough that it's as brown as it is black, and the clasps on the case are basically just twine wrapped around the broken remnants of the latches that once held so strong. There are stickers and things layered on it's lid, a good portion of them having faded away into just white half peeled patches and those that can be seen seem to have no theme nor common language. Pretty sure the one near the head of the case is actually an advertisement for a noodle bar in Hanoi. Assuming one reads Vietnamese that is.
His case speaks of DECADES of use, but the man holding it couldn't be topping out over mid 30's, even if there's some milage on him too. Monochromatically but well dressed, beard trimmed, hair in a floppy hipstery style of long top and short sides, he looks for all the world like he belongs more in the Village then Harlem. Luckily no one judges books by their covers? Right? … Right?
He pauses inside the door and tilts his head to the side, turning so that his ear faces the bar as a whole and the cane tip, a metal cap, taps the floor in three quick 'tink' sounds before he begins heading towards the bar with confident, but slow and careful, strides. He reaches out with the cane, swinging back and forth until hitting a stool, then begins that complicated dance of the blind where in he discovers things like if the stools are attached to the floor by pulling on them, or how high they are, or if the cusions are torn, all by basically resting the guitar case against the bar and touching EVERYTHING around him with patting hands and nimble fingers. After a long bit of this, he takes a seat and seems to melt into it a bit, letting out a breath in a huff.
Police sirens aren't uncommon in the Big Apple; most people have come to ignore them, even when they come close. However, when there are three sirens, people do tend to take notice. The police are chasing a beater that is driving erratically down the road, but more interesting than that is the figure riding on top of the car.
Clad in black with a large white spider emblem across the chest, Spider-Girl has her feet attached to the roof of the car, her hands weaving back and forth as if surfing. A closer look, though, shows that white weblines are strung from her hands, through each front window, and attached to the steering wheel. The driver is hunched over; dead, overdosing, or something else.
"No, I don't know how to drive!" she's shouting to the police officer behind her. "Just- Lemme- dammit!"
The car veers another way, and is suddenly headed right for Luke's front door.
Looking up, Spider-Girl scowls. "Oh hell no."
The young woman lets go of her weblines, then vaults over the front of the car in a somersault. She lands on the grill of the car and starts firing weblines at the street, ripping up asphalt and causing the car to come to a SCREEEEECHING halt. The car's front tires mount the curb, and it comes to a halt with Spider-Girl's butt poking through the front door.
"Don't you dare say a thing, Luke Cage!" cries the young woman.
During the day, Luke's is less crowded than usual. Sure there are the regular lunch time crowd that fill the place for about an hour or two, but once the lunch hour is over the bar remains relatively empty till the evening crowd starts to meander in. It is during this lull in customers that Luke tries to get some of the regular chores of running a joint like this done, so currently he is standing on a ladder near the front door with a bucket of paint in one hand, a brush in the other as he paints a spot on the ceiling that was showing a little bit of wear.
The appearance of Hob draws his attention away from the chore at hand, and he nods to the customer before noticing the cane. "Oh. Hi there, be right with you, sir. Just give me a moment, you caught me when I was doing some touch up work. What can I get you?"
Luke is starting to make his way down the ladder when the sound of sirens pierce the air, getting louder and louder until there is a screech outside and he sees through the window the car speeding directly for his bar.
"Oh shi…" is about as far as he gets until in his hurry to get down his foot slips, and Luke goes falling off the ladder…paint bucket in hand and emptying its contents all over his head and shirt.
"Motherfu…" Luke starts to say, cutting himself off as his name is called at the front door. "A thing." he grumbles as he stands up, trying to keep as much paint off the floor as possible. "What am I going to say? Thanks for the ASSist?"
Hod. Doesn't. Even. Twitch. Sirens, screaming tires, asses in doorways, he doesn't so much as turn his head to glance, "Old fashioned." he says after the noise has all died down to a more manageable and not insane level of heroic discord. "Double." he adds after a second thought, "And you're gonna wanna line up about three more after that or you'll never finish painting whatever due to all the refills." his tone is level, devoid of fucks to give, and thuroughly unimpressed with… whatever is happening Over There. "And what do you have on the stove today?" he asks curiously, "Unless you're rocking a braille menu." and literally no one does that so he doesn't get his hopes up.
