ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟɪᴇsᴛ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ (weaponizing) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-01-03 08:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, dan smith, gamora |
Who: Dan Smith & Gamora
What: Finding a watering hole, making friends
When: Recently?
Where: The Double Tap
Rating/Warnings: Very PGish
Status: Complete
It wasn’t like Gamora was very picky when it came to where she drank - sometimes, even doing it at home was nice. You could avoid the jangle of voices that came with a crowded bar, the slump of men and women over their pint glasses, anguish lost in all the hubbub and usually one or two people crying in a corner. Gamora didn’t have the patience for anyone crying in a corner. But sometimes she wanted a place where she could watch smoke twist (and she didn’t smoke, but if other people wanted to blacken their lungs why should she care) and form curls in the gloomy atmosphere, illuminated by age-speckled lights. Maybe a better phrase would be a den of alcoholism and debauchery, reeking of that unwashed stench. You know, sweat and body odor. At least in a place like that she would probably find walls lined with good selections, rather than a menu of dumb ‘beverages’ that were basically just alcoholic soda. This place called Double Tap would do for now. It looked like what she was searching for, at least from the outside - doubtful it was a hipster bar on the inside, but sometimes appearance were deceiving. Still, she’d check it out. Her new job at Stark Industries was all ‘new employee orientation’ and an endless amount of paperwork - before she got frustrated enough to wipe her ass with it, she needed a drink and to mentally prepare herself for the next day. Into the bar she went, wearing distressed jeans and lace-up over the knee boots that probably still had bloodstains on the heels from where she smashed her foot into a very breakable nose belonging to street harassers, with a ‘wish you were here’ t-shirt featuring a cartoon of an open shark’s mouth lined with teeth. When she first moved, the weather was freezing and now it was mild again - the whiplash was confusing, but it meant that all she needed was a moto jacket over her shirt and she was fine. Now. To pull up a stool and decide what to order. If Gamora was looking for a dive, she had certainly found it. Dan had done a few cosmetic fixes to the bar when he’d initially gotten it: replaced the old rotting tables and chairs, fixed the tears and cracks in the booth cushions so they wouldn’t be biting patrons’ asses, replaced the old cracked and fogged mirror behind the bar, cleaned a few of the windows of years’ worth of dingy buildup of unknown origins. Either replaced or trashed the neon adverts for beer that had flickered at seizure inducing frequencies. The smell of cigars and cigarettes still permeated the place. It came from deep within the wooden floor and ceiling made of exposed beams. Dan didn’t much mind the smell himself, and none of his regulars seemed to either. After a while, you didn’t really even notice it. Much. California may have had a state-wide ban on smoking in bars, but Dan refused to put up No Smoking signs. People had a right to smoke if they wanted to or not. Those infuriatingly manipulative Truth ad campaigns airing on the “hip” channels coupled with the Surgeon General’s warning slapped on every pack of cigarettes were enough. If one chose to smoke even with all that blaring in their eyes and ears, then they could. Alcohol caused its fair share of disease and death, were they going to ban that next? As for second-hand smoke, well, as far as Dan was concerned, if someone came into the Double Tap worried about what a few lungfuls of tar and nicotine would do to them in the span of a few scant hours, then they didn’t belong in his bar anyway. Dan’s little touch-ups made the place passable as a bar. Dan loved the fact that it was a dive, an utter shithole. Proud of it, in fact. The one major update he had made was replace the antique jukebox with something newer, fancier and didn’t play “Come On Eileen” regardless of the selection. Tonight it was playing an interesting mix of classic 70’s rock and 90’s grunge, a combination that went oddly well together. Dan was behind the bar as usual, dressed in a pair of well-fitting dark blue trousers with faint black pinstripes. A matching blue tie (minus the stripes) hung loose around his neck over a white button down dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His bar was a dive, but that didn’t mean Dan had to dress as shabby. He was shamelessly flirting with an older woman at the bar. A regular since the bar had opened, the woman was old enough to be a grandmother to half of the other patrons in the place. She had the markings of once being something of a pin-up in her youth, however, those looks were now fading fast under age. The flirting was harmless in both directions, however, her tips for the extra attention went a long way. Dan had no shame in admitting he was a whore for money. And what did it hurt, paying a little extra attention to an old woman? Said former pin-up nudged Dan’s shoulder and indicated with the lit end of her cigarette down the bar to the new woman who had come sauntering up in shitkickers and leather. She then patted Dan’s arm - go get’er, Tiger - and laughed into her glass. Bar rag over his shoulder, Dan made his way down to where the woman had bellied up to the bar, a charming smile on his