gothatFAR;; max

[isabel]

I'm your freak show, baby
I'm your crazy train

» Issy loved her job. She loved people, loved getting to know the various creatures that happened to wander into the bar, drinking various amounts of different drinks, for whatever reason happened to be on their minds. For some, it was just a rare recreational drink, and they would be leaving in a few minutes. For others, it was trying to escape recent trauma, or fueling their alcoholism, in which case they would be there for hours, and Issy would probably end up making some phone calls for cabs or friends, or possibly the police. Luckily, as long as she'd worked here, there had been very few of those, and even fewer ambulance calls for passed-out drunks. She hated cleaning up puke, which was a fairly common duty of hers, considering the venue, but lately she'd become adept at telling who was about to toss their cookies, and either directing them towards the shrine of the porcelain God, or toward the other end of the bar, where they would be the other bartender's problem. Haha, if she ever met him- or her- she would probably get thanked with a punch to the face.

» Tonight was an even busier night than usual. Issy had come in early like she usually did, just to sit around is tinker with karaoke until her shift started, but when she saw all the people there, she figured she might as well clock in early, and did. Couldn't hurt, right? It baffled her. Even though, yes, Truth or Dare was a popular club, it normally wasn't this crowded. She had a couple theories, but really didn't know. After asking various people she made drinks for, she was told it was a 21st-birthday celebration. Ah, of course- once the youngest friend turned twenty-one, they were all legally able to go to the bar for a guys' night out. Lovely. As per the usual, Issy spent the entire shift in go-mode, always on her feet, moving somehow, whether from one end of her side of the bar to the other or doing some sort of trick. She didn't bother to take a break for food- she could if she wanted to, but usually didn't bother- or to sit and rest. She was no delicate flower, and could handle a few solid hours without sitting down. She didn't even stop for a rest when things slowed down, around midnight. Instead of leaning on the bar and simply talking to one of the only three people sitting at her side of the bar, she got up onto the counter and started dancing to the music that was playing on the speakers. It wasn't a sleazy dance, or in any way slutty or stripper-like. It showed off her flexibility, sure- with splits and bridges- but it wasn't like she was shaking her fun bags in guys' faces. It was more to keep herself moving and customers occupied than anything else, and when the song ended, she was on the floor again, and stayed there for the rest of the shift, which passed without incident.

» Finally, at around three in the morning, the last people- the vast majority of them shit-faced- found their ways to the door, either with designated drivers or cabs being called. Issy reached under the counter and pulled out a small towel, which she used to start cleaning off the counter-tops. Luckily, there was no vomit there- only water, beer, and droplets of the various drinks that were consumed there.

[max]

The night simply wasn’t long enough for Maximus fully to catalogue the masses of people that crowded through the club doors. He heaved a dismal sigh as he filled yet another foamy beer mug and for the tenth time that night, he asked himself what the hell he was doing. There used to be more to his life than mixing the perfect drink, more than watching the same people sashay around the dance floor night after night. Maximus was a curious man by nature, and in a diverse atmosphere such as Truth or Dare, the opportunities to people watch were endless, except for the fact that after the first hour or so, all the faces seemed to blur together. A part of him itched to be out on the dance floor himself, succumbing to the music, but each time the urge struck he’d duck his head and bite his lip. He couldn’t seem to hold a train of thought for very long here, not that the fact was anything out of the ordinary, but he barely had time to catch his breath before someone else was demanding a refill. Normally Maximus enjoyed his job, tedious and repetitive as it was, it could be endlessly entertaining. The fact that the club was especially crowded this night should have occupied him further, he found himself wanting to draw away from the crowd. Russet eyes scanned the people sitting at the bar, a careful eye for empty glasses and pointed stares, and he couldn’t help but wonder the reason for each of them to be there. For most of them, he assumed it would be for fun, to unwind after a hard week or celebrate a special occasion, but there were a few faces he saw shift after shift.