With a grunt, Spider-Girl climbs off the car and cracks her neck. She's about to give it a good shove back into the street, but before she does, she flings a hand backward, fingers curled into a fist, and sends a glob of non-sticky webbing headed right for Luke's face.
The car is lifted off its front tires, and she walks forward with it, getting it off the doorstop and off the curb before letting it down with a loud gasp.
"You're welcome!" she says to the police officers who are rushing over to check on the overdosing driver, NARCAN in hand and ready to administer. She'll keep her eye on that situation for a moment, but she does a double take and looks back at the paint covered Luke. "Oh… shit."
Tearing off his paint covered shirt, Luke mutter a string of less than cordial things under his breath as he uses the tatters of the shirt to wipe the paint off of his face and head. It doesn't really help other than smear the paint around his face.
"A line of old fashions coming up." says Luke as he makes his way back behind the bar, washing his hands before he moves to get some glasses and starts to make the drinks. "I have some ribs left over from the lunch crowd, half price. They come with baked beans, mac and cheese and some potato salad. If you don't want that, I can order some fried chicken from the joint down the street, or I can whip up a burger. I also have some normal bar food like nachos and fries, things like that."
Sliding the first of the old fashions in front of Hob, Luke continues, "So, what will it b…*SPLAT*" Luke sputters as the webbing hits him square in the face and mouth, only adding more insult to his injured pride. "Ah HELL no. It got in my MOUTH." he exclaims as he reaches up and hand to wipe at the organic fluid.
Hod continues to sit, nonplussed, in the middle of bodily fluid swapping, either blissfully unaware of the havoc surrounding him, or just indifferent. "Yes." he says after a moments thought, "Yes to everything but the chicken." he sniffs the air and seems confused for a second as if trying to place something. He turns his head just a little bit, not unlike a dog, "We met?" he asks in Anya's direction. "Swear we met." his voice trailing off in thought.
Perhaps Spider-Girl is just pretending, or perhaps she truly doesn't remember! However, once she's confident that the driver is going to live, she walks back into the bar and approaches it.
Looking Hod's way, she presses lips together in an uncommitted way. "I dunno. Maybe?" She shrugs and says, "I'm Spider-Girl," while offering a bright smile to him. He may be a blind man, but a smile can be heard in a voice.
Then she looks to Luke and grimaces. "Oh man. Sorry… it's not really gross or anything, it's just… a protein based silk webbing created by spinnerets in my wrists." She grins ruefully at Luke and adds, "Its probably even safe to eat. The garden orb weaver consumes her webbing every night, to gain nourishment for the construction of a fresh web."
Luke give Hod a once over after he clears the webbing from his face, sparing a quick glare over at the costumed Latinx women. "One. Of everything?" repeats Luke questioningly, his face contorted into a quizzical expression at the blind man seated in front of him. He shrugs a shoulder, "Alright. One of everything it is."
Luke tosses the remains of the shirt into the trash, reaching under the bar to grab one of the logo t-shirts he sometimes gives away for promotion, slipping it on over his head as he heads to start prepping the food. He starts with the simple items first, nachos. Chips are placed into a container with a generous helping of melted process cheese poured over the top, topped with some jalape%<u00f1>o's, a dab of sour cream, and quac.
Carrying it back over to Hod, he places it in front of the blind man. "Nachos are in front of you, I'll get the rest out as I can."
His customer served at least the first of many courses, he eyes Anya again and snorts as he moves to prepare the plate of ribs and fixings, "You know…the description doesn't exactly help anything, Spider-Girl." Luke says with a slight hint of malice in his voice. "You 'sticking' around?"
Hod seems thoughtful for a long moment, "Midtown." he says, snapping his fingers and pointing at Anya… well, a bit to her right, but yeah. More or less accurately. "You were hanging out with a friend of mine." he'd offer up a name but honestly he doesn't know it. He just calls her 'spider' in Japanese because it amusses him. Plus, he's bad with names. He then pauses, "Spider-Girl." he says once, trying it out, then shakes his head, "Nope. Doesn't work for me. I'll think up something better later." because his approval is what's required on a name. Obviously. "Slightly related," he keeps pointing at Anya, "that is a disgusting but interesting fact. I approve." then his hand drops back down to the bar.
