Starring:
Guest Starring:
NPC'd by Lena
Date Set: June 7, 2009
Summary:
A Brit, An Irish Gal, and a Yank walk into a bar. The yank says, "This isn't funny."
Nine Months Ago…
"Suits and States"
Wandering Rocks Pub — Cork, Ireland
It had been a foggy morning in Cork, Ireland, but the afternoon sun had managed to burn through the fog, making it a rather beautiful afternoon. The Wandering Rocks Pub is shockingly quiet this afternoon, but after the heist of geisha doll bobble heads (loitered with drugs) and arms from Ackhart, the Wander Rocks' crew has been busy making arrangements to smuggle and sell the goods to the highest bidder. This job, of course, falls to Ricky himself, much to Brayden's delight — he hates making such negotiations. And while Caitlin would ordinarily work the pub by herself, Ricky has had Brayden watching over the pub with her today, particularly in light of their latest take… which no one bothered to give her details on.
Brayden stands behind the bar in a blue and green plaid shirt with a white muscle shirt peeking from underneath, faded blue jeans, and a white waist apron, wiping a glass while grinning broadly, showing two deep dimples on his cheeks.
A quiet pub in the heart of Ireland? Who would have thought it? Certainly not Clarence Mayberry. It has been a couple days since he arrived in Cork, and he's quickly adjusted to the time difference. After all, it's not all too big of a time leap, and this is his home time zone, after all. He's taken to trying out a new pub for each meal. This one happens to bring him to the Wandering Rocks pub. He opens the door slowly and casually, entering in as if he hasn't got a care in the world. He wears a typical businessmen's suit, dress shirt, and tie. Heading up to the bar, he smiles at Brayden and says, "A whiskey on the rocks, please." His accent is obviously British.
Caitlin herself is quite happy with the state of ignorance she resides in; life is is more peaceful that way. At the moment, the woman is busy cleaning off a recently vacated table, piling plates and mugs on a tray before wiping the surface down with another damp cloth. Once it's been cleaned to her standards, she hefts the tray onto her arm and carries the load to the counter. The heavy glasses tink against each other as she gets it settled.
"And what're you grinning like that for?" she asides to Brayden, flashing him her own matching smile before shifting focus to the customer. The smile remains, but it's adjusted to something more appropriate for a stranger.
"It's a good day! Why shouldn't I smile, luv? It's beautiful outside, the sun is out! It's just a good day!" Of course the goodness of the day is matched by his recent take (a job well done in all ways — the money they'll collect will be worth it AND their enemies took a hit). Brayden continues to grin broadly, even with the presence of the customer.
"Whiskey on the rocks," Brayden repeats with a grin before he places a tumbler on the table along with several cubes of ice before he tops it off with Magilligan whiskey. "This is good Irish stuff." Unlike the yank, who, by judging from his accent, obviously isn't.
"My, my! What have we here!" Clarence says, chuckling softly. "A Yank working in an Irish pub for an Irish lass? Well, if that doesn't come as a shocker, I don't know what will!" He smiles just as widely. "If I have one Irish whiskey this year, I want it to be the good stuff, at least!" The British man responds. He looks between Caitlin and Brayden. "Well now…we've got an Irish lass, a Yank, and a Brit all at the bar at a pub in Cork…sounds like the beginning to a terrible joke to me!"
"The world's full of marvels, sir. You'd be surprised at what comes strolling through the doors of pubs in Cork, sometimes." Caitlin's smile becomes somewhat more subdued, pursing in a mild amusement. She begins to offload the dirty dishes onto the counter, fully intending that Brayden should deal with them once she has the tray emptied. "Does the punchline have anything to do about why a Brit might be in Cork, to begin with?" she adds, sharing a quick, laughing look with the bartender before she looks back to Clarence.
Arching an eyebrow Brayden glances between Clarence and Caitlin, "A joke?… I don't get it…" Except he probably would if he had his memory. Regardless he continues to smile — nothing could bring him down today. Not easily. "But yes, I'm a yank. We think." He shoots Caitlin a smirk as he takes the dirty dishes and loads them into a dishwasher built into the base of the bar. "Yeah. What brings you here, anyways? Business or pleasure?" He sideglances Caitlin, and shrugs slightly, still unsure about the joke.
