Log: Kevin and Maya - Closing Time
Aug. 29th, 2022 08:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to the night of Monday, August 29th
Maya runs across Kevin in a tucked-away corner of the mansion.
Maya could be light on her feet, certainly her years of training as a contemporary dancer and the various other extracurricular activities she got up to in high school might have made moving silently something of an inbuilt ability but Maya was not quiet.
Ahead of her, in the dark mansion, was a pool of light. Inside the lounge, the antique oil lamps were lit, providing a soft white glow. It was also occupied.
Given that her presence entering a room could best be described as only slightly less loud than a stampeding herd of Elephants who happened to be suffering from quite a bad case of whooping cough, she didn't bother to try and leave, or in any other way disguise her presence.
“Kevin,” she greeted as she sat on the unoccupied couch in what must have been considered a ‘gentleman’s smoking room’ at some point. The bottles of liquor arrayed in cabinets certainly seemed to indicate such.
"Young woman," Kevin said flatly, looking at her over his paper for a moment before returning to it, a cigar in his mouth. "Can I help you?"
“Would you help me if you could?” Maya asked with an amused smile. She popped off the high heels she’d been wearing and started rubbing at the balls of her feet. Just because she was used to dancing didn’t mean her feet didn’t hurt after a long session. “First time anyone has ever called me young woman though.”
"Is this a meth thing? I watched Breaking Bad. It seems like a meth thing." He said, drawing in a long puff from his cigar.
“Is this the part where I get offended and demand you take back such scurrilous rumors?” Maya asked wryly as she curled her feet under her knees. “Breaking Bad was not really my thing. I prefer Sons of Anarchy.”
"Worth a try. But, since you seem not to be storming out as intended..." He set down his paper beside him and tapped off the end of his cigar into the nearby ashtray. "Do you want a drink?"
“I like to never do the expected thing,” Maya replied, her head tilting slightly in thought as she contemplated his question. “I wouldn’t mind a drink, what kind were you thinking?”
"Unlike many in this place, I don't read minds." He settled his cigar down in the ashtray, got up, and walked behind the bar. "I'm going to have a bourbon. You're welcome to whatever is available here. If you prefer something... of the wine cooler nature, you'll have to get that from the kitchen yourself."
‘Is this some new definition of asking people if they want a drink that doesn’t include actually giving them a drink?”
Maya stood and padded over to the shelving, where she took a long look at the options before turning to Kevin.
“I wasn’t playing a mind-reading game, I was literally asking you what you’d suggest.”
Kevin managed not to roll his eyes. Youth, as the saying went, was certainly wasted on the young. "A reasonable suggestion requires both information and context; tastes, experience, preferences... I'd suggest a John E. Fitzgerald like myself. But if you've never had a taste of bourbon before, it would be like taking your driver's test in a race car. I'd suggest an extra dry dirty gin martini, but if your experience is more based around drinks that end with '-and coke', you likely will not appreciate it. So, young woman, what would you like?"
“I don’t like sweet, it sets my teeth on edge,” Maya admitted after a moment of thought. She ignored what might have been a moment of tension for the better chance of someone who might actually know something about alcohol. “Mostly I drink cheap beer, so I’m not exactly the expert. What’s a John E. Fitzgerald?”
"Something that would be akin to simply setting a small pile of money on fire to give you." He reached down and opened the bar fridge, fishing inside for a bottle. "Here, have a slightly better beer." He set the ice-cold bottle of Carlsberg down in front of her with a glass before pouring a generous helping of straw brown liquor into his.
“Not going to open it for me and pour?” Maya asked with the small upward arch of a styled eyebrow and the slight tilt of a smirk on her lips. “Such a gentleman.”
"It has been told to me many times that young women like yourself have agency and I need to respect that in our interactions. But, I'm an old man, so I actually fall back to what I know." Kevin said. "Which is that I'm not getting paid to be a bartender, so open your own damn drink, kid." He said wryly.
“Touché” Maya murmured before she spent a moment going through drawers to find a bottle opener. This place was too classy to have the hanging Dad Joke bottle opener she was used to. “So, is the cranky old man persona your only personality, or do you have others you use when that one doesn’t work to scare people away?”
"I'm a spy. My personas fit what I'm trying to achieve. I'm also a shapeshifter, so how I look is based on the same thing." Kevin said mildly, taking a sip from his drink. "I'm also 87 years old and have made and lost a lifetime of friends. So if you want to get to know me, giving me a reason beyond 'young pain in the ass kid' is your best plan. Otherwise, I'll happily go back to my paper, my cigar, and my drink."
