Who: Dan and York When: Backdated to late March Where: Dan’s Bar What: Random Encounter Rating/Warnings: Low/None Status: Complete when posted
The bar that York normally went to was closed. While he wasn’t sure why, he suspected it may have something to do with health code violations. Thankfully, every time he went there, he ordered bottled beer, so he wasn’t worried about staph infections, or anything. But still, it meant he had to find a new place to go and watch March Madness.
York found a new place on Yelp that wasn’t far from his home, and decided to check it out. He parked nearby, and inspected the outside. It looked good, so he went in and wandered to the bar.
Dan wasn’t in the best of moods. This was the first time he’d been able to open his hole-in-the-wall bar in almost two weeks. If he ever figured out which patron had come in spreading their nasty ass germs all over the place, they were getting a visine shot in their drink.
At least Dan was on the mend now. Still, it had been two weeks of some kind of viral infection that had made him cough until he’d gagged and the sheer act of getting up to go to the can may as well have been a marathon run considering how much energy it took. He wouldn’t have minded closing the Double Tap down for two weeks if he’d been well enough to make his money on his other job, but who would want to hire a gun who could barely stand, much less draw his weapon?
Still hopped up on over-the-counter drugs (as well as a special cough syrup a contact had brought him), Dan had managed to finally open his bar and make some goddamn money tonight. His voice was still gravely when he greeted his first customer of the night. “Evenin’. What can I get fer ya?”
“Whatever’s on tap.” York supplied as he settled on the chair at the bar. His eyes moved to the bartender’s face for a moment, and a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. Inside he debated whether or not to even mention it, but his heart won out over his head in the end. “You all right? Sorry, but you look a bit… tired.”
“Ah, yeah,” Dan said with a dismissive gesture. “I ‘ad a bug the last couplea weeks, but I’m on the mend now.” Dan noted the slight frown on his customer’s face. “Relax, man, I ain’t contagious anymore.” So far as he knew. “I ain’t gonna getcha sick. Whaddya have?”
“That's not what I was… I was just concerned you weren't well.” York said, honestly. He really was more concerned about other people than himself. He'll, he'd probably offer to bring the other man chicken soup, even though they'd just met. “But it's good to know I won't be contracting malaria with my buzz tonight.”
It was rare in Dan’s world that he would come across someone as selfless as to be concerned over the health of a bartender whom he didn’t know from a crack in the pavement. There was something wholesome and honest about this man’s appearance, even with the obviously blind eye. Somehow that only managed to make him appear even more trustworthy.
Dan chuckled. He set a glass down on the bar in front of the man. “No malaria,” he promised. “But I can promise ya some good cheap booze. Whatcha have?”
“Beer me, my good man.” York said, giving a little smile. The scars over the right hand side of his face glistened a little in the neon light coming from the beer advertisements that all bars have hanging around on the walls. He wasn’t thinking about his face, though. He was thinking about beer and girls. (What else, man?)
“This is a great place. I’m surprised I haven’t been here before,” York added, making a little small talk while the bartender grabbed him a non-malaria beer.
Beer was always a favorite go-to for anyone. And since the one-eyed patron hadn’t specified what kind of beer he wanted, Dan made the choice for him. Most of his patrons liked cheap beer, usually Pabst Blue Ribbon or Budwiser, but Dan had a notion that this particular patron was a cut slightly above the rest. Dan’s fingers splayed over the taps before coming up on a stout he thought the man might like. The name was little known, which was a damn shame in Dan’s opinion. It was great beer given the price.
“Thanks,” he answered as he expertly poured. “Haven’ been open all that long. Prolly…oh…what…’bout a year?” His voice was smooth and relaxed bringing out that acquired lilt of a second generation Irishman. “I got the place off an old timer lookin’ fer a life change. Needed a lot o’ work, but I wanted t’ keep some o’ that old bar charm.” In other words, Dan was pleased that his bar had the look and feel of a dive, but he had put in a lot of work to make sure that the taps were in clean working order and that the tables, chairs and floors weren’t going to collapse on some unsuspecting individual.
“’ow ‘bout yerself?” Dan asked as placed the thick foamy beer down in front of the man. “Ya a California native, or are ya a transplant?”
“Nah, I’m a transplant from the midwest.” York accepted the pint of beer and lifted it in a little ‘cheers’ gesture. Then he sipped. It was good stuff, he was impressed, as his bouncing eyebrows could attest to. He hadn’t really been expecting good beer. But hey. “Via the marines.” He added, then set the glass down. “It’s been a pretty long road to get here, but I’m satisfied with where I ended up.”
Dan raised a slight brow. Another marine? Interesting. Judging by the man’s eye, Dan wagered he wasn’t active in the marines any longer. One never ceased being a marine, or so that was what Dan had always been lead to believe. “Ah, well then. If that’s the case, then yer beer’s on tha house. Least I kin do fer those in the armed forces.”
There weren’t a lot of other people in the bar yet that evening, so Dan had some time to kill before the evening brought in the regulars just getting off of work. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “So yer gonna put down roots here in sunny cali, are ya?”
