Nick Iacoletti (cookedbooks) wrote in shadows_rpg, @ 2019-12-16 20:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | #january 2018, bailey, bailey x nick, nick |
Who: Nick and Bailey
Where: The Back Porch Pub
When: Evening, Tuesday, January 9th
Status: complete
Bailey supposed if there was any silver lining to being back in Point Pleasant it was that she had yet to be bored. The job kept her busy, and she was picking up extra hours simply because she could… and the alternative was sitting by her mother’s bedside, holding the woman’s thin, weak hand, and mindlessly watching the Food Network. It was that, or wondering where Kane was, and what he was doing. She had plenty to do today and then spent a few hours at the station finishing up her paperwork.
After a while, Bailey simply couldn’t find any more reasons for sticking around, and she climbed into her car to drive home. Without consciously thinking about it, Bailey found herself parking in front of the Back Porch. It was a Tuesday night and cold as hell out, so it wasn’t terribly busy when she walked inside. She found herself becoming a regular fixture at the bar on her nights off, but she didn’t think the Lucas brothers realized she was a cop. She kept her badge mostly hidden, and she was buying all of her drinks, so perhaps profit was more important than distrust. Or something. It didn’t matter. If they didn’t give her shit, she wouldn’t give them shit. It was that easy.
Half expecting to see her brother there, and finding herself relieved when he wasn’t, Bailey slid onto one of the bar seats and ordered a glass of Irish whiskey to start. There was a basketball game on the television and only a few tables were occupied. It was quiet but for low chatter and the tv, so Bailey felt herself relax a bit, thanking the bartender when he placed the glass in front of her and wandered off.
Nick felt a bit at loose ends now that Kenzie and Chris were in town. He knew he was just a consultant, more or less, but he did enjoy the research work, and got excited when he was following a lead. The real agents were more like detectives though, and Nick kind of felt like he’d handed all his files over and shouldn’t interfere much anymore. He would do what they asked and maybe sniff around for more interesting leads, but he wasn’t in charge anymore.
At least of that side of things. There were still books to write, so Nick had been more focused on that. His cover wasn’t completely a cover, he still loved writing and publishing, so he’d been working on some outlines for a series about Point Pleasant. The process just kept him indoors a lot, and by Tuesday night, he was feeling rather restless. He closed his laptop, showered, got dressed, and left the inn, intent on just getting out of the proverbial house for a bit.
A drink sounded nice, and Nick had developed a weird fondness for The Back Porch. It wasn’t a nice place, but it was a place with character. It was almost like a setting in a book, and he was drawn to those places. Nick was grateful for the hardworking heaters as he stepped inside and glanced around. It wasn’t much of a crowd, but that was fine. There was a game on the TV. Nick strolled over to the bar and took a seat a couple of spots down from a blonde lady, seemingly the only woman in there under fifty. Nick ordered a rum and Coke when the bartender came back, then glanced over at the woman briefly.
Bailey tensed when she heard the door open behind her, and she half-expected Kane to slide into a seat beside her. When it turned out to be a stranger, the tightness in her back eased and she huffed out a small laugh into her glass as she took another drink. The fingers of her free hand twitched in an urge to find her cigarettes before she remembered she had left them in her car. Sighing, Bailey set her glass down and pushed her hair back behind her ear, getting a better look at the man who had taken a seat and ordered a drink. She let her eyes roam for a moment before her gaze lingered on his profile. Why did he look familiar? She had been all over town since starting on the job, and she had seen plenty of faces, but Bailey felt like she would have remembered him. Well, she would have remembered his body, anyway. Bailey snickered softly before she realized she did know him. Not personally, but... "You're a writer," Bailey said, leaning against the bar top a bit, mostly to see his face better from the angle she was at. "I think I have a book of yours."
Nick didn’t expect the woman to speak to him first, and especially didn’t expect that kind of lead-in. His brows lifted and he gave a pleased sort of laugh, dimpling at her. “Do you?” he asked, turning a bit on his stool to look more directly at her. He didn’t get recognized often in public unless he was a convention, but this was the second or third person in Point Pleasant who had spotted him. It was interesting, though he guessed the population here had good reasons to read about the supernatural. “Which one?” There was the tiniest bit of challenge in the question, though it was more flirtatious than anything.
