Post by Drake on Aug 2, 2022 5:27:37 GMT
Buzzed Bee Brewhouse, Pittsburgh - 08:30 p.m.
Laura had an uneventful evening that day, as much as other bartenders want you to believe otherwise when their job quite literally involves tending to loose-lipped drunks, the juicy gossip you'll hear is quite often the same story adapted to each person's personal experiences and retold enough times even the recipient of the lie becomes unaware of it's true veracity. Not everyone is some secret agent ready to spill the beans on the first two glasses of whisky, much to her dismay, and those life-changing movie-like experiences she expected when applying for the position were now but a fleeting memory lost in the mundane sea of commonality.
Their pub was by no means a pigsty, nor was it the glamurous ebony-and-ivory high society type, with the marble statues and all. It was your orthodox place for the average salaryman to gather with their fellow robot and refuel for the depressing weekend coming up. She served them with a smile, always, Tommy made sure to imprint that house rule very clearly on her mind, and the poor saps could certainly use a friendly cheering up, something other than the indifference their wives would greet them with. Although a few of the words were technical jargon and the others fell on deaf ears, she did try her best to accomodate every single soul the same way she wished, deep inside, to be as well.
Tonight felt the very same, even though she couldn't really shake the feeling that it was not. Call it a sixth sense, or just a perceptive eye trained through the years to read people, but no matter how normalcy seemed to reign, it all felt just a tad off putting. Obviously she couldn't tell why, it was not her consciousness that registered such an uneasy sentiment, but rather something much less complex.
It was pure instinct.
Sitting across from her, on that table of suit-and-tie-clad men laughing after a big sale, sat a wooden boy that tried to be a real one. She couldn't tell, no, but something in her felt it.
He was about six feet rounded down, not the sort you'd see on the gym every week but not the type to skip healthy practices either, slick hair groomed all the way back with sideburns that would make Dirty Harry eat his gun in envy, a pair of pilot glasses neatly placed on his otherwise unremarkable visage - not repulsive, but nothing you'd gush about to the girls on the weekend. His beard seemed to be taken care of, the sort of symmetrical contours you see on advertisements for shaving cream, and it did seem as if he partook in those since it felt so freshly shaved. His clothes were immaculate, not particularly fancy, but one could wonder how not a single fold seemed to droop from the sleeves during all this commotion. Standard, he was the picture by the Thesaurus's definition. Impressively unimpressive, abnormally normal. All except for that intense gaze.
The man stared down at his watch, his lips contorting into a laughter that blended into the background as if it was never truly there, and as if an alarm bellowed from his phone, he bowed his head, uttered a few words to his companions, and made way to the counter. "Good evening, miss. I would like a Scotch, please. With ice... Or should I say 'on the rocks', as they do." He giggled to himself, offering an amicable smile. "Sure thing, misterrrr..." Laura shot back one of her trademark fake smiles. "Keith. Keith Astrovik. And you areee..." He tilted his head a bit, looking at her uniform. "Laura! Perfect. Nice to meet you." Keith nodded. "Pleasure is all mine, Keith. Say, don't you fellas need a refill or two on the table? I can get Jer-"
"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. Thank you for the offer, though." He answered preemptively. "Alright then. Just say if y'all need anything." Laura said, mind drifting away to the bottles and glasses. Keith just sat there, same smile crossing his lips, eyes cutting through the deafening silence. "You knew during the Prohibition doctors actually prescribed whiskey for pneumonia, tuberculosis and high blood pressure?" Keith chuckled to himself, furling his brows. "If you ask me, I just hope it cures my boss's nagging."
"Well then, let's make that two of us." Laura said, the full glass sliding perfectly through the wooden counter. "Perrfect! Thank you, and you have a good one, Laura." Astrovik nodded, taking a sip as the bartender went on to tend to other clients. For a brief moment, amidst the loud stupor of a semi-crowded pub, his teeth hid behind closed lips, and he sighed profoundly, taking a seat by the counter, eyes fixated on the watch wrapped around his wrist.
