Summary:A motley crew at the bar. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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This winter has been suspiciously mild in the Big Apple, blamy 40 degree days in January lull the usually bundled populace into a sense of impending Damoclian doom. And yet. There is it. Balmy. Down right pleasent! One would thing that would put people in a good mood, and one would be mostly correct. "This weather is bullshit." the blind bartender mutters as he pours yet another drink for himself and knocks it back. "I havn't felt a chill in-" he pauses, "well a long time." he finishes lamely before continueing. "I feel like someone somewhere is slacking off." he doesn't make a suggestion as to /whos/ fault this is however. But dammit, SOMEONE is dropping the ball and he does not approve.
He sets the glass down on the little table next to him and reaches over to run his fingers over the instrument cases that are set around him. He's not on the little stage in the back, but he is currently occupying the booth next to it, the battered cases for a horn of some kind, maybe a flute or clarinet, and a guitar crowd the table. The bar itself is doing a slow bit of business, mostly regulars, and Hod is chosing to ignore any duties he might have so he can drink, bitch, and fondle old battered leather cases. If someone wants something, then… they can ask Gwen. Or him, if they're brave enough. Or Gwen can just whack him with a menu again. He idly rubs the back of his head and huffs at the memory. It stung, sue him.
While the general populace might well fear what grim portent such positive weather might well hide, or what dues will have to be paid for the unseasonable warmth… others accept the reprieve from old man Winter. They're the odd balls seen, the ones traveling along the sidewalks in distinctly /not/ January attire.
People like the young man known as Alexander Aaron. Embracing the warmth and the general positivity granted by the feeling the sun granted to his features when he was wandering around during the day. And now is not much different though the chill might well creep back in soon enough. Yet the young Olympian commits the sin of hubris by wearing no jacket in the middle of January in New York? Madness.
He even has the gall to step through the door in the Harlem brew bistro, holding it for one of the regulars who is making their way out. Just wearing jeans, and a loose over-sized Hello Kitty t-shirt, along with a pair of Chuck Taylor shoes… it's just unnatural for this time of year.
Then it's to the bar he advances, lifting a hand to those there. "Heya." Cheerful.
Outside, a long-haired figure drifts through the air to touch down on the sidewalk outside. Dressed in jeans that look painted on, a saffrom blouse with short sleeves and a open fringed leather jacket with matching brown boots, she gets looks and a catcall or two as she makes her way towards the door, almost regally ignoring them. There's a faint defensiveness, briefly, as she overheards Hod's comments, walking over to find herself a seat. "Weather is a product of what people are doing to the environment. Forcing it would just cover up the underlying problems." she points out. "What's good?" she says curiously, glancing up at the menu of brews listed. "Also, what's good for food?"
Helena's not usually the bar sort, but she's heard a thing or two about this place. Enough to pique her curiosity, at least. Dressed plainly in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket, she looks relatively unremarkable, if maybe a little bit young for the place. Just a little, though. Enough to get in, maybe getting a drink would be a little trickier. Hands in her pockets, she takes a look around as she steps inside.
"Yeah, well, I'm not slacking," Gwen declares as she walks up to the table where Hod is sitting. There's a 'spfft spfft' from a spray bottle, accompanied by the smell of a restaurant-safe cleaner, topped off by the wee-ooh wee-ooh sound of a cloth being vigorously scrubbed over a squeaky surface. "There. That's just about all the tables clean in the place."
Gwen straightens, dressed in what's obviously some sort of modern barmaid outfit; damaged jeans, crop top, and a… harband? Seriously Gwen, the eighties want their fashion statements back.
The young blond makes her way back behind the bar, where she stashes the cleaning supplies and rests her arms on the countertop. Her eyes scan the population of the place, checking to see if anyone present is jonesing for something to eat or drink. Oh, and when Helena walks in, she's greeted with an enthusiastic wave.
It's one of those things where crowd-mind seems to be a thing. Ambrose, meandering as is his wont between takes and plans to abscond with artifacts, finds himself wondering about another trash-can lid's worth of nachos. The look on his family's face when he told the tale over the massive volume of food was very, very worth it — that, and the Japanese gin wasn't terrible at all.
As such, he sweeps in wearing a brown blazer overtop a cream-colored turtleneck and dark slacks, his combat boots the odd thing out. Cold toes suck, you see. He's got a five-o-clock shadow and a small, intrigued smile on his face as he saunters over to the bar to take up a seat with a confident ease.
"I might recommend the nachos," he says offhandedly towards the young woman questioning about food. "Though be forewarned, they do arrive on a trash can lid. Someone here possesses a sense of humor." He glances idly over his shoulder and catches sight of none other than young Phobos — er, Alex.