“Hey, thanks, man.” York said, giving the bartender a little grin. Then his attention turned up to the television in the bar. It was playing some sports game, or a reporter reporting on a sports game. He only had a moment to catch up before the bartender was talking to him again, so York swallowed his mouthful of beer and set the glass down on the bar again. “I think so. My brother lives here with his wife and son. The weather’s not too shabby, either.”
The TV over the bar was perpetually on. Dan wasn’t a huge sports nut himself, but plenty of his regulars were, so the TV was almost always tuned to ESPN, or some version of ESPN, or one of the network channels if a game was playing. This evening it was college basketball, of which Dan had no clue about.
The weather was one of the few things about Orange County that was predictable. At least it had been so far (December’s strange blanket of snow notwithstanding). Dan nodded thoughtfully as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and proceeded to light it. “Sounds nice,” he said, “havin’ family nearby. An’ all in all, this ain’t a bad place to settle. It’s got somethin’ fer everyone, if ya know where t’ look,” he smirked.
York turned his attention back to the bartender, wondering what that meant exactly. if ya know where t’ look. It was an interesting thought, really. That this was one of those few places in the world that did have something for everyone. He nodded, lowering his glass again after a swallow.
“Very true. Very true.” York shifted on his stool. “I’m still getting used to everything around here. The freak incidents, the weird Dreams.” He mentioned it off-handedly, wondering if that was a weird thing to say.
Dan raised a brow. Most of his regulars weren’t particularly affected by the strange things that happened in and around Orange county. At least not directed. They would make off-hand comments from time to time (“I heard this weird thing on the news,” or “did you see such-and-such” or something like that), but for the most part they seemed blissfully clueless as to what was really going on. This guy seemed to know something. “Yeah?” Dan asked attempting to play off his interest as simply making conversation. “What kinda dreams ya havin’?”
“Did you go see that movie The Martian?” York asked. It wasn’t like his Dreams were that similar to the film, but when he watched the movie it made him think about his armor. “The movie reminds me of my Dreams a bit. Though, I’m more military than that guy was. No growing potatoes in my Dreams.” He lifted his drink again for another sip.
“Nah,” Dan shook his head. “Read the book, though.” He looked at the man carefully. “So yer a Dreamer, then?” He asked. “An’ ya Dream o’ bein’ out in space?” Another weird coincidence, however, Dan was starting to think that there were no such things as coincidences in a place like this. It seemed everything happened for a reason. “Hm. I know someone else who Dreams ‘bout bein’ in space. She’s military too. Like you.” Dan narrowed his eyes. Wouldn’t it just be his luck if this was that brother Carolina had told him about.
“Yep.” York lifted the glass to sip from it. When the other man mentioned a woman Dreaming about the military, it perked his interest. Though, he was thinking about those other women he’d seen posting on Valarnet. Commander Shepard? Or the one that worked at the Agency. Natalie? There were a couple of others, too--he didn’t know what they all Dreamed about, but he hadn’t spent that much time investigating. “It’s a pretty small world. I bet you hear a lot about it working behind the bar.”
“Ya’d be surprised,” Dan shrugged casually. “Most o’ my customers don’ seem t’ notice the really weird shit. It’s almost like they got blinders on or somethin’. Or they jus’ can’t see it.” It hadn’t dawned on Dan until that moment that might just be the case. Maybe because he and the other members of the forum and they had been gifted (or cursed depending on your point of view), that they were also privileged enough to know the weird events first hand.
Hey, maybe they did have blinders on. Or something. Some sort of weird, supernatural blinders that never seemed to come off? Or there was something else in the water that made them more ready to swallow all the bullshit that The Agency spewed to try and explain the ridiculous phenomenon that happened in Orange County. York had no idea. And he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.
“My brother and sister-in-law are like that,” he hated admitting. York loved his family, but his sister-in-law was ready to believe anything the news told her. “They just… watch the news and that’s fact.”
“Maybe fer them it’s better that way,” Dan shrugged. “It isn’ like they could do anythin’ ‘bout it. Most o’ my customers come in ‘ere ‘cause they’ve ‘ad shitty days, ‘ave shitty lives, or jus’ wanna sit an’ relax an’ not ‘ave to worry fer a change. Life’s full o’ worries on its own without the added complications of what really goes on ‘round ‘ere. I mean wouldja want yer brother an’ sister-in-law involved with alla that crap?”
“No.” York answered immediately. Not at all. Especially not with Roger being so young and impressionable. York was incredibly protective of his little nephew. He made a mental note to call his brother and set up a babysitting night. It’d been too long since he’d spent time with the little guy. “No, I think it’s better that they don’t know. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know.” He added, almost darkly, as he finished the last of the beer in his glass.
“Mmm,” Dan agreed. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket and went about lighting on. Sounded to him as if the vet had stories to tell. Who better to tell than your local bartender. “I’m with ya there, mate,” he stated. “Too much weird shit I could go the rest o’ me life not knowin’ about or seein’, But there’s no gettin’ outta o’ it now, is there?” Not that Dan had been told so far. It seemed as though they were all doomed to this for as long as they lived.
“Nope.” York lifted the glass as if in a toast. There really wasn’t any getting out of it. They were doomed to the weird forever.