He nods at Luke's question about the order. He listens to the prep work, his expression growing more confused the longer it goes on until the plate is dropped in front of him at which point he reaches for it tentatively with finger tips, finds it, tests it's edge, then starts weighing out chips with careful lifts, "Blind man eating molten melted dyed chemicals off of a pile of chips in a bar. Oh yeah, no way this could end badly." he states flatly before trying to put a chip into his face without it's contents ending in his beard. He's… mostly successful.
"After that mess?" Spider-Girl answers Luke. "I'm starving. Followed that driver all the way down here from 138th. Every time I tried to stop her, there was traffic, so it was not f…" She pauses and grins a little. "Okay, it was a little fun."
She is decidedly ignoring that little pun. God… what is it with powered dudes and puns?
It takes a moment to turn her attention from the briefly shirtless Luke, but when her attention really settles upon Hod, her eyes brighten beneath the mask. "It… that was months ago, hombre. One hell of a memory. Half the time I can't remember what I had for lunch!" She smiles a bit then motions to the seat next to him. "Mind some company?"
She'll take the seat if it's offered, otherwise she'll sit one or two down from Hod. "Tell me about it. Pretty much everything I can do is gross, but at least I don't lay eggs or eat my mates for dinner."
A glance is given to Luke, then a cursory glance around the bar. Since they're the only patrons, and Hod clearly doesn't have his sight, she reaches up to pull the mask from her face with a sigh. "Looks like you could use some help back there," she mentions to Luke.
"I wouldn't object," Luke says as he looks to Anya. "The gentleman here ordered a lot of food, and I am only one man with two hands. If you want to hop back here and get this plate of ribs settled you can feel free to make yourself one as well."
Leaving the food for Anya, Luke starts to make the rest of the old fashioned drinks, lining them up in a row next to the first one as he finishes making them. "Here you go, mister. I have 4 old fashioneds lined up here for you. If you want more after that, we will have to see how sober you are. Laws and all." He rolls a shoulder in a shrugs and casts a glance back over to Anya, "Well, I guess we won't call you Black Window then. It wouldn't fit without mate eating." he utters with a chuckle. "Still, a web in the face? Really? I thought we were cool."
Hod shakes his head, "Friend of Kumo's, aquaintence of mine." he says glibly, waving a hand offering her whatever seat she likes. Plus… she did help with that whole kerfuffle, so he owes her at least a shared meal. "You learn to remember things about people when you can't see them, otherwise they all just sort of-" he makes a motion with his hands as if he were mushing clay together in a giant blob. Masks, no masks, they don't matter to Hod. His problem is knowing when to call people by what name, failure can prove embarassing.
"Yeah." he says after a long pause, "But I bet you lay your mates and eat eggs. So-" finger and thumb an inch apart, "this close really."
He pushes the nachos aside with a fingertip and rinses the taste or orange cheese goo out of his mouth with bourbon and bitters and the faint hint of orange peel. Mmm. Somethings really are better in the new world, don't ever let them tell you otherwise. "When you make nachos it's best to make them to order and in large batches, single jalapeno coin per chip, small amount of ground beef, three cheese light sprinkle, side of sour cream and if you made your guac more then thirty minute prior you should make a fresh batch, or at least squeeze in a teensy bit more lime to keep it from getting to stale. Once baked, you recheese the lot and serve on a giant platter, this way every chip gets toppings, nothing is wasted, and you can name it something ridiculous for marketing purposes and get fresh local buzz on an old classic." he tries another chip with the same result, a diced pepper in his beard, hanging out with it's buddy unbeknownst to him. "And add another small clove of garlic to your quac, it'll also buy you some forgiveness with the lime if you have to up the doseage to extend it's life." he pauses, realizing he just told Luke how to run his own place. "You know, since you asked me for advice and selfrighteous assholery. I live to please the masses." another sip, "Got this down right." he says, wiggling the glass slightly in appreciation.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Anya tells Hod with a smirk in her voice. "Eggs are good though."
