1963-09-23 - Whiskey for Grandpa
Summary: Psyche sneaks off campus to go to a bar and have a drink with her grandfather. While there, she meets Solomon, Jennifer and Mree.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
psyche solomon jennifer mree 

There's been a lot of tension in the Kitchen recently, with all the new vampires and demons moving in, and because of that Harlem is blessed with a rare sight. Sitting at the bar and pretending to nurse a full beer is the son of the man that runs the Malakoff family and a known enforcer, Solomon Malakoff.

Psyche arrives at the dingy bar, not looking like something that normally fits in there. Her twin braids fall down her back, swaying as she walks up to the bar. She pulls out her wallet and shows her ID to the bartender, and even though there's a skeptical glance that the girl is eighteen, her driver's license says she is so he serves her the two shots of whiskys that she asks for. She puts one in front of her and the other, gets put in front of a small picture frame that is pulled from her purse and features an elder Native American.

Solomon turns his attention over towards the small Native woman and gives her a nod. "L'chaim." he raises his glass in both greeting and a toast of sorts, though he doesn't actually take a sip from it. Tonight he's got his sleeves rolled up, revealing a number of Jewish and criminal tattoos. "How's it goin'?"

Psyche glances over at Solomon and gives a smile, "Thank you." She raises her own whiskey shot glass, saluting first Solomon and then the picture of the older man before shooting it down and wincing as it burns down her throat, "He always loved whiskey…" The girl chokes a little, clearly it's more for the man in the picture than Dani's own choice of drink tonight. She then motions to the bartender to set out two more shots, pulling out her wallet again to pay for it and leaving a decent tip, "It is…" She was going to say fine but the girl is not fine tonight so her tongue almost trips on the lie, "A time of remembrance." Yes, that is more fitting, "And yourself?" Then realizing she's being rude, introduces herself, "I'm Dani…"

"Solomon. My friends call me Shlomo." Solomon introduces himself as well. "I hear that. Time are hard all around, between Central Park and the Kitchen it's a wonder these people can't tell they're drinkin' in a war zone." He reaches up to rub at his eyes. "But I'm still kickin'. So that's positive."

"Well then, since we are first meeting, I will call you Solomon, but if I earn the privilege of being your friend, you will have to let me know," Dani tells him with a smile. She takes the shot glass again, raises it to Solomon who is of this world and then back to the elder in the picture who is clearly in the next and takes a shot again. The second one goes down a little easier and she offers, "Yes, times are hard. Wars are fought in many places." She lowers her voice, "And choices are made to survive." She does not judge his dark state. People have reasons for what they do. Dani understands it. Even though she senses his dhampir, there is a quiet acceptance.

Many things can be found in Harlem. A lawyer tends not to be one of them, especially a Caucasian female lawyer at that. She might not fit in, but anyone who wants to contend with her right to walk up to the bar on gunshot heels cracking on the sticky ground can talk to the severe professional persona she exudes. The glasses on her nose help give her some gravity. The bartender is probably cursing his luck dealing with another unchaperoned female sort, and measuring up how much trouble this will get him in. "Scotch." A simple request fits into the gap of conversation, and two fingers are lifted to indicate volume just in case he has any doubts. The wake of sorts, at least as a common California girl can guess, gets a respectful nod. "I'm sorry to interrupt whatever you've got going on here. The only way he can hear me, though."

"All do what we gotta, yeah." Solomon nods. His attention shifts to the picture, "Mind if I ask who that is?" He rests his elbows on the bar, leaving his drink to the side for now. And then the lawyer walks up, and he proceeds to flash a warm smile. "Don't worry about it, more company the better I always said. How's it goin'?"

"Black Eagle," Dani tells Solomon with a serious look, "My grandfather. He died." She mourns his loss quietly, there are no tears in her eyes as she tells him, "He was a good man. I remember him today." She then looks over at the lawyer that just arrived and mosied up to the bar, "No…it is fine." She shifts the picture and two shots of whiskey in front of her so it doesn't block Jennifer, "I know it's busy tonight."

"Much appreciated, really." Jennifer isn't very tall, by anyone's standards. She has to reach across the bar to take the scotch from the bartender, who procures a tumbler with two fingers-worth of alcohol sloshing around and not a hint of an ice cube. He might be prone to dumping one in before she snatches it back in time. "Respect to your grandfather." The glass is raised in a toast to Dani, and she gives a smile that warms her expression by a good fifteen degrees, putting it straight into springtime. "I never expected to see the Duck this popular outside of a riot. Isn't that a nice change." The smile eases back a little as she rotates out of the way, putting her back to the stained old bar a short distance to the side so they haven't got to worry about a stranger cutting into personal space. A nod is given to Solomon, and if she notices anything odd? Well. There are tattoos. She's too polite to stare.