"And young master Alexander. I would not have expected to see you here…?" The Jackal sounds admittedly intrigued and his smile deepens as he tilts his head at Alex.
Hod pffts at Gwen and leans back a bit in his seat, "I don't work here. I uh…" he struggles to come up with a word, "Is it moonlighting if you don't have any other job? Is that still a thing?" he asks curiously. His recent fashion accesory, the blindfold, is missing, and in it's place, thankfully, are a new pair of mirrored shade to replace the ones he 'broke' a few weeks back. He blends in FAR better this way, even when wearing them in doors.
He drums his fingers on a case idly, then pauses as he hears people walk in, catches voices, then sits up a little straighter, "Ah." he says in a flat even tone. Somehow the word carries weight. "Um. The oven's still preheated, right? I suspect I will be making something shortly."
Toward Gwen, Alexnder replies with an easily offered smile, "Could I have a Corona and a slice of lime?" The request is given with a nod then he settles into a seat, turning around to take a look at the place. He'll let his bright blue eyes flit from face to face to face, and one that isn't easily missed is, of course, Sarah'ss. If he catches her eye he'll smile and lift a hand in recognition. And if close enough to where he isn't shouting across the bar he'll reaffirm their brief acquaintance. "Ms. Rainmaker."
Though he does turn back to the bar when he gets his beer should it be in a timely manner. But there's a detour in that shift of focus as Ambrose makes himself known.
"Oh hey!" Perhaps a moment of reflection, placement, but Alexander is no slouch in such things and says, "It's good to see you, Leftenant Atherton. But yeah, I get around. It's that…" He pauses and looks away, then lowers his voice as if sharing a conspiracy with the Brit…
"That fate thing. I suppose you can say." Apparently he felt something.
Sarah turns her attention to Ambroise, raising a brow at the suggestion curiously. "Nachos? Hmm, sure." She looks to Gwen, since she seems to be working there. "Hey, your nachos…jalepenos? Or red or green chili?" she says hopefully for the latter two choices. She's pretty much expecting the former, but she could get lucky. She nods to Alexander. "Hey, been a bit." she says simply, friendly though she doesn't know Alexander super well.
"Gwen, hey!" Helena greets, sounding surprised as she heads over toward the blonde. "I didn't know you worked here." And there's Agent Rainmaker, which means she's not going to be testing her ID here. Not that she's generally all that excited about the idea of alcohol. It's more the challenge of the thing.
She glances around at the others as she comes further inside, though most of her attention is on Gwen. "This place seems to be getting all the buzz," she grins.
"Hod, the oven's still on, it's hot. Like really hot. You could probably cook a whale in it if you could get it to fit." She pauses, furrowing her brow, "Or, y'know, if it was… a really small whale. I mean really small."
She shrugs, allowing her attention to be stolen by Alexander, who's smiling at her and asking for a drink. She gets out a glass, and plops it down on the table. "Coronoa with a slice of lime? Sure, no problem," she replies to him. "Just gotta see some ID first, since you look young and handsome." She casts a wink, getting the corona ready, but leaving it behind hte bar for the moment.
"Nachos? Well, you could have 'em either way but I've only tried them with the green chili so far. Seriously though, ask Hod for whatever you want and I guarantee you it'll be awesome. He's grumpy but he can cook anything with…" she trails off, about to say 'with his eyes closed', but stopping just short of being hideously insensitive. "Well, he can cook anything, I wasn't entirely joking about the whale."
Gwen shrugs lightly, and nods to Helena, "Yeah, well, when the internship fell through — their fault, not mine — I was hurtin' for a job and this place is really cool, so here I am." She shrugs lightly. "Good to see you! Anything I can getcha?"
"Mmm…yes, Fate." Ambrose narrows his eyes briefly at Alexander. "I know well enough its inclinations. Did it tap you on the shoulder today or was it rather more rude and attempted to sweep your feet out from beneath you?" It would be entirely teasing, his line of questioning, but for the solemn undertones like deep-river currents. He treats 'Fate' very seriously, the Jackal.
Briefly, when Gwen is nearby, he looks to her and gives her a charming, dimpled grin. "If I might, a pint of your darkest stout, please, milady."
Hod sighs heavily as he picks up familiar voices amid the crowd and pushes himself to his feet. "Fuck." he states with a weary flatness before plucking up his cane and beginning to make his way towards the back of the actual bar where the doors to the kitchen are set. He can already sense the orders coming and they don't premake shit here… well, not /much/ anyway. Just the slow cook stuff, like chili and that time he made etouffe.
The young blond with the bright blue eyes is animatedly chatting with Ambrose when Gwen regains his attention and assails him with the dreaded query for identification. So he turns on his seat to look back at her, smile not breaking at all as he points at her. "I." He starts, eyebrows rising as his smile broadens, "Do not have my ID. I." He points at her again as if he was working out the kinks in his story.
