Who: Pete Whelan & "Celia Malloy" When: Forward-dated a tiny bit to July 5 2019, around 6PM Where: The Bar What: Pete meets the new girl and phones it in a bit. Conversation ensues.
God, Pete was tired. It wasn't even just the hangover from the night before, too, nor the deep, unsettling confusion that had dropped down onto him as soon as he realized him and his best bro -- who was literally bro to the last girl he'd ever sort of dated -- had kissed. If he had to pinpoint why he felt so freaking exhausted, he'd probably have to just call it some kind of cumulative thing, the stress of his still-busted house and his crowded workplace combining with the fact that he'd realized recently that out of all the people in Austin, he seemed to actually be having the hardest time getting used to New Austin. Happy though he'd been when the United States had first shown up, bringing with it real food and money and fighting with a girl he liked and hamburgers, Pete couldn't help but wonder if he was missing something.
So once work wrapped up the next day, after the rare day off afforded by a government holiday now that there was a real government, he went back to The Bar. It looked like he hadn't been the only one in need of some liquid consolation, a small comforting thought that occurred to him as he took in the people here and there throughout the first floor. Good for Demi, he thought, glancing around for The Bar's manager and his friend as he took a seat next to a woman he couldn't recognize.
Once upon a time, he would've loved to think up the latest and greatest line to use on a stranger in a bar. That used to be his thing! 60% of the time, it had worked every time, too. But now all Pete could think about was asking her whether she'd recently been vandalized, too, or if her job was at risk due to a sudden influx of people who could do the exact same thing he could. Or if she was having some vague sort of sexual confusion, too, on top of grappling with his love life.
Man, he was a real fucking sad sack these days. It was way gross.
Still, though, Pete decided to suck it up. Life was weird these days, but that didn't mean he -- the essence of Peter freaking Whelan -- needed to be weird, too. So once his drink was set down in front of him, he glanced at her again. "You know," he said, a weird sort of half-smile, half-grimace on his face, "if you were a chicken, you'd be impeccable."