"My condolences. Know how hard it can be to lose family, lost a lot of mine during the war." Solomon doesn't say the camps, but the look of disgust that crosses his face may hint to that. "And the Duck is nice. Better than hangin' out at that cop bar in the Kitchen. They don't really got what I prefer on tap here though."

"Thank you…both of you for your condolences," Dani tells Jennifer and Solomon. She then directs her next statement to Solomon, "I am sorry that you have lost family." She points to herself and then pulls her wallet for a third time to pay for two more drinks, "My father and mother were taken from me when I was ten. And now I bury the man that raised me in their stead." She accepts the drinks and puts a glass in front of her grandfather and then picks the third, a slight flush to her cheeks are starting to appear and perhaps her tongue is looser than it normally would be as she addresses the picture, "I will not make it easy for him grandfather." She then salutes Solomon and Jennifer, and then address her grandfather's spirit again, "When he comes for me I will be prepared." Then imparting that message to the dead, she takes her third and last drink of the night.

"Her tab's on me," says Jennifer to the bartender, drawing his attention with a voice that can travel considerably further than her petite stature indicates. "Allow me the honour of your memories. We have no finer time of year to remember our departed loved ones than in company." The rest is not her business, though, the private communion and the oaths made over whiskey. Scotch is sipped neat, rather than slurped down like some plebeian. The burn down the back of her throat opens up in a bronze-petalled flower, and she rests her elbow against the bar for support not truly needed. "The bar in the Kitchen? I think I remember the one. Went in there once or twice. Farrell's or something? Name sounded Irish."

"Yeah, the cop bar. Steer clear of that place if I can help it. Not that it matters with the demon infestation we have now." Solomon keeps his voice low, clearly only talking to the people next to him. "Got attacked by fucking vampires the other night. In my own streets too. Assholes have some nerve, I tell ya."

Psyche gives Jennifer a smile and nods as the lawyer offers to take her tab, "Thank you…I appreciate your kindness." She leaves the three whiskeys in front of her grandfather untouched for the moment, "And honoring the dead is what the living is tasked with." She listens as they both talk about the cop bar and takes the gossip into account, "I do not come to the city often so I didn't come there." She then frowns as Solomon mentions that he was attacked in his own street and tells him, "That was foolish of it to take the war to your home. I am glad that you came out." She is assuming that he won the fight since he's still there.

"Is there any truth behind it being an actual demon infestation, or something else?" Jennifer's skepticism is a healthy and living presence, aimed at no one in particular so much as the idea. This is the modern age. Presumably belief in half-fish, half-men chasing unfortunate mortals around a perilous vision of the abyss went out with the Age of Enlightenment. "I've heard such mixed reports, I hardly know what to make of it myself. I feel like I need to walk over to the Park and find out. Vampires. Demons." A glance follows to Dani, and she says, "You might want to steer clear of Central Park if there's any truth to that."

Solomon flashes Jennifer a smile filled with pearly whites, then his own fangs extend and make themselves known. Explains why his beer has gone untouched. "Trust me, there's truth to it. Never figured somebody would actually open up portals. I mean, of course we can do it. But just because ya can doesn't mean you should." Psyche gets a nod, "They aren't as mean as they think, long as you keep a fistful of silver nearby."

"What kind of demons are frequenting the park," Dani asks carefully, stiffening at the mention of demons being in Central Park. The vampires seem less of a concern to the psychic as they discuss the events, "It pains me to hear that places of nature are targeted by these beings. There is too little in city." She shakes her head and frowns. When Solomon unveils his fangs, there's a pause, but then she relaxes, as her earlier sense of him is confirmed, "Opening portals is very dangerous business for the summoner and those in the way." There are too many innocents in the city. Dani doesn't like this at all.

Fangs meet with what may be the most remarkable poker face this side of the Mississippi. Jennifer Walters, nonplussed by pointy teeth. "I see, that gives you a good take on the situation. Sort of an expertise there?" Her drink is swirled around and then she downs the rest in a single gulp that should make her stomach turn, though she hasn't quite made that happen. "Someone ripped a portal open, and then all these actual demons came out. Honest to God actual… You know, I'm almost of the mind to go over there. Anyone fancy coming along?" Because they all want to follow a five foot and something attorney. Mind you, if it is hell, who better to tell them their place than her? She's probably soulless.

