milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Dale Cooper marche à la Barre, et il parle:

--Mademoiselle Barre, j'ai besoin de café...et une boite de 'glitter', s'il vous plaît.

Les articles apparaîssent, et Cooper est très heureux.

Cooper doesn't speak French.

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But Arnaud does! And Swiss-German! And Swiss-French!

His mun speaks none of the above.

He is leaning, semi-casually, against the bar sipping at a glass of red wine with calm, smooth movements. After a moment or two, he puts the wine down and shakes his hand, which is looking a bit swollen and more than a little red.

Cooper has a box of glitter and a cup of coffee.

He is SET.

...unfortunately, this gentleman down the bar is not going to be the best target ever, because they're on the same plane of vision, and Cooper does not have the advantage of surprise.

And Arnaud is looking at him sideways.

Cooper lifts his cup of coffee in a cheerful salute, and sips.

He lifts his glass of wine a moment later and does so in return... slowly.

Mm. Good coffee.

Eh. Not half-bad wine, but he'd had better.

"Haven't seen you around before."

Soft New-York accent, specifically from Long Island.

"I haven't seen you around before, either," says Cooper, cheerfully.

Mid-Atlantic, for the record.

"I'm not really someone who stands out," he admits, "especially not here. I'm all... human and normal and stuff."

"Is any human truly normal?" Half a smile.

Blink.

"Well, I dunno. Probably."

Headtilt.

"Why?"

"I tend to question the use of the word 'normal', and especially as it pertains to humankind," Cooper says cheerfully. "In the general case I suppose it's a valid enough concept, but -- you and I aren't speaking as two general masses. We're two individuals. And I have yet to meet an individual who is truly normal."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Well, I guess you could put it that way, but how do you define strange if you can't have anyone who's normal?"

"There are constructed images of normality disseminated in societies by means of social structures. Some of these are religious structures. In the latter half of the twentieth century on Earth, it's the media. The individual himself is deviant because the individual can't conform perfectly to this nebulous construction."

"You're making me want a beer."

Cooper blinks. "I am?"

He nods.

"Yup."

"...oh."

"Just..." and there's a vague handgesture. "Weird stuff."

"And that connects to beer?" Curiously.

He shrugs. "I dunno. It's just..." another vague handmotion.

He looks at Cooper again.

"What's your name?"

"Special Agent Dale Cooper. FBI." A sip of coffee. "What about you?"

That gets an eyebrow raise.

"Phil McGerny," he answers, putting out a hand, "Uh...splicer."

Cooper shakes. "What do you splice?"

"Telephone wire," he answers, "for the phone company."

"You know...I've always wondered how that works." Cheerfully. "Is it something you do for new residences?"

"New residence, old residence."

He nods towards the outside.

"I actually just got finished putting in the lines underneath the Hempstead Golf and Country club."

"What part of the country is that in?"

"Long Island," he answers, "New York," he finishes, because any Long Islander is well aware that they're really a different state than the rest of New York.

Yes. Yes of course.

"I've been to Manhattan," he says, thoughtfully. "Though not Long Island."

Cooper got arrested in New York.

For wandering into a protest.

It's a long story.

"I don't head into the City too much," he answers truthfully. He hasn't been to NYC for ages. Too much to be done elsewhere.

"It's an imposing kind of place." Cooper shakes his head. "Long Island -- it's more of a typical suburb?"

He nods.

"Pretty much nothing but. I'm down on the south shore of Nassau."

He points to the nice clothing he's wearing, somewhat dismissive.

"I'm acting manager for the week."

"Paperwork?" Cooper asks sympathetically.

"More like on call 24/7. My wife's about to beat me if I get out of bed one more time."

He shakes his head.

"When this place is a relief because the beeper won't go off?"

"It says something," Cooper agrees. "How much longer will you be the one on call?"

"Another week," he says morosely, "or that's what they said. Sometimes 'another week' can last for a month or so, depending on how they're playing with things. Fricking management."

Cooper shakes his head. "That's hard." And sips his coffee.

He shrugs.

"The overtime's not bad."

"There's a silver lining to everything, if you look hard enough," Cooper observes.

Yeah. He's one of those people.

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