Max Lasko (maximus_prime) wrote in supernextdoor, @ 2012-07-30 17:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | 10.19.11, katya, katya and max, max |
Getting Ready for Happy Hour
Who: Katya and Max
What: Meeting co-workers
When: 10.19 - Wednesday afternoon
Where: The Stumble Inn
Warning: Language
Max didn't work the lunch shift much, preferring to tend bar when they were the busiest. During the day the bar didn't get much business anyway. But come five o'clock? Yeah. Besides, it let him take Jayne to school and pick her up and take her home or to work well before happy hour started. So Max rolled in about four pm, dopey smile still on his face after dropping off his wife. Yeah, the giddiness might wear off. Eventually. Maybe. Okay, so he hoped not.
Dumping his jacket in the office, Max grabbed the night till for the bar and went out to send the day bartender to count out and head home. Counting money fast was something he was far too good at, he could usually eyeball a stack and know if there was the right amount in it. But for the sake of the people who never needed to know he was sticky fingered grifter and an ex-hunter, he was counting his til at a more normal pace.
Katya was drinking the largest cup of coffee in the world when she came in for her shift. She’d been up at a normal time, so her sleep pattern wasn’t quite set for bar work just yet. She’d need the caffiene to keep her going til close. “Hey,” she nodded in greeting, leaning on the bar. She was wearing a Stumble Inn tshirt under her jacket, the neckline cut out to show off her cleavage, jeans tight enough that they looked sprayed on. She was already getting checked out by three guys in the place. “I’m looking for Max?”
Four, although Max was being sneaky about it. "Funny, because my name is Max," he told her with a grin as he closed up the till. "You must be the new bartender Dante was grumbling about. He did mention you were a total hottie, but he said it like it was a bad thing. He's been moody since he went back to the force, so I'm going to chalk it up to that." He leaned back against the bar, arms folded over his chest. "And just to be fair, since you know my name, you're gonna have to tell me yours."
She shrugged off her coat, laughing. “Yeah, that might be because I told him I don’t fuck barstaff, cops, or bosses.” She held up three fingers. “Three strikes, he’s out.” Yeah, she didn’t see any point in hiding the fact that Dante had hit on her. She was confident enough in herself to be smug about people flirting with her. Had to be, to work in a bar. “I’m Katya. And to be fair to Dante, if he only fit one of those criteria, I’d be tempted to bend the rules. Not often you meet a guy like that.” Hell, she was tempted anyway.
Max laughed and shook his head. "You're gonna strike out here a lot then," he teased. "Almost everybody who comes through here is a cop. We're just getting started and most of our business comes from the precinct." He shook his head at her. "Yeah, you don't. So what's really stopping you?" It was a good point and Dante could sure as hell use the relief.
Katya shook her head, though she was laughing. “Oh, no. I’m not letting you play matchmaker before I even start my first shift.” She rounded the end of the bar, still holding her jacket. “Like I said, three strikes. I’ve dated way too many bartenders, been stood up by too many cops, and had way too many bosses trying to take advantage of me, to go near a guy who’s all three.” She shrugged. “Besides, I kinda like this place. I’m not gonna risk my job for a quick fuck before I even start.” Tempting as it was.
"Well, go punch in and then I'll try again," Max shot back with a grin. "Dante doesn't tend bar. That is my job. When he is here, he cooks. And mingles with the cops who drink all the beer." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because you are the type who can be taken advantage of? Please. And nobody's going to fire you for putting a smile on the man's face. God knows he could use it after everything he's been through."
Katya snorted, but did as she was told. Punching in and dumping her jacket and bag, she headed back behind the bar, tying her hair back as she did so. “What did you mean about ‘everything he’s been through’?” She quirked an eyebrow. “He just broke up with your sister, right? Bad breakup?” Which, yeah, that was another reason not to go there. Not wanting to be rebound girl.
Max frowned. "My sister dumped all of us," he admitted grimly. "Lost her damned mind. I think they were over before that though. She's treated him pretty crappy from the beginning. She was just using him if you ask me. Which I know, is a pretty shitty thing to say about your sister, but Phee deserves it. And he deserves better. I'm not asking you to marry the guy. Dante's interested in you or he wouldn't have been so peeved about the whole deal. What I want to know is what you're really worried about here? If it doesn't work, he's not the kind of guy who holds a grudge. If it does work, yay."