face as he greeted her. “What’ll ya have tonight, darlin’?” Firstly, the response to that term of endearment, darlin’, even dripping in the accent du jour (she hadn’t heard anything like that in SoCal, not really) was Gamora’s ever-patented resting bitch face. It was the type of resting bitch face that inspired galleries in dedication to how utterly right it was. Secondly, the response to what she was having tonight was “Negroni,” a simple order, the drink made with screaming red Campari, gin, some other diesel fuel - and it resulted in a concoction that was bitter as fuck. “No variations, no soda water. Just the original.” Gamora always went for bitterness over sweetness - it was who she was. She checked the vodka-and-cranberry at the door. Though you could tell that some people who tried to be hardcore ordered a Negroni and their face scrunched up at the first sip. Amusing. Ha. Made even a robot like her crack a smile sometimes. “Nice place you’ve got here,” she added, crossing her legs, toe tapping on the bottom of her stool. “You don’t sound like you’re from this neck of the woods though.” The diesel fuel masquerading as alcohol Dan could supply, but Campari - liqueur infused with herbs and fruits? Did something in the old bar seem to indicate that they served top shelf liquor? Well, it so happened that Dan had a few bottles of this and that, gathering dust on the shelves behind him. Lucky girl. The vermouth hadn’t been touched since Dan had opened the place. It was almost a call for celebration. Dan did catch the look the woman gave him at being called “darlin” and he couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Darling may have been a catch all phrase when he Dan had no other name to use, like the way those high class brits used the term “love” or whatever - but that look he was getting was pretty amazing. It was a rare talent indeed to look beautiful and capable of ripping out the throat of someone who simply sniffled the wrong way. “Negroni it is,” he answered her, that same charming smile never faltering for a moment. He turned and pulled those dusty bottles down from the shelf, two circles left behind in the dust marked where they had been. He went about mixing her drink, looking like he was born for the sole purpose of bartending. He laughed again as he did. It was the first time anyone had mentioned the lazy way he formed his words, leaving letters off the end and occasionally running them together. Detroit, nor the rest of Michigan, really had a cadence that separated it from the rest of the country. It wasn’t particularly clear where Dan had picked up his particular way of speaking. Likely from his own father. “I’m not,” he said as he placed her glass of petrol fuel in front of her. “Ya wanna take a guess on where I’m from?” Oh, so he did have the necessary fire engine-colored liquor. Gamora was impressed. She’d have taken a whiskey, neat if he didn’t - but a bar that contained a good selection and surprises in dusty bottles was one she’d definitely come back to. “Thank you,” she said as she took the glass, and lifted it to her lips for a sip - the bartender knew his stuff, based on the taste of her beverage, and she actually smiled. A little. It was a baby version that would one day grow up to reveal teeth. As for where he was from, and her guess - she was pretty sure she’d get it in one or two. Those dark, gargoyle eyes squinted, a head tilt as she assessed him. “Detroit, or Chicago - but given the southern inflection to your voice, I would guess the first. Those from the more affluent parts of the city tend to sound as if they come from Wisconsin, or Canada. But those of the working class are, at most, two generations back from southern heritage - this is due to the large boom in population in the 1930s, people traveling north for the good pay factory jobs provided.” She lifted a brow expectantly. “How did I do?” Dan leaned back, arms folded loosely over his chest. Impressive. “Yer right about Detroit,” he said, “but wrong about the southern bit. My dad’s first generation Irish American.” He shrugged, “My grandparents spoke like they were fresh off the boat. Da, though, he didn’t have much of the old lilt save for a few things here and there most people could pinpoint if they listened well enough.” And Dan had an even more watered-down version of that, mixed with whatever native influence came out in the speech of those in the neighborhood he’d grown up in. He could easily see how the way he spoke could be mistaken for a southern drawl. Some may have been offended by that, but for Dan it made it easier to confuse wouldbe enemies. “Interestin’ history lesson, though,” he went on. “Didn’t teach any of that when I was in school.” That charming smile turned into something a little more crooked. “But’cher the first person to actually get it right. Fer that, first drinks on the house.” First generation Irish? Well, what do you know. This was a nation of immigrants - that’s what made it so great. Insincere apologies to Trump, who disagreed. Gamora set her glass down, fingertip idly tracing the rim. “Saint Patrick’s Day in Detroit is a large affair, from what I know.” She had never been, but she studied her history - it was one of her favorite subjects in school, mostly because her father discouraged her straying very far from where she was raised, and discouraged a focus on other efforts besides becoming a soldier for his cause, his protection. All that money she was set to some day inherit. But she liked to live dangerously. The