fluxscape | (no subject)

Gwen still really doesn’t like Haven. It’s hot. The people are miserable. Rude. Irritatingly so. She’d stay home in the air conditioning, but the house needs groceries and Gwen has the day off. So it’s on her to restock.

With a list in hand, Gwen is in the Market, feeling just a tad overwhelmed by the heat and the crowd.

It’s the guy in rough shape that gets Gwens attention. He’s not familiar, so Gwen approaches. Maybe it’s her spider sense telling her to, or maybe it’s just Gwen doing what she does best, but she feels the need to look out for him until he finds his footing.

Whatever the case, Gwen speaks up.

“Hey,” she says with a small wave. “You just get off the train?”

It's easy enough to find the source of the greeting, and he looks over at her. Teenage girl, pretty in a way he knows too damn well, but he's learned not to underestimate. So he offers a tight smile he doesn't really feel and clears his throat before answering, voice a little rough still from Kreese's efforts, the mark of his fingers plenty evident at the side of his throat where they dug in.

"Hey. Uh, yeah. You live here?"

Gwen loves being underestimated. It’s hilarious.

There’s bruising on the older man that makes Gwen frown, arms crossing across her chest. Okay, whatever situation he came from? It was bad. And hopefully from before the train. That would be ideal.

Gwen wouldn’t hesitate to investigate if it was something that happened in Haven. She’d definitely poke to see where it came from and if it was going to continue to be a problem for him and anyone else.

“For now. I’m originally from New York.” Pointing some at the bruising with concern, she offers a suggestion.

“The hospital isn’t far. Maybe you should get those checked out?”

He shakes his head and brushes her off about it, because it's no big deal as far as he's concerned. He's not dead, and nothing major is broken. A cracked rib, maybe, but he'll live.

"Never been out that way. Nah, I'm good. Not gonna tell me anything I don't already know."

"If you're sure..."

Because Gwen isn't. But she knows better than to push when it isn't dire. And it doesn't seem too bad.

"Welcome to Haven. I hope no one here did that. The people are paranoid, and prone to aggression."

"Nah, got it before the train. However the hell I ended up there."

And that's the end of that. There's no sense rehashing, let alone to a complete stranger, and a teenager. It's not actually important.

"Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," Gwen states with a small shrug. Tucking her grocery list into her pocket, she extends her hand as she intrudes herself.

"Gwen Stacy," she says with a small grin. She's going to be friendly. Not that this is a 'for once' situation? But this place has her stressed and bothered, so trying to be nice is a little trickier than usual.

Edited 2021-06-13 18:50 (UTC)

"Johnny Lawrence," he answers shaking her hand firmly enough. "Not bad for a girl," he offers by way of some kind of weird compliment. He's Trying. Which feels like it might actually be easier here with a bunch of strangers that don't know all his baggage.

“What’s not bad for a girl?” Because now she’s a bit confused. Did she go too hard on the handshake? If so, oops. This place has her stressed out. Her spider sense is constantly whispering at her of danger? Maybe? Probably? And she doesn’t like it.

She doesn’t sound offended, though. Just curious.

"Handshake," he answers. "It's not all wussy and limp and shit like you usually get with a chick."

"What kind of girls have you been hanging out with?" Gwen asks, making it sound like it's a joke. There's a small part of her just a little irritated at his comment, but she's going to smile and play nice.

"I have four younger brothers? There's a lot of arm wrestling matches at home to see who does dishes. I win a lot. Haven't had to wash dishes in a couple years."

This isn't a lie? Mostly?

"That and my dad is chief of police, so we go to a lot of police functions and shake a lot of hands. I've learned to match what I get."

"Not a lot, honestly. And two of 'em didn't break as easy as I expected and one of 'em has a mean right hook."

So okay, he knows girls don't break that easily, but old habits die really hard.

"They sound badass," Gwen says with a small smirk.

"One of 'em changed schools, one of 'em is probably a psycho, and one of 'em is my ex girlfriend from back in the day, so. Two out of three," he agrees with a lopsided smile.

There are times, early enough in the evening, when Jess actually covers some of the bartending until one of her bartenders comes in. Or even maybe when they have the night off. Either way, she is the one behind the counter when the new guy comes in looking a little worse for wear. At least, she is guessing that he is new since she doesn't recognize him but there are probably a lot of people she doesn't know yet.

"What can I get you?" She asks, stopping in front of him with an arched brow. Tonight she is dressed simply in a plain black t-shirt and a pair of jeans with rips in the knees. No uniform (she isn't interested in that shit) or name tag. But hey, she is already reaching for a glass while she waits for his answer.

