Happy Meets Surly

Grisly Bar


Worn wooden floors stained with ages of spilled drinks (and worse), creak under the feet of patrons as they enter the dark, disordered room. Though dust has settled over a lot of the establishment, making it appear abandoned, the flow of customers would speak differently. Dirty glasses, some with sticky yellow patches in the bottom where beer or scotch has been allowed to dry, stand on one end of the bar.
Several of the windows have been bricked up to prevent vandalism, but create a great fire-hazard. There is a tarnished mirror on the wall behind the bar with a chipped and fading Art Nouveau nymph painted across the bottom.


Friday night. Things at the shop have been slow, but with the cast coming off in a few days, Scarlett is out celebrating. She's not dressed fancily at all, preferring her usual tank top and jeans, a nice beaded necklace she made, purple nail polish, and a cast that's been repainted yet again to match her ensemble. She's had a few drinks already, but is far from being in the bag. Not even tipsy. Just has a happy buzz on as she talks to the bartender about a few of the local businesses.

The very moonless night is beyond dark. A constant reminder of this happening every time someone enters or leaves the establishment.

-

Where this any other establishment, any other bar - then perhaps Hyde's entrance would have made more of an impact. As it is, his stalking inside has already prompted quite a few outright stares and hushed whispers. And this is because of his general apparel. Hyde seems to have seen better days, according to the rips and bloodstains on his teeshirt. One lip is split and bleeding, as is the area right above his left eyebrow - and over all, the man just looks like bad news.

Ignoring the bloody knuckles on his right hand, he walks right up to the bartender without hesitation. "D'you have a paper towel or something I can use? And while you're at it, give me a glass of water, an empty glass, and a pint of Miller."

-

The 'tender tosses him a clean bar towel — clean in the sense that it's not been used yet, though it looks grey and ratty so it's hard to tell. Then he moves over to the draft, pulls the tap and fills a pint. The empty glass which has also seen better days is slung down the bar, old-fashioned style. Scarlett reaches out to grab it before it shatters on the floor, and shakes her head. "Need a bit more practice, Joe. He's really not going to like coming in to a pile of glass in the morning." Winking at the man, she lifts the glass up and carries it over to Hyde. Leaning back against the bar, she gives him a once over. "I really hope you got the plate of the truck that hit you."

-

"It was more like a pussy Prius," Hyde grunts without hesitation, brows furrowed heavily as he leans against the wooden counter and begins dabbing at his fresh wounds with the rag. Pressure is applied to his knuckles first and foremost, when the blood on his face either being licked off or, in the case of the small gash above his eyes, trickling down the side of his face slowly. Scarlett is not glanced at - not once, as the man is far too busy with himself.

-

"Joe, toss me another rag. Make it damp." There are quite a few lewd comments from the bar, but Scarlett does her best to ignore them. She waits, and when the damp cloth is handed to her, she goes to take care of the eye. Without even being asked. "Mmhmm. Either way, that's a lot of blood, and I'm guessing more bruising than necessary." She is not going to pry and ask what happened, just help the man and then go back to her night of celebrating.

-

But…that does not compute. When the rag is requested, Hyde doesn't blink. He doesn't even acknowledge it. However, when she proceeds to blot the cloth over his wounds? Well, surprise forces the young man to jump back a little, dark eyes swiveling towards Scarlett to stare at her in abject suspicion. "…What are you doing?" He grunts, without even the slightest hint of gratitude in his voice. A moment passes by after this query is posed, during which he reluctantly adds, "If you think I look bad, you ought to see the other mother fucker." Just to see if mention of the fight or his vulgarity will scare her off.

-

"I'm cleaning up the blood," Scarlett says with a smile. "I don't know about you, but I tend to not like my beer with drops of blood in it." So she raises the cloth again, to show him she's not meaning any harm, and goes to dab at the eye again. "Joe, if you've got any left over stake for Bruno, you better bring it over here too. I'll pay you for it." Looks like the poor man is going to have a shiner, and her without her healing amulet. "If you're trying to scare me off, it won't work. My brother talks like a sailor, I'm used to it." Besides she is hanging out in Grisly's where the gruff language is the norm.

