(no subject)

[wingedman]

who: open!
what: a bunch of old soldiers hanging out
when: 3/22
where: the riverview bar and grill
warnings: none yet, will add as necessary



[The Riverview Bar and Grill is a pretty typical-looking bar-slash-restaurant. Sam's spoken with the owners about having a gathering here, and he's there early to push several tables into position so everybody can sit around and chat (though if anyone wants to break into small groups or be less socially inclined, there are still some smaller tables in the vicinity, or there's always the bar itself). A local sports match is showing on the tvs, of course, and there's a pool table, foosball, darts, and even a pinball machine tucked away in one corner for entertainment purposes.

Sam himself spots one round for the group, several pitchers of cold beer on the table once they're all gathered. After that, it's every man for himself - and, of course, the menu has all sorts of appetizers available, from everyone's favorite bar nachos to hot wings to...well, whatever Riverview offers in terms of specialties.]

Comments

[wingedman]

[At the beginning, Sam spends his time flitting around from place to place, making sure things are going all right and that nobody's starting any fights. He introduces himself to people he doesn't know, cracks a few jokes, and is generally charming.

Eventually, he settles back with a beer and a plate of potato skins, simply observing the crowd. The seat across from him is empty, waiting for anyone who might want to drop by and chat or steal one of his potato skins. Although he might not entirely approve of the latter.]

[deploy]

[Yeah, he's stealing one of Sam's potato skins. Because of course he is.

John plops down in the chair across from Sam while Poe is ordering them some drinks. Sam might've noticed he came in with someone, or he might not have. John and Poe are both on the shuttle team, after all, so it wouldn't be the first time he's seen them together.

He takes a big bite of said potato skin, grinning at him, but at least he has the decency not to speak until his mouth isn't full.

The bar is bustling with people John knows and doesn't know. PG and others. It's a decent turnout.]

Hey Mr. Popular.

[wingedman]

Did I say I was buying food for everyone?

[But judging by the smile on Sam's face, he's just giving John shit for the sake of it. Whether or not he's noticed that John and Poe are here together, it's probably not something he considers to be comment-worthy. At least, not yet.]

Glad you showed up. I was worried you might get lost without the navigation system in your cockpit.

[deploy]

I didn't have any problem finding the place. I just followed your SOS beacon.

[There's nothing like a little trash talk between friends.

Truthfully, John does miss the USAF. Not the endless paperwork, or bureaucracy. That he can leave. Mostly the airframes and camaraderie. Maybe a little bit of the organization, and scope, too. The Perimeter Guard isn't a bad gig, but it's a little grass roots for John's tastes. He's used to bigger jobs, and feeling like he makes a difference. Too much quiet, or staying in one place, makes John anxious.

He steals another potato skin.]

So. What's new with you?

[wingedman]

Same old, same old. [Sam waves a hand vaguely and lets the blatant theft slide once more.] Dealing with enough stubborn assholes that I might as well be back in Afghanistan.

[Although there's a certain fond exasperation to Sam's tone that hints that he likes these idiots quite a bit better than his COs. Which is a pretty low bar, granted, but John might have also seen a certain network post of his involving one of those assholes.]

Been helping out with flood relief, too. Evacuations, sandbagging, the whole nine yards. I'll be glad when this crisis is over.

[deploy]

Yeah, that much doesn't seem to change no matter where you go. They gave me a unit, and recruitment has been going... about as well as recruitment ever goes.

[John leans onto the back legs of his chair, arms folded over his chest.]

Sounds like you've been busy. It's crazy out there right now.

We've been on clean-up crew. Basically killing anything that comes out of the water and doesn't look like Ariel. Gators. Turtles. Turtle-gators, those are the worst, damn near lost my hand trying to flip one of those things over.

Ended up slapping a brick of C4 to the shell and making enough turtle soup to feed all of Riverview.

[advanced]

[He probably shouldn't be here.

It doesn't stop him slipping in like a ghost about halfway through and practically materialising in the empty chair opposite Wilson. His expression is very deliberately neutral, voice a low rasp.]

Anyone welcome here?