Katya started loading up a tray of dirty glasses, ready to go into the glasscleaner. “What I’m worried about is the fact that we’re both snow leopards that mate for life.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “You ever seen two weres going at it?” She shook her head. “No way am I taking that risk. I don’t care how hot he is. I’m not ending up stuck with some guy for the rest of my life just because he makes my beast all bite-happy.” She’d seen it happen before; it sucked. Nothing worse than being stuck with a one-night-stand because one of you might go crazy if you didn’t.
"No, I have not," he admitted. "I have never seen one were go at it. But the way my brother looked after Kittastrophe was done with him, I can imagine times two is pretty brutal." He shuddered, but for completely different reasons. He didn't know how his brother could stand to touch Artemis, but yeah, off topic. "Okay, see, that? Makes perfect sense. I didn't realize the whole biting-for-mating-for-life thing was that strong. My bad."
“Kittastrophe?” She asked, eyebrow quirking. “I hear a story there. C’mon, spill.” Because really, anything that was not Mr Mother Hen here trying to get her to fuck Dante, was good with her. And yeah, the mating thing was a large part of the reason she didn’t want anything to happen with Dante. The other, stupid, cowardly part was that Dante was exactly the type of guy she always fell for; exactly the type of guy that always broke her fucking heart, and made her want to run away again. New city, new job, and she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to do it again.
Yeah, because she hadn't started with the 'If he weren't my boss or a cop' shit? Max didn't fabricate Katya's interest in Dante after all. He would have no reason to be all 'Okay, so why not really?' if she hadn't been nearly to the 'if only' epic sigh point. "You will know Kittastrophe when you see her," he said. "Trust me, she'll roll in here. She likes to pretend she's important and scary. Since my brother is trying to save her from her own bitchiness, I am trying to resist the urge to punch her in the face every time she opens her mouth and is an evil cunt. But feel free to if you get the urge. She's a were too. She can take it." That was really way more than he wanted to talk about Artemis about. "So where you from?"
“Ok. Bitchy were, punch her in the face. Got it.” She nodded, grinning a little as she loaded the tray into the glasscleaner, taking out a tray of clean glasses, still covered in condensation. “Me? I’m from all over. Spent some time in New Orleans, San Diego, San Francisco...Seattle, way too rainy for me.” She shrugged. “Been travelling ever since high school. What about you?” She glanced over at him, curious. “This place just opened, right?”
Max chuckled. "I think I like you already," he grinned. He wanted to see Artemis' face if Katya did punch her for being a cunt without preamble. He was checking the alcohol levels in all the bottles. They looked pretty good. Cops weren't really a mixed drink crowd. So mostly it was beer. "Same," he said. "We travelled all when we were growing up. But I like here." He nodded. "Last weekend. Good crowd, too."
“Good tips?” She asked, eyebrow raised. Because really, that was what mattered to her. She tidied the clean glasses away, breaking from their conversation a moment to serve a couple of customers, pouring their drinks quickly and efficiently. She had to check the menu for the prices to ring them through, but from the bartending side of things, she was clearly a pro. She’d had enough practice that she didn’t have to doublecheck orders of 3 or 4 different mixers, that she span bottles lazily in her palm as she waited for Max to finish up at the register.
Max could learn a few things from her. He watched her technique carefully, knowing he be having her make drinks later to show him how she did it so he could learn. "For you? I bet they will be," he chuckled. "Some of us don't have your assets." He gave the customer his change. "My wife made like fifty bucks in tips opening night waiting tables. So yeah, I'd say the tips are good."
“Wife?” And sure enough, when she glanced down at his left hand, there was a ring there. “What are you, like, 23? 24?” Wow, that was...depressing. But hey, the part about tips was good. She rang up her customer’s order, handing him the change with a grin and a wink. And then getting a couple of bills handed back. She tossed them in the tip jar beside the register, preening a little. Yeah, tips made her feel good about herself. Call her shallow.
