Brian Campo (briancampo) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2021-02-07 08:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | brian campo, hanna pulaski |
Cartoon Hearts
Who: Brian and Hanna
What: Live Music, Talking
When: Night, a While Before the Hunters Arrived
Where: Bunkhouse Saloon, S. 11th Street, Las Vegas
Ratings: Language
Letting Brian make the choice of a band to see seemed like the best option. Hanna hadn’t been to a live show in a long time, though she checked the trades often enough to know about the clubs in the area. She laced up her boots while waiting for her mac and cheese to finish heating up, then ate while half-watching the weather report for the next few days.
The dress code, thankfully, hadn’t changed much in the time since she’d been out on her own, jeans and T shirts, some with band logos and some without, a few old flannel overshirts, some chinos. No wallet chains, which was weirdly disappointing, though she did see one guy with a belt wide enough to qualify for Olympic weight training.
The sandwich board on the sidewalk said there’d be three sets, and the stage was being cleared when Hanna stepped inside. Small knots of people stood around talking in low voices, and she glanced towards the bar in a search for Brian before directing her attention to the faded posters on the walls.
Despite the recent reno, which sometimes killed the vibe of an old venue, Brian still thought the Bunkhouse was a solid place for a live show. For one thing, they’d upgraded the stage to give the acts more elbow room and a general sense that they weren’t about to fall through the floor. Another plus: better sound quality and lighting. The Bunkhouse had been around since the 50s. Even though the decor shouted ‘cowboy ugly,’ they brought in rock, hip hop, indie, folk, country western, and the occasional comedian. The kitchen served nuevo latino food, and the bartenders poured strong drinks.
Brian spotted Hanna and weaved past a few clumps of people. “Hey!” he called over the house music. “Find it okay?” His directions -- ‘it’s the tacky building with the cowboy mural, right behind 11th Street Records’ -- were the kind of landmark-based description that only worked for certain kinds of brains. Brian was in a great mood; he was on his second beer, he was surrounded by music lovers, and he didn’t have the stomach-churning anxiety that came before his own sets. He was wearing jeans and a vintage Cinderella t-shirt from the Night Songs era, which his sister Angie had sent him for Christmas.
“Yeah, it wasn’t that tough. I’ve made some dropoffs on this block and a couple of streets over, so it was no problem.”
Seeing Brian with a beer in his hand inspired Hanna to order one of her own, and she popped the cap off of the bottle with practiced ease.There was a plastic pitcher on the bar that was a third-full with similar caps, and she dropped hers in with a muted clinking sound.
There was going to be a crowd later, she could already tell, and the hum of energy in the room was oddly calming. She’d grown to dislike large groups in the last couple of years, feeling like there were too many eyes on her even when there weren’t, but the mood here was convivial, friendly. There were small tables on the other side of the room from the crowded area close to the bar, and she indicated one with her bottle.
“The sign outside said the first set kicks off at eight. If it’s anything like back home, that means eight-fifteen or later. Want to take a load off for a few?”
“Eight-twenty if the bassist gets nervous and pukes,” he said. “The opener’s a group from Reno. They’re actually really good, just kinda green.” He followed Hanna to the table and pulled out a chair to sit down. When he dropped into it, he held up his hands, a muted celebration over not almost landing on his ass this time. What a way to meet. “So what’ve you been up to?” Brian put his drink down. “Anything new?” Which was code: any backlash from the wolves, and/or how are you filling your time if there isn’t?
“Mostly just work, though I had an honest to God date last week.”
She smiled when she said it, the pleased-yet-surprised smile of someone who was re-learning how to be social. There was no one to tell about Frank, since she wasn’t close enough with her co-workers for casual chit chat, and really it was still new enough that she was mildly paranoid that she’d jinx it. But since Brian knew what she’d been dealing with, so he’d get the significance.
And yes, she heard the other thing, but that would tak a few more beers to get into. Hanna suspected that the Weres who were left knew something was going on, since Munson had known two of the others were dead, but they didn’t seem like the kind to watch each other’s backs. If they banded together, she’d be screwed, but they’d have to track her down first.
“What about you? New year and all that, anything big going on?”
Brian met the news of Hanna's date with a smile. He took it as a good sign; there was more than revenge going on in Hanna’s life, and some of it might involve sticking around for a while. But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. “Not really, not like a new date. I need to scare up some action in my life just so I have something to talk about.” He kicked back in his chair. “Watch me jinx myself. Next time you talk to me, I’ll be out of a job living in my car. I’d have to fuck up pretty bad to get fired from Lucky’s!” He laughed under his breath.
“Well, if you do end up unemployed, we could figure out some scheme together. I’m looking for new opportunities, just haven’t decided what that’ll be yet.”
The brunette put her beer down on the cardboard coaster in front of her, made a mental note to snag one before she left. “Why’d you choose Searchlight, anyway? Probably more room to run around, or maybe hide in plain sight, but like you said it’s not exactly a hopping place.”
Brian held onto the neck of his bottle and spun the beer on the table. “It’s what you said. There’s room to run, plus it’s cheap and I found a decent job, but there’s also something else. When I left New Jersey, I didn’t want it to be easy to find me. I’m not as nervous now, but I spent a few months being careful what I put my name on. I figured, a parking lot full of trailers and RVs in the middle of the desert was the last place anyone would go looking for a wolf.”