[wingedman]

[Sam, for his part, raises an eyebrow at Bucky. He'd talked to his counterpart about coming, but hadn't expected this one to show. But he's glad to see him, nonetheless.]

That's what I said on the network. And if anyone tries to cause trouble, I got a couple of guys to help out in that department.

[Sam honestly doesn't know anything about Pierce's background - hell, the guy could lie and say he'd been in 'Nam and Sam would be none the wiser. And while he's not going to start shit with someone who, as far as the public of Riverview knows, is an innocuous old man, he'll do whatever's necessary to keep Bucky safe.]

[advanced]

Even if I'm the one causing trouble?

[Not that he's planning on it, but how prepared are his guys to help out if the Soldier decides to make an appearance?]

Sorry-- forget it. So what exactly are you supposed to do at a place like this?

[wingedman]

Yeah, well, that's one of the reasons why I was trying to get both Steves to come. So there'd be enough muscle to handle anything. 'Course, I'd like to not get banned from here, so if you could maybe not flip out, that'd be great.

[Sam reaches for his beer and takes a drink, shifts the pitcher over towards Bucky in case he feels like pouring one for himself. He knows it won't do anything for him, but maybe he likes it anyway.]

Mingle with people, maybe make some friends. Or kick someone's ass at pool, if you feel like it. Usually meetings are more organized back home, but I wanted to make this open-ended, didn't want people to think I was forcing them to share their experiences or anything.

[advanced]

[Sam makes it sound so simple, like Bucky is always mingling and making friends, and not like he's a ridiculous loner who spends all of his time hiding from anything resembling socialising.]

People actually come to these things to share what's happened to them?

[That's so weird to him. Back in his day, men didn't talk openly about that sort of thing.]

[deploy]

i. open bar

Who likes beer? John does. You can find him hanging around the bar between food and games, ordering rounds. It takes a while for the bartender to fill 'em up, so he's open to chatting about the sportsball playing on TV, or maybe even his previous service before the Riverview PG.

ii. competition

John can be found playing... Basically every game in the bar. Darts. Pool. Foosball. Pinball. Improvised beer pong. He's an overgrown manchild, and this is wheelhouse. He'll happily play with anyone, but there's no question this man is competitive. John likes to win, and he isn't a graceful loser, either.

You can bet your ass he'll cheat, too, if it's the difference between winning and losing, and he can get away with it. All fair in love and war, and considering the crowd? It's close enough to war.

iii. double date

John Sheppard and Poe Dameron are sitting at a table, surrounded by beer and appetizers. Are they bros? Brofriends? Comrades? Copilots? Either way, anyone who joins them gets two for the price of one. The two can be found discussing food, arguing about pilot nonsense, flirting, getting awkward over PDA, or making eyes at each other over onion rings. Embarrassing.

There's a couple empty chairs at their table, feel free to plop down and be a third or fourth wheel.

iv. choose your own barventure

Whatever you want!

iii

[volitaunt]

Poe leans into John's space to sneak one of those pork rind things that seem particularly popular in this place. He can't decide if he likes them or not. Hence... the reason he keeps eating them. Because that will help him figure it out, no?

No. It's really not helping him figure it out. It's just making his fingers greasy.

Which is why he wipes them on John's jacket sleeve as he leans in to kiss the other man on the cheek.

[deploy]

John ordered the pork rinds. One serving. Because he'd asked Poe if he wanted any, and Poe said no. Then proceeded to steal a rind every time his back was turned. John's had about three rinds. Poe's had at least half the plate.

The theft John can tolerate. Poe's cute, he can get away with it. The fingers on his jacket, however? That's a sin.

"You did not just do that." He ducks the kiss, putting a hand up in front of Poe's face. So he can get a mouthful of John's palm.

He grabs a napkin, make that several napkins, FROM THE NAPKIN HOLDER ON THE TABLE IN FRONT OF THEM, and thrusts them at Poe.

"Do you know what these are for? Do napkins exist in your galaxy, or is wiping your hands on other people a cultural thing? Do teeny tiny aliens lick your fingers clean?"

This is what happens when a man raised on a farm dates a man raised on a luxury ranch.

[volitaunt]

Poe kisses John's palm, and then licks it, because he's twelve.

