milliways_bar | (no subject)

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A man sits at the bar, his dress shoes tucked under the beam of the stool he's currently perched upon. He's got a hell of a shiner and half a mind to believe the rumours now that he's got proof: lefties can throw a punch, and then can do it hard. His black bow tie is undone, lying limply around his neck. He's in deep discussion with Bar:

"No, that thing Hemingway said about drinking. You know what I'm talking about. 'Something something sober, you'd know better if you kept your mouth shut.' Come on, you've gotta' know this --" he leans forward, half imploring.

Bar produces a dry vodka martini and a copy of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations.

Rick Castle takes a sip of the martini and uses the Bartlett's as a coaster. "Succinct," he says, "Hemingway would have liked that."

[ short, declarative tiny tag : rick castle ; kate beckett ]

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"That depends."
But... maybe it's not. Captain Hammer is never uncertain. So maybe he's worried about nothing, but... still erring on the side of 'oh hell no.'

"On --" Castle's eyes drift "-- what? The barometric pressure?"

"On whether I already know you or not. But I'm starting to think not."
Surely a pummeling would have ensued by now.

"Is that going to be a problem?" He nods to the man's soggy drink. "If it is, can I get you another one of those?"

"What, not already knowing you? Definitely not a problem." He wasn't looking forward to a beating in what's supposed to be neutral territory.
"But if you feel like getting me another drink, I won't stop you. It's just water."

"Water," he repeats, and Bar is more than willing to produce a tall glass. Castle places it in the middle of the bar, between himself and the stranger. He was a shifty one, all right.

"Thanks."
Well, not shifty so much as... drippy. He'd stop it if he knew how. But, well, making people want to take a shower, and all that. He's used to that sort of reaction.

Castle hasn't exactly registered that this guy is practically Niagara Falls' lesser cousin (though the gradually accumulating puddle under the guy's chair should be a dead giveaway) and he's in a jovial mood from the recent collar.

"Seems like a lot of incidents of mistaken identity going on around here," he offers.

"I dunno. You're the first person I've seen that I thought I recognised." Well, that he's been wrong about.
"I think I'll just... hope like hell the person I thought you might've been doesn't show up."

He raises an eyebrow. Running from trouble. It was one of the oldest angles in the book. His book. Well, any book. "Who's that?" he asks.

"Captain Hammer. I'm not sure he'd stick to the 'no business' thing."
...Of course, if Doc's within sight, he'd probably be the first target, but still.

"Captain Hammer? What is he, a carpenter you pissed off in another life?"

"...No. If you ask him, he's a hero."
Moist is one of a few people who questions the definition, though.

"He sounds a little into himself," Castle observes dubiously.

"More like a lot. And he's managed to drag just about everyone along for the ride."
Say what you will about him finally finding out what pain feels like, Moist still suspects more people like Captain Hammer than don't. And... well. There's the pummeling.

"Sounds like a villain," he admits, knocking back a healthy swig of his drink.

...ahahahahahaha. hahahaha. ha.
--Right, now that the narration's done laughing.
"Except... not so much, by official standards. I think that might have something to do with his good publicity."

"Ah," he says, suddenly understanding, "it's all about good press. Or bad press. Which is good press, although I've never exactly been sure how that's possible." He shrugs.

"I'm a writer. The minute the reviews start to tank, my publisher sends the book off to one of those hoity toity art rags in the suburbs. They're so far up themselves that they think any negative review means they're not trying hard enough. So --" he dusts his hands "-- back on top."

"Is that how they do that?"
...Okay, so it's not Captain Hammer, but the guy still seems to have more than the usual amount of ego. So it's not entirely unfamiliar.

"You ever read James Patterson?" he asks, then nods abruptly. "Yeah, that's how they do that."

"I don't get to read as much as I want. I'm kinda rough on books."
Especially paperbacks. They're usually soaked before he's twenty pages in.

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