"I sort of went to another dimension and lost it. But." His finger lifts upwards pointing, "But. I am technically not 21 according to the state of New York. /However/, I have lived the right amount of time?" He asks at the end there as if knowing that the words don't really work.
And so he faces that fact, "But, doesn't matter in the bigger scheme of things does it?" He nods, then bites his lower lip, even as Ambrose teases him. His response to the man is a grumpy, harumph. "It was fairly nice to me actually, met some interesting people."
Only then does he turn back to Gwen and complete his order, "I'll have…" *sigh* "A soda."
Then to Ambrose, having lost a touch of his optimistic outlook, but only briefly. "Nothing like the last time it took hold of our shared efforts. But still, interesting."
Sarah perks a bit. "Really, green chili?" Probably canned rather than fresh, but the Southwestern girl will take it! "Yes please…" she says to the man. "Um, Hod, if I could get an order of nachos with green chili. Chicken if you've got it, beef is fine if not." she says simply, then looks to Gwen. "And an iced tea, if you have it? Or something light…." she says with a faint frown of thought. Her eyes flick to Helena, then back to Gwen as she gives them a curious once over.
Helena slides a sidelong glance in Alex's direction when he starts talking about time in dimensions, picking a seat where she can chat with Gwen without interfering with the whole work thing. "Cherry coke, please," she requests with a flash of a smile. Hey, just because she can't have booze doesn't mean she can't take advantage of some of the things a bar offers. Like grenadine. And cherries. Because she's an ADULT.
"Sorry to hear about the internship," she adds. "You looking for another one, or is this working out for you?"
Gwen clucks her tongue, "No ID, no booze, I'm afraid." She plops a lime wedge into the bottom of the glass, "Without ID I'm afraid that's about as far as I can get you." She nudges the glass a few inches towards Alex, before she nods to Ambrose. "Sure thing, but I gotta get the ID off you, too. Sorry to be a killjoy, but I don't really feel like explaining to my Dad why I got busted forking over a brewski to a minor."
Gwen Ah-has, when the request is made for soda. That, she can provide; she takes the glass with the lime wedge in it back, and fills it up to the brim with Coca Cola (the only Cola; Pepsi is vile) before sliding it back towards Alex. "Enjoy!" she adds, cheerfully. As for Ambrose's Stout, she gets the pint glass ready, just in case he actually is over 21 and can prove it.
"Hod!" she adds, looking over her shoulder towards the man. "Nachos with… eh nevermind," she trails off, as Sarah gives her order directly to the chef.
"Eh, the CEO was a creepwad," she explains to Helena, as she pours an Ice Tea and slides it over the counter to Sarah, without looking. Not bad, Gwen, someone's coordinated. "I'm… focusing on my schooling for the moment, without worrying about getting a high-stress job, at least for a bit. We'll see." She shrugs, producing one more glass and sliding it to Helena once it's filled up with ice and Cherry Coke, and one of those little plastic swords with a trio of marachino cherries on it. And a paper umbrella, because who doesn't want to dream about laying on a beach.
"That was quite the affair," the master-thief agrees with Alexander. "I am half-tempted to search out that particular place again if only for the novelty of it. It has been some time since my nerves were tested as such." Maybe Ambrose will find some coin to toss and a portal will open up again — Fate is odd like that. He smiles in quiet amusement at the poor young man's ill-fated attempt to get a beer. If he could, he'd reach out and pat Alex on the shoulder, but the Jackal forgot his gloves today. There's no use trying, not with the ancient curse of the Bane interested by so much life-force around him.
Gwen receives a blatantly surprised look and then a bark of a laugh. "I am honored, milady, thank you. I have not been carded in ages." Pulling his wallet out from his pocket, he then offers the ID out to Gwen between fore- and middle finger. By the ID, Ambrose is more than old enough, reputedly 30 years old. The Bane is kind in its way.
Hod's cane swings side to side directly in front of him, pendulam like, as he makes his way towards the back, his voice raising up to be heard over the chatter in the bar, "One platter of the Green Shits Nachos, coming up!" and he hits the double swinging doors with a little smirk on his face, one that mostly lost amid his beard. He has to remember to give another free drink to his partner in crime that helped him keep the name 'Shitty Nachos' on the menu. From beyond the doors arises the sounds of a kitchen getting hard use.
Now with soda held close and cherished, Alexander leans to the side against the bar, arm settled against the counter. "Well, there was that Fae Marketplace that had a similar transition. I mean, if you're inclined in chasing it down." The young Olympian nods a little to Ambrose and then uncurls is hand. "The one beneath NYU."