Maya’s laugh was a soft huff as she tilted her bottle back and took her first drink of beer, a surprised noise following at the smooth taste. She nodded in respect as she made her way back to her seat.
“Not being a young pain in the ass kid is a stretch but I’m sure I could get there with a little bit of effort. So, tell me your stories, old man.”
"You need to stop. I'm not an amusement park attraction you get to drop dimes in and see what happens." Kevin said, returning to his seat. "You want that? You tell me why you're worth my attention."
“Sorry,” Maya muttered around another drag of her beer but she waved away his question. “Do people often try and impress you into dealing with them?”
"Sometimes. Most times, they're trying to impress themselves, like you. Let's show the old man and all that. But something they forget is part of age is having already met people like them many times before, and frankly, they weren't that interesting the first time around." Kevin said. "So, let's try this again. Is there something you want, specifically? If so, ask. If you'd rather simply enjoy the bar at the same time in shared but quiet company, that is another option. If you'd like to find somewhere else to be and convince yourself about whatever conclusions you have drawn about me, I wish you Godspeed. But if you want me to perform for you, you are not going to have a pleasant evening."
Maya took another long drink of her beer before setting it down on the table beside her. Kevin seemed like the type of person you wanted to be clear with, as he’d been clear with her. That deserved respect at the very least.
“Sorry about the whole ‘entertain me’ stuff” she replied eventually, having gotten some of her thoughts in a row. “I’m wired to push the hell out of people till they push back. It’s my least endearing trait.”
"Word to the wise? Pushing the wrong people leads to pushback you don't want. After all, not everyone is as nice as the folks here at the mansion." He said with a tilt of his head.
“Therapy once a fortnight,” Maya noted with a smile that was slightly more friendly. “I’m a continuous work in progress. Will you tell me about this place? I haven’t found it before.”
"You're American. We don't use fortnight. We fought wars to not use fortnight." Kevin said mildly. "This place was originally furnished about 125 years ago, as far as my research makes it. Arnold Constable, which puts it in a rarified company like the St.Regis. It's pure Gilded Age aesthetic and deserves to be used, for all the sins around it."
“Who you calling ‘we’ white man,” Maya replied but it was obvious she was quoting given the grin. “That’s definitely history. Wonder if they ever did any swing dancing in this place?”
Maya runs across Kevin in a tucked-away corner of the mansion.
Maya could be light on her feet, certainly her years of training as a contemporary dancer and the various other extracurricular activities she got up to in high school might have made moving silently something of an inbuilt ability but Maya was not quiet.
Ahead of her, in the dark mansion, was a pool of light. Inside the lounge, the antique oil lamps were lit, providing a soft white glow. It was also occupied.
Given that her presence entering a room could best be described as only slightly less loud than a stampeding herd of Elephants who happened to be suffering from quite a bad case of whooping cough, she didn't bother to try and leave, or in any other way disguise her presence.
“Kevin,” she greeted as she sat on the unoccupied couch in what must have been considered a ‘gentleman’s smoking room’ at some point. The bottles of liquor arrayed in cabinets certainly seemed to indicate such.
"Young woman," Kevin said flatly, looking at her over his paper for a moment before returning to it, a cigar in his mouth. "Can I help you?"
“Would you help me if you could?” Maya asked with an amused smile. She popped off the high heels she’d been wearing and started rubbing at the balls of her feet. Just because she was used to dancing didn’t mean her feet didn’t hurt after a long session. “First time anyone has ever called me young woman though.”
"Is this a meth thing? I watched Breaking Bad. It seems like a meth thing." He said, drawing in a long puff from his cigar.
“Is this the part where I get offended and demand you take back such scurrilous rumors?” Maya asked wryly as she curled her feet under her knees. “Breaking Bad was not really my thing. I prefer Sons of Anarchy.”
"Worth a try. But, since you seem not to be storming out as intended..." He set down his paper beside him and tapped off the end of his cigar into the nearby ashtray. "Do you want a drink?"
“I like to never do the expected thing,” Maya replied, her head tilting slightly in thought as she contemplated his question. “I wouldn’t mind a drink, what kind were you thinking?”
"Unlike many in this place, I don't read minds." He settled his cigar down in the ashtray, got up, and walked behind the bar. "I'm going to have a bourbon. You're welcome to whatever is available here. If you prefer something... of the wine cooler nature, you'll have to get that from the kitchen yourself."
‘Is this some new definition of asking people if they want a drink that doesn’t include actually giving them a drink?”