Clarence smiles a little at Caitlin. "Ah, yes. And you'd probably be right to be questioning that there, lass. Don't find too many Brit's walking around the streets of Irish cities, now do ya?" He says cheerfully. "Oh, my dearest bartending Yank, British and the Irish have a bit of a sour past. Though I certainly hope that isn't what the lovely young woman here is referring to. But it could very well be." He smiles just as easily as Brayden. "But, I am here for business. Business is never over and done with. Not even if you move from Britain to the United States. It always seems to bring you back."
Caitlin is far more willing to accept Brayden's easy smiles. A well-dressed, smooth-talking Englishmen is typically no good thing for Irish business. But she remains polite, even inclining her head towards the gentleman before moving behind the bar to slide the tray away. "Business brings you to Cork, then? Seems an odd trip for an Englishman to make, if he's gone on to America."
She is not a complete fool, this one. Caitlin knows some of what her brother gets into, and thus some of what Brayden gets into. And she knows they've been into something recently. The woman sends another quick look at the man behind the bar with her before reaching for one of the glasses he'd been polishing. He always leaves fingerprints.
"It's a poor joke anyway, love, don't trouble yourself with it." This last in an undertone for Brayden, with a brief smile.
"Well, I hope that you'll get to take in the sites at least. Business kills fun, doesn't it?" At this he winks spritely at the Caitlin with a very broad grin. Sure enough the glass he'd been polishing is complete with fingerprints. He doesn't have the same level of care as Caitlin. "What are you doing in America, anyways? Who'd ever want to leave Europe?" he smiles easily as he runs the dishwasher.
Caitliin's questions about business are met with a skeptical glance from Brayden who shakes his head after a moment. The question had left an ounce of doubt about Ackart's men, but Clarence seems a little on the old side to be one of Ackhart's thugs so he lets it go. He does, however, glance at the door absent-mindedly.
Clarence shakes his head. "Not such an odd trip for an Englishman, who is now living in America, if said Englishman is in politics, my dear." He says simply, taking a sip of his drink. "I work for politicians in America, and at the present time, they bring me to Cork to help finish mediating some meetings. So it's not the sort of business that would run you out of business. And I must say, I'm rather glad of that. This seems to be a rather pleasant pub." He says, looking around.
"Thank you, we're rather fond of it ourselves." Caitlin can't help but smile at the compliment, wary though she is. "Working for politicians…I'd have expected you'd have asked for a double, with that sort of job. I'll stick with the pub, I think." And the Yank. She holds the glass up, pre-polishing, allowing it to catch the light for Brayden's benefit. He's given a grin before she gets to erasing those fingerprints.
"Politics?" Brayden reiterates with a stifled chuckle. Yes, something about politics is amusing. "Sounds downright… dull," he chuckles again as he picks up another glass to polish. Yes, it's routine of sorts. One that he's easily fallen into. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a suit let alone in political office! Can you imagine?" Of course, he's conveniently forgotten that Caitlin had found him in a suit. Shaking his head he clucks his tongue, "Yeah. I'll stick to the pub too. The United States and politics… why did you move to the States int he first place?"
Clarence grins at Caitlin. "Ah, but you see…they're too cheap to pay for a double." He chuckles. "I remember the days before I was into politics. Never thought I'd catch myself in a suit either." He grins. "Politics isn't all too bad, to be honest. It's more exciting than people give it credit for." He says thoughtfully. "Why did I move to the States? Well, I was there, working at the British embassy and…well, I just never left. What can I say?"
Caitlin goes up on her toes to put the glass away. That done, she folds her arms to lean against the bar; it'll be a moment before there's another needing repairs done, from Brayden's handling, and she's content to watch him at his labors. "It suits some more than others," she says agreeably enough. The woman doesn't appear to think of mentioning Brayden and his original suit. Or perhaps she doesn't care to.
A rogue curl is pushed back behind her ear, the movement an absent one. "It swallowed you up and now it's spit you back up again, perhaps?"
"I don't know about politics, but the States has a way of doing that," Brayden says idly as he continues his work. "Of course, sometimes it just spits you out." As in his own case. "The problem with politics is dealing with the politicians, I'd think," Brayden manages before the door opens with a ding. Narrowing his eyes, Brayden's smile fades for several seconds, but is replaced moments later.
The latest arrivals are two relatively tall Irish men — both dark haired. The yank greets the newcomers with a smirk, "What can I get you fellas?"
"We're looking for Ricky," one of them quips in a thick Irish brogue back as he sits next to Clarence at the bar. "Have you seen him?"