He looks across the room at the others nearby, gaze slipping toward Helena for a moment as for some reason she seems to trigger some hint of recognition. But then it's back to the conversation with the Brit.
"But it would be dangerous I imagine." A beat as he tilts his head, "If you're inclined."
Sarah blinks a bit as she catches the name of the dish, but then just shrugs. Not the first time she's had a humorously named spiced dish, really. As long as it's good, doesn't matter what it's called. She idly eavesdrops on the conversations happening near her, idly running a finger against the edge of her glass, her finger circling over it as her eyes glimmer. Then frost brushes over the glass as it chills down quickly.
The mention of fae draws Helena's attention. Staten Island's having a bit of an issue with some of them lately. But…what would Helena Wayne know about that? She takes a sip of her drink, nodding to Gwen, without looking at Alexander and Ambrose, but her attention leans that way regardless.
"Well, I'm glad you found a place you like, at least," she smiles over at Gwen. "How about, ah." A pause, awkward. "Have you talked to Pete lately? How's he doing?"
Gwen peers at Ambrose's ID, and nods, "Alright, 'Carded' achievement unlocked. Your reward is a beer." She pours the requested stout, and sends it sliding across the bar to the thirty year old. With all the various orders in and filled from that flurry of activity, Gwen takes a moment to rest her brain and phews softly.
"Yeah, I do enjoy this place," She replies to Helena. "Hod's cool, even if he won't admit it, my bandmate Rebecca also works here, and Anya's also pretty darn awesome, not sure… if you've met her yet?" She shrugs her shoulders lightly. "Peter? Oh, he's good, just been scarce lately. You know how it is."
Yes, you know how it is. Suuuuure.
Ambrose and Alex seem to be openly talking about treasure hunting, if that's… what she's hearing rightly? Either way, it sounds fascinating, so Gwen engages in just a little bit of that time-honored tradition of eavesdropping discretely. Fairly easy to do when you're working at a fine establishment such as this.
Alexander gets a curling grin. "I do enjoy a bout with danger, even if there is inherent risk to it — and interestingly enough, I have been doing research recently as to the Fey themselves. How delightful that curiosities coincide in this instance. What say you to…" and the brunet names a day even as he tucks his ID and wallet both away. "We shall meet at the bus stop on the edge of the campus at, say…" He makes a thoughtful hum of a sound and amends, keeping his voice at moderate conversational volume, "Rather, allow me to contact you via a text message as to the time."
Having gained his stout by dint of proper age, the brunet sips at it and leans contentedly back into his seat. "Have you dealt with the Fey then, young master Alexander?" A idle glance at the individuals around them means everyone gets raked with passing attention.
Hod is cooking. In the Kitchen. There are cooking noises. And a surprisingly decent blusey version of I Wish It Would Rain by the Temptations meandering it's way out around pots and pans and chopping knives.
Secrecy, discretion, sometimes such things can suffer when an individual is either arrogant or without fear. And to be fair, Alexander can be called both of those things. Perhaps doing so might be unkind to the young man. And yet…
So he seems to show no hesitation in discussing the situation that Ambrose and himself endured, as well as exploring the possibility of a follow-up even as he sips his soda. It might be more feasible to consider that he might have been speaking the truth about the alternate dimension situation as well.
"Alright," A phone is drawn from his back pocket and he keys it to connect with Ambrose's as their calendar syncs on that one day. His eyebrows lift as he ponders some other thing or another on his itinerary before he slips the phone back into his pocket. "I'll keep an eye out for your message."
That squared away he takes another sip of his soda, "Somewhat. There's sort of like…" When Ambrose makes a glancing look around them, Alexander does as well and he smiles to those that might return his glance. He continues, "A cross-pollination between magical people? So my father had run ins and apparently has some devotees in the Unseelie court. Which sort of translates to weird conversations and social events."
Sarah has only vaguely heard of the Fae…a book of comparatively mythologies, mostly, that she read when she was a bit younger. She's got her own mythology most people don't remember then again to keep in mind, so she never really did much with the knowledge. Though Seelie and Unseelie, she remembers. She's not quite sure what's being talked about, but listens absently as she sips from her newly cooled drink before her eyes slip back to the other two women chatting.
"Yeah, sure," Helena nods distractedly to Gwen. But hey, who wants to talk about exes, right? Surely it has nothing to do with all the faerie talk. Eventually, though, she looks back toward Alex and Ambrose. "Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt, but…are you talking about faeries? Like…actual faeries?"