Maya stood and padded over to the shelving, where she took a long look at the options before turning to Kevin.
“I wasn’t playing a mind-reading game, I was literally asking you what you’d suggest.”
Kevin managed not to roll his eyes. Youth, as the saying went, was certainly wasted on the young. "A reasonable suggestion requires both information and context; tastes, experience, preferences... I'd suggest a John E. Fitzgerald like myself. But if you've never had a taste of bourbon before, it would be like taking your driver's test in a race car. I'd suggest an extra dry dirty gin martini, but if your experience is more based around drinks that end with '-and coke', you likely will not appreciate it. So, young woman, what would you like?"
“I don’t like sweet, it sets my teeth on edge,” Maya admitted after a moment of thought. She ignored what might have been a moment of tension for the better chance of someone who might actually know something about alcohol. “Mostly I drink cheap beer, so I’m not exactly the expert. What’s a John E. Fitzgerald?”
"Something that would be akin to simply setting a small pile of money on fire to give you." He reached down and opened the bar fridge, fishing inside for a bottle. "Here, have a slightly better beer." He set the ice-cold bottle of Carlsberg down in front of her with a glass before pouring a generous helping of straw brown liquor into his.
“Not going to open it for me and pour?” Maya asked with the small upward arch of a styled eyebrow and the slight tilt of a smirk on her lips. “Such a gentleman.”
"It has been told to me many times that young women like yourself have agency and I need to respect that in our interactions. But, I'm an old man, so I actually fall back to what I know." Kevin said. "Which is that I'm not getting paid to be a bartender, so open your own damn drink, kid." He said wryly.
“Touché” Maya murmured before she spent a moment going through drawers to find a bottle opener. This place was too classy to have the hanging Dad Joke bottle opener she was used to. “So, is the cranky old man persona your only personality, or do you have others you use when that one doesn’t work to scare people away?”
"I'm a spy. My personas fit what I'm trying to achieve. I'm also a shapeshifter, so how I look is based on the same thing." Kevin said mildly, taking a sip from his drink. "I'm also 87 years old and have made and lost a lifetime of friends. So if you want to get to know me, giving me a reason beyond 'young pain in the ass kid' is your best plan. Otherwise, I'll happily go back to my paper, my cigar, and my drink."
Maya’s laugh was a soft huff as she tilted her bottle back and took her first drink of beer, a surprised noise following at the smooth taste. She nodded in respect as she made her way back to her seat.
“Not being a young pain in the ass kid is a stretch but I’m sure I could get there with a little bit of effort. So, tell me your stories, old man.”
"You need to stop. I'm not an amusement park attraction you get to drop dimes in and see what happens." Kevin said, returning to his seat. "You want that? You tell me why you're worth my attention."
“Sorry,” Maya muttered around another drag of her beer but she waved away his question. “Do people often try and impress you into dealing with them?”
"Sometimes. Most times, they're trying to impress themselves, like you. Let's show the old man and all that. But something they forget is part of age is having already met people like them many times before, and frankly, they weren't that interesting the first time around." Kevin said. "So, let's try this again. Is there something you want, specifically? If so, ask. If you'd rather simply enjoy the bar at the same time in shared but quiet company, that is another option. If you'd like to find somewhere else to be and convince yourself about whatever conclusions you have drawn about me, I wish you Godspeed. But if you want me to perform for you, you are not going to have a pleasant evening."
Maya took another long drink of her beer before setting it down on the table beside her. Kevin seemed like the type of person you wanted to be clear with, as he’d been clear with her. That deserved respect at the very least.
“Sorry about the whole ‘entertain me’ stuff” she replied eventually, having gotten some of her thoughts in a row. “I’m wired to push the hell out of people till they push back. It’s my least endearing trait.”
"Word to the wise? Pushing the wrong people leads to pushback you don't want. After all, not everyone is as nice as the folks here at the mansion." He said with a tilt of his head.
“Therapy once a fortnight,” Maya noted with a smile that was slightly more friendly. “I’m a continuous work in progress. Will you tell me about this place? I haven’t found it before.”
"You're American. We don't use fortnight. We fought wars to not use fortnight." Kevin said mildly. "This place was originally furnished about 125 years ago, as far as my research makes it. Arnold Constable, which puts it in a rarified company like the St.Regis. It's pure Gilded Age aesthetic and deserves to be used, for all the sins around it."
“Who you calling ‘we’ white man,” Maya replied but it was obvious she was quoting given the grin. “That’s definitely history. Wonder if they ever did any swing dancing in this place?”