He takes the napkins, wiping each finger before dropping the used bits of paper on John's plate.

"You know pretty much everyone is an alien where I'm from, right?"

It took Poe a little while to realize exactly what people outside of his galaxy meant by the word alien. As far as he's concerned the term borders on entirely useless.

He picks up a pork rind and waves it under John's nose before attempting to feed it to him.

[deploy]

"Oh my god." Did his boyfriend just lick his palm, in public? Yes, he did.

John watches the napkin fall from Poe's hand onto his plate, and for a moment, wonders what he did to deserve this, other than... everything a man can possibly do to earn karmic retribution for the rest of his miserable life.

He can't actually be mad about it. Poe's too damn cute, and what would be annoying coming from someone less charming, and attractive, is just charming. Aggravatingly charming. Something tells John that's a large part of Poe Dameron surviving this long.

"You're definitely an alien, from the planet 'Weird, but hot', sent to Riverview to test my damn patience."

Poe waves the pork rind beneath his nose, and John stares at it. He's never been the type of guy in a relationship to indulge in anything more than hand-holding and the occasional kissing in public. People are watching, probably, and they've already made something of a spectacle of themselves. That said, he's lucky to even have the opportunity to make an idiot of himself.

If people have a problem with it, they can leave.

So he snaps it out of Poe's fingers, all teeth, nearly taking Poe's fingers with it. There's a chomping sound effect, too. It's altogether a decent JAWS impersonation.

[volitaunt]

Poe yanks his hand back on instinct, for a moment entirely convinced that John was about to take his fingers off.

John isn't wrong about Poe's survival. Charm and charisma are their own kinds of weapons, ones he wields with unconscious skill.

"At least I'm not from a planet named dirt, unlike some people."

He retrieves a napkin, displaying it for John before he wipes his fingers again and then promptly ruins it by picking up two more pork rinds. He stuffs one in his mouth and offers the other to John.

He still hasn't decided if he likes them or not. But John is eating them, and John eats like a whisper bird, so it's more than worth the greasy fingers.

ii.

[bythehand]

Finn's a little iffy about showing up to this get-together. There's sort of a 'veterans' label on it, for starters, and he's not sure he counts in that number.

Room full of soldiers, sure.

He never slotted into those too well even when all the soldiers were ones he got raised with.

He also did the party scene for the first week of the month, give or take, in a weird equilibrium reset after getting room to breathe from February's... entire situation. The actual worst holiday. He had fun on purpose and kept it nicely contained to some warehouses. Did the casual thing. So he's in as good a place as he ever is. Quota on expecting anything to be good reached, I guess. Which is more to say, Finn's back on his usual level of turning up to recreational activities on full serious blast.

And because John is a person he actually knows, he inevitably ends up drifting in his direction after a while. John is... weird. Still. As a person and an experience. Finn's trying to figure out how he works. Where the limits are gonna be. But tonight it's definitely better the person who already knows how bad he is at small talk than some poor soul who hasn't figured it out yet. Plus there are games. Games are legit.

"So what's the deal with this one?" Good thing: he's not trying to fuse with John's shadow when he asks this question. He's crouching on the opposite side of the foosball table to get a look at it from another angle. John's personal space lives to fight another day.

[deploy]

"You don't have foosball where you're from?" John leans on the edge of the table, brow raised.

"From everything you and Poe have said about your galaxy, it sounds like it kinda sucks." Yeah, them might be some fighting words. Really John's just tired of everyone he likes from their universe having had, and continuing to have, such a goddamn rough time. Do these guys ever catch a break? Between the First Order, and an utter lack of popcorn, pizza, foosball, and basic human/alien/whatever rights, it sounds like a shit-show.

"Alright, so there are two nets, red net, and blue net. I'm red, you're blue. The goal is to get the ball in my net, and you use these guys, your team, to kick it in." To demonstrate, and because he can't help himself, John passes the ball between two rows and shoots the ball directly past Finn's unmanned defense and into his net.

"See that? You don't want that to happen. It's called losing."