"Wait… fairies?" Gwen perks an eyebrow upwards, as she looks back and forth between Helena, Alex, and Ambrose. "As in actual, gimme a dollar for my tooth fairies?" She produces a glass, and pours a coke into it, which is for… herself, as she slugs half of it back ine one go. Gotta stay hydrated (and sugared apparently) on the job somehow. "Or, are they more like the sew your eyelids shut while you're sleeping fairies?"
Of course, this gives away that she's been eavesdropping. Or, in her defense, standing close enough to a conversation that it was impossible not to hear it. Either way, she shrugs her shoulders. "Well, there's people who fly, teleport, throw cars, read minds, turn funny colors, and dress up funny and stick to walls, so I guess there could be fairies too. Why not? There's aliens at Area 51 too, right?"
Ambrose has paused with his stout uplifted to his lips. He's now giving Alexander a chary look, his lips drawn to a thin line.
"…I am no friend to the Unseelie court, unfortunately," he informs the young blond near sotto-voce. "And they are no friend to me. We have…disagreed before." The delicacy of the explanation implies far darker things than simple bickering. Helena draws his attention and for a split second, there's a gleam in his pupils like a coyote's stare before dawn. It might have been a play of the light, for the next minute, he looks perfectly normal again if politely unamused. Gwen too gets a glance. How patient, the Jackal's sigh.
"I have no idea as to this Area 51 you speak of, but you are not incorrect." He nods to Gwen and then glances at Helena. "We speak of the Fey. They are an ancient force with their own desires at heart no matter the court they keep. I would be wary should you deal with them. Even the kindest take amusement in twisting your words to suit their druthers."
Hod slides out of the kitchen with an amusingly over sized platter, laden down with nachos. Wait. That's not a platter. The metal trash can lid settles on the bar top with a clatter, the density of it's contents making the clatter very short lived. There's a mountain of chicken green chili nachos, piled with topings beyond those meager two, and as if that were not enough it would appear that EVERY SINGLE CHIP is laden with said toppings. As if the chef had lovingly loaded each one, baked them, then stacked them. Instead of just piling stuff atop chips. There are no empty chips here, which is good, since those chips seem to be made from tortillas and not from a bag. "Green Shits Nachos!" he bellows, then turns this way and that as if looking for someone, though his line of sight is a bit high, "Wait, I forgot which one of you ordered these." he seems confused.
No qualms about the interruption, and seemingly without any worry about how such things might be received, Alexander looks between Gwen and Helena and Ambrose, smile shifting a little wry as his eyes flit back and forth. But then he answers the two young women, "Well, yeah."
He waits while Ambrose offers his insight and nods along with the older man's words, giving a small shrug as if to accept that the other fellow has more experience in the matter.
There's a pause as he then adds, "I mean, I'm not exactly an expert. I've known a few. Most of the older sorts though a few of the smaller guys." He holds out a hand about waist high as if trying to offer some example. Then his attention shifts to Ambrose as if to look for collaboration…
"Like, the Unseelie are mainly tall and cold beautiful people. Willowy and grim though they can shapechange sometimes." Ambrose likely knows he's probably meaning the Sidhe. Then he looks back toward the others, "Though I had a tour guide that was a gnome? Ish. Gnome-ish."
Of course that's the moment when the nachos are brought forth with such pomp and circumstance, and truly presented as a lovely thing. Alexander can't help himself, even though he didn't order them at all. He /steals/ a nacho with all the subtlety of the unrepentant and quickly chomps it down, even going so far as to have the gall to act like he didn't do what he just did by smiling should someone catch him in the act.
"That's me!" Sarah says, raising a hand…then realizing how stupid that is and quickly lowering it, as it's kinda obvious the gentleman isnt' able to see her waving like an idiot. "Um, over here…oh wow, those look great…." she says, leaning into look at the platter. "…and a real trash can too, cute." she says with a little smirk. "Thanks." The last because she was raised polite. She glances over at the other conversation, saying curiously. "Area 51 is more a secret Air Force experimental aircraft facility…I mean, unless you're a tourist, then totally aliens. All the way down." she notes ruefully. "I mean, they basically go nuts for anything alien in that town, it's 90 percent of their revenue I think."
Helena almost looks like she's going to ask more questions about the fae, but then her phone buzzes in her pocket. She reaches in to check it, expression stilling when she reads the text message. Sighing, she pulls out a ten to leave for her soda and a tip - more than necessary, but it's not like she can't afford it.
"Sorry to stop and then run, but family business," she says with a rueful smile for Gwen, nodding politely to the others. "Good luck with your faerie issues." As if she doesn't believe in them and hasn't picked several fights with several of them.