-

"Let me rephrase that," Hyde comments with growing surliness, his stare becoming more pointed as his lips purse into a tight line. "Why are you doing that? Why are you touching me. Without my permission." Figures he'd find some way to take offense to such a kind-hearted and generous gesture. But then, she comments on how unflappable she is, via constant exposure to her sibling. "Want to bet?" The eyebrow that isn't being tended too quirks upwards at the challenge. Now, he can't not attempt to gross her away. "I fucked your mom last night."

-

"From Maryland to Dallas in one night? Boy, you move quickly." Scarlett stops attempting to help him, standing there with the damp rag so that he can wipe the blood off his own brow if he wants to. This in her casted hand, since her good hand is currently picking up her bottle of Smirnoff Ice and taking a heavy swig from it. "Well, here you go. Take it and wipe your own brow then. I've got some celebrating to do, and only stopped to be nice."

-

"…Why?" He's a broken record of unpleasantries. But once Hyde has enough time off from snarking to really see the woman in front of him, he pauses. His eyes travel over the cast on her arm, examining it for authenticity. What he should do, really, is shrug off this encounter and return to nursing his wounds and drinking, giving off those 'Bad Ass' vibes nice and clear like the caricature he is. But…then after a moment of silence, he sniffs. Then proceeding to make a grab for his mug of beer and throwing a swig back. "What did you do. You know. To get that thing on your arm." They should be questions, though they're void of that upwards inflection which makes them properly question-marked.

-

Eyes trail down to her cast, then back to the man. The wet rag is set on the counter, and she shrugs. "Punched a guy in the face after I kissed him. Broke his nose." That's right. Scarlett doesn't know how to throw a punch. "This thing," she says, "is called a cast." The wrist is turned left, then right and she takes a step back, mimicking the cruddy punch she gave. "Anyway, it's coming off tomorrow or the next day. Hence, celebration."

-

Hyde has this miraculous ability to ignore his physical state, and so he doesn't even blink as a new trail of blood beads down the side of his head. Despite himself, he must snort with appreciation, first at Scarlett's declaration and then once again when she mimics the punch she delivered. "No wonder you fractured your wrist, then. Anyway, I wish I could say that particular brand of crazy is…well, particular to you, but I've seen it before. And I'll see it again, most likely. So, what did he do to you anyway?" Violence is, apparently, the key to this man's heart. Or at least his vocal chords.

-

"He kissed me back." Wink. It may be crazy, but it made a lot of sense at the time, and there's a lot of dirty laundry associated with her why's and her reasons. Many of which she's not going to go into heavily with a stranger. Scarlett frowns and then wrinkles her nose. "I'm not really a fighter. I've had a few self defense lessons, and have only thrown one… no two punches."

-

Hyde frowns darkly, although his frown becomes less brooding and more genuinely thoughtful as he tries to consider the ramifications and the logistics of her declaration. Eventually, he remembers that he doesn't really care and shrugs his shoulders in a listless manner, deciding instead on vocalizing this point: "Your eye just twitched in a faintly retarded manner. Just thought you should know." Deadpan. "Yeah? You look too delicate to be a fighter anyway. Here's a hint for next time - punch with your knuckle, not your fingers. Oh, and never tuck you thumb beneath your fingers. Rookie mistake."

-

Scarlett watches the man silently for a moment, taking the insult in stride. Oh yes, thanks to Ivan she is quite used to those. "Yes, well you're about to bleed into your beer. If you'd let me just wipe that up you wouldn't have that issue." Smirking she looks down at her wrist. "It was less the hand, and more that I twisted when I should have braced. The wrist is broken, not the hand."

-

Hyde pulls a face, his nose crinkling slightly in distaste as he strains to peer at his own face. Reluctantly, he reaches for the rag she had discarded, lifting to brush away at his bloodied wound. "Did I get it?" He gruffs, curling his lips in a frown as he almost blindly blots the clothe away. In the end, he manages to wipe away at most of it, though a bit of uncleaned redness remains near his hairline that he has missed. "Well, congratulations on not doing anything to extend your cast-off day, I guess."

