October, 2013

"Washington DC was rocked with another protest by Emergent Rights protesters outnumbered by counter-protesters sponsored by the American Anti-Witchcraft League. Capitol Police were forced to intervene with tear gas. Both sides are blaming the other for starting the violence..."

Brian clicked off the TV behind the bar to something else. Sports was a safe topic in Haye, even these days. John, his brother, was never a big fan, but Brian knew the demographic a little better -- Sports was a cultural calm in the middle of a storm, something all the locals could agree on.

The Water of Life was a bar that tried to be trendy in a blue collar town, a place with furniture that Johnny and friends assembled or otherwise acquired at markets where the going rate was relatively cheap for the quality. It had a fine bar made of refurbished antique brass fittings and an armchair area, mostly useful for the daytime crowd, that allowed people to sit and even read. It had an espresso bar, which neatly converted the place into a coffee house and breakfast place in the morning. It displayed local art, which ran from the pretentious to the postmodern and occasionally to the interesting (though it'd taken a morbid and occult-fascinated turn lately) and generally served as a gathering place for the segment of Haye's population that liked a latte.

But the place had pool tables, TV's and lots of beer. It had a menu of simple things, but occasionally specials that took a stab at the trendy, but the place still produced wings by the basketfull come the happy hour.

Brian was just coming in for the afternoon and evening shift, relieving a harried-looking Jordan, the barista-bartender that covered the morning shift -- he got the shit end of the stick as far as Brian was concerned, because he was dealing with frazzled people buying their coffee drinks, deprived until they finally got it and tapping their toes impatiently until they got it. Brian might have to argue with drunks, but he was good at it. John was there to manage the kitchen, but he calmly handed over more and more authority in the front of the house to his older (middle) brother that knew how to run the front; the service got more consistent, John got to focus on the food and managing inventory and Brian got tips because he worked the bar at night.

Once in a while, the Sheriff even came in, asking surreptitiously for a cappucino on the sly -- Luntz didn't want to get caught drinking the stuff, it wasn't considered proper for a blue collar, steel town sheriff to indulge in it, but it was Brian that got him hooked on espresso -- double shot for the long nights.

Wearing his henley sweater, long-sleeves always and no hair on his head, he preferred a kitchen-style striped apron for slinging the drinks, which got Brian a few jokes from the locals that remembered him from his football days as a Haye Roughneck.

Once he was done counting Jordan out against the receipts in the system, he gave the other bartender a salute, releasing the man from his shift, and then settled in to do the work. One or two customers, no big deal. It'd been a slow spell around the area after a particularly nasty series of unusual lights and sounds at night, and the overwhelming sense that it was getting worse around here -- the Emergence, the attitudes of the locals, you name it. There'd been violence around town, which was why Sheriff Luntz was working later shifts. It was why one of the waitresses quit -- she wanted daytime hours, they all wanted daytime hours, and the only thing the place had was nighttimes. It was a change from the old days when people wanted the most lucrative shift and when the most lucrative shift was nights.

It was hard on Brian's wallet in terms of tips, but he didn't mind it so much. He had a lot to chew on these days. And if there weren't people in the place, he could always wipe down the bar, adjust the bottles, check the glasses and otherwise eat up his time with the minutae of boredom. Others were already doing that, even at 2pm; they were checking their smartphones and relaxing. Johnny expected people to work when there were customers, but once no customers meant a slow shift, where people did whatever they could to make the time pass.

Hockey, at least, gave them something to watch and argue about, safe ground from the local politics. Sheriff Luntz wasn't going to be in office much longer, and it looked like things would heat up -- the new guy was bound to be fervently anti-Emergent, jumping on the most minute things the way the local populace wanted.

It was something to not think about.

@AmazinglyVivid

"Well, I guess I'm heading out now." Savannah slowly tugged on her cardigan -it was somewhat surprising that she didn't need something a little heavier, given that it was usually colder in Haye by mid-autumn, but she definitely wouldn't complain- and grabbed her keys from one of the hook by the front door. Above the hooks was a faded needlepoint that read, "Bless this house." It had hung there for as long as she could remember.

"Yup, I'm about to head out to work! My first day at a new job..." Making no move towards the door, Savannah kept her place in the middle of the foyer, absently pulling her hair into a high ponytail.

