Take a Dive

[Viola Jones]

Beer and sweat and smoke.

That pleasant aroma coils around Viola's nose even before she shoves open the door to the Dive. Smelling like grease and ketchup and puke herself, she couldn't name names.

Shouldering her way through rough and tumble crowd. Viola yell for a beer, wishing she could drink enough to get drunk enough to forget today.

Who the fuck still took their kid to McDicks for their birthday party anymore?!

[Emily Makerith]

It's hard to smell anything above the scent of tobacco. It's one of the reasons Emily took it up in the first place, to stop her senses being overwhelmed by all the different smells in the air. She flicks the butt into a bin and slouches towards the bar.

Tired, cranky, Emily steps inside. Still wearing her work coveralls patched in various mechanical fluids and stinking of oil and sweat, she drags herself up to the bar through the small gap that seems to be opening in the bunch of herd. She's already at the bar and on the stool before her frustrated brain catches up with what her senses are screaming at her - the reason the gap is forming is next to the other occupant at the bar, the surly shape of Viola. For a moment, Emily feels jealous, wishing she could look that intimidating, so people would just leave her alone or take her seriously. Catching her reflection in the tank above the bar she looks like an angry teenager. Really didn't help her mood.

Every other time has been been so highly charged when they met she never noticed, but in this different setting it's easier for the Ithaeur to see that Viola is primally strong. And stinks of puke, and sweet, sticky ketchup, though that's probably situational. Then again, Emily knows she hardy smells of roses herself. She wipes a hand over her face (accidentally smearing more of the oil across one cheek) and slouches up next to her.

"Hey," The Ithaeur grunts, not looking at the Rahu next to her. She tries, and fails, to catch the bartender's eye and the shoulders slump a little lower. Her blue locks tied back, no make-up apart from some very resilient yet smudged eyeliner, tired eyes and stains everywhere, Emily kinda does look like crap.

[Viola Jones]

Viola grunts as she jostled by arms and disturbed by shouts.

The only one to get a real reaction was the Ithaeur, "Hey," more grunt then word, looking at her oil stained and smudged appearance, she looked just as Viola felt.

Seeing the slump of her shoulders, the Rahu barks out at the bartender, "Hey! Get her a fuckin' beer!" pinning him with her deadened stare until a bottle magically appears.

[Emily Makerith]

Dammit... Emily's shoulder's slump a little lower. "Um. Thanks," she mutters tot he Rahu, still not looking across.

The Ithaeur takes a long swing from the bottle. "Looks like you've had a crap day too." It's clearly not a statement, so Viola doesn't need to make a big response. Looking up at the tank she sees the oil smear across her face and mutters "Dammit!" and tries to wipe it off with the sleeve of her overalls.

[Viola Jones]

Viola takes one long look at Emily. Grunts out "Yes," there was no hiding it, generally she wasn't that pleasent to be around, but her packmate could smell the vomit on her. "I had a very.Bad. Day." she tries to say calmly, against type. It fails.

"Fuck it." the Ithaeur will hear under the din before the Rahu is screaming again.

"Tequila shots!"

Shifting away from the bartender who's already grabbing the bottle and the shot glasses, "Don't. We need it." and it wasn't like they would get shit faced.

[Emily Makerith]

The blue-haired girl turns slightly to watch the Rahu out corner of her eye. Her roars of "Tequia shots!" gets a second of a tired chuckle and a smile tugging at one side of her mouth.

"Yes!" the Ithaeur tries to inject some enthusiasm into her voice, slamming a palm on the bar. "That is what we need." She grabs a salt shaker and sprinkles some on her left hand. "Here's to the working shmucks." She does the full routine almost as soon as the shots touch the bar.

Emily roots around in a pocket and slams a twenty on the bar. "Keep 'em comin'!" she hollers at the bartender.

[Viola Jones]

She downs the shot, and glares until she has a second.

"Least no one puked on you today." she downs it, and sighs. "Not a competition, but. Yeah." shaking her head. "Right. How was your shit day?"

See, effort is being made to get to know her new packmate.

[Emily Makerith]

"Well... you got me there," Emily concedes. "Cars don't puke."

She sighs. "Mostly fights with employees." The Ithaeur necks another shot. "So, like one of the guys that works for me thinks he knows more about running the damn garage than I do. So I told him he could walk if he thought he knew so much. And. Uh. Well. He did."

Emily hits her head on the bar. "I'm just no good at dealing with people sometimes. I can chat all friendly, but getting people to take you seriously when your a 120-pound slip of nothin' is just so damned hard. Y'know?" She looks at Viola, propping herself up on one arm. "On second thoughts, maybe you don't. You're pretty scary, V." She takes another swing of her beer.

[Viola Jones]

A brow arches, cars don't puke, but you can get spat on by oil.....also. Spirits of Cars...hmm. She'll ask when they're not. Here.

"Great." she draws the word out until its more sound then word. "But. Fuck 'em. You have a place, and fuckin' employees. He's got fuckin' shit. Fuck. Might be petty. But you, like have contacts right? You know people. Fucker just walked, I'm sure you can make a phone call, spread it around...." she grins, and there's a reason she never really allows her mouth to form that shape. A weak man probably pissed himself at the sight.

She smirks, raising her beer in thanks, "There's a moment. You're either. Scary. Or, scared." she shrugs, "And fuck, if you really tried Em, you'd sear terror into their fuckin' DNA. But then your shop would smell like piss and shit, so." she shrugs again, smirk playing on her lips.

[Emily Makerith]

Viola actually extracts a short bark of laughter for the dirty mechanic as Emily imagines going full Gauru wolf all over Peter's stupid face. "I mean, sure, but I'd like to have a garage to come back to when I come down!" she keeps chuckling. "And I'm not cleaning up that kinda mess...."

The Ithauer feels no less tired, but finding there's an actual person underneath what up to now had been a monosyllabillic ball of anger was more of a relief than she was prepared to admit. Emily calls over the bartender and flicks a finger at the shot glasses with a tired smile.

"Alright, your turn. Why so bad? Besides the, uh..." she gestures to Viola's uniform, "Y'know."