He smiled at Hanna. “Sounds kind of stupid now. I picked the one small town that’s full of shapeshifters. And somebody like you ended up there, looking for wolves.”
“I’ve been a city kid my whole life, even as an adult. Pops and Gramma lived in one of those old post-war apartment buildings, where you walk up three flights and see laundry flapping in the breeze on windy days. They didn’t have a yard, but there was a playground and a community pool for us kids when we visited in the summers. Good times.”
Hanna’s mouth pursed, and maybe it had occurred to her, that he’d want to hide for a while. Even if he didn’t seem like someone with a ton of history, his pack might not have forgotten if they’d found out what happened. But fuck knew they’d spent enough time talking about past trauma, so maybe there could be even more beers between talking about it again.
“It’d take me too long to get used to the quiet, though. If I don’t hear at least one car alarm go off a week, I get nervous.”
He laughed. “Yeah. I can see that. I was living in the country for a while, you know, before I made the move out here? I used to sleep with earbuds in, or TV on. I didn't care what I was hearing, as long as it wasn’t bugs or trees.” Brian ran his palms up and down the legs of his jeans, thinking. “I still do that sometimes. Me and Morrissey. If I could bottle this sound,” he looked around at the pleasant buzz of a gathering crowd, “Nah… I would just dream somebody was asking me to pour ‘em a drink.”
“I don’t know if I’d resort to Morrissey, but I’d choose something.”
The place was gradually filling up, and Hanna tucked her feet under her chair to keep them out of the path of other concert goers. The beer in front of her was still three-quarters full. She let out a muffled snort at the mention of dreaming about a nine to five job, said, “I’m not sure if it's better or worse to have dreams where I’m trying to reach the top of a hill that never. Seems. To. End. With traffic and without it.”
“Do you ever start to roll backwards?” Brian tipped his beer up to his mouth, which was smiling at the idea of a bike courier having hill nightmares. Under the table, his knee bounced, but it was from a pleasant kind of anticipation and not nerves. “Sometimes I dream that I can’t keep people’s orders straight. Or I forgot my pants and I’m hoping nobody notices there’s nothing under my t-shirt. Wait, this is embarrassing, tell me more about your date.”
Hanna was laughing at the end of Brian’s description, openly amused at the absurdity of it if not at him, and she took another pull at her bottle before saying, “I actually met him through work. Dropped off a package at the pawn shop where he works and he had to sign for it. I asked him out the second time I was there to pick up something.”
She paused long enough to look towards the stage, where someone was taping down electrical cords. “He doesn’t seem to think very much of himself, or at least that’s what I sense. I told him I’d decided to be forward, and he said he probably wouldn’t have asked at all. If I get the chance, I’ll disabuse him of that notion, ‘cause he’s got plenty going for him.”
“Damn.” Brian stretched back in his chair. “Must’ve been a good date.” He shook his head. He was thinking about the beginning of things, that anticipation you had when there was nothing but potential. Being in a stable relationship where you knew your partner like the back of your hand was awesome, but there was no re-creating those first few dates. “This conversation’s got me nostalgic. Then again, having things come down to a dull roar is one of God’s mercies, otherwise people would never get anything done.” Brian finished his beer. “I’m a headcase in the beginning. I hide it,” he assured her, “but you can almost see the cartoon hearts, you know? In my pupils?”
“I was worried about it for a while, y’know? That what happened meant I couldn’t go back to how I was. But the thaw’s on its way. It’s weird since it’s so new, but he’s helping.”
And that was all she meant to say on the subject. Hanna looked around, realized the Bunkhouse didn’t seem to have servers, said, “I can get the next beers, maybe some shots if you want. I’m glad you decided to tear yourself away from the glamour of Lucky’s tonight.”
About to say ‘me too,’ he stopped himself. “See, that’s the kind of compliment that isn’t. Don’t joke my bar, Hanna!” Brian tried to hold a serious face while he pointed at her. “Doesn’t matter if it’s rain, shine, sandstorm, or zombie apocalypse… Lucky’s is forever and I’ve got the best people. And yes to shots.”
He looked around the venue while the band finished setting up and checking sound. He knew a lot of people in Las Vegas. Brian was pretty sure he could get a job at a venue here if he wanted to, focus completely on the music side and leave pouring drinks behind, but felt like something in Searchlight — maybe at Lucky’s in particular — hadn’t run its course. He felt ownership of that place.
Hanna left her seat long enough to order up a round of tequila shots, watched the band’s one roadie pick up a guitar case and latch it shut. She had some hooks in the water as far as new opportunities went; the gig economy was great for people who didn’t want sit down jobs or as much of a set schedule. Even if she didn’t give up the courier’s job, it’d be good to keep her options open.
And she had a line on the fourth one, the second to last on her list. That was one thing she did want over, so that she could get her life back. If not to normal, then to something close to it. Three down and two to go wasn’t good enough.
The barman came over with a plastic tray holding four shot glasses. Hanna stuffed three dollars into the tip jar next to the mug with all the bottle caps in it, feeling expansive and relaxed. Waded through the gathering crowd to put the tray down, reclaimed her seat. The singer was adjusting his microphone as she picked up the first shot and downed it, feeling the good burn of strong tequila. Way too long between live jam sessions, definitely.