"Yeah, we heard you! Hope it goes well. Tell them Parr boys I said hello. Miss seein' 'em 'round the farm." Her grandfather said from his recliner in the living room. Curled up at his side, in an adult-sized gray T-shirt that fit her like a dress, was little Maggie. Her gaze was fixed pointedly on the television.

"Just gonna go-" Savannah started, once again not moving.

"Get on if you're goin', girl!" Martin snapped. He wasn't angry, but Magnolia and Savannah had been at it for half an hour -ever since the latter had started getting ready for work- and his favorite show was on.

Savannah had known that she would break before her daughter, but she didn't like it. "Magnolia, can I please have a hug before I leave for work?"

Silence, save for the drone of the TV. American Pickers, if she remembered correctly. Maggie surely wasn't half as interested in watching two men haggle over antique soda machines as Martin, but damned if she wasn't watching just as raptly. What she was really interested in, of course, was ignoring her mother. Ever since she realized that Savannah wouldn't be around at bedtime anymore, she'd been giving her the silent treatment.

The whole point of taking the evening/night shifts had been so that they could spend more time together. Savannah had thought that the hour lost before bedtime would be worth it, all things considered, but her daughter seemed to disagree. There was no winning in this situation, it seemed. Maggie as unresponsive as ever and the clock on the wall ticking closer and closer to six o'clock, Savannah gave up. She walked over and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her daughter's head. Maggie only frowned and clung harder to Martin in response.

"I love you, sweetheart. I'll see you when you wake up."

Savannah's thoughts were still heavy when she climbed into her grandfather's pickup. She hadn't had need for a vehicle in the City and, given that he didn't do much driving anymore, Martin was glad to let her use his own. The old Ford roared to life, and she put it in reverse, turned the car, and started down the long dirt driveway.

The Cambell Family Farm was only ten minutes or so outside of Haye proper, so it was a relatively short drive to the Water of Life. Though Savannah had never been as a customer, since it had sprung up after she left town, she knew the way from having dropped by to do an informal interview the morning for. She'd been pleasantly surprised by how quickly the hiring process had gone. But then, John had made it sound like they were strapped for help. Not a lot of people willing to work later shifts, with the recent disturbances around town. They were scared. Of the Emergent; of her, even if they didn't know it.

No use dwelling on it. At least it meant getting nighttime hours, and spending the day with Maggie.

When she arrived, she parked around back, as John had instructed, and felt an unexpected rush of nerves as she got out of the car. In the week or so that she'd been back, this was only the third time that she'd actually gone in to town. The first had been to get groceries, and the second to do her interview. Each time she'd felt a similar nervousness. They lived in a small, religious town, after all, and she was back with her child born out of wedlock. Few people would say anything to her face. That simply wasn't how things were done. But the idea of being judged at all by the people she'd known and, in many cases, cared about and respected, growing up, unnerved her. She always had been a people-pleaser.

Before going in, Savannah pulled out her phone to check the time; five fifty. Even with her lingering around, she was still early, as she'd planned to be. She went in through the back entrance, and found herself in a narrow hallway. Towards the end was a door into John's office, where she'd had her interview. Next to the door, there was a row of hooks with names above them. Now, unlike before, one of those names was her own. An apron hung from her hook, and she took it and replaced it with her cardigan. She tied the apron around her waist, and took a critical look at her own outfit; a white button-up blouse, jeans, now protected by the apron, and black flats. Appropriate enough for work just about anywhere in Haye, she imagined.

Another door in the hall lead out next to the physical bar, into the front of the business. There weren't many people inside. One sipping a beer at the bar, a couple playing pool, and a few young men at a booth talking loudly over baskets of wings. A slow night, or the norm, she wondered? It took a second for Savannah to recognize the bartender, who hadn't been bald the last time she'd seen him.

She'd known Brian Parr since they were kids, even if she'd never have described them as friends. But she'd always seen him around. When groups of kids went to the watering hole to swim in the summers, to go play in the woods, or got together for someone's birthday, she ran into him as often as anyone else. Then, after she became a cheerleader in high school, she'd see him on the bus to away games, or when the two teams would go out to eat and celebrate a big win. She heard that he'd gone off to college after graduating, so she'd been surprised to find him back in Haye, and as a bartender, at that. But she was the last one to be making judgement in that vein.

"Brian," She greeted him with a smile, unsure of what else to say. Meetings like this were always a bit awkward to her; they'd been more than acquaintances, a relationship that deserved some sort of acknowledgement, but, again, hardly friends. She settled for what she hoped was a warm, "It's nice to see you! I don't know if you heard from John, but I'm your new waitress. How've you been?"