Gwen shrugs. "Aliens, fairies, I mean… yes, I'm totally a tourist, and I'd love to go to Area 51 and see the little green men." She pauses, about to say more, when Hod is bellowing and there's nachos and "HEY!!" she swats Alex's hand, albeit just a wee bit too late as he's already stolen a nacho. She gives him the lifted eyebrow, before reaching out to take th nachos off of Hod's hands. "
"I got it," she points out, and plops them down in front of Sarah; all done with one hand, still holding her drink in the other.
"Hey, Helena, did you—" she pauses, and nods once, "Alrighty, no worries. I'll catch up with you later I'm sure." She pops the ten into the till and takes out enough change to drop it into the tip jar. "Thanks! Have a great night!"
Hod passes the platter off without question and after some patting about pulls out a tumbler to set on the bar before himself, "Thanks Gwendolyn." then he turns towards Sarah, "No idea how they look," he says in a complete deadpan, "but they're gonna blow the pants right off you with flavor." he makes an explosion noise with his mouth, still not smiling, "Just bare nekkid from the belly button to the boots." he then turns as if that were a normal thing to say to someone and holds out a hand at Gwen, "Whiskey me." he gives it an extra imperious air that's so clearly an affected peice of theare it's down right dramatic. Then he deflates a bit, "No. Seriously. Bourbon. Stat." and starts groping about under the bar for the bottles. He adds nothing to the fae comentary, but resists the urge to back the Winter Court on shear principle alone.
Innocence? Feigned. Gwen is given such a look as to put several pups to shame in comparison. But Alexander does take a sip of his soda again as Gwen moves off to handle her bar duties. Though a few words are offered after the young woman as she moves to serve Sarah. "Well, I mean, you could come with us I suppose. Or go investigate yourself."
He spares a glance over at Ambrose as if to check any possible negativity the man might evince at the youth's words. Then he looks back in Gwen's direction. "Just it's sorta not hugely safe. But also it doesn't always manifest." Unless you have certain ways of making it do so. Which, curiously enough, he doesn't seem inclined to go into.
"I mean, you could go look around yourself. If you wanted. NYU basements and all." Since chances of her finding it on her own aren't hugely likely.
Sarah raises a brow as one of her nachos is poached, but then shrugs it off without worrying about it overly. It's just one, right? "Rude.' she chides. "At least wait until you know me better before you start stealing my nachos." She immediately tries one, then lights up. "Mmm….doesn't matter what they look like, they taste great. That's good heat.." she says approvingly to Hod. "Thanks, these are great." She sips from her tea, then grins at Gwen. "Well, you'll see plenty of them. It's like going to Disneyworld but with aliens…well, really it's more like a kinda run down glitzy park, but similar idea." she says, shrugging a bit. "It's been a long time since I visited." She studies the two men, lookign curious now. "If these Fae are so dangerous, why are you seeking them out again?"
Gwen wastes no time. She produces a glass, tosses a couple icecubes in it, and sloshes it basically full of bourbon. "Gonna have to see your ID, Hod," she intones, while she's busy filling it up. "Make sure you're craggy face is over twenty-one and all, y'know, gotta be sure. You being a spring chicken and all." With that said, she unceremoniously holds the drink up in front of Hod and sloshes it, so he can hear the cubes inside the glass. "Stop pawing for the bottles, we can't serve that stuff to people after you put your lips on it."
While she's holding the glass, she looks back to the patrons, and grins. "So I can go meet some fairies? Groovy. Where would I go to do this, if I were slightly more into going and getting myself into trouble than I actually am?" She shrugs, "I mean, I might just know someone else who'd be curious. And don't hold back on me now, you've tantalized me this much."
A quick glance is given over the counter, before she looks back up at Hod. "Your nachos didn't work," she observes. "No pants have been blown off of anyone, Hod. Must be losing your touch."
Helena's exit is watched with measured interest. Still, she's dismissed quickly enough as Ambrose then returns to the group discussion at hand. When Alexander gives him an look of unspoken invitation for thoughts, the Jackal merely shrugs, given he's in mid-drink of his stout.
"I am in no place to deny anyone their curiosity," he replies after setting the pint glass empty upon the bar; it's an invitation to Gwen as much as can be defined. "And Area 51 is added to my list of places to research, if it is that…singular."
Interlacing his fingers on the bar, Ambrose then gives Gwen one of those slow curling grins. "Apparently the basements of NYU, according to my young comrade here. By all means, see for yourself." He glances over at Sarah, still wearing that Cheshire Cat's slice of smile. "Why seek out danger? Because I struggle with ennui and have a terrible, terrible habit of enjoying a good adrenaline rush."
To Hod, he comments, "If there's Japanese bourbon, you might as well try that, good sir." Hod will hear the grin in the familiar voice.