He’d just managed to divert yet another sick customer toward the bathroom. Some nights he wasn’t so lucky and ended up with a counterful of alcohol and stomach acid, sometimes more, and he’d have to dig out the gloves and paper towels and apologize repeatedly to the patrons who weren’t driven away by the stench. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought someone had set up a sign that directed all who were about to loose everything they’d eaten in the past day toward his part of the counter. At first he’d freaked out, because vomit was not something Maximus Gideon wanted to be around for any length of time, much less clean up, but by now he’d become desensitized. That didn’t mean he liked cleaning it up though. Time began to blur as he served drink after drink, his mind focused on the labels of the bottles and which flavor went with which drink. The transition from teacher to bartender hadn’t been an easy one, but he’d had his fair share of practice by now and could pretty much hold his own. As the club began to thin, he allowed himself to take a breath, smiling absently at something one of his remaining customers said. His wandering gaze found the form of a woman dancing on the bar counter, he didn’t recognize her, but he assumed she worked here because there was no way anyone else would be allowed up there. His mouth twitched upward into a haphazard grin as he watched for a few moments, admiring her skills and grace. You’d never find him up there on the counter, no he was content to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground, but it was amusing to see someone else give it a go. He’d gone back to fixing drinks, the orders slowing until they finally stopped around three am. Maximus was a night owl, he usually spent most of his nights awake, but that didn’t stop the yawn from nearly splitting his face in half as he leaned against the bar, watching as the last of the club goers stumble out the front doors.

Giving his part of the counter a once over, he ducked his head to look for his rag. There’d been a spill earlier that someone had neglected to mention to him and he winced when he realized it was probably sticky by now. A frown tugged at his lips as he continued his hunt for his rag, the frown fading into a scowl as it continued to elude him. With a sigh, he maneuvered his way to the other end of the bar, and stopped near his fellow bartender, a woman he’d yet to have met. He cleared his throat softly hands shoved in his pockets as he ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth. “’ey, don’t think we’ve met, shame considering we’re tending the same bar and all, or not a shame ‘pending on your preference, but er, anyways, I was wondering if you had an extra rag I could borrow? Not to be a bother, I could probably find one in the back or something but mines gone missing and it’s been a long shift…” he trailed off, biting his lower lip. “I’m, er, Maximus by the way,” he added awkwardly.

[isabel]

Back in black
& I'm dressed to kill

» She was lucky enough to have caught any major spills almost as soon as they occurred- on top of patrolling for customers about to vomit, she also scanned the counters for liquid every few seconds, not wanting any stickiness, and having taken a vow years ago that she would never use Mr. Clean- that bald, muscular dude scared the shit out of her, the way the bottle smiled at her while she sprayed it. She would never use it unless she had to- in fact, if it were up to her, they would just use Pinesol or something to clean the counters- anything but Mr. Clean! Anyways, she had already cleaned up the remaining messes from her side of the counter when Max approached. She looked over her should at him, then turned to face him with a smile.

» She liked meeting new people. New people had different stories to tell, different outlooks on life, different personalities. Of course, not all people liked meeting her. While she tried not to judge, and would hope others did the same, the reality was, there were plenty of people who saw her and immediately labeled her a nosy bitch. She didn't mean any harm by her questions. In fact, she would probably forget the deeper things- like painful childhood memories- soon after being divulged the information. She would certainly never blab such things to the world if she got the feeling it was a secret, and she wasn't going to throw it back in their face and use it against them either. She was just highly curious. But in the interest of gaining friends instead of people who thought she was a weird little bugger, she was working hard on toning herself down. At the very least, she would find out the person's name before diving into the particularly intrusive questions.

» "I know, right?" she said in response to it being a shame they've never met. "I mean, really, it's a small bar. They could change that song at Disneyland from 'It's A Small World' to 'It's A Small Bar'. But, you know, making sure nobody gets pissed and leaves is a little more important than being social with co-workers. That's important too, but customers are a little more important cause if they aren't tended to, the business goes to hell and then we're out of jobs." She paused for a second- perhaps only to breathe- and then continued. "But then, you know, if I were choking on God knows what, you'd probably be more helpful than them, because half of them don't know CPR or the Heimlich Maneuver, and the other half is either in a drunken stupor or too dumb to react. You might not know CPR or the Heimlich either, but at least I'd know you weren't drunk, so you'd at least be like 'Umm, yeah, why are your customers drink-less? Oh, maybe I should call 9-1-1." She suddenly stopped talking, and clamped a hand over her mouth, then dropped it, sighing. "I'm so sorry. I've been unable to really talk a whole lot this evening." She'd had an unusually high number of anti-social customers this evening, or those who told her to just give them drinks and shut up. "Plus I usually try to hide the crazy from people I've just met."

