Who: Zeke and Luke Where: a tavern at Pleasant Pier When: Monday night Warnings: tbd
As soon as Zeke walked through the door of the tavern, he had to wonder why the hell he had such bad luck. It seemed as though the universe was laughing its ass off at him as he contemplated the back of Luke Bradford’s arrogant blond head. Zeke had been back in town since July, and true, the town was a relatively small one, but he couldn’t understand why he’d run into Luke as many times as he had. They’d hated each other in high school, and their run-ins were only marginally better now. Maybe they had similar tastes in some things? Eh, who knew?
Zeke was stubborn enough that he didn’t even consider leaving. He’d worked all day and found himself too restless to go home, plus he was dreading the full in a few days. Distraction was key. Luke would be a fine distraction in whatever way, he thought as he crossed to the bar where, conveniently, the only empty seat was right next to the blond. He eased himself into it, sending the bartender a charming smile and ordering a Jack and coke to start out with. Finally he turned his attention to Luke. “Of all the bars in Point Pleasant, you had to walk into mine,” he said, heavy on snark, because anyone would know he wasn’t a bar owner.
Luke had been at the bar for awhile now, having gone out after finishing with work to try and distract himself from... well, life. Jade was off doing who knew what, and while things were a bit less tense at home, Luke was still finding it difficult to talk to his brother. He hadn't quite managed to find that right balance between 'parenting' and being Jade's friend, if that's what he needed. It was increasingly frustrating, but thankfully there was plenty of beer in town and Luke was on his third by the time Zeke Miller filled the empty seat beside him. It really fucking figured. Luke set his beer bottle down on the bar top and sighed before looking over at Zeke. "Pretty sure you just walked in. I've been here for awhile. You can try again, though, if you want. I know you've got some more snark in you than that."
“I got enough snark to last all night, maybe all week,” Zeke said. Not that Luke would find that surprising at all. It was crazy to him that of all the bars and restaurants in Point Pleasant, they’d managed to choose the exact same one. And maybe Luke wasn’t a classics fan or else he hadn’t felt that the allusion to Casablanca was worth commenting on. He received his drink and took a long pull from it. Zeke wasn’t that worried about getting plastered, since it seemed to take a lot more for that to happen than it used to. “So what’s got you out drinkin’ on a Monday?” He always tried to make conversation, even though they usually ended up insulting each other. That was fine; he wasn’t put off by it at all. It was how he and Luke worked.
Luke cocked a brow and nodded a bit as he took another drink. He was sure Zeke could snark all night if he wanted to. Luke just had to decide how long he wanted to put up with it. It was usually pretty chill at first, when they ran into each other, but then the insults started and that was that. They had been a lot more reactive in high school, pushing each other around any chance they got. As adults they were... well, marginally better, he supposed. Luke looked over at Zeke and smirked slightly. "Monday's got me drinking on a Monday," he said, lifting his bottle in a mock salute. "What about you?"
Zeke hated how he reacted to that smirk. It was almost visceral: his stomach tightened up, his breathing quickened for a few seconds and he felt warm all over. Luke made him feel some kind of way and he didn’t want to even contemplate what it was or why it might be. It was Luke. So he masterfully ignored it and tapped his fingers on the bar top as he arched his eyebrows. “I need to wind down after inking all day,” he said. “Booze makes my fingers feel better.” Silly, but what did it matter what he said to Luke? The guy was just going to insult him anyway.
"Does it?" Luke asked, examining his own fingers for a moment. "Numbs mine." Which wasn't that difficult after a long day of landscaping. "But, you know, booze is meant to make a lot of things feel better." It was also good for numbing a lot more than his fingers. But it felt strange to sit there and talk to Zeke Miller about why he was at a bar drinking. It was what it was and they weren't the only two people in town who liked to unwind after a long day. Everyone had their reasons. He just wasn't in the mood to bicker tonight and he hoped Zeke wouldn't purposely provoke him into an argument.