"You got Coors Banquet?" he asks as he settles down at the counter, dropping onto the stool heavily. He's not expecting an assent, it's hit or miss generally, but it's fine, he can adapt.

He looks around at the place, getting his bearings, not that there's much to get to know. A bar's generally the same as any other, so it's a quick look.

That makes her pause for a moment as she sets the glass down, turning to look at the fridges until she picks one and wanders over to open it up. She comes back then with a Coors Banquet, setting it down in front of him with a tilt of her head. "Want a glass or is that good enough for you?"

It's ice cold to the touch but maybe he wants a glass with ice too.

He gives her a grateful smile, and okay, so he checks her out a little in the process, but at least he tries not to be gross about it? Last thing he wants is to be told off for being a sleezeball right now, he already looks like he came off the wrong end of a fight. His ego wouldn't be able to handle it, or what's left of it anyway.

"Thanks," he answers, fingers wrapping around the stubby bottle before he takes a sip.

"Bottle's fine. Nice place you got here."

The little bit of checking out doesn't go unnoticed but that might be because she has already returned the favor by letting her eyes sweep over him as he reaches for the bottle. Of course, it could just be her giving an assessing glance but she doesn't seem to be in a hurry to move away as he compliments the bar.

"Thanks," She nods a little with a glance around. "It's definitely nicer than a lot of shit holes I've been in before. Hopefully, I can keep it that way."

Bracing her hands against the edge of the counter, she tilts her head. "So, I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

He nods at the assessment of the place, granting a lopsided grin of agreement; he's been in a lot of shitholes too, he can appreciate a nice one when he sees it. He takes a pull off the bottle, swallows with a sigh that's more grateful than it should probably sound, but whatever.

"What gave it away? Yeah, just got off the train today. I'm Johnny, by the way." If she cares. He doesn't expect her to, bartenders are usually good for conversation but low on investment, but it's fine. His day's been shitty enough.

Not that there is anything wrong with most shit holes since they had served the purpose she needed them to serve at the time. That and she could handle herself if needed, just like she can handle herself here if anyone tries to do anything that might mess up her bar. Not that she is worried about him at the moment since he seems more like a drink and wallow kind of guy at the moment.

"I'm Jessica," Honestly, she doesn't usually go the conversation route but she is trying a thing like keeping an eye out for others like her. People who were yanked from their homes and brought here on the train. "And I didn't recognize you, so I figured it was safe to assume you were new. I'm pretty new too, only been here for a couple of months or so."

Hey. He can be an extremely formidable force, drunk or sober. But he's not here to be that, and the company's decent so far. He just wants a little mindlessness, at least for a little while. So he takes another gulp.

"Better welcome than I'm used to, anyway, so I'll take it. Where're you from?"

She grunts a bit at the comment about it being a better welcome than he is used to which she wants to ask more about but she can get that later. She doesn't want to push too hard, especially since it isn't her style unless she is working a case which she isn't doing here.

"New York," She moves to the side, grabbing a glass of whiskey that she had sitting out of sight. "You?"

The fact she reaches for a glass has him relaxing a little, since at least he's not the only one drinking now. He takes another swig, the burn in his throat better now the alcohol's started to dull the soreness from getting strangled. It doesn't make the finger-shaped bruises along his throat any less evident, but at least the lighting should cover, even if he's less concerned about it.

"L.A. Born and raised and never left," he adds wryly, toasting her before taking another gulp. Bottle empty, he sets it down. "Got another in the cooler?"

"No, we only keep one bottle at a time," She replies somewhat dryly, holding his gaze for a few seconds, just long enough to make him wonder before a hint of a smirk appears. She covers it by taking a healthy swallow of her whiskey, turning away, and setting it down as she goes to fetch him another bottle. This time she is nice enough to twist the cap off, tossing it into the garbage so the bottle is open when she sets it in front of him.

"So," She starts casually after finishing her whiskey and grabbing a bottle to fill the glass halfway again. "What happened to you?"

She motions at his neck.

Yeah, he looks at her for a while at the first comment, trying to decide whether she's being serious or not. Considering the rest of this place, there's no reason why that might not be true, but then she smirks, or at least part of one, and he grins in answer. A joke. Okay. Cool. He accepts the bottle, toasts her, and takes a gulp, and hes not exactly surprised by the question but he scowls a little all the same.

"Got in a fight before I got here. Got my ass handed to me at the end of it."

He takes another pull off the bottle, longer than previous, like it's going to do anything about any of it. Like he needs to go through it again, like he wants to relive it. It was bad enough when he was a kid, let alone it happening again as an adult.