"You got yourself a deal," Anya tells Luke, and hops right back off the bar stool. The black backpack is smaller than the one she wears when she's out and about as Anya Corazon, lacking the identifying patches as well. She leaves it hanging under the bar, telling him as she goes, "If we weren't cool, I'd have aimed lower."
The young woman grabs an apron from a hook by the back door, but she slows at the entrance to the kitchen, and turns to slowly watch Hod. Her eyebrows rise, and she looks from Hod to Luke, feeling all sorts of awkward about… everything.
She's still dying to see how this turns out, though. Those ribs can wait another thirty seconds, right?
Turning his attention to Hod, Luke arches a brow as he is schooled about how to make nachos, but the big man grins good naturedly. "Really, I'll take that under advisement. I can't deny that it sounds so much better the way you have described it rather than the pre-processed crap I have down at the end of the bar. I never claimed to be a master of the nachos, but wait till you try the ribs. Those, those are home made. Same with the fixings." Luke shrugs a shoulder, "After all I run a bar, not a bistro. But you're right…if I paid more attention to some of these things, it could only be a benefit."
Turning his attention to Anya, Luke arches a brow. "Lower huh. I'm glad we are cool then. I'm not sure I would take kindly to lower."
Hod shrugs, "Lots of people make bad food at home, we'll see if you're one of them." he takes a heavier pull off of his drink and offers a grin after just long enough one had to question if he was that arrogant or just screwing around. Grin helps settle the issue. "You go dry rub or sauce? Low and slow, or fast and high? We talking St. Louise cut, baby back, spare, or country style? I'm of course assuming pork. You of the Carolina concept in flavor, or you hail from a more Memphis or KC school of thought? If you say Alabama white sauce as a marinade I'mma follow her example," he jerks his head generally in Anya's direction, "and throw something at your face." he finishes the first glass off and reaches for a second, "You don't use processed powered yellow cake uranium as cheese in your mac do you? Because if so, see previous comment and add her 'lower' threat." The empty glass slides to the side, carried on the weight of it's own sheen on condensation, with a push of his finger, "Is there jalapeno in my beard?" he asks suddenly, sniffing the air.
Anya just watches the exchange, and throughout it, her grin keeps widening. She knows just how damn good the ribs are, but she's not gonna weigh in on this one at all. By the time she's walking into the kitchen, the young woman is stifling laughter.
Now this she has done before. She gives her hands a good washing, elbows the water off, and dries them on a paper towel before plating the stuff up. There's a chance she might be going heavier on the sauce than Luke would but… well. Chef's prerogative.
"I'm not one of them." Luke exclaims with a snort. "I take pride in my ribs. Self made rub and sauce, grilled low and slow till just 'almost' done, then high and fast the last bit so they get a nice char and are hot to order. Baby backs of course." Luke takes a glass from under the bar and fills it with some water, taking a sip. "If I had to choose something close, I suppose I'd go Memphis, but I think it is more unique and my own…and no, the cheese is fresh grated cheddar. Only the nachos use that processed shit."
He casts a glance Anya's way as she slips into the back to deal with the ribs before turning to look at Hod again. He looks at the man for a moment, weighing his options on this moment and there is a slight look of mischief on his face for a moment. He opens his mouth to say something, but then only sighs for a moment before nodding his head, "Yeah men, you got a couple hangers. Some cheese too. Let me get you a napkin."
Hod sighs, "Thought that smell was sticking around to long." should see him eat spaghetti, things get Jackson Pollacky pretty quick. "Baby back, I'm disappointed in you. Everyone knows you always go St. Louis, comes from lower on the rack, more meat, more fat, flatter too which means you can get an even browning without having to worry about constantly covering everything in a sauce to hide anything not seared. Baby back is what people cook because commercials tell them to, lesser cut, less meat, more bone, less fat, less flavor. Cheaper too. Good way for companies to off load a subpar product.