Zeke examined Luke's fingers too for a few seconds and then turned his gaze back to his drink, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Probably a lot of things, but that didn't help the situation at hand. He was reasonably intuitive, and Luke's mood seemed different than what he was used to. Maybe it made him feel less inclined to poke and prod and try to get a reaction. Everyone had off days. "And so it does," he agreed of booze making many things better. As if to punctuate that, he guzzled down the rest of what was in his glass and signaled for another one. "So what do you do when it gets cold?" It was October in Maine, so it definitely wouldn't be long. "With the landscaping? Make ice sculptures?" There was a faint smirk on his lips.
Luke was feeling rather mellow, even with Zeke sitting next to him, and frankly, he didn't want to get kicked out of the bar for picking a fight - or responding to one. If Zeke provoked him, Luke knew his temper could snap, but he was hoping the other guy would just chill. He glanced at Zeke when he downed the rest of his drink and then smirked at the question. "Nah, no ice sculptures. I've got savings, but my business doesn't stop just because it's cold. I do winter lawn prep, snow clearing, plant flowers and hedges in late winter... plenty to do. If you're looking for ice sculptures I can probably recommend a couple people. They're not cheap, though."
Surprisingly enough, Zeke didn’t hate chilling with Luke. Having a peaceful moment before what he could probably expect on Thursday night was turning out to be a good thing. Was this the first time they’d ever had a civil conversation? It might have been, actually. “Snow clearing’d keep you busy around here sometimes,” he remarked. This winter was going to be strange for him after spending the last few in New Orleans, for sure. He grinned at the thought of commissioning an ice sculpture. “I should get one done outside the shop when it gets really fuckin’ cold,” he said, nine-tenths joking. “What kind of ice sculpture screams tattoo shop?”
Luke wasn't worried about his income. He had made sure he and Jade would be all right through the winter, even if he had to budget a bit more tightly. He also didn't mind the conversation, mostly because Zeke hadn't reverted to his obnoxious, snarky persona yet. The guy was decent enough when he wasn't being a dick. Zeke's question had Luke cocking a brow in thought for a brief moment. "Shit, I don't know. A needle? Though that might give off the wrong impression to people passin' by to just see a needle sculpture out front."
“Well yeah, if it was an actual needle, I can see people thinkin’ the place is a drug den,” Zeke said. “Tattoo machines and pens don’t really look like needles.” He eyed Luke for a few seconds. “You got any tats?” He hadn’t seen the guy with a bare torso since probably high school, so it seemed like a fair question. There might or might not be ink beneath those clothes.
"Let 'em think it's a drug den," Luke said with a chuckle. "That might get you more publicity, at least." He knew the ink needle didn't look like a needle needle, but it was still funny to think about. He drank more of his beer before looking over at Zeke, his brows raised. He set his glass down and pulled his arm out of the open flannel shirt he wore. He had a white t-shirt on beneath it, so it was easy enough to tug up the short sleeve to show Zeke the Marine Corp. logo and the phrase Death before Dishonor scripted beneath it. "That's it," he told him with a shrug. "Got it a couple years ago. Haven't really felt the itch to get anymore since. Got some friends who've got full sleeves on both arms, though. Not sure why they'd want to cover up every inch of skin they got."
Zeke snorted at the idea of being known as a drug den and then finished his second drink. Damn, he wanted a third, but maybe he’d take a few moments of discretion before deciding for sure. He really didn’t need to get falling down drunk on a Monday night. Watching as Luke disrobed enough to reveal his bicep-- and definitely not letting himself think about how packed that bicep looked-- he smirked when the blond told him he didn’t know why people would want to cover up every inch of skin with tats. “You’re talkin’ to the wrong person about that,” he said, amused. He shrugged off the denim jacket he had on over a t-shirt, draping it over one leg and placing both elbows on the bar so Luke could see the full sleeves he sported on both arms. Zeke even had letters tattooed on some of his fingers. “It gets into you,” he said with a shrug. “You wanna see if you can do more, make it look better. That’s my reason, anyway.”
