2007-06-13: While You Were Out

Starring:

Trina_icon.gif McAlister_icon.gif

Summary: Trina and Alyssa. Day 2. Jack, seriously, watch out. This can't end well for you.

Date It Happened: June 13, 2007

While You Were Out


Den of Iniquity

The Mimosa hour. This shift is like the fifth circle of Hell for Trina, who hates to see the sun before noon. However, she at least realizes that a consistent opening hour — despite Jack's assertations to the contrary — is important for business. Even when nobody's in. And actually, nobody in is a blessing. It means that the bar is still pristine clean from her opening ritual and now Trina can sit on the client side of the bar, cradling a cup of coffee as though it were her lifeline to the world.
Maybe that's partly because it *is*. It's an unwritten fact of the universe that it was neither light nor dark that God created first in order to make the details of all existence fit together like the well-oiled machine of science that it is. The Java Bean alone is fit to be the First Object of All Creation. Why? Because even *God* needs coffee.
Hunched over that holy and blessed ceramic, the dark haired woman in black tank, skinny-legged blue jeans and dark black boots closes her eyes without ever really relaxing.

*BANG*

That'd be the door, not a gun. A door that, apparently, is flying open to admit Comet Ali, complete with Little Black Dress and /makeup/ (oh my!) as she barrels in, unsteady on heels she's obviously not used to wearing.

"OhcrapsorryI'mlate..*pant* Thehearingwentoverand.." Pause. "Huh. Uh. Hi?" She stops, mid room, leaning over, catching her breath. "Hate. Bus stop. Hate. Hate a lot. Feet killing me. Hot."

Trina startles easily and, at the slam, jumps. As her spine straightens, her coffee cup jumps as well. Fortunately, it's already half-empty and half-cool as the rest spreads itself over the wood of the bar and quickly onto Trina's lap. "FUCK!" she replies as she jumps off of the stool, hands hanging limply in the air by her shoulders and making her look like a wounded bird. She bats at her thighs after a moment without ever really touching them, not quite sure what to do in her surprise. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" When her hands shoot over the bar at last, they grab a veritable mound of square napkins to start sopping what's on her jeans.
The slower pace of cleaning herself off gives Trina a moment to glower in McAlister's direction, although most of the smoldering fury fades after seeing the other young woman in a state of such disarray. "Take a deep breath. Bar ain't goin' nowhere."

Ali can't /help/ but laugh. Breathless. But it's with a wince and an apology - "Er. Sorry.." Slowly, she catches her breath, standing up to kick off shoes, reaching down to scoop them up, and then crossing toward Trina. "Oh.. damnit. hang on - let me get a towel." And… right behind the bar she goes.

"Didn't mean to scare ya - sorry about that. I hate being late."

In the face of an apology, Trina's fury stands no chance. The last of it fades. She stops to use what dryness of the napkins is left to drink up what's spilled onto the floor before reaching across the bar to nab the towel. "I do, too. In fact, I think I've had a couple of very like mornings. Well, probably not *very* like. Hearings aren't quite my cup of tea." Then there's a small, requesting smile that forms beneath raised eyebrows. "Just don't slam the door next time, 'kay? Ain't no good for the hinges or a hangover."

"Sure. Sure. Sorry - kinda didn't know it would… ya know, swing. That hard." Ali makes a vague gesture that might be intended to represent a door swinging, but.. doesn't really succeed. Instead, she tosses her little bag in a corner of the bar and goes hunting for towels. "They're not mine either. And the ADA is an ass — but, this time I sat outside and waited. Apparently sometimes it's just lawyers-only, or something. Don't even know why I had to go." The towel found is produced and handed over - "Ever feel like you just wanted to go… somewhere? Get lost for a while?"

"Not really," Trina replies honestly. Acronym lost on her, she half-follows what Alison's saying. Someone's an ass and wasted trip. That always sucks. "Kinda spent a little bit just jumpin' place to place. 'd rather settle down for a bit." As Trina mops, she looks up and smiles to cover the tracks of all emotion. "'Sides, most of the world is lost. If you're gonna go somewhere, might as well find yourself." You don't need schooling to understand deeper truths of the universe sometimes. "Plannin' on hidin' somewhere?"

