2007-06-12: The New Girl


McAlister_icon.gif Trina_icon.gif

Summary: There's a new girl at the Den of Iniquity. Curious.

Date It Happened: June 12, 2007

The New Girl

Brooklyn, NYC - Den of Iniquity

The Den of Inequity is aptly named. A dive bar of the highest order situated in the heart of Brooklyn, it's prominent characteristics are cheap liquor, easy women, cigarette burns, and the heavily musky, otherwise indefinable smell that permeates the atmosphere. A bar formed from the rusted, welded-together wings of retired biplanes dominates one long wall of the small, rectangular room. A sheet of thick glass sits atop it, providing a smooth surface to set drinks upon and a barrier between the metal hulks and whatever patrons may arrive that bear delicate sensibilities. The customers around it are a mix of old codgers nursing boilermakers, Irishmen drinking dark beer and whiskey, working-class men stopping for a nightcap after finishing up for the day (or a bracer on the way to the job) and the barflies that attend to all of them with too-red smiles and lifeless eyes.
Behind the three pool tables in the center of the room and the jukebox against the wall there are three doors at the rear of the pub. Men's and women's restrooms, and a door prominently marked 'PRIVATE' in white-on-red lettering. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors cover the rest of the wall on either side of the door. Hung high up are a series of signs that read things like, 'Unmarked Nuclear Warheads Travel These Roads - Keep Your Children Radiation Free,' and 'Caution - Hitchhikers May Be Escaped Inmates.'

If the bar were any quieter, it'd be the video for Billy Joel's "Piano Man."
As it is? There's a couple of regulars - Mike, there, who works for the transit authority and is snarfing a beer on an extended break. He's chatting with Charlie, who's a really good guy and one of the Local 219 - his sewer truck and shovel are outside, in fact. The Juke's playing some light 70's rock ("mama tooold me not to come!"). Yup. Quiet day.
For once, there's somebody else behind the counter - a worn-out-and-tired-looking Ali who's studiously wiping down the bar with the usual combination of windex and bar towel, retrieving empties as she goes. And, yup, she's singing along. Quietly. Well, sort of quietly. It carries enough to have Mikey rolling his eyes, anyway. Apparently, the new employee's doing her best to prove useful. Who'd have thunk?

When Trina makes her way into the bar, she does so with a lazy yawn. Jack ain't here; ain't no one to impress. She's here well before her shift starts, so there's no reason to be in any sort of rush. Her slip-on sneaker-ballet flat hybrids roll quietly on the floor as she crosses it, black low-riding capri making more sound than her shoes. Decked out in a sleeveless black turtleneck, she's close enough to ready for work. She's about to pass through on her way to the back room… when she notices something new. Something out of place.
Something that looks distinctly like it works here.
Trina raises a sculpted eyebrow quizzically without saying anything at first, watching the New Thing go about her work. Yes. Definitely looks like it works here. But… but what is it?

It. Is.. apparently.. slightly hungover. And she does pause to look over at the door, blinking, waving a bar towel… clearly without any sort of recognition. "Er. Hey. Jack's not back there. Or I don't think he's back there, anyway." That distinctive, easy alto is touched with a friendly sort of humor. "Given that I got only about half a clue, most of the time, I can't be certain, ya know?"
Ali in her rough hoodie and ratty jeans (bohemian wal-mart chic) leans on the bar's edge. "Want something? He'll probably be in later - usually is."

"You… You work here." Trina probably sounds like an idiot with her statement of the obvious and the faintest remnant of a Southern accent beaten out of her voice by force of will, but she doesn't much care. She's busy trying to piece together a mystery. When she realizes she's being rude, more words come. "I'm Trina," she replies without really moving. Instead, she keeps her place by the door to the back. Then, after another moment, her arm lifts, a finger delicately pointing towards the beautiful garland of lacy panties strung about the jukebox. Her voice, while still wary, can't help but to be tinted with a hue of pride. "I made that. I'm the evenin' shift."