"It was about werewolves," Bailey said, her gaze thoughtful as it roamed his face. Then she gestured to his face. "You looked a lot younger in the author photo though. Not as much gray in the beard." The book itself was in a box somewhere in her storage unit out of town, and Bailey couldn't quite remember his name. Nate Something? She had been on a supernatural kick back in the day and had bought a lot of books researching various topics. His book had been one of them, and she was fairly certain he had more published. But reading had sort of taken a back seat to so many other things in her life. "I'm sorry, but I can't remember your name."
Nick laughed a bit at the beard comment, one hand coming up to rub at it like he could wipe the gray away. “Yeah, aging will do that to ya,” he agreed ruefully. He knew he looked good with the whole salt-and-pepper thing going on, but pretty women didn’t usually call him out on it right off the bat. He’d written several books about werewolves, but it didn’t really matter which one she’d read, it was just nice to be remembered. “Nick Cooke,” he told her, extending a hand out to shake. “You uh, mind if I join you, Miss ...?” Nick was betting she wouldn’t have talked to him if she really wanted to be left alone, so why not ask.
On any other night she might not have spoken to him at all, depending on her mood. But she wasn't drunk yet and while it had been a long day, it hadn't been a bad one, so Bailey didn't mind being social for a bit. She took his hand, enjoying how strong his grip was in the few moments she held it. Then she let go and reached for her glass again. "Bailey Jansen. Bailey," she added as an afterthought, because he didn't need to call her Miss Jansen, even to be polite. "So what are you doing in Point Pleasant? Are you writing another book?" Why else would anyone who wasn't a native come here, especially in the winter? Given he was an author of the paranormal, it made sense to her. She doubted the locals were the only ones who knew about how fucked this place was.
Nick took note that she didn’t correct his prefix, so she was probably a ‘Miss.’ She also didn’t seem to have a wedding ring on, so it was unlikely he would court any trouble by chatting her up. There were two stools between them, and Nick shifted over one closer just to make it easier to talk, but not wanting to crowd her. “Nice to meet you, Bailey,” he said first, then nodded. “Yup, I’m here doing field research. At first I was thinking just one book about this town, but there’s ah ... sort of a goldmine here, so it might end up being a series.” He gave a chuckle, then murmured a thanks to the bartender as the guy delivered his drink. “What about you, do you live here?”
Field research. Definitely the kind that could get him killed if he wasn't careful. But he seemed to have been writing books for quite some time now, and he looked like the kind of guy who knew how to take care of himself. Nick was sitting a bit closer now, and Bailey set her glass down on the bar top, realizing it was nearly empty already. Had she been taking big sips or little sips? She motioned for the bartender to give her another before shifting her attention back to Nick. "Born and raised," she explained, not at all interested in getting into her history with this town. That was a disgusting can of worms that did not need to be opened, especially with a stranger... especially while she was still sober. "Are you writing fiction? Or non." Bailey smiled, because in this town, it could go either way. But she was curious as to what he thought of this place, if he believed any of the history, or if the stories were simply that... stories.
Nick had gotten himself into some sticky situations before, but he’d always survived, and for that he was grateful. His employers hadn’t given him a lot of training, but you didn’t immerse yourself in this world like he had without picking up some tricks. He tended to keep his distance from the actual threats anyway. He tried to at least. Sometimes they were unavoidable, like the fog. Nick took note of Bailey’s short answer about herself and didn’t push for more information. He wasn’t interviewing her, this was a casual bar conversation. “Non,” he answered after a sip from his glass. “Who needs to embellish in a place like this? If you believe half the things I’ve heard so far, anyway.” Nick gave her a crooked smile. “Either way, it’ll make for some fascinating reading, I hope.”
"I probably believe everything you've heard so far." Bailey chuckled, though it held little humor. "You don't grow up in this place without believing just about everything. And yet, we're all still here." She saw the bartender coming toward her with a fresh drink, so Bailey knocked back the rest of what was in her glass and set the empty glass to the side while murmuring a quick thanks before he walked away. "How long have you been here? You mentioned possibly doing a series on this town, so I have to assume you've been here a while... or at least you plan on staying for a bit." He might have been here for a year for all she knew.