"I wish. I feel like I'm getting in over my head." The DJ starts in on glasses as Trina gets the floor, working sans-shoes not seeming to bother her in the slightest, for now. Darned silly food-service-inspection-violations notwithstanding, of course. "But what's the point in hiding, ya know? Besides, I still have a shot at the dream, so, might as well take it.. and if I /did/ hide the student loan people would track me down and break my kneecaps." She grins, then - "Ruthless, they are."

"Wouldn't know. But people get funny 'bout money." If Trina has a problem with the shoeless sin, she makes no sign of it. Rather, she simply finishes her work and plops the towel up on the counter. She then moves to go get a rag. Plunging it into the sink, she tightly wrings it and then returns to the coffee-damp floor. "Whatcha goin' to school for?"

"Just finished. Broadcasting - 'cause, you know, there's a huge future in radio." Ali rolls her eyes. "But we do what we love, right?" The woman leans back, drying a glass - "I don't know what I'll do if my contract falls through. I can always serve beer, I guess. Hey, you're a mechanic, right? You said something about cars - how come you're here and not in a shop somewhere?"

Trina laughs at that as she drops down to start mopping up the last of the mess. "Ain't a mechanic. Just like cars is all. Older cars. The ones that don't have little computers infestin' the whole engine block. …And I'm pretty fucking sure that the Japanese have committed some crime against America with those pieces of shit that they put on the road." Standing up, she peers suspiciously in McAlister's direction. "You don't drive a rice burner, right?"

"I don't drive. I'd probably kill somebody." Ali's grin widens. "But I take it if I ever took up the habit, driving a Toyota is grounds for a curb stomping?"

"Toyota. Honda. Mazda. Nissan. Ever see you in one, I might hafta lynch ya'." There's a chuckle as Trina rolls her eyes upwards with a mock contemplation. "Or at least put water in your gas tank." Leveling her eyes back on Ali, she places a few dainty fingertips upon her collarbone. "It'd be my solemn duty as an American, y'understand."

"Hey - far be it from me to stand in the way of duty." Ali can't help but start laughing, softly, setting that glass aside. "I mean, that's just wrong." And she launches right into another question, curious - "So how'd you meet Jack? I swear, every time he says your name he gets all schoolboy. Well, that and really, really nervous. Apparently you … like, have a right hook that makes an impression, or something? You have no idea of how much stuff I'm not supposed to mention in your presence, at this point."

Artfully, she adds, "Like the mesh shirt conversation. SO not supposed to mention that or the assless chaps."

At Alison's indiscretion, Trina bites her lower lip to try to hide the blush and smile that's threatening to break out over her face. He remembers her punch? She didn't even punch him! That's so friggin' sweet! And … NOT HELPING WITH THE GRIN-HIDING. She clears her throat and quickly makes her way to go wring the coffee out of her table. "Met him here, actually. Total accident. Started talkin' cars, went out for a drive…" She's very pointedly not looking at Ali. "Now I'm workin' here," she finally finishes. The small little smile is growing, becoming increasingly evident in her tones to the properly listening observer.
Trina chooses her words carefully, just in case Jack didn't actually drop any sort of word like 'girlfriend'. "He's a really great guy. Great boss." There! That sounds all professional, right? Wait. Stop. Rewind. What? Trina's head then slowly twists, one eyebrow arching higher than another in an expression that might be considered by many as akin to fear. "Did you just say assless chaps?"

"No, of course not, 'cause I said I wouldn't." Ali gives Trina an arch look, and a grin. "I mean, how could I possibly discuss the conversation where it was suggested Jack turn the place into a gay bar and serve drinks wearing assless chaps? That'd be just really crass." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I'd never say something like that. And you can't prove it, nope. I mean, it's not my fault Jack said Lenny'd" (the drunk that inhabits the bar end on weekends) "had seen 'm naked."