"All sorts. Gotta be careful or you might run onto ghouls, skeletons, vampires, or some succubi." Solomon informs Psyche. Then Jennifer is talking about checking it out, and that perks him right up. "I'm always down to go get into some trouble. You driving, or we taking the Falcon?"

"Any bears?" Dani quietly asks, and that question does seem to be a little loaded by the girl, "Demons wearing the skin of bears." To be more specific, "My family has had dealings in the past with such a creature." She doesn't want to get too much into it but the girl clearly is not fond of it, "And…" She looks to her grandfather's picture, "I would assist but not tonight. I have obligations." Yes, honoring the dead should not be interrupted for routing out demons but clearly the girl would be up for it another night.

"I've heard of no bears, only men in strange forms and people who are green and shoot fire." Jen sucks her breath in and the refusal to go over is met with a nod. Not a happy one. But she nods all the same. "I think I'll go stop by and deal with whatever threatens this fair city of ours, but another drink won't kill me." Hopefully.

"I haven't seen any bears. Plenty of strange things, but no bears." Solomon echoes Jennifer. With the bartender's attention elsewhere he tugs his flask out and takes a swig before quickly returning it to the pocket of his hoodie. "I just hope my father listened and stayed inside tonight."

Psyche relaxes a little when it's clear there are no bears in the park. She then motions for another two shots, going back on her previous thought of stopping at six shots. Since Jennifer offered to take her tab, she doesn't pull out her wallet. Instead she just places her order and waits for the bartender to get to it, "Well, I will wish you both luck and toast your efforts when it gets here."

The Duck isn't exactly the highbrow watering hole most people go to, any more than Harlem is a friendly borough open to everyone of a colourful stripe. White girls are rare enough, but add minorities aplenty in both sexes, and it becomes an unexpectedly diverse night. Drinks are in good supply for the right amount of money, and Jennifer, Psyche, and Solomon are cozied up to the bar.

"You don't have any obligation to wish me luck, though I do appreciate it."

Sitting in front of Psyche is a picture of an elder Native American. There are three full whiskey shots in front of Dani as well as three empty shots in front of the young woman. When the next two shots arrive, she places one in front of the picture and then shoots down the fourth one after saluting Solomon, Jennifer and the man in the picture. Her cheeks are a nice shade of red as her own drunkenness helps relax the normally stiff girl, but it helps the deep grief that the girl carries, "I appreciate the drink…thank you."

Soft, there somes a minority of a different flavor. He congeals in the dark a little ways away from the door, out of sight, then looks over his shoulder before edging his other shoulder into the door. When he steps on down into the dive, he does so with a self-possessed ease that might well masquerade his lack of belonging, along with the smoke and dim lighting, which might help obscure the pallid green hue underlying his complexion. The tie 'round his neck hangs loose, slack, declaring him off-duty, and the waist-length mop of thick blonde-green hair presents the image of a dirty hippie in square's clothing. Maybe that's oddity enough to draw notice from the eight feet of tail snaking behind him. But probably not.

Solomon leans back and lights his cigarette, and it becomes apparent that it's probably just a spliff. "You know, it's a good night to remember the fallen, but it's also a good night to celebrate life. What little of it we have." He brings his flask back out and raises it, "L'Chaim." he take another swig, this time a touch of crimson exiting the corner of his mouth before he quickly wipes it away.

Psyche nods at Solomon's words, taking them to heart, "Yes…I guess I should not waste my life." She looks to the picture of her grandfather and touches it lightly, "I need to stop being so…" She thinks of the word, "Complacent…" She pauses as she notices the newcomer arrive. At first she doesn't notice the skin tone difference but the tail does get her attention, even as she is a bit drunk. She shoots a smile over Mree's way, being one of the family looks in the bar.