"Next time, try the St. Louis, you'll have to have fewer ribs per rack to fit on your plates, but they'll have more meat. Cook a bit longer, but if you're frugal you can put a pan beneath them, collect the rendered fat drippings and use it for stock flavoring, stews, or just to grease a pan when you decide to make something porky. Add it to a little red wine, garlic, rosemary, salt, and pepper in a pan, let simmer down until it coats the back of a spoon and use that as a sauce to drizzle over your next chops or loin, will change your life forever." he nods sagely, "Like bacon fat, but people don't think to save the rib dripp-" he pauses, "I'm doing that thing where I give unwanted advice again aren't I?" he asks no one, "Ignore the blind man, clearly he's suffered head trauma." he polishes off his second drink and reaches for the third. The empty glass slides across the bar to come to a rest with a light 'tink' sound against the first. He uses the napkin to clean up his beard of pepper Tarzan wannabes.
Anya is surprised to see that the blind hipster dude is still going on about it when she returns. She's got the plates stacked on one arm, but she slows, looking from Hod to Luke with a raised eyebrow. She doesn't say a word until she's set the plates down, one in front of Hod, the other where she was sitting.
"Anything else I can do for ya, boss man?" asks the young Latina, clearly humored by the whole affair. "Could use a good beer to go with that, but, ya know. I hate payin'."
"Oh you are just a wealth of unwanted advice, aren't you mister." Luke says as he crosses his arms over his chest, a slight look of annoyance on his face. "But, I can't say that you are wrong. I get the backs because I do run a business and I am trying to make some sort of profit. I can sell the back at a cheaper price, and still make a buck or two off of them. If I went with the St. Loius I would have to charge more, and then some of my regulars would go someplace cheaper. It's a balance, so I make the backs as best as I can. I don't think you will be disappointed. If you are, well, you are…and I won't charge you for them."
He takes in a deep breath through his nose and turns from Hod to grab a pint glass, pouring a nice red ale before sliding it down Anya's way. "Nah, you're good, SG…unless you are looking for a side gig. I could use the help. He shrugs, nodding his head towards Hod and exclaiming, "Since I can't cook and all."
Hod snorts, "Son, you have /no/ idea." he states flatly, "You realize it'll even out. More meat and larger ribs means fewer ribs per serving, more servings per rack, might be that works out in the wash to about an even trade. I don't know shit about running a business, I just know how to cook. Not a lot of jobs for a blind fella out there, over the years you pick up what tricks you can. Kitchens were one of mine." he drums his fingers on the case resting beside him, "This is one of the others. Man's gotta make a living and have a hobby. What else was I gonna do? Pick up reading?" he quips as he awaits his order. He doesn't have to be able to see to hear the irritation growing in his host, usually he wouldn't care or would lean into it, rare is the person willing to punch a blind guy in the face in this modern era, which is a nice change of pace for Hod. But… he's hungry and the guy pours a stiff drink, so ya know… you gotta make sacrifices, play nice. Ish.
"I think…" Anya offers hesitantly, having noticed Hod's attempt at apology, "he's just trying to help." She grins and peels off the apron, throwing it in with the other dirty aprons, because she knows a thing or two about NY county food board regulations.
Sitting down beside Hod, she adds, "Whereas usually, it's considered rude to give unsolicited advice." She looks between the two men with a wicked grin. "Now shut up and try the ribs." She's about to do the same, giving Luke a grateful nod of her head before considering his offer. "You know… I get my undergrad in a week. Kind of under the radar, I'll be back for the normal commencement and all, but, until I can secure some kind of work study for my masters program, I'm gonna be in limbo."
Its not a yes, not exactly… but it sure would be nice to have some disposable income that wasn't given to her by extended family members on government assistance.
Luke is quiet for a moment, his tongue running along his teeth and gums as he thinks, rapping his fingers on hit bicep as he looks from Hod to Anya and then back. Finally he sighs with a little shake of his head, "You as good in the kitchen as you are running your mouth? You speak an awfully big game, but if you can back it up…well, I'm not a chef. Hell, I'm barely a bartender. You want a job?"
He glances over to Anya and nods, "It'll be here if you want it. No set schedule so just come and go as you please. It can be under the table."
Hod reaches out and feels about before finding the ribs and snagging up one end of the rack and peeling one of the bones free of the whole. He offers a sniff and tilts his head back and forth in the manner someone would waggle a hand to say 'maybe' or 'so-so' before dipping down and digging in like a savage animal. Gnawing is the coloquial term used to describe that sort of eating. He starts a bit at Anya's words, but immediately calms when he realizes she doesn't mean Limbo. Spandex types. You really never can tell with them. He returns to the ribs and mercifully, for the time being anyway, keeps his yap shut.