"Yeah? No kidding?" Ali's smile turns from a smile to a full-on grin - admittedly, she goes back to leaning on the bar, but it's a friendly kind of leaning. "Ali - Alyssa, but Ali. I don't rate more than one syllable, really. I'm Jack's pity hire of the month - thank God for that." She reaches up to toss that bar towel across to that bin where the dirty ones go.
"Good to know ya. Jack talks about ya quite a bit." She nods to the bar. "Buy you a beer? I know he says one every once in a while isn't stealing, but, I'm weird for wanting to pay for 'em, I guess."

"Not really a beer girl 'less the mood hits me," Trina offers with a little bit more of a smile. She's looking a bit more friendly with it, and she finally relinquishes her guard on the back door. If this girl really is a new hire, than it's best to adopt a much more friendly and civil mentality. Her cool, slender hand stretches out towards McAlister in greeting. "Nice to meet you, though." Jack talks about her? It takes everything in Trina to play it cool. Will not be girly. Will not ask after every single detail that the other woman knows. Will. Not.
"Good to see he hired an honest sort. Man's got a spot on his heart softer'n week old bananas some days, I swear." Then a pause. Sometimes it really sucks to have a mouth faster than your brain. "You tell him I said that to you, though, and I will fucking end you." There's a serious look to her for a moment, and then she breaks out into a wide grin with hand still held out. "Seriously. Death."

Ali shakes - firm and with that same grin. "No problem. I kind of like living, honestly." That Jersey girl shakes her head - "And yeah, he's sweet." Pointedly, she adds - "Most definitely not my type, but sweet." And with that, she picks up a horrible american beer, dropping a few bills in the till for it, cracking the top. "He saved my ass, too, so - well, I sort of feel obligated, ya know? Trust me, I know he doesn't really need me around here."

It's an addition that's not lost on Trina. Shaking back, Trina grabs a glass and then moves to pick up one of the spray dispensers to give herself a glass of water. There's a chuckle as Ali prattles on. "He's a good sort. And he treats us good here. So… good. I'm glad you feel like you owe him somethin'. We all do, I think." Some more than others. "Just make sure you 'member that." With her glass full, Trina lifts it to take a deep drought from it. "An' if you ever need anythin' that I can help you with, don't hesitate to ask. A workin' family is still a family."
Ali seems mildly startled by that, picking a spot on the back wall to lean that won't have her head in the shelves. "Yeah? Careful - I may take you up on that. I take horrible advantage of family. Just ask mom, ya know?" She takes a solid slug of that beer, swallowing, with a faint grimace. "As for Jack. Yeah, I won't forget. Now are those your panties, or stolen ones? 'cause that's a hell of a garland."

There's a loud cackle. "FUCK NO, they ain't mine. Some floozies sent that in the fuckin' mail." There's a deep drink of her water and then Trina continues. "Far as I care, bitches can just keep on whistlin'." Better off that none of them ever really come around the bar. "You, though. Ain't got much I can do, but I know cars well enough. Work's expensive, and I'll do it for you for free. Anythin' else, I'll do the best I can for you. Folk have done a lot for me; I'm just doin' my part to keep the good going."

"Know a good rent-controlled studio somewhere?" Ali asks that with more whimsy than seriousness - hell, those are /gold/, ya know? But she eyes the panties. "Huh. In the mail? That's a heck of a lot better than torching 'em - tell me you wrote names on each one? I can't see from here. And I'm lazy."
"I got no talents, really. So. Uh. Best I can do to return the favor is handle the dishes? If that works."

"Naw. Way I figure, they can be embarrassed on their own if they ever show their asses 'round here. We'll know 'em by the blushin'." Once the water is drained, Trina slips her glass into the rack of dishes to be washed. "Don't worry 'bout the dishes, less you really want to. But if you ever need a place to crash, I've got a place down on the Lower East Side. Ain't much, but it's somethin' and I've got a couch." Everyone in New York knows places are hard to come by. A thumb juts out towards the door she almost passed through ten minutes prior. "I'm gonna slip into the back and shut my eyes for ten 'fore the shift starts. Need any help, though, just holler." She doesn't wait for a reply before disappearing to do just what she said she was going to do.

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