That was interesting to hear -- Nick had run into his fair share of skeptics, even here in this haunted-ass town. Or maybe skeptics wasn’t the right word; they were more like people dripping with denial. This woman didn’t give off that sort of vibe, which was kind of nice. Definitely the type of person he wanted to have a drink with, believers were much more interesting. Nick took a bigger swallow from his glass while Bailey got her refill. “Oh uh ... been here a couple months already. No plans to leave anytime soon. I still have a lotta work to do. I’m kind of hunting around for a place to rent, in fact, it’ll be cheaper than Juniper, that’s for sure.” He chuckled faintly.
Bailey knew all about denial, and how deeply some people lived in it. It still blew her mind that anyone could live here for more than a few months and believe all the bullshit excuses that were given for the horrible things that happened. And yes, she understood how fucked that was, given she was working for some of the people who released those bullshit excuses to the public. But it wasn't her call, it was Barrett's, and he was the boss. For now, anyway. Her eyes widened briefly when Nick mentioned Juniper and she laughed into her glass. "Holy shit, you must sell a lot of damn books if you've been staying at the Juniper Inn for the last few months. I can hear my bank account cry anytime I merely drive past the damn place. You want a cheap place to rent, check out Castle View. They've got one bedroom apartments if you're not looking to share the rent. It's probably the cheapest place in town besides the trailer park."
Nick laughed a little at her surprise and gave a shrug he hoped was more charming than dodgy-looking. He wasn’t currently the one footing the bill, but he could feign that sort of success well enough, he thought. He hoped, anyway. “Castle View, I’ll look into that,” he told her with a grin and a nod. “Thanks for the tip.” A full apartment would be pretty nice, and the powers-that-be would probably appreciate him trying to save them some money. Nick still had no idea how long he would be staying, but it would be nice to have a full kitchen to work with, and a bit more privacy than a single room allowed. “It’s been nice, but I could use some more room to stretch my legs out, so to speak.” Nick almost asked where Bailey lived, but she hadn’t seemed keen on the other personal question, so he didn’t. He finished off what was in his glass instead and motioned for another.
"I don't blame you," Bailey said, her gaze ticking up to the television again for a brief moment. "I traveled for a while after high school and after a couple of days in a tiny motel room, I always felt like I was about to crawl out of my skin. Obviously a room at the Juniper isn't really comparable... I'm assuming, anyway, since I've never actually been inside one, but given the look of it, and the room rates..." She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, the cleaning service must be nice, but I can't imagine it's worth the lack of space or privacy, especially for a writer." Bailey exhaled softly, trying to resist the urge to knock back her second drink and order another. Pacing was important.
Nick grunted his agreement, even though he was an odd one who never seemed to have trouble writing anywhere he was, so that part didn’t bother him. The cleaning service was nice, but he also liked cleaning his own space, so she was right, it wasn’t worth it. It would put some distance between him and Kenzie and Chris too, which ... might not be a terrible thing. He wouldn’t be underfoot and they wouldn’t feel obligated to include him in everything. Which they weren’t doing anyway, so yeah. At least there wouldn’t be any chance of awkward run-ins if he ever found a woman he wanted to bring home, or vice versa. “So where did you travel to?” he asked Bailey, looking curious. That was a topic most people liked discussing, at least. “Abroad, or ...?”
"Not abroad, no. Just... wherever my husband found work. Ex-husband." Bailey corrected, almost as an afterthought. Every now and then she went to play with the ring on her left hand before remembering it wasn't there anymore. What a relief that was. "After high school we sort of jumped all over, mostly in the south. Then North Dakota, which was colder than Maine in the winter, if you can believe that. Pure misery. We lived in Seattle for a while, and then when we split up, I moved to Virginia, and then to Portland. And now I'm back here." She lifted a hand, zig zagging it through the air like she was drawing a map of her life all over the States. "Not once did I get to live in a city with palm trees, and I feel kind of cheated by that." Bailey snickered softly. "I imagine you've been to some fascinating places yourself, when you've researched your books. Do you have a favorite?"
He wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose, but Nick always appreciated it when a woman saved him from having to hint around to find out if she was single. She was at least divorced, and that was one step in the right direction. Divorced and drinking alone? Probably single. Not that he had designs on this woman, but she was attractive, and who knew, right? Nick chuckled at the palm tree joke and shook his head ruefully. “You’re definitely missing out, those palm tree cities are fucking nice, especially in the winter,” he said, giving a little grin. “There’ve been a lot of places I liked, so it’s hard to pick a favorite, but let’s see ... it’s probably cliche to say New Orleans, but it’s definitely in my top three. I loved Boston too, but I really have a fondness for the little out of the way places like this. ... well, maybe not quite like this, but small towns, you know. They’ve got real personality.”
She had never been to New Orleans, which was probably odd with how much time she and Pierce had spent in the south. Maybe someday she would make her way down there again, but Bailey didn't think it would happen anytime soon. Sipping her drink, she listened to him talk, her gaze roaming his face and taking in the smaller details of it. He was good looking in a rather unconventional way, if you asked her. And she liked the curve of his nose, which was probably a strange thing to focus on, but Bailey figured she was a cop, and cops needed to be good at observing people, so that's all she was really doing. Smirking slightly at his description of small towns, Bailey shrugged one shoulder softly and looked down into her glass. "They really do," she agreed. "Most of the small towns I've visited have that quirky, aw-shucks coziness about them. But this place... I'm not sure how I would describe it. It looks gorgeous on the outside. The quaint buildings and the ocean... all of the trees. But inside it's just... rotten." Bailey finished off her drink and set the glass down. "But absolutely perfect if you're inspired to write a horror novel someday, even if it's non-fiction."
That description wasn’t too far off from Nick’s sense of the place, so it didn’t surprise him, he just found it interesting to hear it put so plainly by a local. “It’s not the only rotten one I’ve been to, I will say that,” he told her, his tone thoughtful. “But so far it’s one of the worst.” He sipped his drink and glanced briefly at Bailey’s empty glass. He wondered how many in she was so far and if she was driving herself home or not. “Can I ask you something, though? As a native ...” She’d lived in a bunch of different places, which gave Nick the sense that she’d tried to escape the rot. It was a common story, he’d found -- people couldn’t wait to get out of Point Pleasant, but so many of them ended up coming back. He had to wonder why. There were the surface reasons, of course -- family obligation, nostalgia, etc -- but he’d heard about it so much, he had to wonder if there was some deeper reason. Something that kept pulling people back even when they didn’t really want to come.
On a good night Bailey knew her limits. And she didn't live terribly far from the bar, so she wasn't all that worried about driving home. A few nights ago Bailey had more than her share of gin and had walked home, so even when she was wasted she was still responsible. Mostly. And she figured one more drink would be all right tonight, so she ordered another as the bartender walked past before turning back to Nick. Her arms folded on the bar top and she looked at him expectantly, not opposed to being asked something about the town as long as it wasn't too deeply personal. He was a writer, and writers were curious people. "Sure, go ahead."
Nick leaned forward a bit, his eyes ticking here and there on Bailey face. She was pretty, but she looked tired. Not just in a ‘bad night of sleep’ way, more of a deep down in her soul way. Nick had seen that look on a lot of faces, and his heart went out to her. “What keeps people here? Do you know? What drew you back?” Nick had some of his own theories, none of which he could prove or disprove at this point, but it was too much of a pattern with the citizens of Point Pleasant to just be coincidence.
Bailey studied him, not entirely sure she wanted to answer any of those questions. But she had plenty of liquor coursing through her veins now, so what the hell, why not indulge him. "Officially, people stay for the small-town camaraderie and the fact that their picture-perfect seaside town looks like it should be on a postcard... at least in the summer." She took another quick drink to wet her throat again. "But the truth is, if you want, is that most of the people here don't know how to leave. They might think about it, but it's more of a passing desire. You know when you're having an amazing dream? You've won the lottery, or you're about to have sex with someone really attractive, or famous..." Her lips twitched briefly. "...and it feels real, but then you start to wake up, and you try so hard to stay sleeping, just to sink back into that dream because it felt so good... that's what it's like when you think about getting out of this place. A wonderful dream about someplace better, but then you wake up, and you're still here, and this is reality." Bailey rubbed her thumb along the side of her glass before folding both arms on the bartop and leaning forward a bit while meeting his gaze. "Circumstances drew me back. My mom is sick and she has no one else. Honestly, she should already be dead. But I think this town just sinks its claws into you, draws out the misery for as long as it can. It's keeping her alive, and I had to come back. By the time she's gone, I won't be able to leave again. I'll be settled and complacent, just like I'm supposed to be. People who manage to leave never stay gone. It's a temporary displacement until something brings them back. I'm sure if you stay here long enough, you'll find it hard to leave too. You'll be like the rest of us." Bailey paused and then arched a brow. "Is that a good enough answer?"