"Hopefully you got a few hits in first," She purses her lips, watching him for a moment longer as he takes the long pull off the bottle. Oh yeah, she recognizes that technique since she often does the same thing when there is heavy shit weighing on her mind and she wants nothing to do with it.

Tearing her gaze away, she moves down the bar to give him a moment since she really isn't the best at saying the right thing. She also knows there probably isn't anything she could say as she takes another sip of her whiskey before setting it out of sight.

After a couple of minutes, she glances over at him. "Did you find your home yet?"

"Oh yeah," he answers, casual like it's irrelevant. Like of course he did, like his own damage barely breaks the surface. Like he didn't get his ass handed to him for the second time by the same damn asshole. Didn't almost get his ticket punched for the second time. Didn't need to have his ass saved by a damn enemy for the second time, even if Daniel's not really an enemy anymore.

He downs about half of it, and then the question comes, and he shrugs.

"Yeah. Got an apartment, apparently. Not half bad."

It was clear there was a lot more what sounded like a casual agreement to the statement and Jess had to wonder about it but, again, it wasn't her drama. Still, she had to bite back the urge to ask even though she hated the fact that the urge was there. She hated when people poked around in her problems, especially if it was on personal time. Or anytime.

"At least you know where to crawl to if you have a lot more of those," She motions at his beer. Not that she is going to tell him to stop. Not right away.

"If I can find my way there after, sure," he agrees, a teasing slant to his lips, rueful but amused in equal parts. Wouldn't be the first time he couldn't find his way back home, probably wouldn't be the last either.

"You gonna cut me off if I keep going?"

"I guess that depends on your limit and what you get like if you go over it," She counters with a similar smile. Then she chuckles with a shake of her head, lifting her glass for another drink only to find that it was empty after a small swallow.

"What's the name of the apartment you're in?" It was an innocent enough question and she has a reason, she really does. "Just in case I need to find you help to get home. Especially since the locals in this place don't like us too much. They might try to mess with you."

"Wavery, Waverly, Wavering...? Something like that," he answers, swallowing back the rest of the bottle and setting it down, signaling for another if she'll give it. He'll take it easy in a minute, but everything's still achey and he still feels like crap besides. He could use more than a little numb, and the edges are just starting to work their way off now. "Sure you're not just trying to follow me home?" he teases, a wider smirk accompanying, but he knows she's just doing her job, probably. Her explanation is probably the truth.

"More than a full six," he answers, because there's no sense in being less than truthful. It's not a brag, just fact, years of working at it. "And what I'm like depends on what's going on, honestly. Nobody tries to pick a fight I'll be cool, promise." He reaches for the bowl of beernuts, because he should probably try to get something in his stomach even if he's not really feeling it.

Jessica really isn't as familiar with the apartments considering she had gone straight into a house with teenagers but the last word triggers her memory as she sets another beer in front of him. "Wavering Road. Okay, I know which one that is now."

Then she snorts at his teasing comment, focused on pouring herself another drink despite the fact that she is working at the moment but the booze doesn't seem to be affecting her. It's almost like she is drinking water rather than straight whiskey. Also, she doesn't quite say no when she finally does look at him again. "Just don't want to get lost if I have to carry you home."

"If anyone tries to pick a fight, they'll get tossed out," She has been in a bar fight or two but she doesn't want to see her place get trashed. Also, it serves as a gentle warning while she braces her hands against the edge of the bar again, still casually hanging out. "I don't tolerate that shit and I've told the staff not to either."

He snorts at her statement that she'd carry him home, looking her over again appraisingly, this time less for aesthetics and more out of practicality.

"I don't think you could do more than roll me over, sorry," he comments, but at least apologetic before taking a pull off the new bottle. But he nods agreeably at the information and warning rolled into one, gives her a lazy salute and a small smile.

"Then you're not gonna get any problems from me, promise."

Her eyes dance with amusement at the statement that she could probably do little more than roll him over and, for a moment, she looks like she has a mischievous secret that she might tell him. But she won’t. She’ll just let him think that unless something happens in the future where she has to prove him wrong.

“Good to know. It would be a shame if I had to kick you out,” She remarks with a lingering smirk.

“So what did you do for work before? Back home?”

Oh, he sees the look. It gains a raised eyebrow, a silent question, but she doesn't explain and he figures it's mostly not his place to pry. He's got his own opinions anyway, and not a lot of reference for thinking otherwise. Maybe she could give him a run for his money in a fight, but carrying him from here to his apartment? Yeah right.

"A shame, huh?" He grins, a little self-conscious considering how shit's been going, but it's a nice sentiment?

The question has Johnny shrugging though, sheepish, although there's an edge of tarnished pride underneath. "Taught karate to teenagers. I was a handyman before that. Lotta odd jobs."