"Wife," he confirmed. "We're newlyweds. It was a whirlwind romance and consider this your warning when she comes to help out if you want to avoid the happy cooties. And I'm twenty-eight. I just have a baby face." He chuckled as the customer proved him right by giving Katya a nice tip. He didn't blame her for being pleased. "Some of us aren't as allergic to commitment as others are."
Katya laughed. “Yeah, well. Commitment gives me cooties,” she teased, nudging him aside with her hip as she grabbed a glass from under the bar, filling it with water and taking a sip. She was a pretty touchy-feely person; hopefully not a problem when his wife was around. “And duly noted. Sickeningly cute newlyweds. Anything else I need to know? Like who Mr Tall, Dark, and Broody outside is?” She’d been carded by the bouncer on the way in - adorable, but totally unnecessary. There was no way in hell she looked under 21. “He’s a little overzealous on the carding front.”
"Yeah, that seems to be the popular opinion," he teased as he moved out her way. "Don't worry, I don't recommend the way I did except for equally foolish romantics as we are. And well, we didn't need any encouragement." Max chuckled. "That's my big brother, Josh. He's the head of security. And yeah, he takes his job really seriously. But since this place is crawling with cops, he doesn't want to take the chance of letting somebody drink who shouldn't be. Really, he's all bark."
“Ok, so that’s two down...third brother?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Wait, which one’s trying to save Kittastrophe from herself?” Really, she wanted to meet this chick. She’d obviously rubbed Max the wrong way, and he seemed like a pretty easy guy to get on with. But hell, she’d withhold judgement until she met the girl.
Rubbing Max the wrong way was one way to put it. "Elias," he confirmed, which answered both questions. "My twin. He's a little thinner, has lighter hair and even more with the baby face. You might have carded him, if you thought I was 23. He's the good twin, so yeah, now you know who you're stuck dealing with."
“Hey, you can’t be the evil twin,” Katya pointed out. “You don’t have a goatee.” She grinned, wickedly. “Also, I’m Russian. I know from evil, okay?” Because yes, she had totally dressed up as Generic Russian Villain Type for halloween. More than once. She was still pissed that the one good russian character in comic book films had an American accent. Not that Katya was any better, but she could put on a pretty convincing accent, thanks to her grandmother.
"My wife made me shave it off," he shot back, even if it was completely untrue. "Oh, I see how you are. So maybe we'll have to plot evil sometime. Like if Kittastrophe steps out of line." Which wouldn't take long, considering. He was mostly joking. Mostly.
She grinned, arching an eyebrow. “Lasko’s a pretty good villain name,” she said consideringly. “I’m sure we can work something out. Maybe I’ll let you be my henchman.” She winked at him. “Also, if she does, let me know. I’m a were, so I can handle her better than you. Also I’m a girl, so I have no problems with cuntpunching her.” Max, welcome to Katya’s filthy mouth. And lack of morals.
Okay, that would have been funnier if Max hadn't been a militant hunter for too long. At least the good villain name part. He managed to keep his expression light and amused when she said she could handle Artemis better than him. "My heroine," he teased. "And actually, I'd kind of like to see that." Mostly because it was poetic justice for what Artemis had done to him. "I promise not to scream 'catfight!' even. Or take bets. Not without offering you a cut of the winnings, of course."
Katya laughed. Her voice sounded like she smoked sixty a day - her laugh was the same. She hadn’t touched a cigarette in years, but it had sounded like that since was in her early teens. And yeah, it had even made her money, when she’d gotten really desperate and taken a job on a phonesex line. Fifty percent, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she offered.
Max laughed and held out his hand. "Deal," he agreed. "Okay, we should probably stop bullshitting and get to work. Once five o'clock hits, this place will be wall to wall uniforms looking drink away the shitty things people do to each other. So, get your game face on. You might want to shift your neckline just little bit. More tease, less show. Most of these guys are married and have to pretend not to look."
She shook his hand, still chuckling softly. “Duly noted.” She tugged her t-shirt back on her shoulders a little, raising the neckline a little higher. Still giving a nice view when she bent over, but it was a little more respectable. Ish. “Alright, let’s get this party started.” Stepping up to the bar, she nodded at the next person waiting, game face on. Wednesday night in a local bar? Child’s play.