» Blinking, she realized that he'd asked for her rag, and introduced himself. "Oh. Yeah. Hi, Max!" She smiled brightly. "I remember this dude named Max Weber, he did something to do with sociology. Oh, man. I got screamed at so bad once for mispronouncing his name. 'Cause it's spelled W-E-B-E-R, but he's German, so the W is said like a V, but I had forgotten that and the person I said it to was German, and he got so pissed off. I don't see what the big deal was. All he had to do was correct me and... well, maybe it was the screaming that made me remember it. Anyway!" She twirled around, then climbed up onto the counter. "I am Issy. Issy the Great is what I usually go by, but whatever you want is fine." She twirled her rag around in the air, then started running along the counter. "I'll clean it up for you," she said, carefully jumping over the spot where the little door that they usually exited from was. "You might eat my rag or something. I don't know your life."

[max]

Maximus was a clean man. Messes weren’t something he tolerated well, spills and puddles agitated him to no end, yet at the same time he didn’t have the patience to stalk his counter, waiting for the first hint of a misplaced liquid, no he was too busy scanning the bar making sure everyone had their drinks, occasionally straying toward the dance floor to see what dance moves were being butchered that night. It had taken a while for him to get used to passing by a speck of lager or water without launching at it with rubber gloves and the standard counter cleaning spray. Some days he still nearly took out a customer trying to clean a spot when the mess was more than he could handle, although lately those occurrences had become more and more infrequent; there was only so many times you could be threatened with bodily harm and a kick in the ass before the messes import faded. Still, once the dance floor emptied and the music was toned to a manageable volume, there was no stopping him from getting every last particle and drop of matter from that counter, even if it pulled his already late night into an even later one.

Chocolate eyes dragged over her curiously, a benevolent intensity in his gaze that only hinted at how closely he was studying her. She was pretty, the sort of girl he was almost surprised he hadn’t noticed, but then again he wasn’t really. Something about late nights jammed his voice box, when words would regularly tumble from his lips, for once he had to actually think what he was saying through. Probably because he’d been up since the crack of dawn and the sun’s next rising was fast approaching. If he’d met her at the beginning of his shift, there was no doubt she’d be trying to pry him away with a crowbar, wondering how much more she could take before the god’s were merciful enough to strike her deaf. In a way, she could almost consider herself lucky. His tongue snuck out to lick the corner of his lip absently, and he blinked wishing he had some reading glasses to push up his face because it just seemed like the right kind of moment.

She started talking and he expected her to peter out after the first couple words, send him away with a laconic ‘busy, closing time, get my drift,’ but was pleasantly surprised when it became apparent that she rivaled him in the art of rambling. As she continued, a smile curled softly at the corner of his mouth, his tired mind snapping back to attention to catch every syllable. His smile grows as she barrels on, and he half expects her to drop dead from lack of breath. Then she’s done and he just stands there, head tilted slightly to the side, eyes narrowed. She’s different, but the good kind. Most people brush him off with a couple words, at best, or simply avoid him all together. He hasn’t met anyone that can match his word count per conversation yet, but from the looks of it, she probably flew right on past his greatest record. “I’d say you’re doing a good enough job. Hiding the crazy I mean, and even if you aren’t I like it. The crazy I mean, well, perhaps crazy’s not good sometimes, like psycho killers and the lot, but your brand of crazy seems good. And erm, nice. Just the right amount of it, some people they’re just too crazy, y’know? Maybe not. But yeah, that’s a perfectly sane point there, CPR and all. I took classes. I think. Or it was search and rescue, it was a long time ago anyway, so you’d probably be better off calling 911 in the long run, if it ever came to that. Which I hope it doesn’t…obviously.” He cleared his throat.