Honestly, she prefers it when people don't know exactly what she can do. She likes having the element of surprise beyond the fact that it was usually just a pain in the ass when people knew you were 'special' in any sort of way. Sometimes they even liked to shoot at you because they wanted to lump you in with the other specials who have saved New York.

She shrugs as he questions her about it being a shame, playing coy and brushing past it for the moment.

"Nothing wrong with those jobs though I don't know how you would have the patience for teaching teenagers. I live with a handful of them and that's enough for me right now," She grumbles but she doesn't really seem all that grouchy when she talks about them.

He whistles in something like sympathy at that particular piece of information.

"Yeah, sometimes I'm not sure how I get through the day with 'em, but they're good kids. They just...need an outlet, you know? Somewhere they can learn to not take people's shit, but like. The right way."

Strike first, strike hard, but have mercy.

"You live with a bunch of teenagers? I lived next door to one and that was almost too much."

"Well, there is definitely a lot of teenagers here if you want to give them an outlet. I know there is a couple of them feeling antsy since the school is shut down or some shit," Jess nods with a bit of a hum. "You can check out the martial arts place. Phoenix Rising or something."

Then she lets out a huff of a laugh while straightening and turning away from him, looking over the line of bottles before picking up the tequila. Coming back, she sets a shot glass in front of him and one in front of herself to fill up halfway.

"At last count, there was...four, I think. Honestly, they could have more in there and I wouldn't know. There's also a bunch of animals," She nudges his shot towards him before picking up her own and giving him a salute. Then she tosses hers back, letting it burn down her throat with a bit of a facial wince.

"Why's the school closed?"

Not that he cares too much, but it seems worth asking. He takes the shot and knocks it back without protest, only an echoing wince of his own. But knowing there's a place he can teach, that's better to know. Good to know he can keep himself busy, maybe.

"I'll have to check the place out. Four teenagers and animals too? Geez, how do you even sleep?"

"I don't know but it was closed when we got here. I guess maybe there is no one to run it?"

It isn't like she can do anything about it even though she has been tempted once or twice to solve the problem just to give them something to do everyday. She takes his shot glass along with her own and places them in the small sink before moving back to grab her whiskey. Maybe she should switch to water after this so she isn't drunk when everyone comes in.

"I think they offer other classes too. I haven't really gone in even though it seems like everyone does god damn karate these days," She mutters a little before giving him a slightly exasperated look. "I don't, not really. But they did put me in the attic which helps at times."

Except for when the two of them decided to go scampering across the roof at all hours of the night, thinking that she can't hear them.

"Hey, what's wrong with karate? It's good stuff. Mind-body or whatever the fuck."

Like he even knows what he's talking about, like he'd cared about it for anything other than the ability to kick somebody's ass for giving him shit. And the confidence boost, but he mostly figured that came with the first part. Like anybody would have given a shit about him before he found Cobra Kai, even for as big of a shitshow as that had turned out to be.

He returns to his own bottle, working his way through methodically, but the rest of her words give him an idea, or at least a half-assed one he's buzzed enough to give voice to.

"Well, you ever need a place to crash, you can come find mine. ...it's got an extra bedroom, so there doesn't have to be any hanky panky. Just a spare bed for some shut-eye if you need it. Not like anybody's using it."

"I didn't say there was anything wrong with it. It just seems like everyone does it," She mutters, still thinking about the ninjas she had faced. It was a thing, Johnny.

Sometimes she wonders if maybe she should take one of the classes but she really isn't good at organized anything. Or anything with other people or a teacher type. But she can see why others would like it or how it can be a boost to the ego knowing that one could take care of themselves if needed.

Then she pauses when he suddenly offers the idea of letting her crash at his place. Which amuses her as it filters through her brain and she smirks again. "You know, if you hadn't clarified about the hanky panky part, I would have definitely thought you were just trying to get me into bed. But it's a nice offer, I might have to take you up on it sometime."

He smirks at her words, passing flirting but only for a moment or so.

"Hey, you want to include hanky panky I wouldn't say no, just wanted to make sure you knew it was a...whatsit. Platonic offer. Anything after that's up to you."

But it's good she accepted it. Everybody needs a chill place to escape to with no expectations. Makes him feel like it's some kind of weird victory, even though it's clearly not.

"I'll keep that in mind," She doesn't make it clear where she sits on the idea of adding hanky panky or not but she is smirking at him. She could have made the same offer but her place was filled with the very teenagers that had spurred the offer in the first place.

"I should probably get back to it," She tells him, deciding that she had let herself be distracted long enough. "Let me know if you need another, okay?"

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Market area?

Works for me!

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Bar

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