milliways_bar | bartending!

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bartending!

Tonight's specials board proclaims

Milkshakes and nontraditional martinis half off!

Half of the customers Tifa's gotten are just as happy to order a nonalcoholic drink during happy hours. She figures she might as well have something with no alcohol as a special just in case, and it hasn't been so long since she had a smoothie night.

(Marlene would hate to miss a smoothie night and a milkshake night.)

Behind the bar, she tugs her long hair into a loose ponytail and positions herself in a prime spot.

"Anybody need a drink?"

[Open to new threads until about 10:30 EST!]
[tiny tag: James Adams]

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"A... fund for bound people? There is such a thing?" It sounds so archaic but it also sounds like such a relief. Setting down her tea, she speaks in a whisper. "I met... Hercules. He insisted that he pay for my room. I have never been in a situation before where I had to depend on a stranger for help."

The very notion offends her sensibility, but here, she is glad for it.

"I could not work at a bar, but I do know gardens and gardening. That could be something except..." A moment of sadness washes over her. "I do not wish to do something that sounds so... permanent. It makes it seem as if I have given up on going home. I would not do that trapped on our island after the plane crash, and I do not want to do it now."

"Is that what you meant by nine days ago?" Trapped on an island after a plane crash? "People must be looking for you."

But even nine days seems like a long time to be stranded.

"The fund is for anybody who can't leave. It's unfair to expect everybody who can't get out of here to find ways to earn enough money to pay for food and rent the whole time. But when I took this job, I never thought of it as permanent." The idea is a sad one, and she can see why Sun has a problem with it. "I just... think I'm better off keeping busy."

Ah, yes, she has not told Tifa what happened. Looking down into her tea, she nods. "Nine days ago, my husband and I were in Australia. In Sydney, waiting for an airplane to take us to Los Angeles. My husband was to deliver a watch for my father, to a business associate. Eight days ago we got on that airplane, and somewhere over the ocean, the airplane broke in half and crashed on an island. Many people died. Those of us who did not have been... surviving as well as possible. Some others have died since."

Like the man with the shrapnel.

"One of the plane crash survivors is a doctor. He has been very helpful."

She, however, is no doctor, and she has not been very helpful either. Her husband will not let her.

"If I could go back nine days, I could stop my husband from taking me on that airplane."

Sydney she's not familiar with, but she's heard of a city on Earth called Los Angeles.

And somehow just now doesn't seem the ideal time to mention that she's from a completely different planet.

It's horrible story -- it sounds like Sun and her husband are very lucky to have both survived -- and nine days without rescue still seems so long, but...

Her eyes soften. "There's no way you could've known then."

"But I know now."

It does her no good at all. She cannot even share the good fortune that is this place -- if it is good fortune -- with her husband. Looking down into her tea, she sighs.

"I am sorry. I have taken up too much of your time, but... can you tell me about this fund. For people who cannot leave: what is the way to apply for it?" It would be business, she thinks, and there would be accountability for it. And knowing soon would be good because she is very, very hungry.

And how many times has she wished she could go back and change things?

Maybe it's the solidarity in wanting to go back home and maybe it's the empathy over being separated from the people they love, but she can't help feeling an odd surge of protectiveness toward Sun.

"The good news is that there's not much you have to do to apply, but when someone's actively tending bar, the bar itself is taking a break. So when my shift's done, why don't you just let the bar know you need to be covered by the fund? It's named after a man named Joe Manco, and I think doing that should be good enough."

It wasn't much trouble for her to get on it.

"Joe Manco." She says the name aloud. It is a foreign name, but one she will remember. It might be her lifeline.

She is not so sure she understands when Tifa tells her the bar itself is taking a break, but there are a great many things here she does not understand. Instead, she manages a weak smile and takes her teacup into her hands again. This, too, is a lifeline of sorts.

"Thank you for all your help. There is so much to learn about this place." There is much to learn about the island, too, but that cannot be done from here.

"You're welcome."

It's been no trouble at all, really, and she's almost surprised she hasn't had more opportunities to give information to new people coming in. If she'd seen someone behind the bar on her first night in, she'd have approached that person right away.

She just wishes she could do more. For Sun and for herself.

"If you need anything, I'm not usually too hard to find. My room upstairs is number 34."

She hasn't been in the habit of giving her room number out, but it hasn't been a guarded secret, either. Mostly she tells Sun what it is because she remembers exactly how she felt on her first few nights in and how glad she was to have a friend.

It's just that the friend, in her case, was someone she already knew. In that way, she was lucky and she realizes it.

"Oh, thank you." Sun really is very grateful. People here have been so friendly, and that is not something she's used to. "My room is 815." It's a number that filled her with wonder when she first saw it on the key and she does not know if it is supposed to be some kind of joke, but it is easy to remember. "And that is the same number as the flight we were on. I am not sure if that makes me feel worse or better."

Laughing -- but not really -- she takes another sip of her tea while it's still warm. It can all be chalked up to simple coincidence. Because how could a bar know the number of a flight from a place that could be so far away from here that nobody has ever heard of it?

Her laugh really just hides her tears and frustration, though she tries very hard not to let that show. She is weary from lack of sleep and from hunger and from missing Jin, and the tea is the first sustenance she's had all day. It is barely enough.

"It must be a coincidence."

It occurs to her immediately after she says it that it... may not be as true as she'd like to believe it is, and she promptly banishes that thought from her mind.

That'd make the Landlord -- or whoever's running things behind the scenes here -- about as funny as Reno.

She can't help it. Her heart goes out to Sun in the worst way.

"Can I get you more tea?"

"Oh!"

Yes, please.

"You are very kind, but I do not wish to be any trouble." With a meek smile, she raises her teacup to her lips again. "When the bar is... not so tired" -- she can't believe she's even saying something so ridiculous -- "I will ask about the Joe Manco fund. And perhaps then I will have more tea."

"You're no trouble." Before she knows it, she's smiling. "It's my job to serve drinks, after all."

But if Sun wants to wait, she's not going to make her have more tea before she'd like it.

"Just promise you'll let me know if you need anything else."

There may not be much she can do, but she'll definitely do whatever she can.

"Room 34." The nod she gives Tifa as she pushes back from the bar, teacup still in hand, comes with a smile. "Thank you very much."

She will remember that room number. Tifa should not be surprised if she hears a tentative knock at her door sometime: it is good to have friends.

Especially in strange places.

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