Trina just stares blankly at Ali for a moment and then bursts into laughter. "Oh, GAWD. At least it weren't the other way around. Lenny naked's probably 'nough to scar you for life." To prove her point, Trina offers a theatrical shudder. "Least Jack ain't bad to look at." At all. In fact, she kinda likes him na— STOP. Dammit. Alison is getting that stupid goofy telling grin back on Trina's lips. Then there's a look of horror. "…not that I'd… you know… know, necessarily." Her eyes look to either side of her, back to Ali, and then Trina quickly whips back around to fiddle with the rag in her hands. A great liar, she will never be.
She's only there for a moment before she turns back around, head tilting so she can observe her coworker from the corner of her ice blue eyes. They're inquisitive as she finally asks, "Did Jack tell you about— er, um." Us. "That we— uh." Two slender index fingers are twirled around each other to explain what she cannot bring herself to put into words: are dating. And please, please, please don't get all sexual harassment inner-officeish Dating Is Bad and get her in trouble. Please, please, please. Please, Jack, have said something first so she doesn't feel bad.

"Yeah, without coming out and saying it, ya know? I guess I have the kind of face that makes people want to talk to it, or something." Ali offers that as reassuringly as she can, keeping the grin. "No worries - he's kind of smit. Smitten? Smited? Something." She wanders back up to the bar.

"Me? I think it's kinda cute. Oh! Yeah - I have a great pic of him in the costume he wore to that party thing at the orphanage. You want it?"

There's a visible sag of relief in the brunette's body as Trina's leans her hands against the counter behind her and her chin falls to hit her chest. Oh, thank God. She heaves a huge sigh to dispel that last bit of awkward tension. Good. All established. Nothing more needs to be said. At the word 'smitten', however, Trina would be lying to herself if she didn't admit to feel that little surge of giddiness well up in her. Reassurance is always a welcomed thing in her book, and this new co-worker has just given it to her in doses high enough to render even the most jealous woman secure.
Congratulations, Ali. You've just found the most surefire way into Trina's good graces. Katrina Mah declares Alyssa McAlister to be a Good Folk this evil Friday the 13th, 2007.
But now there's talk of photographic evidence. "Really? There was the one in the paper Jack had, but it was really small." The one that said she just happened to be dating New York's most eligible bachelor. No pride here, no sir.

Ali heads for her bag, and rummages. "It's just cameraphone, but it came out pretty well. I'll get ya a copy." It's not long before the phone in question is produced, pictures cycled, and the little screen offered over to Trina… with jack. In his glam glory. And a huge grin, mid swig of a .. beer? probably.

"I got there late, but I just couldn't resist. Part of me still wants to blow it up and put it on the wall in here."

"Awww!" Trina grins broadly at the picture. This one's in *color*. It's awesome. "You should! At least, like a photo-sized thing. We could put it up next to the panties from the fat book-writer person when he's not here and see how long it takes him to notice." Her finger points over towards the giant pair of black undies stapled to the wall away from the jukebox. "'least, Jack's convinced that the whale's a book-writer." Ah, Trina, Queen of Sensitivity.

"Oooh. We could post a sign saying 'These worn under this outfit'." Ali laughs, still, leaning on the bar. "I like this plan. It's a good plan. I'll hit the library and get a print tomorrow."

Trina cackles. It's the sign of evil about to be committed. To those less aware of her dark intentions, it could be truly intimidating. Jack. *This* is what happens when you leave two women working in a bar together. "It's possibly the best damned plan I've ever fucking heard," the motorhead proudly admits. "Jack's gonna hate us." It's gonna be so amazingly and breathtakingly *awesome*.

"Mm-hmm!" Ali leans forward, conspiratorially- "Just remember, I /didn't/ tell you about the assless chaps. 'cause, you know, I need this job. Oh, that kind of reminds me - you mind if I skip for a little to change? I … something tells me the evening shift's going to suck if I'm still in a dress."

"I dunnoooooo," Trina drawls, arms spreading wide to indicate the room at large in all of its empty glory. "We're pretty fuckin' busy right now." She can't even hold the charade for long. Tiltin' her head back towards the back room with a wink, she smiles. "Go on. Change. If you can take over a little early, all the better. Wet jeans suck ass, and I'd really wanna go home and change if its all the same to you."

"No problem - I won't be long." Ali bounds for the door - after scooping up her bag. "And of course I don't mind - " Hey, look, she remembered shoes! Working to pull them on, she continues - "… my fault you got coffee on 'em anyway. Ten minutes. I promise." And with that, she's heading for the door.

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