(2018-09-11) I'm too sexy for this song.
Ethan and Abby bar-chat about her love affair with the bartender and how Mr. Jenkins didn't croak.

The Boardroom

An old-school layout puts a wooden bar in the center of this small, hole-in-the-wall establishment, lacking for things like "free wi-fi" and slick interior design. The whole place has fewer than ten small, round tables with mismatched chairs scattered across the wooden floor and one curved bar in the middle with five stools in front of it. This is not the place to come asking for specialty liquors, but it's a decent joint if you're looking for some place downtown, and the location means it turns a good bit of business on a weekend. The food menu is limited: wings, fries, chili dogs, hamburgers, typical bar-food coming out of a tiny kitchen through the back. But there are decent beers on tap, and you can get a middle-of-the-road cocktail for a not-unreasonable price. There's one, good-sized TV stuck to the wall next to the bar, inevitably tuned to sports, and every other spare space on the wall is occupied by a random assortment of decorations - advertisements for liquor or local businesses, a smattering of framed photographs of South American scenery, pennants for the Rockies and the Broncos, and a dartboard at the back. The smell of beer, peanuts, and patrons hangs in the air, often battling with whatever song someone convinces the old-school jukebox to pump out.

Oh, man. You know what's more exciting than games? WEATHER. All the TVs in the Boardroom are turned to the local news station where reports are coming in about the upcoming storm. First storm of the upcoming season! The bar is aflutter with people talking about their weather preparations or lack thereof. Abby is deep in a conversation with some old guy about putting chains on her tires to navigate the treacherous roads in the area. But after asking Mr. Bartender to refill her red solo cup with some more whiskey thanks, she begins to needle him to put the game on. "Please. Please put some ball on. It's snow! Everyone is going to get milk and eggs. It will be chaos. Just that… one…. tv… there…" She outstretches an arm dramatically.

"This TV here? This one?" The bartender digs around behind the bar for a minute or two, coming up with some of those tiny post-it notes, the little pieces of pink paper looking ridiculous in his beefy mitts. He writes something on one, then sticks it to the TV, right over the channel-up/channel-down buttons: DO NOT TOUCH *smiley-face*

That's when Ethan sweeps in, dressed better than is his custom, even when he unbuttons his coat and hangs it on the hook next to the door. "Looking for great customer service? C'mon down to the Boardroom," he quips, passing by Abby with a roll of his eyes toward the post-it note. He does not take the post-it note down, though.

"Yes, that's the one! Noooo…" Abby grabby hands at the air as the post-it note goes over the buttons. She sighs, putting on a great big act of being more put out than she really is. She narrows her eyes at the bartender over her plastic cup, "This is war." Said in a tone like these sort of exchanges are going on all the time when Ethan isn't around. His entrance distracts her however, in fact, it distracts her from great TV campaign of 2018 as well. "Hello… You look nice. Interview for a job as the owner of a bar where the TVs are turned to the sports channel?" Okay, she didn't get distracted at all. That was a deliberate lie.

The bartender's answer is a dry laugh, and maybe he says, "Bring it," but it's hard to tell; that could just have been him clearing his throat after his chuckle.

Ethan watches this byplay, then brings his hands together like two puppets and makes a smooching noise; "Now kiss." He slides around behind the bar for a second, taking the post-it notes off the bar and adding his own note. It says 'PLEASE'. He sticks it up on the TV, too. "See? Customer service. And I'm going to the club tonight." He kinda sings that last, showing off a sample of his club dance, which is pretty much standard issue white-guy-moves.

Abby watches Ethan's club dance with a straight face, then she glances to the bartender. Then back at Ethan. Is she supposed to laugh? Probably not. She hides it well enough by sipping on her whiskey and clearing her throat. "Oh, well then. In that case, good luck while you're there." That's what you tell someone going out to white-guy-move it at the club.

"I'm not sure how to take that," with the same rhythm-song-thingie as before, then Ethan winds down the song-and-dance number and prowls around behind the bar, in search of something specific. "I'm going to the club, not buying a lottery ticket." His expression, when he looks Abby-wards, invites her to clarify? It also morphs into a slow-spreading smirk when he finally notices her sipping out of a Solo cup; that joke just landed.

"It's definitely not skepticism of your dance moves," Abby tells him very seriously. Very seriously. She watches him dance, sing and prowl around behind the bar with gradually lifting eyebrows. They're schooled into a normal expression when he turns around and looks at her, innocence. She catches that smirk towards her cup and lifts it up, giving the contents a little shake.

Ethan stops looking and, leaning his elbows on the bar, looks at Abby across the bar, resting his chin on the backs of his hands ('cause the fronts still have band-aids on them). "You're a tough crowd, doc. Way to bring a man down." He looks at the red cup, then down at the bartender, who is deep in a conversation about whether or not another patron has time to get his rain-gutters cleaned before the snow. "You two're just so damn cute. Can I be in your wedding?"