Clucking his tongue, Brayden shakes his head. "Not recently." He glances at Caitlin. It's a knowing glance, but he turns back to the men with his ever-present smile.
Clarence chuckles at Caitlin. "That's exactly what it seems to have done." He laughs. "Oh well, maybe I'll move here to Cork. Seems like such a pleasant city." He says in good nature. "The United States has a way of being extremely fast paced. If you're not up to the challenge…well, it's tough luck to you." Is said with a firm nod. As the two men come in and sit down, Clarence quiets down and glances sideways to them, taking a sip of his drink.
"If you like a slower pace, Cork's the place for you," Caitlin remarks, although it's difficult to say whether that was spoken with tongue firmly in cheek, or not. She's somewhat easier in her manner towards Clarence, though. He seems to have struck the right notes. The same can't be said for the newest arrivals. Her polite smile firmly affixed, she turns to the pair. "My brother's not in, fellows. Is there something I can get for you? Or I can tell him you called."
"We'll wait for Ricky," the second thug murmurs in response before lowering himself onto a stool next to his friend.
At this Brayden turns around seemingly to put the glass away. He faces Caitlin for a moment, his smile has faded. Yes, the crew is likely in over his head. After he puts the glass away (even with his fingerprint smudged on the side), he turns back to face them, "Are you sure there's nothing we can't get you? Stools really are for paying customers…"
The second thug glances at Clarence, trying to decide the right course of action with a suit in the room and finally nods. "We'll each have whatevers on tap… on the house."
At this, Brayden smirks, "Where did you get that idea from?"
Clarence glances sidelong again to the thug who glances at him. Raising his glass of whiskey, he nods to the man, downing it. "I'll have me another whiskey when you're free." He states, turning to face the two men. "I've never seen men just ask for something on the house. Now, I know that you're waiting for this Ricky fellow, but shouldn't it be up to the people running the establishment whether what they serve you is on the house?"
Caitlin lifts her brows at the two men as they get themselves settled. This is Ricky's business, and he's made it more than clear that she's to leave it to him. And, of course, Brayden. So she passes on serving the pair of them in favor of seeing to refreshing Clarence's glass. The bottle is taken from behind the bar and the older gentleman's glass re-filled. With just a bit extra, for his noble defense of their establishment. "To your health," she murmurs.
The thugs look at Clarence and murmur amongst themselves before Brayden interrupts. "Look fellas. We have paying customers. Ricky's not here. And… we have paying customers," Brayden motions towards Clarence. In a suit. Suits are heavily distrusted in their crowd. He shrugs a little. "Of course, if you want trouble…"
Silently the first thug glances at Clarence again, wholly unsure of what to think of the Brit. "Alright, we're heading out for now. We'd rather spend our money at a… good pub. We'll be back." The pair rise to their feet and turn around, prompting an eyeroll from Brayden as he mutters, "Quite the retort. So insulting." His sarcasm bites just a little.
Clarence chuckles and shakes his head. "Well, I guess they were as tough as they put themselves out to be." He snorts, lifting his class up to Caitlin. "Cheers!" He says, downing this one in one go. "On that note, how's the food here? I'd quite enjoy myself a shepherd's pie. Or maybe fish and chips. Or both, for that matter. I'm starving after a tough day in politics." He rolls his eyes. "Though I admit, those fellows make the day as exciting as it could be! Almost made me wish I was working at the carnival once more." An old carney? Seriously?
Caitlin is silent until the pair have left, her smile only reappearing once the door has safely closed behind them. Then she's fixing Brayden with a look. "I don't know what the two of you've been up to but I'll thank you for not dragging it in behind you, like a pair of old toms full of cream and canaries," she tells him quietly.
When she turns back to Clarence, there's a brighter expression on her face. "It's all excellent but the shepherd's pie is something of a specialty. I'll make up a plate for you, how's that?" He is given a bit of an odd look, to hear that the suit was a carny, but she's polite enough to make no comment before bustling off to fetch the order of food.
Brayden just grins at Caitlin. "They left, didn't they?" he winks at her as he plucks the fingerprinted glass he'd been polishing from the shelf once again. "No harm, no foul, darlin'." Of course, he neglects to mention his run-in with Akhart's men only days before. And how he'd stolen their haul along with the team's new resident expert thief. All of these thoughts are left unuttered.
"Shepherd's pie for me too, please!! I think I deserve that much for all of my help." He winks again, knowing full well his polishing isn't up to her standard. But hey, he's cute, right?