[bythehand]

So John draws the galaxy-sucking line at foosball. Finn can't bring up much of a defense. Hell, the 'kinda' is gentler than Finn would probably put it himself. (He's pretty sure the foosball thing is a galaxies difference, not just a First Order difference. Look at this thing. It's ridiculous. No one would have invented this.)

"Work in progress," is all he says, feeling a weird sense of obligation to defend it anyway. It's not great, but it's theirs. Life there isn't kind, but sometimes the people are. Better than he thought he'd get a few months back.

Shoutout to John for being a traitor, though, wow? The look Finn gives him as he stands up isn't on-par with the looks Chyler gives him, obviously, but no one else could hope to harness that sort of raw power. He doesn't even try. It's Finn-brand instead: part confusion, part offense, sharp around the edges. Dry as the Jakku desert.

"You know, I hear some people just ask for a head start if they want one."

It's not as sure as it could be, goes with an unwitting crease in his forehead, a brief searching glance. Like he's throwing out a guess and seeing whether or not it solves a puzzle. Finn wouldn't have made it to the top of his old cadre without developing a competitive streak, sure, and he likes competing for fun now and again now that he's out. But if it's a misstep to go in for it right now, that's normally the kind of thing a person has to find out the hard way.

He's been trying to avoid finding things out the hard way.

[deploy]

"Less talking. More playing." That should answer Finn's question. John's hunching down over the machine, with that same look in his eyes he gets when setting charges on a door. Half excitement, half intent to destroy. No chill.

"I'll go easy on you. Promise." A grin that's more than a little wolfish, showing a cut of teeth. They both know John doesn't know how to go easy. There's no one in RR-1 who does. They're a team that goes all in, at full tilt. That's why they do what they do. Crazy jobs no one else wants to. Because there's no one better suited to the task than a bunch of crazies.

"Loser types up the winner's reports for a week."

ii

[advanced]

Bucky didn't really come here to socialise; honestly, he's not sure why he made the stupid decision to put himself in a room with a bunch of strangers. Curiosity, perhaps, or loneliness. Either way, now he's here and he can't exactly miss the man taking an almost gleeful joy in trying out all the games on offer.

John might notice that he's being watched rather intensely as Bucky slowly gets closer and closer, ending up by his side while he's at the darts board.

"You been to these meetings a lot?"

[deploy]

John noticed Bucky, but given his rather cagey behaviour, he wasn't about to turn around and start chatting him up. If the guy wants to talk, he can talk, John's not the type to push. He's learned a thing or two from his friendship with Ronon Dex, a man who does everything on his own terms. Including socializing in weird, sometimes unintentionally (but mostly intentionally) threatening ways.

He doesn't turn away from the target when Bucky finally speaks up, tongue caught between his teeth, squinting, as he aims a dart and lets loose, hitting the outer bulls-eye.

"First time, actually. You?" A pause, "Bars, though? Yeah, been to plenty of these. They don't change much, from galaxy to galaxy, or universe to universe."

[advanced]

Watching the other man play darts is actually sort of relaxing, it gives him a vague idea of how accurate John might be with other projectile weapons. It's not perfect, there's a huge difference between a dart and a gun, but it's still a little piece of the puzzle to be filed away for potential future use.

"No, but I know the man who runs it."

Other galaxies, huh? An alien, or just someone who travels in space? Either way, that opens up a lot of avenues that Bucky's not at all familiar with.

[deploy]

John's a pilot, not a sniper, but he's taken his fair share of kill-shots. More than his fair share, probably. Some people count. Keep track. John doesn't. He tries to forget. His rifle is an extension of his arm, but he'd never wanted to become a weapon. It just happened. When you fight for long enough, things get twisted.

"Sam? Huh." He draws his arm back. Tracks the target with his eye-line.

Another shot, this one dead centre. John grins, stepping back from the board to offer Bucky a dart, and take a drink of his beer.

"You two serve together?"

Bucky looks like a vet. Faded, and a little dog-eared. Like a map held too tight by sweaty hands, folded so many times it's tearing at the creases. When and where John's from, they call it sandblasted. Before his time, in Vietnam, it was waterlogged.

If John weren't still working, it would show more. You can hide a lot of things behind a Kevlar vest and uniform.