Hod snorts, "After I put my lips on it there's nothing left to serve the customers." he points out as it takes him two tries to find the clinking glass and bring it up. It's half empty when it settles on the bar again. Then he snorts, "I havn't touched anyone yet Gwendolyn, but trust me, when I do-" he makes another explosion sound with his mouth. Pauses. "Naw, I'm fucking with you. I'm shit in the sack. It's the eye contact thing, never could get the hang of it…" He then salutes Ambrose, "I've been half in the bag for six days straight good sir, I couldn't tell the difference if you held me at gun point. This might actually be rum." he takes another hit, "Not. Still bourbon." then he turns to Sarah, ish, "So. Lets talk about how good my food is. At length." he props his elbow on the bar and his chin in his hand.
Eyes lifting upward and to the side, Sarah can likely read the half-shrug that the youth barely gives in admission to his grand theft nacho, and that is perhaps the closest to an apology he'll offer. But his smile returns as he elaborates upon her question, "Well there's the thing right."
The youth turns now on his seat to face the others, lifting a hand to wave after Helena once she reaches the front door. Then he looks back between Gwen, Hod, Sarah and Ambrose as he replies, "Myself and the Leftenant were involved in a situation where we were…" He looks to the other man as if for help in finding the right words. "Changed? Morphed? Not like transported to another dimension, but it was like the world changed to a different thing and we were changed too? So we had this thing happen. And it reminded me of my encounter with the Fae Marketplace, where they had on display a gem that seemed to do similarly. Closer you got it the more you changed and your clothing changed, as if the world closer to it was a different one entirely."
That said he takes another sip of his soda then half-smiles, "But as to the why, he's right." Alexander gestures with a thumb in Ambrose's direction, "For the kicks, of course." His lip twitches.
Hoid's comment draws a husky laugh from Sarah as she shakes her head, popping another nacho in her mouth ,then chewing and swallowing. "Mm, I've only had my pants blown off once, literally, and it was an accident." she admits. "You'd at least be working at it, I'm assuming." She grins a bit. "It's good. Green chile, most places around here stick with jalepenos or go straight to ghost peppers or red chile. Green's my favorite. Or Christmas, sometimes." She pokes at the trash can. "These are solid, good mix of filled nachos, not stuff just dumped across tortillas. And fresh tortillas too, not what you usually find in bar food." She sips from her drink, then peer at Alexander. "Hmm, finding a gem that changes you to match another dimension? Sounds kinda dangerous when you dont' know what it'll turn yoiu into in the end."
Gwen tosses another ice cube into Hod's glass the moment its set down, landing it in the drink with a 'plop' and a minor splatter of booze. She holds the bottle of bourbon out over it and fills it back up to the top; when the bottle is put away she takes Ambrose's glass, and fills it back up with stout before handing it back as well.
"Basements of NYU, hunh?" She hunhs, and makes a mental note of that as somewhere to go check out. At some point. Probably when she has her webshooters with her at the last, just in case.
Because webbing up the Fae is definitely a good idea.
"I mean, heck, if there's Fae hanging out at NYU, who doesn't want to go and find out? Besides everyone who has a modicum of sense, I suppose." She pauses, and perks an eyebrow upwards. "A gem that changes you to match other dimensions, now? Well… I mean, whatever. Fae, gods, aliens, people who turn colors, everything I mentioned before… a gem that shape-changes you fits right in."
Whether or not Hod can see it, he gets a salute back from the Jackal as the lieutenant laughs quietly. "I approve of your decisions, good sir." Because the Jackal is all about sowing chaos to assuage that boredom he mentioned earlier. This is, after all, the guy who cheers on the bar fights he doesn't start.
Alexander tells the tale true. Ambrose simply nods agreement: it is accurate, yes. He adds, blithely, "For the kicks indeed, though I would not go about touching any gem without further knowledge of it. However, if you've a sacrifical lamb in your attending coterie, by all means, dare them to touch it instead. You will be able to observe clearly what occurs." With his vicious pragmastim shared, he then lifts his refilled stout glass to Gwen and winks his gratitude.
Hod ignores the splashing booze and just picks the refilled glass back up to drain half of it again, as if it were his right or something. Or, perhaps, he and Gwen have a routine down made perfect through repetition and the proper application of practice. "Try?" he says, snorting a bit at Sarah, "Hell no. That sounds like work, and what about my current situation makes you think I'm looking to /work/?" he sounds a bit incredulous as he straighten back up a bit, "Speaking of, I've worked enough. Time to play I think." and, mostly full glass in hand, he turns and heads for the stage, cane swinging before him in an easy rhythm, though in this familiar place he clearly has little need of it.