Amused, Luke checked out Zeke's sleeves, his eyes roaming over the various tattoos. He wondered if there were meanings behind all of them or if Zeke was just into ink. He nodded at Zeke's explanation and took another quick drink of beer before motioning to Zeke's arms. "Everyone's got their own thing. Let me rephrase... I don't think I'd want to cover up every inch of my skin. It's too nice to mask." He smirked and settled his arms back on the bar top. "Is that the only reason you get 'em? Do you got a reason behind them or just... wanting to see how good you can make them look."
“Lord, here it comes,” Zeke drawled when Luke said his skin was too nice to cover up. That was more like the Luke Bradford he was used to. He couldn’t help but laugh though. Next time they met it could be completely different, snappy and sour and argumentative. He never knew quite what to expect with Luke, and maybe that was how he liked it even if he’d never admit it out loud. It surprised him a little that Luke would ask if his tats had meaning. It was a deeper sort of conversation than they usually had. “Sure they have meaning,” he said. After a few seconds of thought he turned his left wrist over to reveal small words worked into the base of a flower: perfer et obdura. “This is my latest.” He’d had his apprentice ink it just after he’d moved to town.
Luke had always had a strong sense of self-confidence, though he knew it came across as arrogance from time to time. Not that it bothered him. Zeke Miller tended to have his own opinions about Luke, and vice versa, even if those particular opinions weren’t true. They were probably lingering resentments from how they treated each other in high school. Luke drank his beer and looked down at Zeke’s wrist. He had no idea what it meant, and Luke cocked a brow, expecting Zeke to explain. “Should I pull out my phone and use Google translate?”
“Nah, I thought you knew Latin,” Zeke said, completely deadpan. After a few seconds he relented, because he’d planned to share anyway, God only knew why. “Loosely translated it means don’t give up. It’s from Ovid.” He rubbed at the words with one finger, not caring if that last bit had made him sound pretentious. “Carry on and be tough,” he added, finishing the quote only in his head: Someday this pain will be useful to you. Damn, he had to shake himself out of this weird mood. Like Luke Bradford gave a shit about his inner struggles. Zeke felt sure he had plenty of his own. Rolling his eyes at himself, he reached for his wallet to pay for his drinks.
Despite the years between high school and this moment, Luke was still pretty well versed in Zeke Miller Sarcasm. He shot him a mild look and sipped more of his beer. “Ovid,” Luke repeated. “Roman poet.” Ha, yeah, he knew some stuff. Luke had never been very book smart, which was probably why he’d joined the Marines. But he wasn’t stupid either. Not that Zeke was implying that he was...he didn’t think anyway. “Well… you know… some people are suited for tattoos. Yours look pretty decent.” He noted how Zeke was going for his wallet and Luke grinned a bit. “Did I chase you off already?”
That was probably the closest to a compliment he’d ever had from Luke, Zeke thought wryly. It might never happen again, so he should savor it now. “I’ll be sure to put that in my next ad,” he said. “Pretty decent tats.” He slapped down enough bills on the bar to cover the drinks he’d had plus tip, suddenly longing to drink the entire night away, get wasted enough that he wouldn’t care what awaited him on Wednesday night. Fuck being a responsible adult anyway. “Nah, just can’t afford to get wasted,” he said when Luke asked if he’d chased him off. “Gotta open tomorrow.” He shrugged into his jacket after he’d put his wallet away. “You get an itch for more ink, let me know,” he said. “I’ll fix you right up.”
Luke had a quite a few drinks already tonight but had yet to feel anywhere near wasted. But he was aware that not everyone held their liquor the same, and he couldn’t blame Zeke for wanting to be clear headed in the morning. It had been a brief encounter, but a friendly enough one, and Luke supposed it was smart to leave it on a good note. “Yeah, I’ll let you know,” Luke said with a faint grin. “Have a good night.”
“Always do,” Zeke said, figuring that Luke Bradford would allow Zeke to ink him about the same time hell became an ice skating rink. Ah well. Nobody would ever know that he was musing about what it would be like to have the other man’s cut bare torso as his canvas. He headed out into the night, determined not to let himself get too preoccupied about the full coming up.