| Seeing Double |
| Summary: | The lame title not withstanding - Sawyer runs afoot, afoul and across the Cerberus own set of twins, Iosif and Iszak. |
| Date: | 05 Jun 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Don't leave blank! |
| Players: |
   |
| Colonial Pete's |
| Colonial Pete's is the long-awaited successor to Kythera's Aquarian Pete's, though this version is more bar than strip club. Not that there aren't any strippers here, in fact there's even a raised platform complete with pole built just for them. The majority of the room, however, is dominated by mis-matched tables and chairs and a long bar. Lighting is haphazard, the harsh fluorescents that came with the place usually left off in favor of lower lighting from scavenged lamps and even a bit of neon rustled up from somewhere and hung behind the bar. There's a pretty decent sound-system playing a wide variety of music, and a couple of low-tech bar games, like a mini pyramid arena. There are always a few burly-looking guys around to keep an eye on rowdy patrons, and especially to guard the doors to the back rooms, where the stills are kept along with (rumors say) a few private alcoves for those willing to pay extra for one-on-one time with the girls. A large black chalkboard that once adorned Cerberus' Ready Room hangs behind the bar. Scrawled on its surface beneath a crude picture of a steaming bowl are the words 'SOUP OF THE DAY: MOONSHINE.' |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #464 |
It's early in the day, so much as time matters in the blackness of space, and Colonial Pete's is only beginning to fill up with military personnel on leave and civilians looking for a spot to kill some time. Iosif enters as one of the former, in his off-duties, crooked half-grin on his lips as he takes in the feel of the place. Even with a sparse crowd there's music playing, and a dancer idly twisting around the pole up on the stage. "Maybe we're early for happy hour," he quips.
"Never had a happy hour with you around," Iszak quips back without missing a beat. He's dressed down as well, though in civilian clothes rather than an off-duty uniform. He meanders up to the bar, having no trouble finding a swath of open stools just now, at least. He slides onto one, and then lifts up to dig into a back pocket, pulling out a wad of vouchers. He tosses a couple on the bar, and then turns to eye the dancer, scratching at a thickly-stubbled cheek as he spends a moment watching. "Not half-bad for an off-hour," he comments.
Killing time. Maybe that's what Sawyer is doing here. The reporter finally found herself a pair of blue jeans or traded back for some of those she originally donated. Heels though, those stay firmly apart of her outfit. She's seated at the bar, foot tapping away against the leg of the stool she occupies. A glass of clear liquid is in front of her, but she hardly touches it, more interested at the moment in the rings of condensation she's making patterns out of on the bar's top.
"We've all of us got to make a living, surely that is so," Iosif concurs with that last bit form Iszak, giving the woman on stage an appreciative look as he bellies up to the bar. "Beats some jobs a body could get at the end of the worlds." While there's plenty of room he stands next to Iszak rather than sits, leaning his elbows on the bar. He ends up next to Sawyer, as it happens. "Oh, pardon Miss…" He takes a second, then snaps his fingers in triumph as he summons her name to his brain. "…Averies?" Like he's checking if he's correct or not.
"So say we all," Iszak bobs his head in benediction of Iszak's words, turning away from the dancer to lean over the bar and look about for the 'tender. He gets service eventually, and goes about ordering two drinks and counting out vouchers, this round apparently on him. He turns back just as Iosif is remembering Sawyer's name, and a brow rises. He leans around his twin's shoulder, in such a way that their identical faces are side-by-side in a perhaps-mildly-startling fashion, and smiles, "Is he botherin' you, miss?"
Sawyer looks over and does a double-take. Literally, because well, there are two of them. "If it isn't Cerberus' own pair of twins, as I live and breath. I didn't think you boys travelled in packs." She musters up a smile for them, though it struggles when it comes to reaching her eyes. "Averies, that's right. But of course you can call me Sawyer. And bother? No. Last time I checked, correctly knowing one's name was never a bother. The problem becomes at the end of the night, when one of us can't remember our own." She hoists her glass and toasts the pair - the some what unsettling pair - with her glass.
Iosif takes off his glasses in a flourishing sort of way, to make the confusion even greater, and grins. "That's us, love. Brothers O'Keefe. I got the looks and brains, Zak here got…well, not all of us can be fortunate, can we, poor sod?" He aims a playful elbow at his brother. "Never forgot my own name. Forgot a few others at the end of a night at the bar, but never my own." He lifts his own glass when it's delivered to him, to return her toast. "What're we drinking to tonight, anyhow?"
Iszak plucks the glasses out of Iosif's hand and spirits them away somewhere… perhaps literally, as a beat after they enter his hands, they seem, to anyone not watching very closely indeed, to disappear. He snorts at Iosif and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder as he informs Sawyer, "I got the humility, as y'see." He winks and turns back to collect his drink, returning her toast as well. Or at least lifting his glass in preparation.
"Well that's just not fair." Sawyer intones as to the great disappearing act of the glasses. "Good thing I couldn't tell you apart to start with." The reporter looks to her glass for a long moment, studying a drip of water that runs down the outside due to the ice that clinks inside. "How about we drink to…letting go? New beginnings. Being alive, hmm?"
