Quick Chat Abandon Ship!, a nautical-themed bar, opened onto a wharf at the Historic Seaport Walk. In its former life, the building was a seafood restaurant, and on the scalding hot days of summer, the kitchen still smelled of fried shrimp. Its co-proprietor, Hayden, had been a bartender in a tiki hut prior to securing a small business loan from the bank. Though he came to work in a collared shirt instead of a tee now, he considered it a fair trade, because he no longer had to wear a lei or listen to a Hawaiian guy play 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' on ukulele. The staff was small in the off-season, just three bartenders and five waitstaffers. Hayden and his partner pitched in where needed.
He liked day shifts. Slow business meant he could grab a book, duck outside, and sit on the deck furniture. Boats, gulls, and sloshing ocean water made good white noise for reading his book on pirating, which he picked up from The Next Chapter. Looking at the sticker on the back, Hayden thought about Mallory and how she hadn't come in for that drink.
Aidan had stared at the schedule in his own handwriting that hung from a garish tourist-theme magnet on the refrigerator in his bright pink kitchen for a good minute or two before it clicked in his head. He had planned to spend his time going over paint swatches for the kitchen - unable to believe that he, or rather, his alter-self, hadn't gotten around to repainting as yet - but what was clearly a work schedule had him booked for the better part of the day. It was something of a switch; Aidan had left his life when he worked a sporadic schedule and still received a steady paycheck. Having written, controlled hours would take some getting used to.
Whatever memories remained imprinted from his body's former days were just enough to guide him as he drove, landing at Abandon Ship! a good ten minutes late but suitably sheepish. Entering the bar, a habitual hand went to the back of his neck as he searched out something that might ring true enough a memory that he would know what he was supposed to do once arrived. Dark eyes lighting upon a familiar face, Aidan frowned in confusion at the sudden recognition.
"Um... hey," he ventured.
Just coming in from the patio, Hayden stuck a cocktail stick in his book to mark the pages. "Hey, man." The sheepish look went both ways. The bartender was late, but the owner, who hadn't noticed he was short-staffed, was out reading about pillaged shipwrecks. More to cover himself, he glanced at his watch. "Good thing it's slow," he said, with none of the acid that might be expected of a supervisor. He carried on his way, cutting behind the bar and stuffing the book under the register.
From that hunched over position, he eyed Aidan. "You look kinda out of it. Long night?" He opened the register with his key and handed the till tray to the bartender whose shift was ending. She took it to a small office to make an initial count, which he'd check against the tape. Other than a strange look on the guy's face, Hayden didn't seem to notice anything unusual.
"Kinda, yeah... boss," Aidan responded. "Helluva long night. Like a lifetime."
There was enough left in his memory banks from whatever life his new body used to lead that Aidan felt oddly well in place in the seaside bar, slipping behind the counter with ease and searching out a towel to toss over his shoulder. Off-season, the place wouldn't be packed; maybe a few tourists, some locals. Aidan seemed to recall that he preferred it that way, more familiar faces milling about the crowd to make it seem more like any other neighborhood bar.
"Sorry I was late," he added, though he had a sinking suspicion that Hayden wouldn't pay it too much mind. "Anything new?"
"Nah." Hayden shook his head and went into the office. There were sounds of a safe door opening, a bag unzipping, and money being counted. After a minute, he came out with a fresh till and loaded it into the register. "Actually, that's not true." He shut the drawer and scratched his eyebrow. "You know that new waitress, Amy? She quit this week. Apparently, her dad got an eyeful of her boyfriend, the guy with the tusks shoved through his earlobes?"
Hayden got a mug and filled it with ice and tapwater. "He offered to pay for her to go to school full-time up in Jacksonville, if she dumps him. I feel kinda bad for the guy." He took a few swallows and shrugged. "Shouldn't be too hard to find somebody to take her shifts." He backed up to the bar and crossed his ankles. The floor was sticky under his shoe and he tapped the spot a few times, trying to figure out what spilled.
"Amy quit, huh?" Aidan responded, trying to sound as though he had more than a glimmering memory of the girl. The one thing that did ring true was the turnover; waitresses came and went, with the many young women who would pour into the Keys in search of a fresh start in a tropical setting and just as quickly turn tail and run back to whatever Midwestern cow-town or snowbound paradise they had left. "Thought she'd last a little longer," he added with a shrug.
Frowning, Aidan paused. "Hey, Hayden," he said after a long moment. "How long would you say I've worked here?" He was beginning to wonder if he was just another in a long string of runaways, bound to make the trek back home in record time.
Bewildered, Hayden scratched the light beard on his jaw. "I don't know... six, seven months?" He had the employment paperwork in the office. Why was Aidan asking? Usually an employee only needed specific dates if they were writing it on a resume or an application. Christ, he didn't need to lose a bartender right now. Waitstaff were easy enough to hire and train, but people who mixed good drinks -- and didn't just use it as an opportunity to hit on women -- were harder to come by. "Oh, wait." He set down his water. "It was right before Saint Patrick's Day, remember? I was short-handed. Why, what's up?"
"Just... uh... shit, man. Days run one into another around here, yeah?" Aidan responded. There was so much about himself - this self, this body - that he didn't know, he was trying to paint at least a muddled timeline as he acclimated himself to his new surroundings. "Got knocked over by the tide the other night... just trying to get back on my feet the right way, get my head on straight."
A silver churchkey was stuck behind a small container of swizzle sticks, and he reached to free it and toss it into the sink. His own hand caught his attention as he dropped the small metal instrument, and he cocked an eyebrow at the gently scarred but oddly clear skin. "Hey, you know a good tattoo joint around here?"
Hayden frowned. How did somebody get knocked over by the tide? The surf wasn't even rough. But it wasn't any of his business and the guy looked alright, not like he had a concussion or anything. "There's two places on Duval Street," he said. He picked up a wet rag and folded it over loosely. "Paradise and Southernmost. I dunno how good they are. I'm not inked." He laid the rag over a faucet. "Mike's got a really stupid tattoo of a pissed-off bald eagle on his shoulder. I think he got it around here. The artwork's good, it's just kind of bad subject matter."
He picked up his drink again. "You're not gonna get some girl's name on your bicep, are you?" He chuckled.
Aidan smirked. Now that was one thing he could never do; the rune of destiny was a blank tile. "Nah... just had a few design ideas in my head."
The ice in Hayden's glass clinked when he took another sip. "If I were you, I'd wait until you get your head on straight to pick one out." He clapped a hand on the bartender's shoulder, letting him know he meant no harm. "I'm gonna count out her till," he said, pointing at the office, where the other bartender was finishing up. He could hear her sorting through the small change. "Do me a favor, let me know if Mike shows up. I need to ask him something."
Hayden headed into the office.
Aidan nodded. "Sure thing, boss," he called over his shoulder as the other man took his leave. The only problem with that, Aidan realized, was that he had no idea who Mike was.