first drink on the house was nice too. A perk she was not expecting. “I read people. It’s what I do,” she said, by way of explaining her quick assessment. “I’m Gamora.” “Dan,” the bartender introduced himself in kind. Dan Smith. Didn’t exactly ring Irish to the ear. Probably had a bit of northern Brit in his lineage somewhere. Not at all surprising given the violent and bloody history between England and Ireland. “Gamoras a nice name,” he went on. Beautiful really, but that may have been presumptuous to say on a first meeting. It had a dangerously exotic bite to it that made it memorable. “Unique.” Then, done with the formalities of name exchange, moved on to a much more interesting topic the beauty in front of him had brought up. “Y’read people fer a livin’?” That was a handy trait to have, valuable in so many different walks of life. It was a trait that Dan himself wished he had more strength in. “Or does it just come naturally?” “Both. More so the first than the second. I do private security, as one of my jobs.” She was not what she’d call a ‘people person,’ and so she had to actively learn to read them - part of her training with Psychology, in her line of work. Gamora started off as a newbie who was content to dropkick anyone who seemed threatening to either her or her clients - but one could not be overly violent in their approach. Thanos wanted her to succeed for mostly his own benefit, not deal with lawsuits. Sipping on her drink, her expression remained smooth and impassive - no grimacing at how intensely bitter the flavor was, or even savoring of it, at least not outwardly. She was not a woman who wore her emotions on her sleeve - you’d be guessing for days, to try to suss out what went on in that head of hers. “How do you like Orange County, Dan? It must have something unique, that drew an Irish boy here from Detroit.” Unique was a generous word, given what she’d seen thus far. Her interviews with Stark Industries hadn’t mentioned the particular nuances of this unbelieveable world she’d immersed herself in. Unique was definitely a term one could use for the county. Dan had resided in the living space above the bar while he’d been doing the renovations and he still resided there now. In the many months it had taken to turn the bar from a roach trap into a place people would dare set foot in, Dan occasionally heard about various odd things, but he hadn’t really paid much attention. Everything had seemed normal to him. That is until he found that note tacked to the bulletin board near the bar’s entrance and made the mistake of logging on to that damn forum. Didn’t mention any of this to the exotic beauty seated on the other side of the bar. Unless one of the patrons mentioned something odd (or something odd came wandering in, as had been the case a couple of weeks ago), Dan said nothing. It actually kind of astounded him that they were just as clueless as he had been a scant few weeks ago. No one even mentioned the snow. “This bar’s what brought an Irish boy here from Detroit,” is how he answered Gamora’s question and he did so with a proud grin. It was a mostly true answer. He wasn’t in the habit of talking openly about his other profession. People always seemed to find him out just fine when they needed him. However, that made talking with Gamora, who did security, all the more exciting. “I was gonna sell it, but I fell in love with’er the moment I stepped inside.” And who could blame him? The place was an absolute gem. Gamora supposed she could see why he fell in love with the place - it seemed to suit him. Still, that was a long way to travel to own a business when there were clearly other dives to fix up and make into the gem of the neighborhood. But it wasn’t really in her nature to pry about something like this. If the rickety bar was a front for money laundering or something, then who cared. Everyone had their secrets, their skeletons - even she did. The ‘security’ slash corporate spy. What could she say, Stark offered a good dental plan. “I hope you two are very happy together,” she smirked, folding her arms on the bartop. “And if I’m keeping you from your clientele, sorry about that. Feel free to let me drown happily in the bottom of a bottle.” The Double Tap wasn’t exceptionally crowded that evening. It wasn’t exceptionally crowded on any evening. Dan could see everything he needed to right from where he stood. “Yer not keepin’ me from anything.” He said, “the folks in here now are regulars. They know if they need me all they gotta do is yell.” Something none of them seemed to have any problem doing. At that moment all of his patrons seemed satisfied with their drinks – even the former pin-up at the other end of the bar was still nursing her tonic and gin, chain smoking like a proper chimney and had turned her flirtations towards another man, who seemed just as flattered to get her attention. All was right in this little world and Dan decided he may as well join them. What was the point of owning a bar if you didn’t get to drink whenever you wanted? He got himself a glass and a couple of those dusty rarely used bottles from the top shelf. “Don’t get very many new faces, is the point,” he went on as he fixed himself a drink. “What made ya want t’ come into my little bar tonight?” The chainsmoking former pinup queen earned an amused glance from Gamora, dark eyes flitting toward where the woman was basking in the glow of attention, like it was the good ol’ days. Dan certainly seemed to have his share of interesting regulars, if