He bit his tongue, trying to follow her conversation flow. God, was this what it was like trying to talk to him? God help anyone who’d ever come across him. He frowned, trying to place the man in his memory. Surely, he’d learned about him some time during the numerous hours he’d spent at Oxford. Just before the association slid into place, she’d given him her name and he stood almost shell shocked. The last time he’d heard that name? Well, he was pretty sure he’d been saying it. He swallowed unevenly, taking care to keep his features neutral. He’d just about gotten over her now. Except for the occasional grief fest on his couch, tub of ice cream and sappy movies that he’d deny watching, perhaps some mood music to complete it. Never cried though, he honestly couldn’t figure out why. She’d been gone god knows how long now (he knew, but denial is not just a river in Egypt) and he hadn’t cried once. If he cared to dwell on it he might have found it unsettling. “Great,” he exhaled, craning his neck to look up at her before she was off sprinting down the counter. His brows furrowed as he followed her, a mildly offended expression fixed on his features. “I would…I would not eat your rag!” he exclaimed. “That’s just gross; do you know where that thing’s been? Even if you don’t know my life doesn’t mean that I go around eating rags!” he added, his expression warring between indignation and amusement as he stood at the bar, arms crossed over his chest.

[isabel]

I'll take you platinum, baby
I'll be your Rock Star

» "Oh, so you think I'm crazy, is that it?" she said, trying to look offended but somehow not being able to put away her goofy smile. "Well that's pretty rude. You can't just walk up to someone,s tart a conversation, and then call them crazy. Especially not a lady." She didn't care able being a lady. She didn't care how Max treated women in general. Feminists pissed her off. Being called crazy didn't really bother her either. It just wasn't an offensive term to her, and besides, Max was obviously kidding... right? Well, too bad. She wasn't going to change herself just to please some random dude she'd just met... even if he was really cute. Oh, what was she doing? She was way too old for that middle school "Ohhh, Jimmy's so cuttee!!!" bullshit. Sure enough, she was off that train of thought very quickly, and soon found herself on the other side of the counter.

» Issy frowned when asked if she knew where her rag had been. Leaning back so she could get a look at Max's face, she frowned at him, giving him as much of a cross look as she could muster. "Of course I know where my rag's been. What kind of bartender do you think I am?" She crossed her arms. "Besides, you're the one who eats rags. Is that why you can't find yours?" She, very childishly, stuck her tongue out at him, before uncrossing her arms, standing straight up, and walking along the counter, looking for the spot her wanted to clean. When she heard a small tacky sound from her tennis shoe sticking to the counter, she groaned, turned around, and bent over- not having to bend her knees, because she was pretty flexible- rubbing the spot with the rag. "And can I ask why this was left long enough to get sticky?" She wasn't trying to offend Max- it was more of a conversation boost than anything. She never questioned a person's ability to do their job unless she thought they were truly incompetent, and she thought Max was more than competent at his job. "There!" she said cheerfully. "All clean!" She stood up and, forgetting that the spot was wet, even though she had just cleaned it, she took a quick step forward and subsequently slipped, landing hard on her back.

» "Ooof!" she grunted, then groaned a little and rolled sideways off the counter. She took a second to lean back and rub her lower back. It didn't hurt, really. Landing had, but it wasn't like it threw her spine out of alignment. She twisted for a second, then squirmed, all the pent-up energy getting to her. So, dropping the rag on the floor, she ran over to the far corner of the room, then ran as fast as she could across the room, and as soon as she was past Max, jumped up, landed on her hands, and did an Olympic-style flip mid-air, landing on her feet once again. But then she stopped, smoothed down her shirt, and cleared her throat. "I really need to get out more."

[max]

Maximus shook his head, wide chocolate eyes staring up at her with a hint of indignation. “I did no such thing Is-..” he paused and swallowed before collecting himself, injecting maybe a bit too much passion into his following words. “I did no such thing! You called yourself crazy, I heard it, if I had a tape player I’d have played it back for you, besides, I merely agreed that you’re the good kind of crazy if you’re crazy at all, so I’m hardly at fault here,” he exclaimed almost petulantly, head tilted back so he could mock-glare at her, although the corner of his lip twisted faintly upward. He stared at her for a few more seconds, resisting the urge to shove his hands across his chest and pout, but only barely. He chewed his lip, forgetting for a moment he was supposed to be outraged that he’d been accused of something.