"I'm sure that you'll survive my sense of humor." Abby states confidently before there's a little buzz from her phone. She picks it up and gives the incoming text a glance over before tapping out a reply, when Ethan leans forward she squints at his hands. Very delicately she reaches forward to sort of poke at them in a truly serious manner before withdrawing. "I hope the cuts weren't bad enough you needed to go in." Then she looks back down and hits send, only to return her eyes on him at his little wedding joke. She glances down at the bartender and then asks slyly, "Do you want to be my man of honor?"

Opening his hands, the knuckles still holding his chin but fingers splayed, Ethan answers, "Nah, some paramedic cleaned them up and said I didn't need stitches. And the nurse in Mister Jenkins's room this morning said they look fine, just keep 'em clean." His band-aids have race cars on them, very stylish, and he shows them to Abby unabashedly, with only a brief flicker of distaste while she plays with her phone. "I really do. I feel responsible for this budding romance. I'm thinking June wedding?"

"You got in to see him?" Abby seems pleasently surprised. "He was asking about you the night he got admitted. I left a note about it with my fiance over here, but sometimes he thinks he's a funny guy." She shakes her finger at the bartender, faux scolding him. If Ethan dislikes her phone, it doesn't stop her from occasionally glancing at it. Though at a certain point, she slips it back into the front pocket of her sweater. "Hmm. No, I'm really more of a fall girl. The colors are just more flattering. What are you doing for my bridal shower?"

Ethan mmmhmms, he got in to see him. "Fortunately, your lover's spats don't extend so far as not giving me my messages. Yet." He also side-eyes the bartender, who's either oblivious or just dgaf. "As long as I still get to wear pink," he pouts over the postponed wedding of Doctor Abby Thatcher and the Bartender With No Name. "I was thinking of hiring a real hairy stripper, with a sequined banana hammock. Get him to lapdance to I'm Too Sexy?"

"We haven't had a real fight yet and he respects my space. Such a lovely relationship, very refreshing." Abby gestures over to the bartender that's over there, watching the weather and not paying attention to them. "I think a dusky rose would really bring out your eyes." She gets at least that far before leaning over and starting to laugh into her cup. "Oh, that's just awful. I'm going to have nightmares tonight. Thank you for that."

"Suddenly these moves don't seem so bad, huh?" He drags a few of his (still white) moves out, stops just short of actually doing the Cabbage Patch. "I shake my little tush on the cat-walk." Ethan puts a cocktail napkin down on the bar in front of Abby, a better thing to smother laughter than the echo-effect created by giggling into a cup. "And not to do a u-turn on this riveting subject-matter, but thanks for not letting that old man die. It really would've changed that from a semi-major inconvenience to a dark fucking day."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I could handle your moves. They're much too much for me. Far too manly." She holds up a hand to make him stop, please. Anything. The napkin is accepted and she holds it front of her mouth, regaining her composure. While she's taking a deep breath, Ethan is changing up the subject. Abby sighs more soberly, "Oh, yeah. I mean it's sort of my job, I just did what I was trained to do. I'm happy that he didn't die either. Good thing the pharmacist had his pills ready, right? I think he's the real hero in that story. If Mr. Jenkins was in a CVS in Denver he might not have been so lucky."

Ethan ennnhs lengthily. "It's your job when it's your job, though. You coulda just been like 'nah, I'm off the clock.' So thanks. If nothing else, you and the pharmacist saved everyone in that store from having to tell the story of the day they watched Mister Jenkins die on the floor of a drugstore." He chuckles briefly at Abby's joke, and is then straightening up after his long lean on the bar. "I better do a little of my job before my date shows up. You two - " He points a finger between Abby and the bartender. " - behave yourselves or get a room, got it?"

Abby is narrowing her eyes on Ethan a little there, mouth briefly pressed into a line. "I mean, sure… I feel like that would make me the worst doctor ever. But you're welcome, glad to help." She lightens up at the end, smiling before she glances at the bartender. "I swear that we'll stay out of trouble… at least until you leave on your date. Have fun. Don't impress her too much with your sweet dance moves at the club." She wiggles her fingers at him before settling into 'come on please turn the game on, it's like half over!' at Mr. Bartender again.

"You know what's also a good response to 'thanks?' You're welcome." Ethan laughs, shakes his head, reaches under the bar to get the TV remote controller, puts it on the bar in front of Abby, and strolls into the back room. While half-singing. "…model, you know what I mean, and I do my little turn…"

It's a social experiment: will she use that remote? Will she survive if she does?!

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