these were the ones. There must be something they found comforting about the bar, if they kept coming back. Then again, it was always nice to have a ‘place’ you could go to when you needed to recharge. Or swim in liquor for a little while. “Just moved to the area and I’m looking for new places to go. I don’t know, the ambiance appealed to me,” she said, with an upward twist of her lips - halfway on its destination to a smile, there we go. “Looks like I chose right, since you can make a good Negroni. Do you live around here too?” She’d have guessed bachelor, in an apartment, since she wasn’t getting white picket fence and 2.5 kids sorts of vibes from Dan the bartender. Two for two. Gamora’s training to read people had been time well spent. Though, it really didn’t take a skilled profiler to determine that Dan wasn’t the type to settle down and “live the dream” so to speak. There was something just a little dangerous about him, too – a certain vibe he gave off and most of the time wasn’t even aware of. “Ambiance.” Dan laughed at the term. His deep, rough, lazy voice rolled the noise up from his chest. “Sure, darlin’,” he chuckled. “This place’s got ‘ambiance’ in spades.” He finished mixing his drink. Two fingers worth of delicious hard alcohol. Nectar of the gods. “Yea, I live close by.” Right above the bar, in fact, but that wasn’t something Dan disclosed lightly, given his “day job” and all. “Comfortable place. Nothin’ special.” He looked at Gamora over the top of his glass thoughtfully. It was a bartender’s trade to listen to their clients’ woes and in the short time Dan had opened his bar, he’d heard plenty of them. He had certain innate skill of his own when it came to reading people. It had made him a pretty good cop and a decent detective once. Everyone had their tells. Gamora, though. She was a tough read. Like looking at a beautifully bound book that promised a fascinating story. However, once that book was opened, all that was inside were blank pages, as though the ink inside had been somehow erased. He didn’t let his gaze linger on her too long. His father had raised him better than to stare. “How are ya liking it so far?” He asked referring to her move to Orange County. “Orange County can be quite a trip. So I’ve been told.” “So you’ve been told?” Gamora repeated, with interest. “Have you not experienced it firsthand?” It was a pretty large county and easy to get lost in - though maybe for some, that was a good thing - so it seemed simple enough to blend in around here, to not always be a part of what made the experience a trip. “But I like it so far. It’s just...big. I’m from Hawaii, the population pales in comparison to the OC - there are about three million people just in the county alone.” Honolulu, where Gamora could remember growing up, boasted less than one million people. It was amazing to consider how big California was in comparison to her home. “Though I have to say, the beaches here pale in comparison too,” she added. “That could just be my bias talking.” But all the unique sands, colors you would never expect, red and gold and even green - it didn’t seem real sometimes, or at least, sometimes it just felt like a whole other galaxy back in Hawaii. “Mm,” Dan nodded as he took a drink. “Aside from the snow an’ some dude pretending t’ be Yukon Cornelius wanderin’ in here a week or so ago, not really. But apparently dangerous stuff happens here.” He shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Can’t get a straight answer from anyone about what kinda stuff that is or why. Between you an’ me, darlin’, I don’t believe any o’ it.” “Yukon Cornelious,” Gamora snorted a laugh. “From Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I haven’t seen that claymation in ages.” It was a classic, along with Frosty the Snowman; she could remember celebrating the holidays with Thanos, sometimes, as terrible at it as he was - Honolulu never experienced a white Christmas, but she still had those light-hearted moments as a child, with all the lights and Shaka Santa and his partner Tutu Mele; it was fun for kids, and alright, even whimsical for adults too. “That is very odd though. The lack of straight answers.” Maybe people just didn’t know the answers? Hard to say - she’d stick around and see what she could suss out, however. It wasn’t in her nature to give up at anything, and she wouldn’t now, especially with the opportunity to work at a place like Stark Industries. And be miles away from Thanos. “We will see what happens, I guess,” she shrugged. “Perhaps the place will make a believer out of us both.” Her drink was done, so she stuck a nice tip into the jar and slid off of the stool. “I should get going for now though. It was nice meeting you, Dan.” Dan laughed. “Yea. Guy had the look down perfect an’ everythin’. Wrong place fer him t’ walk inta, though. My regulars aren’t really the festive type.” He took a sip of his drink. It was obvious that those who frequented Valarnet didn’t have all of the answers, but something straight forward would have been appreciated. When he asked the “what’s”, so far all he’d gotten were vague “you’ll see” and veiled answers as though some huge secret was being kept from him. Dan wasn’t much of a fan of that. He supposed he would see. Sooner or later. The tip left on the bar was most appreciated and Dan picked it up to tuck away. “Nice meetin’ ya too, Gamora.” He smiled and raised his glass to her, “drive safe out there. And I hope t’ see ya back in here again.” Especially if she tipped like that again. |