1964-10-16 - Whiskey In the Bar-o
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vesper speedball 


Harlem has lots of options for a meal. Most of them involve halfway decent drinks. Sandwiches are a rarity. All Vesper wants are the low lights and the noise. One or the other will probably satisfy her. Her expression is a bit clouded, her glasses hard up against the bridge of her nose. Instead of her usual doe brown irises, they're all blue electricity churning in a constant spiral. Staring into them is to see the electric angels and kinetic demons of modern existence. Mostly, though?

She just really wants something to pass as food.

Speedball was a buzz with energy; literal energy manifested in pale amber globules of motiona round him like a spackling of oil in water just orbiting and moving somehow through him as he sat curled up in the booth labeled 'the other office' since Murdock wasn't using it. Presumptous, maaaaybe, but he did it. He was in street chlothes but as he munched on a fry he waggled the other half at her, "Heeeey you're teh scone lady. Hey you."

There must be a free seat somewhere. The kind of seat that affords company but at arm's reach, not too closed in. She is almost grateful for the possibility of an escape by the loud noise. She looks over at the office in question called the 'Other Office.' Yeah, not going to interrupt someone like that. She instead puts herself on a barstool and says, "Whatever you have heavier than beer. Beer is not enough." Little, petite thing that she is, that might be a pint glass. It takes a moment to catch up. "Scone lady." Her craned look over her shoulder captures him curiously.

Speedball seemed to take almost everything in stridebut snapped his fingers reccalling more accurately, "Croissants. It was croissants." He was working in a notebook with a metric pile of formulae and angles that didn't look like it belonged sitting on front of the super hippie, but there it was. "Grab her that whiskey that Rand got us last night, Cal. That was amazing."

"Croissants," agrees the brunette. She has to hope whiskey or whatever they offer her is good enough. The drink slides over. She takes it with a raise of the glass in toast. "Salut." Then goeth the sip and… oh, that burns, that burns hot. She sputters into the glass.

Speedball laughed warming an ear to ear grin. Okay that rbeak was needed from the monotany of the Monday. "You said stronger than beer. Yooooou, lady, are welcome." His pencil jotted a few more numbers down after erasing a few and finally asked, "You okay? Tall drink for an afternoon."

"It's stronger." Oh yes, it is. She drowns in the flavor with some difficulty. The peat bite takes some getting used to. Maybe drinking more will have an effect of any sort. She breathes in a deep taste of the air and then leans back a little. "Someone has afternoon, someone else has night. I am restoring my faith in humanity."

Speedball looked up at the sign and gestured to the spot across from him. Was he still having spiked particles that were working themselves out but he seemed to pay them no mind if others didn't. The look was earnest though. Tap tap went the pencil eraser on the table. "The doctor is in…well… future doctor anyways. Maybe. Either way, sit. Gab. You look like you can use a friendly face. Nooooow I'm no Spider-Man, but I'm still working on the friendly-local level here. Vesper, right? Robbie. Been a bit."

That is such a strange spot. She doesn't question how it received its label or why the man is so wiggly over there, too much restless energy. "Doctor that charges five cents. I'm lucky to have ten for the drink, thank you." She can hardly help herself, resting her hand underneath her chin. "Vesper." Agreement, thus. Her name sounds French and it's not Greek to the ear. "You are Robbie. It is good to meet you again. Why here?"

Speedball looked around and gave her the most honest answer, "I dig the guy who owns the bar. He's good for the community, for the people, and he's a good big brother when someone just needs to hang out. Figure best I can do is give my dimes to a good friend who is good for others. But… easier than being at the lab right now and I just don't want to be at the school library. Here? Sorta reminds me, even with the patched bulletholes in the wall, people are willing to come together to take care of things. They don't have to, but they do. Just can use that from time to time I guess. You?"

"Oh?" The rest of the whiskey is going down with a long sip. Not really a gulp, the only way Vesper doesn't sputter. The heat in the peat alcohol burns a straight line down her throat into her belly. Something about whiskey opens the eyes and releases some tension. Not enough, but sufficient for her belly to unclench just a little. She puts down a dollar bill and turns on the stool. "The lab isn't so helpful right now, I have to admit. I need to get back. More experiments. Croissants again, maybe. Be well."

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