A smile. It's not much, in terms of a gesture, but Mree takes it as a token of safety, of sorts, and gravitates closer, lifting his arms up overhead and stretching out his back, gathering up his long mane of hair and tying it up behind him with a loose band, leaving it drooped into a sloppy half-bun that hangs heavy between his shoulder blades. His tail keeps slinking low, for the most part, but begins to inch upward into its customary lazy arc, the less he feels that he might just have to flee the place. His eyes drawn in swift succession to Psyche, to the picture, back to Psyche, and then to Solomon. "Oh, hey," he offers the latter, or possibly the both of them, after a familiar fashion.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" Solomon asks of Mree, taking another drag from his cigarette. He looks back over at Psyche, "I should ask, how're you gettin' home? Don't imagine you drove. And if you did you aren't goin' anywhere in a vehicle now."

"I walked…" Psyche assures him, "It was only 34 miles." She says it like it's not a big deal even though it would take most people eleven hours to do the trek. Luckily Psyche isn't most people but clearly she's not going to be able to make it home tonight on her own steam with 4 shots inside of her, "Maybe I should grab a place to crash." But it's also clear the girl didn't think past having a drink with her grandfather. She looks at Mree and then Solomon, "Are there any good hotels around here?"

"Good? There are hotels, for sure," Mree begins at the ending, as one does, meeting Psyche's eyes and then looking for Solomon's in order to issue him a little smile, as though the words might be somehow amusing to the fellow. "I haven't ever stayed in one. But I'm parked just six blocka out from the door. If you need a ride home and don't mind riding with strangers and the top down," he make the offer obliquely, applying no apodosis to his protasis in a casual English which suits his groovy demeanor. "Me, I'm alright— I feel as though I've met you before, but I'm not sure that I have."

"Not really. But if you want something faster than a car, we can just blink there." Solomon also offers. "Long as I know where you're talkin' about anyway. Easier to go places I've been." His attention goes back to Mree, "I dunno, you hang around Hell's Kitchen? Normally where I am. Solomon Malakoff."

Psyche looks grateful when Mree offers to drive her. But before she can take him up on it, Solomon mentions his style of transportation and she blinks, telling him where she lives, "I go to the Xavier School For Gifted Youngsters." She then cants her head to one side at Solomon, "Have you met the Professor or any of his students? It would be great if you could get me back…I don't want anyone to worry." She then turns back to her grandfather, offers a soft word of good-bye in Enochian, the Spirit Tongue and then puts the photo away. She then looks at both men, "Do me a favor and make sure I get home." And then as a parting shot, she then drinks the four drinks that were saved for her grandfather as tradition dictates that before she leaves, she takes the shots meant for him.

Mree takes a short breath; "Oh!" is his entire commentary to the news of Solomon's identity, of which he had some evident foreknowledge, but about which he seems disinclined to speak further, only letting his cheshire grin ease back into place, a knowing, even caring look given to the fellow in question. "Mree," he introduces himself, in turn, but his interest is piqued by Psyche's home address. "Oh, wow. I've always wanted to see that," he admits. "And by 'always' I mean… for the last few months," he corrects himself with an easy smile. Psyche's request has him looking semi-expectantly to Solomon.

"Think I was in the area not too long ago. Bar out that way we had some business at." Solomon says after a moment of though. He pushes to his feet and places a hand on both Mree and Psyche's arms. "Alright, mind the step." Then in a puff of dark energy the group disappears, instantly arriving outside a bar that's not too far from the Institute. "This the right area?"

"Dani!" Psyche tells Mree just before Solomon grabs ahold of them and whisks them away to a bar not too far from the institute. In fact, the teen has been here before because it's a place the students head off to when they want to drink. She is a little woozy as the eight shots are moving through her system and can barely stand, "Yes…this is an excellent spot." Forget inhibitions at this point. She stands on her tippy toes and gives Solomon a kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for taking me home." She then glances over at Mree who also made the trip, "It's been very nice to meet you."

Mree is not sure where he is in relation to where he was, mind you, but he takes it all in stride, the slender whisker tips which curl from his jawline jolting straight with the sudden thrill of the touch and the move. "Oh, wow," he speaks, breathless, as if he, too, were a little woozy, but with awe rather than drink. He's catching his bearings while Dani rewards Solomon's efforts with a kiss to the cheek, and, noticing the gesture, he leans in and gives Solomon's other cheek a kiss, as well, only a moment later. "Yes, thank you! That was exciting. I might just go see where we've come. Are you going back?" he wonders.

"Don't worry about." Solomon says, waving a hand. If either of the kisses bother him he doesn't vocalize it. "And nope, looks like Dani's feelin' those shots." He moves to wrap an arm around her shoulders in an effort to help stabalize her. "So let's make sure she actually gets back to where she's going, then we'll hop back."

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