milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Steve sat there and worked. Or it was something like work, anyway. There was a bar, and on the bar, he had a soda, a binder, and a pencil. The pencil's eraser was tapping on one of the pages - a picture of a house that looked like it'd been hit by falling rocks.

Maybe because it had been.

But there were marks on the picture. Crosshatching over some of the holes in the roof, for instance. Or windows drawn in where they'd been broken out.

And Steve was staring at it.

"Damn."

And why did he keep feeling like he heard whispers?

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Bev glances over idly, then again as she recognizes him.

"Hi--um, Steve, right?"

"Huh?" There was some kind of train of thought there that had been interrupted, but all in all, he looked grateful for it.

"Yeah, hey... Your name starts with a B, right?" Truth was, he remembered her name, but couldn't remember if he was supposed to call her in full or in short. That was always the awkward part. "I don't want to make too much of an idiot of myself by calling you the wrong thing."

She smiles a little.

"It's Beverly--but Bev's fine, too. I don't really mind which people use."

"All right, Bev - as long as you're sure. ...Uh, want something to drink? Eat? Anything under... about four bucks?"

"Well--" For a moment, she hesitates. She knows her parents wouldn't approve of her letting an older man buy her food and drink--but then, her parents wouldn't approve of Milliways at all, if they knew about it. "I was going to get some more hot chocolate...if you don't mind."

"No problem," he said, and placed a couple bills on the bar, which produced the hot chocolate. He was still getting used to that. "There ya go."

And then, considering as he nudged it over toward her, he said, "You know, I've got a friend named Annie. I think she's about your age. Somewhere in there. Just saw her and her sister not long ago."

"Thanks," Bev says, taking the mug with a small smile.

As he mentions his friends, she looks back up at him, head tilted slightly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Annie's autistic, and after what happened with Rose Red, she got into a fantastic school. She's doing really well lately."

Bev cocks her head a little further, not seeming to follow him.

"Sorry--she's what?"

Something mental, she guesses from the comment about school.

"Autistic. It means... Honestly, I don't really understand it. She didn't exactly ... mentally mature past a certain age. But she's really withdrawn a lot of the time, too. She doesn't talk much." Steve shrugged. "She's really a sweetheart, though. We get along really well."

"Oh."

A few years ago, Bev would have simply called someone like that a retard, and honestly meant know insult by it. She's learned, by now, that that may not be the best thing to call someone's friend.

"I'm glad she's doing well, then."

"You remind me of her in a couple ways, you know? She draws, too. That's what you were doing over there, wasn't it?" He smiled.

"Oh--yeah," Bev says, with a slightly self-conscious smile. "I just got a new sketchbook, for Christmas."

"What would it take for you to show me?" he asked, smiling. "If the answer's no, it's okay, really."

"Well, you already bought me hot chocolate," Bev says, with a hint of teasing. Then, more seriously, "I don't mind."

It's mostly true. She's still shy about showing people her sketches, but she's also thinking more and more seriously about the idea of art school, and she knows she'd have to get over that.

She'd brought her sketchbook over to the bar, tucked against her arm--she lays it on the bar, now, and opens up. There's nothing really on the first page but random scribbles of color from testing out the new pencils.

Steve nodded at the colours - he'd seen Annie do something similar, though usually with crayons.

And then he, after glancing up, turned the page. "How long have you been drawing?" he asked casually.

"A couple of years," she says. "My dad showed me a little, when I was younger, and I'm taking an art class in school now."

Only the first few pages have been drawn on, and they're a mixture of scenes or people from home, or around the bar. All of them show the same thing--lots of raw talent, but she's still getting the hang of things like proportions and perspective.

"Looks like you're doing real good so far - better than I could by far." Steve smiled a little. "It's a real great thing to have a talent."

She blushes faintly, but looks pleased.

"Thanks. I've thought about maybe trying to go to art school, or something, for college."

"It sounds like a great idea to me," Steve agreed. "Go for it. Go to college. It's a really smart idea. You end up like me if you don't."

Bev's smile twists a bit wryly, and she nods.

"It's...the best way for someone like me to get out of Derry. And Derry--there's good things about it, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to spend the rest of my life there."

She glances up at him, curious. "Why didn't you go?"

He shrugged. "No money, and no big talent or good grades to get me in with scholarships or grants, and I couldn't afford the interest on a loan, so... here's me, no education, and... interviewing for mail room clerk."

Bev presses her lips together for a moment, and nods again.

"Yeah. We don't have a lot of money, so I'm hoping I'll be able to get some kind of scholarship."

"You keep drawing, learning, keep trying, and you won't have a problem with it. Believe me - you won't have any problem." He smiled. "Only thing I was ever good at was getting in trouble."

Bev giggles.

"Oh, well, I can do that, too, but I don't think anyone'll give me a scholarship for it."

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