-

"Give me that." Scarlett grabs for the cloth, and moves in to clean up the rest of it. Whether he likes it or not. When she's satisfied that the blood is gone, she smiles at him. "Much better." The cloths are both tossed back to Joe with her thanks, and a steak handed over to her. "Wha— no, Joe. I meant raw. What man wants to slap a cooked steak on his face?" Shaking her head, she laughs, and then finishes off her bottle. "I'll have another, make it snappy please."

-

Hyde opens his mouth, set to snark and protest when she jumps at the chance to clean him up - but for some reason, nothing is emitted from him with the exception of a huff of air. Conserving his energy, he decides to suck on his split lip instead. Though, he does snerk in amusement when Joe messes up the 'order'. "What man doesn't?" He retorts dryly. "Anyway…" he reminds himself to be civil, checking the progress of his hand. "Is this how you normally 'celebrate'? Getting drunk at a dirty bar by yourself?"

-

"Normally, no. I go out for a fancy dinner." Actually she doesn't, but it's not like she's ever going to see this guy again. "Grisly's is just the closest bar to the apartment, and so I can walk home from here without any hassle." Now that she's given away that much, she grabs at the new icy bottle Joe places beside her hand. "You generally pick your fights in the back alley and come in looking for a dirty rag to wipe up with?"

-

Hyde gives the inquiry a moment of deep, almost philosophical thought. "…Yeah," he grunts finally, his shoulders rising then falling in vague disinterest once again. "That's pretty much a typical Friday night for me." He tosses a look around him, before sliding onto the nearest stool casually and looking to the woman in an expectant manner. Assuming that she'll do the same, of course. Because now she's stuck with him, and has a duty to entertain him. Another swig of his beer and he sits up. "You live around here? What're you, some sort of starving artist? Or some chick born and raised on the wrong side of the tracks?"

-

Scarlett prefers to stand, apparently. Instead of procuring a stool, she leans against the bar between the two stools and nurses her drink. She gives him a look, though not totally disapproving. Her latest interest does have a penchant for punching things when angry, so it's not as though it's a total turn off. "Two, maybe three blocks from here." Another swig is taken, then she laughs. "Ding-ding-ding. Hit it on one. Less starving than most though." Her studio is profitable — enough to keep her in business and pay for some niceties.

-

Hyde blinks with slight confusion, his brows quirking upwards slowly. "I was right. Heh. Of course I am." Simple fact, really. It's not so much him stroking his ego as it is confirming his suspicions. "So. You're a bipolar hack of a fighter with a penchant for painting, eh? S'that the general gist of you?" With this inquired, he downs the remainder of the beer, already signaling to Joe that he'd like another.

-

"Bipolar? Not so much as just, well it's a rather complicated story, not one I want to divulge with a stranger." Scarlett sets her bottle on the counter, then hops up onto the chair. "Painting, jewelry, whatever suits my fancy at the time. General gist? Definitely." Joe fills another pitcher and hands it over to Hyde. "So what's your story?"

-

There is a sigh, followed by a low, derisive chuckle. "There's always a 'story'. Boiled down, it's all the same. Bipolar." He declares, firm and unwavering. "Not that that's particularly a bad thing. Or that it's a good thing." The newly refilled mug is dragged over towards his person, so that he can cradle it and, eventually, throw it back to his leisure. "Still being written - but don't worry. There's nothing particularly deep or artistic about me to puzzle out. Mechanic. All around misanthrope."

-

Scarlett takes another few pulls from the bottle, then leans against the bar. "If that's what you want to think…" Really, it's no skin off her back if he thinks that. He may as well, since it'll keep her from flirting heavily with him when she finally reaches that plateau of drunk. "I'm going to guess that you go looking for trouble since it gives you some sort of buzz."

-

"No. People are just stupid." Hyde clarifies without hesitation, dark brows furrowing at his mug with cool detachment. It's true, too - 'looking for trouble' implies too much proactivity on his part. Trouble just finds him. "Don't tell me you're going to try to psychoanalyze my behavior. Because then I'll have to start making things up to fuck you up. I used to have a therapist, back in the good old day. He fired me."

-

"I honestly can't be bothered." Scarlett glances at him briefly, then back to her bottle. "At least if you made stuff up, it'd be an interesting conversation." Fiddling with her necklace, she peers at him again, then back at the clock behind the bar. "You work next door at Bunker's, or you kicking at another garage in the area?" The area being West Dallas.

