Marietta shook her head, taking another long swig of her drink. "Hijos de putas," she said. "To do that to someone. Makes me sick to think that they're still walking around." She leaned forward a little bit. "The police, they have nothing?"
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Marietta shook her head, taking another long swig of her drink. "Hijos de putas," she said. "To do that to someone. Makes me sick to think that they're still walking around." She leaned forward a little bit. "The police, they have nothing?"
This place looks like crap.
Normally Leon Mont'Clair wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this gods forsaken bar. Unfortunately, there was little to be done about it, save for locking himself up in his penthouse.
Which you gave up, mind you! You'd best hope it's worth it.
He wore a simple blue and grey sweatsuit, again because there was little choice. He had maybe one or two suits left to his name, and barely the money to keep them clean. Besides, being noticed is not what he wanted to do here. He came to this dive to learn about the town, the neighborhood. After all, it was his new home.
Leon entered the bar quietly, scoping the place out as he did so. The place was fairly quiet - only two other patrons, one male, one female, and the bartender.
Quiet and Quaint. Might not be a bad place to think.
He took a seat at one of the stools a few seats away from the others and nodded at the Old Man in greeting. "Good evening, " he said, calmly. "I'll have whiskey on the rocks please."
The Old Man peered across the bar, and steely eyes locked on the newcomer that intr-visited his bar. There had been a few new faces lately and he looked upon each and every one with the same measure of suspicion. No one came to The Spiral to be welcomed by a jolly barkeep, who lazed on the bar constantly joining in conversations and tossing jokes about.
The Old Man was not that sort of person, and he never had been. Never would be either, if he had anything to say about it.
"Evenin'," he responded, because it was at least the polite thing to do. He turned his back then, to make up the drink and presently glasses tinkled and ice cubes clattered. A couple of minutes later he faced the new guy again, but kept the glass in his own hands for a little while longer.
"I.D," he stated.
If no I.D was forthcoming, it was pretty clear that The Old Man would be having a quick whiskey break.
"Right, "
Leon pulled his standard I.D. from his wallet. Sure, he could use one of the less-convincing fakes, but this was probably a place he'd come to often, and it's best to stick to one story, rather than trying to juggle hundreds of him in his mind. Fortunately, he was fairly unknown in this town. Of course, his true identity was a closely-guarded secret. But what the Old Man doesn't know won't hurt him...
The young man presented the I.D. to the bartender and waited patiently for his drink. He wasn't sure how he was going to proceed from there, but who knows? Whiskey might help.
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"Just as well," Marietta said with a shrug. "There's a lot of problems the police aren't much good at solving anyway." She finished off her drink, giving out a satisfied sigh. "Sometimes people just gotta look out for each other. Solve their own problems."
She looked up at the new arrival, a little curious. He didn't look like he belonged in this bar, so that meant they had something in common. He also appeared to be capable of speech, meaning she hadn't managed to wander into the only mute niche bar in Sacramento. She didn't get up, but did nod to him in greeting once he sat down.
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Bandit gives Marietta a slightly puzzled look at her turn of phrase, in his experience, it's always a coin flip whether somebody will continue to watch your back or take off, leaving you to deal with whatever trouble that come about. Well, at least with Charlotte, it's mostly a physical assault and nothing mystical about it. He thinks as he turns to the new guy, who just got carded by the Old Man.
He smiles lightly as he pulls his drink over and drinks from it. He's not sure what to make of Marietta, although he could at least think of her as 'believes in the best of people' category for now. I wonder if I'll just become a third wheel when they begin their conversation? He wonders as he lowers his drink, waiting for something to happen, like a greeting from the new guy or maybe seeing Marietta introducing herself to said guy.
The Old Man was potentially checking up to see if the new guy was going to cause an idiotic fuss about having to pull his I.D. If that was the case then Leon passed easily enough, because the Old Man passed along the drink.
"$4.25," he remarked calmly, and tapped the bar with a forefinger. He kept a look out on Marietta and Bandit as well, but for now at least it seemed a pretty quiet night down at The Spiral
It was the end of another very long day of government service, and Tony Girardi needed liquor in his bloodstream in a big way. He'd left the office on time, and invited his new partner to come out for a drink. The kid's name was Harrison. Tony had no idea why Tom Harrison was at DHS: Geosciences. Tom was quirky, but struck him as mentally pretty quick on the draw.
Then again, Tony didn't know why he was there himself. He was nobody to judge - and he could've been given a much worse draw in terms of who could have been watching his back out there. Small blessings, really.
Holding the door open for @Tom Harrison , he asked the younger Agent, "So, what do you drink, Tom?" and followed him in, his eyes scanning the room in a second flat. He offered the bartender a pleasant nod and clocked the others in the room. The girl at the bar, the young man with her, the even younger-looking one... yep. Standard dive bar fare, really.
Long as they're legal, I don't care.
Swift
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Tom strides through the offered door with a nod of thanks to his new partner and looks around. "You know," he comments to Girardi, "I've lived in Sacramento my entire life and I can't say for certain that I've ever been in a place quite like this. Do I need to ask for a clean glass?" His voice is quiet, conversational, but no he doesn't exactly make an attempt to stay overly hushed either.
He pauses for a moment, surveying the bar and the liquors displayed on the shelf behind it. "Whiskey and sour, on the rocks."
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