That was a loaded question that caused him to hesitate, but then it was also a simple courtesy-question; he decided to answer it truthfully while keeping lots back, but everyone did that. "Well," he told her, as he continued to wipe down the bar, "All things considered, doing okay. Congratulations on the job, seems like lots of people are coming back." It'd been so long that he wasn't sure he wanted to go into the career he had and the way politics cut into it, so he dropped the whole law enforcement career thing entirely. He'd been put into that category of people that left the cities and came back -- Sheriff Mark might was keeping things under control around here, still reasoning with people, but that wasn't always the case in places. Towns like Haye were relatively sane, if fearful, whereas larger cities had much bigger problems that came with the Emergence. Other places, depending on the local government, became downright dangerous for outsiders. It's probably why people were coming back; known faces, vouched for.

Of course, a few Emergents slipped right in, because the reasoning was, "Well, I know that person!" and they couldn't necessarily believe that they were emerging. To just about everyone, the Emergent was a faceless terror, an inhuman force that rampaged maliciously. Other.

"What about you?" Another loaded question, of course. He glanced over the bar just to make sure no one was ordering more drinks, but the way Haye was these days, people seemed to be wrapping it up to get home indoors. It was like a return to 17th century New England of Hawthorne's writing, where the puritans feared the wildness and unpredictability of the forest. Maybe things emerged back then, or perhaps the natives had magic to use and it actually worked, though he couldn't be sure -- there might be studies underway, but what the government and science knew of the emergence was severely limited. Meanwhile, out on main street, which was a charming array of businesses and places to eat, a 'town center' development intended to help Haye create jobs and attract a more upscale sort of home buyer, there was a similar rush everywhere to get to wrap up the day's work and get out of there. These days, the activity was all daytime, and the nightlife severely curtailed.

"Looks like business will be slowing up real good soon; hope you're ready for it, we only have a few people who are willing to brave the dark to drink, and then some cops looking to be fed. Johnny had to cut back the menu to save on food cost." Alcohol, thankfully, wasn't perishable.

@AmazinglyVivid

"Yeah?" It did make sense. From what Savannah could tell -and, granted, things had been hectic enough in her life that she wasn't exactly keeping abreast of the news- plenty of folks were migrating back to their home towns. The tensions had been particularly awful in New York, as could probably be expected, but there probably weren't many places that were getting on well. The sudden appearance of shit like you'd only ever expect to see on TV in real life, all around you, did that.

Knowing that he probably didn't any more meaning beyond courtesy than she had, she kept her answer just as short. "Things have been 'bout as good as they can be. Glad to be home." As she spoke, she followed his gaze towards the door. As a child, she'd thought Haye's main street friendly and idyllic. It seemed like just the sort of happy little place where you could settle down and live a quiet, comfortable life, surrounded by kind neighbors and a supportive community. After she'd moved there as a teenager, she became a bit disillusioned with it all, and towards the end of high school it just seemed so small in comparison with the rest of the world. And now... It was scary. People were certainly keeping up the charade of going about things normally because, well, what else could you do? But the fear and suspicion were every, bubbling right under the surface.

Nearly lost to her thoughts and worries, it took Savannah a second to process what Brian said. "Yeah?" She repeated, absently, "Real shame." She knew that what he'd said should concern her a lot more. Less business meant less tips. But, for the first time in a very long time, money wasn't very high on her list of priorities. It wasn't like the grandfather who'd raised her was asking for rent, after all. For once in her life she wished that money was the biggest problem she had to deal with again. Being broke was a problem she could throw herself at and, if she worked enough hours at enough jobs, manage just fine. She didn't know what to do with society going to hell in a hand basket. From the looks of it, nobody did.

The conversation felt like it had puttered off to its natural end. Just as well; an older man walked in and towards the bar, pulling Brian's attention in the way. Savannah took the chance to approach the single occupied booth, briefly introduce herself and explain that their old waitress had gone home and that she'd be taking care of them for the rest of her night, and clear away an empty wing basket. One of the men had claimed to recognize her; "I'm Joey, remember?! I was a freshman when you were a senior. My girlfriend back then was a cheerleader, too..." He continued until she feigned a recognition. So many faces from back them all ran together.

She brought the empty basket to the back, and let John know that they'd need another dozen.

@HeySeuss