-

Hyde quirks a brow upwards, turning to stare at Scarlett with that intensity that is almost unsettling and entirely characteristic of him. "What - am I not interesting enough for you? No - wait. You like to make out and then physically abuse your type. Then, yeah, I guess I would be boring. Anyway - you've got it in one too, …girl." It's only now that he realizes that he doesn't know her name. Not that he's particularly preoccupied with finding it out anyway. "Bunker's is a good place."

-

"Can't say I've had the pleasure of needing to have my car fixed." Scarlett just stares at him when he calls her girl. It's so very Victorian, and sounds so half-assedly racist, even though they both happen to be of the Caucasian persuasion. "Scarlett," she offers. The rest she just sort of laughs at. "Like I said, complicated. You want the general rundown? Sexual tension, guy had a girlfriend, kiss shouldn't have happened." Neither should a lot of stuff, but that's neither here nor there.

-

"Can't say I'm not surprised. You look the type to crash her car occasionally." Hyde comments, though it wasn't meant to be as offensive as it comes off sounding. It's true - she looks like a typical customer. And beyond that, what would he rather have referred to her as - 'boy'? "Scarlett being your name or the name of your car? And, no, actually, I don't. But since I've got it anyway - that's not a very complicated story. It boils down to the two of you being horny. Straightforward and simple."

-

"Never had a problem with my car." Offensive or not, she doesn't take it that way. "Mine. Unlike every male I've ever know, I don't need to name my car or have it act as an extension of my…" She points to nether regions, then finishes the bottle. "Well simple as it is, shouldn't have happened. End of story."

-

Hyde quirks his eyebrows northwards once more, his eyes dipping lower towards her crotch as she gesticulates to that general area. "I would hope it wasn't an extension of your manhood. I'm certain that'd be a dealbreaker for some, and…" Beat. "Eh? Oh, right." He averts his gaze, swallowing down another mouthful. "Well - why shouldn't it have? There's nothing more natural than for a pair of humans to desire to mate, and even act upon those desires. Largely, concepts of monogamy run contrary to our wiring. We're supposed to spread our seed far and wide to ensure the continuation of the species. Granted…when that desire evolved, the mortality rate among humans was much, much higher. So there oughtn't to be a scientific basis for it in the future, give or take a couple hundred thousand years."

-

From talking like a common thug, to sounding educated. Scarlett just eyes him. "You are an enigma, aren't you?" She reaches into her pocket, draws out a few bills, and drops them on the bar for Joe. "Because I'm not Holly Homewrecker is why not. Human desires aside, I'm not generally a bad person." But there is a bit of Umbra in her after all, apparently and she hates herself for it. "You'd rather the human race just ran around screwing whatever its heart desired? I can see where that type of polygamy would cause a great deal of problems."

-

Hyde is special like that. And he really ought to get his GED at the very least - if he could ever be assed to show up at the stupid test. "Why not?" He deadpans when painted her interpretation of Hyde's World View. "That's how it is now, anyway. Just hushed and hidden behind closed doors, known and generally accepted, but not talked about." He'll leave his thoughts about her being Holly Homewrecker to the side for now. After all, she did help him. Even despite his graphic declaration about her birth mother.

-

Well that's just who Scarlett is. At least, it's who she should be. Whatever fling, whatever anger was driving her to act as she has been has just got to stop. A card is pulled from her pocket. Slightly wrinkled, but the information still clearly visible. "If you ever feel like stopping by, that's my shop." She glances at the clock behind the bar, and then turns to smile at him. "Nice to meet you, and all that. Try not to break your face over the weekend."

-

Hyde merely grunts in recognition of the bid to escape. The card, it is eyed. "Bit presumptuous of you to give me your number, isn't it." Despite this drawl, however, the card is slipped into his cargo pants before returning to his beer. Mid-gulp and she is given a half-hearted wave with his other hand to shoo her away. All this, without even offering Scarlett his name.

-

"Were it my home number, sure." Scarlett gives the man a grin, then shakes her head as she walks away. She reaches the door before she remembers to turn back and offer a wave to Joe. "See you sometime next week, Joe. Have Molly give me a call if she's not feeling better. I'll stop in and say hello." Then out she goes, into the night, for her nice long walk home.

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