It takes little time for him to get comfortable on that small raised 'stage' (aka a few 2x4's laid on their sides and generously given the title) and begins reaching for one of the cases on the nearby table. He pulls from it a clarinet of all things, though one with a slight addition that only the keen would recognize. Then a stomp box, which he adjusts at least 3 times before getting it in just the right spot he won't have to hunt for it with his foot. Prepped, mouth peice applied, reed appropriately wetted (in the bourbon of course), he begins a rhthmic beat on the box, licks his lips, and sets the instrument to them. He plays soft and quiet, so as not to completely wreck the conversations in the room, but his choice of big band jazz music chopped down to a 1 man 2 'instrument' sort of composition is pretty solid. Shrill, thumping, slow and drawn out, it's a vaugely creepy song with hints of something sultry in it. For the discerning, it's an adapted Nightmare, by Artie Shaw, and it's not half bad…
A nod of his head is given as Alexander agrees with Sarah in that regard about danger, "If it wasn't dangerous it wouldn't be as compelling, however." That small nugget of wisdom and/or insight is given then he leans forward a little pointedly eying the nachos once again, but he does not purloin any further. Perhaps having learned his lesson.
At Gwen's enthusiasm about pursuing the matter, Alexander shrugs and looks to Ambrose. Far be it from him to tell her not to or to caution someone of the danger. He turns back to look at the others, "I should mention, though, that the market and symposium was there for a special occasion. And they do sort of have bouncers sometimes."
Because of course they do.
Though with that admission and Hod moving off to play some jazz, Alexander lets the conversation fall a touch more quiet as his attention slips away.
"Sounds like something adrenaline junkies say." Sarah points out, smiling faintly. "Mm, I admit I'd be a bit curious. All I'd suggest is, don't go alone." she says to Gwen. "Heck, if I'm around here when you do want to go spelunking, I might go along, if you've got -" At that point, she suddenly pauses, reaching up to her ear. Where an alert glance will notice a nearly invisible high tech earbud in place as she frowns, then sighs, before she gets up, getting out a twenty and setting it on the bar. "Sorry, work emergency, gotta run." She snags another nacho, looking at them forlornly, then pushes thenm over to Alexander. "Mm, nachos on me then it looks like. I'll be back when I can actually enjoy them." she says, getting up as she very efficiently begins…stripping? Well, no…because when the blouse comes off, there's a green and red bodysuit underneath as she slips off jer jeans, stuffing them into her backpack before pulling on her boots quickly again. Definitely practiced, as she slings it over her shoulder. "Enjoy the day…and don't worry, I'm sure mother nature will bring the winter weather sooner or later…" she quips, striding quickly to the door as she sips out…then with a woosh of air lifts off into the air, then shoots upwards, disappearing from sight.
Gwen chuckles softly, "Well, I'll admit I'm not actually likely to go looking for fairies," she admits. "Gwen Stacy is not the type to go looking for troubles like that." But Spider-Woman is. But who's counting? Not Gwen, at least not right this instant.
She watches as Sarah gets up and makes a speedy exit, lifting an eyebrow at the impromptu removal of street clothes. "Hunh. Maybe the nachos do work, it's just delayed."
She looks at them where they've been pushed in front of Alex, and shrugs; he stole one, so fair's fair. A nacho is snapped up and devoured, and she shakes her head. "Didn't work on me though." She flashes a grin at Alex and Ambrose, since they're still here. "Enjoy Hod's music, it's almost as good as his cooking. …I'm going on break though." She gives a nod, "If the other server is nowhere to be seen, just yell louder and louder until I hear you if you need something." As she talks, Sarah's $20 is stuffed in the till, and the change goes in the tip jar. "See you all later! Or in thirty minutes, if you're still here," she adds, as she flounces into the kitchen.
Inclined to listen to Hod's playing at least for the immediate interim over his second glass of stout, Ambrose rather lazily glances back over and re-enters the conversation with a shift in his seat.
"Bouncers are simply a delightful challenge. If they are disinclined to let us pass, I shall convince them." The brunet seems very convinced in turn that he can do such a thing and smiles into his drink as he makes to kill half of it in one sitting. The sudden removal of clothing has him overtly watching whatever on earth Sarah is up to. He blinks a few times and turns in his seat to watch her leave.
"I say." Which is about all he does have to say regarding sudden departures of this ilk. The nachos, left basically abandoned but for Alex's interest in them, are fair game not only for Gwen, but for Ambrose. He's positively gluttonous in his taking of a whole hand-sized raft of cheese-locked chips for himself.
"My payment for my part in this engendering of an adventure to the bazaar on the campus," claims he before he finishes the rest of his stout. A sharp inhale through his teeth before he blows a sigh. "Do watch for my text, young Alexander. Until then…good luck convincing the bar-mistress of your need for a beer."
Ambrose then departs with his purloined chips and a Fey-tful plan for the future.