His attention began to wander, straying toward the neon lights on various signs around the bar but never quite leaving her. She was an interesting person, even by his standards when interesting could mean a scuffmark on the ground that’d been there the last twenty times he’d passed it. He didn’t like the fact that he’d already seemed to offend her within the first thirty seconds of meeting her, or a minute depending on if you factored in his whole spiel, but that actually wasn’t far from normal as far as making acquaintances went for him. “I did not eat my rag!” he exclaimed, one of his hands coming up to scrub the nape of his neck in a fake gesture of frustration. “For all I know, you stole my rag and that’s actually it,” he added, chin jutting outward teasingly. His eyes narrowed as he watched her display of flexibility and he averted his eyes to keep his thoughts pg rated. He was a man after all, outward façade of naivety included. He huffed, his lips pulled downward into a childish pout. “I would have cleaned it up, if I had a rag! Besides, it’s not like I can spot every single mess on the counter as soon as it’s made, I mean I do have a job, making drinks, not cleaning up the droplets.” His eyes widened as she fell and he took an instinctive step forward, although he wasn’t able to stop her from falling.

“Are you o-“ The words died out on his tongue when she ran across the room, then back and did one of the most amazing flips he’d ever seen in his life. Then again, he’d never really seen anyone do a flip before. He cleared his throat, trying to come up with something other than silence. “Er, I probably wouldn’t be the best judge of that,” he remarked, resisting the urge to demand she teach him how to do that. He’d probably break his ankle and then snap his neck, all after he dislocated something. There was always a dislocation when he involved himself in any sort of demanding physical activity. He’d probably never play football again, no, the memory of being buried beneath a few hundred pounds of muscle and sweat, with a broken collarbone was enough to deter him.

[isabel]

I'll take you higher, baby
If you wanna go that far

» "Actually," she started, assuming a semi-snotty position, imitating a person who thinks they're better than everyone else- she really didn't feel that, and hoped he got the joke- "Part of the job description is keeping your work area clean. And part of that, dear Max, is making sure it gets all sticky." She paused for a second, and then a wide, sly grin spread across her face. "Or did you take time between serving drinks to do something else that would make the counter sticky?" How one would accomplish masturbating in the middle of a shift was beyond her- but then again, little of what she was saying this evening was making any sense, so whatever. Eating rags? Jerking off on the counter? Shit, she thought suddenly. I forgot to take my meds. Oh, that's why she was being so weird even weirder than usual; she'd forgotten to take her Ritalin. Oh well. Issy on the Ritalin was a boring Issy; she claimed it took away her personality, that without the medicine was the real her. If the real her scared people away because she was so weird, then fine, she didn't want to know those people anyway.

» She landed smoothly and pumped both arms into the air, waited for three invisible judges to give her three invisible scores- all tens, of course- and then crossed her arms, turning to Max. "Well now I'm kind of bored," she half-pouted, looking around. She supposed she could go home and get smashed- ha- or play video games or something until she fell asleep, and imagined Max must want to go home now too, but something was keeping her here, and she had no idea what. Something was telling her to amuse herself here instead of doing so at home. Was it Max? Did it even matter? Sighing, she wandered in something of a circle before suddenly uncrossing her arms and making a mad dash for the counter- as if she were vying for the last seat in a crowded bar- and jumped up, standing on the corner.

» "You know what this place needs?" she asked, turning around slowly and surveying the bar from her perch atop the counter. "Stripper pole! Woo!" In yet another display of her superior flexibility- or, at least, that's what she would describe it as, and hadn't met a person yet willing to challenge that description- she lifted one leg straight up over her head, grabbed her ankle, and twiled around once before putting it down. Ah, what boredom could do. Suddenly bored again, she reached down and tugged at her shirt- a plain white t-shirt- and pulled it up over her head to reveal a black tank top underneath. She tossed the shirt aside, then twirled around on the counter again before running over to the next corner of the counter to try her flexibility stunt again. Then, sighing, she returned to her original counter and looked at Max. "No, I guess that's not such a good idea. It might get trashy around here. Don't need a bunch of sleezy old men on Viagra."