Well. That was his plan anyway, until Luke starts talking and he stops, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk squirreling away nuts for the season, sauce smeared over a measurable portion of his face. He chews. Chews. Chews. Swallows, "You seem like a decent kid, but my kinda trouble don't no one want." he says without a single hint of the jovial asshatery from before. He seems So Serious now. "I stay in any one place for to long I tend to draw the wrong sort around." he loudly begins to lick his fingers, "So… if you don't mind a sporatic scheduling deal," piggy backing onto Anya's offer a bit there, "I could use the touchstone being around people might provide." Two plus millenia with only sporatic human companionship that didn't involve words like 'slave' 'cripple' 'demon' or something similar, he's found modernity a slightly more accepting place. And Hod has been nothing in his long life if he's not been lonely. "And you could use help with your Bor Bedamned nachos." he taps a sauced rib a fingertip, "These are like 97% of the way there. Still think you'd do better with a bigger rib. Good base though. Just the right amount of brown sugar. Barbeque is America's second best invention, I swear it." he polishes off drink 3 and slides it to join the other two, "Bourbon wins out though. Speaking of, how you plan to pay me? Exactly." he gives a cheeky sauced grin and wiggles the fourth glass in his hand so that the ice cubes clinck suggestively.
"You got yourself a deal," Anya tells Luke. She doesn't mind the way Hod eats in the slightest; she isn't the cleanest herself. One does not daintily eat ribs. However, her eyebrows rise and she sucks down some meat before exclaiming, "Dude. 97%? That's pretty damn good. I told you." She swivels to Luke. "I told him."
She seems to be casually ignoring the hesviness of Hod's words, however. They're noted, but… let's just say lately, Anya's been in the mood to not invite more trouble by digging.
Looking back and forth from Anya to Hod and back, Luke smirks. "Well, if you are looking to be paid in booze, I suppose I could give you a few on the house since it is all under the table and all. But I would think you might want some cash to go along with it. Standard minimum plus half the tips. Same goes for you SG, you get the other half. Nights you work anyway…if you both show up and work, I wont take any out of the tip jar." He picks up a bar rag and tosses it to Anya, "Go change. You start now…I to shower this paint off." Yes, Luke still has now drying red paint all down his head and face.
He looks to Hod, "I'm Luke, by the way."
Hod snorts, "I'm set for a lifetime or so as long as I live modestly, which I do. Got lucky once, I'm fine." he says in a tone that's clearly not bragging nor making light of his situation. It's matter of fact. He's good. Money is fine. Whatever. Booze is booze however. Priorities people. "But a good barman is hard to find. Trust me, I scour the world as a hobby, there are like eight thousand of you on the planet, sounds like a lot. It's not." he leans back a bit on the barstool and considers this turn of events, really considers it. "There's gonna be some changes to your kitchen." he warns, "And what changes aren't be altered in any way. I gotta move things around, then I gotta /know/ where they are. You start leaving shit out, moving a pan to a new shelf, shift a pot, I'mma start getting petty and creative with my vengence. You cool with that?" he asks, then adds before he can think any more on it and talkin himself out of it, "Holden." he says, his name presumably, "Most people call me Hod." it rhymes with Ode coming from his lips, not Odd, and there's a lilt of an accent in it's pronunciation.
Anya is giving Hod a funny look, as if she's recognizing that maybe, just maybe, the manner in which he speaks and the choice of words is more than just clever speaking. However, she snatches the rag with lightning reflexes, and gives Luke a good smirk.
Hopping off the stool, she grabs her backpack and heads for the ladies room. "That's not my shift drink!" she calls back, in reference to the unfinished beer, before ducking around the corner.
Gonna have to figure out what to tell Hod about her identity. Cross that bridge another time.
Luke nods to Hod, "Deal. We will lay out the kitchen to your specifications and leave it as is. On nights you aren't here, I can work within the new layout, I'm nothing if not adaptable. Now, if you will excuse me, I really need to go take a shower. I'm starting to get sticky."