"Hey!" Iosif's head whips about as his glasses are snatched. And disappeared. "Wanker. I better get those back, or I'm reporting you to the M-Ps for theft by…prestidigitation. Or whatever the fancy word is for it." To Sawyer, he lifts his glass. "New beginnings and being alive? I can drink to that. What're you beginning tonight, you don't mind my asking?"
"Yeah, 'cause the MPs will know what that word means anymore than you do. Vocab-wanker," Iszak snorts in reply. The glasses don't reappear and he grins at Sawyer, toasting eagerly enough, "T'bein' alive, aye. I'll drink t'that any night, I will." He lifts his drink a bit higher, and then brings it back to his lips for a gulp.
"Beginning a life of not being a wanker." She responds to Iosif or Iszak or maybe them both. "Vocab, or otherwise." Sawyer grins a little more honest-naturedly this time, lifts her glass a half inch higher, and then drinks. "So which one of you does which?" She motions between the two, trying to pick out which department they belong to by sight alone.
"Alright, then," Iosif says with a grin. He doesn't sound quite sure what to make of Sawyer's vow not to be a wanker, but he's generally supportive of it. "We both of us do all sorts of things, love. But if you're speaking in a workmanlike sort of manner, I'm Iosif and I'm assigned down on the Deck. The wanker's Iszak, and he's in Engineering. Keeps things simpler us not tripping over each other in the same department, I'll wager."
"You a wanker?" Iszak looks skeptical, "I doubt that, luv. I doubt that very much. But I'll drink to it anyway, have no fear." He grins, and then drinks, nodding to confirm at least part of Iosif's response. "Best not to confuse folks more than we do already. And I was in Engineering already, me, where this one wanted t'work with the planes."
"Do you ever…play tricks? Switch dog tags and show up to the other's duty stations? Nothing nefarious, I mean, but just to cover if one has a hangover or the like?" Sawyer makes a little hmm noise under her breath. "That's a rather juvenile question, isn't it? Maybe I am losing my touch." She snorts a laugh at something, then drinks another sip from her glass. "What were you both doing before all this mess?"
"Knew a bit about aircraft from handing about me Da and Mum's old freighter. Wasn't so much of a switch," Iosif elaborates off Iszak's explanation. To Sawyer, a wink. "Never on duty, love. I don't screw about when I've got a job to do. Off, though, we have a bit of fun now and then. 'Sides, I wouldn't want my bosses thinking I was this lout. I got my reputation to consider, I do. He's right, though. I can't see you as being a wanker."
"Now and again, we might muck about a bit, but… yeah, not on duty," Iszak nods, and then rolls his eyes at Iosif's reply. "Aye, it's him not wanting me messing with his reputation, that's it," he says sarcastically, "Not at all that our little apprentice here ain't qualified t'do my job, innit? Give himself away in seconds flat, saluting somebody wrong or something, he would." He takes another sip of his drink, and then adds, "Before all this we was running supply, import, export, that sorta thing. On the freighter he mentioned," he indicates Iosif with his chin.
Sawyer props her chin in her palm, allowing herself to be enthralled by the pair of dopplegangers. It looks as if she's spent a good long while without a proper story, "So your parents owned a freight vessel. Whereabouts?" The bartender comes by, but Sawyer covers the top of her glass, indicating she's fine for now. She pulls some drink vouchers out though, wordlessly buying the twins another round, if only to keep them talking.
"Whereabouts? Where not abouts would be a shorter answer, my fair Miss Sawyer. We ran everywhere in the Colonies. Iszak and me saw every planet there was to see before we was old enough to shave. That boat was more home than any port we put into. We was technically born on Aerilon, but I didn't have a stint there of more than a couple of months until we was shot down when the toasters hit." The memory of that bit makes Iosif wince, and take a drink. "What about you? You got the sound of Virgon about you, if I hear right."
"Longest time we ever spent in one place what I can recall," Iszak confirms with a lop-sided, rueful smile of their time on Aerilon after Warday and before rescue. "On one planet, anyways," he clarifies, offering up: "I did a couple tours myself before the bombs and all, but being on one spot in space doesn't count. Definitely Virgon," he agrees with a quick nod and another drink, "I'd lay money on that."
Sawyer lifts her chin, spouting in perfect Virgan, "I am from the land of stinky cheese, fine wine and fat women." She gives a soft laugh. "Vigon, yes, good ear. Or ears. No need to lay money on it, that would be a bet for a fool." She jingles her glass of ice, deciding how much liquid is left before taking another sip.
"I'll take my wine and women any way I can get them," Iosif says with a chuckle at the exaggerated accent. "Don't sound like such a bad place to me. Got a contract to haul Virgan wine once, come to it. Seller was a stingy bastard, though, so we didn't keep it for more than a few runs. Anyway, here's to home, wherever you call it." And he drinks again. "What's got you down, anyhow? You was talking about wankers a minute ago, and for once I don't think the descriptor was about Iszak."
The bartender must have been hailed by the clatter of ice cubes in Sawyers drink, and he approaches dutifully, "More water, ma'am?" The reporter smirks deeply, flicking a glance to the pair of twins who are actually drinking the hard stuff. "I'm good, thanks. I think I'm going to call it a night." She shifts her weight, slipping down off the stool. "Let's save that story for another night, hmm? Thanks for the company, boys."