Nick listened with fascination, vaguely wishing he had a recorder going while Bailey spoke. A lot of what she said sounded in line with what he’d already been thinking, but it was interesting to hear someone else say it out loud. He wasn’t sure if the booze was a factor or if she was just a blunt person, but he appreciated the candor. The last bit about him sent a tiny chill down his spine, but it wasn’t a shock to hear, because he’d already pondered that possibility. Maybe sticking around for a year or so to write a book wasn’t a great plan, but it was still appealing to him, possibly for reasons that weren’t totally his own. He gave Bailey a small smile at the end. “I’m not sure I would call it good, but it was honest, so thank you, Bailey,” he said. Nick glanced at her drink, then arched a brow at her. “As thanks, can I pay for that round? Or take you out for another sometime?”
Bailey was generally a blunt person, though not always entirely honest if the topic had to do with her, personally. But if people wanted to know the truth about Point Pleasant, she could give it to them. It just seemed ridiculously silly to pretend this town wasn't steeped in darkness, and frankly, Bailey was too tired, and too impatient, to keep up the bullshit. His offer of buying her drink prompted Bailey to look down into her glass before she smirked at him. "I don't know, I think my answer probably warranted both, don't you?" He could buy her drink now, and another in the future, if he wanted to. At least then she had him on the hook if she ran into him in this place again. Good liquor could get to be expensive, and Bailey enjoyed drinking it enough that she wasn't one to ever turn down the offer of someone else buying it for her. It wasn't her problem if the guy pulling out his wallet thought she owed him something for it. Nick didn't seem like that type of jackass though, although Bailey knew her tastes well enough to know she probably wouldn't say no to him.
Nick laughed. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said lightly, even though it wasn’t hard in the slightest. “But you’re right. Both, then.” He pulled a pen out of a coat pocket and grabbed one of the nearby bar napkins to scribble down his name, number, and ‘IOU 1 (?) drink.’ Nick pushed it toward Bailey to take. It was possible they’d just run into each other at this bar or another at some point, but possibilities were more clear when information was exchanged. She could contact him or not. He was single again and had plenty of time in the evenings, so why not put it out there?
Bailey took the napkin, examining it before she pursed her lips briefly, amused. "You're not going to fake number me, are you?" She was teasing, of course, and she folded the napkin to slip into the back pocket of her jeans. Hopefully she would remember to take it out before she did her laundry. She couldn't remember the last time a guy had written his number down her. Everything was passed through cell phones these days, so it was kind of charming to have that napkin. "Thanks, Nick Cooke. Anytime you want to buy me a drink for some deep, dark insight into Point Pleasant, you just let me know."
Nick liked touching physical paper when it came to important things, and he considered giving his number to a woman important, so it felt natural to write it down. Maybe that dated him, age-wise, but he didn’t care. Bailey didn’t look like some dewy-eyed Millennial herself, so whatever. She would use it or she would lose it, at least he’d given it a shot. “Get in touch,” he said with a nod toward where she’d tucked his number. “And you’ll be at the top of my list for deep dark insights.” He flashed her a grin and pulled his wallet out to settle up with the bartender. He’d had his drink and had a good talk with someone new, it was time to not push his luck and go elsewhere. Not that there were a lot of options in Point Pleasant, but there was another bar and a few food places open late, so Nick figured he could find somewhere to be. Once he’d paid, he stood up and flashed Bailey another smile. “Nice meetin’ you, miss,” he told her, adding a bit of Georgia drawl for fun. “Be safe getting home.”
The phone number on a napkin might have dated him age-wise, but she liked it. She was someone who would have probably done the same, rather than have some stranger's number in her phone, especially if she wasn't sure she would ever call it. But with Nick... she would probably call it. Eventually. Bailey lifted her glass to toast him. "I always do. Nice to meet you too, Nick." And it was. He was interesting and good looking, and if nothing else, she would get a free drink or two out of him later. In the meantime, she would work and maybe see if any of his books were in the library to skim through.