Fruvous Bar and Grill
With the same charm as the Java Quarter itself, this restaurant is perhaps a bit small, and often crowded, but pleasant all the same. A large stage takes up the whole of the north side of the room. Elevated about six feet off the floor, it allows the stage's occupants to be visible even if the entire room is packed. A long bar runs down the whole of the eastern wall -- a near sea of polished wood. From the sounds echoing behind it, it would seem the kitchen is located behind the bar. A dizzying array of taps and bottles is located behind the bar as well, a veritable cornucopia of available alcohol. The western wall of the room holds a large fireplace. A few feet from the fireplace, a chalk line has been drawn on the bar's floor.
Near the southern end of the room tables have been set up. Each is small and covered with a printed cloth. Tiny candles are set in the center of each. The ceiling and walls have been painted black; the better to hide the various tiling that's been installed to improve the acoustics.
Contents:
Clara
Target
Obvious exits:
Java Quarter
Clara is seated at a table against one wall, her dark blue Complex jacket slung over the back of it, leaving her in jeans and a white turtleneck. She seems to be sipping slowly from a drink of some amber colored liquor, listening to the band play an acoustic set.
Tara comes to a halt just inside the door of the bar, gazing around slowly. "Ahaaaa." That's her comment upon spotting Clara, and she advances purposely in that direction, though she's grinning.
Clara is actually looking vaguely tired as she sips at what can probably be identified as rum from the scent if one were close enough. As the band sings something about holding on, she smiles vaguely at the candle in the center of the table, seemingly oblivious to being approached until commenting, "Evening, Tara."
Tara grabs a waiter, whispering softly to him, and sends him off before coming to a stop at the table. Eyebrows lift, and the grin fades just a little. "Mhmmm... it's a good evening indeed. Isn't it?" Without asking, she drops into the chair opposite the doctor. "It's hard to bring pizza to you when you're overworking... when you're not overworking," she notes with a wry smile.
"Not a bad evening indeed," Clara agrees amiably, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs with an affable grin. "And pizza's a great idea...must be a case of great minds think alike. Riley actually made some before he got dragged away on duty tonight...wonderful stuff."
Tara ohs? She pauses as the waiter delivers her beer. "I'll be egotistical and continue to think he took my suggestion then." The grin reforms.
"He may well have," Clara decides, taking a careful sip of her rum. "He's a fantastic cook, light years better than me. I was all set to make a PBJ, and he decided I needed warm food." She sighs fondly, head tilting as she peers at the candleflame through her glass. "I wish he hadn't gotten called to work tonight."
Tara nods slightly. "Especially considering how he was working so late last night. I'll admit he had me a tad concerned. I'd be willing to bet he fell asleep on his desk, he looked -that- rumpled when I walked in. We didn't stay long. He seemed -so- out of it. I mean, he didn't even blink when I offered him a backrub."
"Did he really? Poor man...I didn't get home last night either though," Clara admits sheepishly, then lifts a single brow at the news of the offered backrub, seeming more amused than anything else. "You'll forgive me if I'm hoping he turned you down?"
Tara grins. "I was joking when I offered it. I was almost disappointed at his lack of reaction. No, not lack of reaction- it was more like he was working on automatic- he just said 'thank you for the offer' and something about the muscle knots keeping him awake. Greer liked him though. Of course, she's never seen him get scary either. And he seemed grateful when I mentioned bringing you a pizza. It was, all in all, an amusing little interlude."
Clara can't help but grin slightly, shaking her head and swirling the rum in the glass lightly. "That's my Riley," she can't help but agree, chuckling ruefully. "He very much goes on automatic pilot when he's tired. Fortuntely, that automatic pilot has the reflexes of a cat and dead-on marksmanship. And he liked Greer too. I think the phrase he used was 'painfully adorable'."
Tara beams. "She really is, isn't she?" Yes, Tara's biased, and she doesn't mind admitting it either. "She was on her toes, too, very polite. All the way downstairs she chattered on about him. She thought," she chuckles, bemused, "That he'd be shorter." She takes a sip of beer, then gestures toward the rum with her bottle. "Unusual to see you drinking."
"Shorter?" Clara can't help but laugh, vastly amused by this. "I suppose he is fairly well a giant...I guess I never think about it since he's not quite a foot taller than I am. I like him that tall," she confides, then gives her drink a thoughtful grin. "That's because I rarely drink. Never on duty, but the patient I've been with is stable, and Jamaican light rum sounded tempting."
Tara grins. "He's tall," she confirms. "Especially to a six-year-old. As one who's been on the wrong side of the law, I can tell you that his height has a certain psychological effect on people he's after too." Eyebrows rise, but of course she doesn't ask about the patient. "Tempting is good. At least, it's better than what I'd thought upon realizing you're drinking, which is that something had gone horribly wrong."
Clara actually laughs at that, taking another sip of her drink. Yes, she's drinking, but much like Riley she drinks the hard stuff straight, and drinks it -very- slowly. "No, I almost never drink if I'm depressed. Alcohol tends to amplify what I'm feeling, which would be a definite bad thing. The CMO crying on some random person's shoulder...nope, wouldn't do. I haven't had a drink when upset since...oh, over two years now."
Tara nods in satisfaction. "Good." She smiles warmly. "I mean, it's good you're not depressed." She gives you a thoughtful look, and gestures toward the rum again. "You're not drunk though, right?"
Clara shakes her head amiably, that question bringing a rather amused quirky grin. "Me? Not a chance, and it's not something that's happened in ages. This is my first," she explains, tilting the half full glass. "And likely my only. Never more than two. The bartender'd have my hide if I ran him out of Terran rum."
Tara chuckles, eyes twinkling. "Oh, there's always more rum available... if you know the right people. However," she leans forward, taking another drink before setting her beer on the table, and rests her weight on her elbows. "I've got a reason for wanting you thinking clearly for a bit."
Clara leans back a bit more in her seat, one elbow draping over the back of it as she tilts her head, brows lifted. If she was expecting this, she's not giving away any hints. "What, beyond the fact that I make more sense when I'm sober and giggle less?"
Tara grins. "Giggling's not a bad thing, but sense is essential. I've no idea if the Chief mentioned this to you- heck, he pointed me in your direction. I'm going back to doing what I do best- being my own boss. Starting up a legitimate shipping company. And I'm giving folks the chance to get in on it by selling shares." She holds up a hand to forestall immediate comment. "No pressure. Personally, I think it'll be pretty profitable, so I thought I'd let friends get in on the act, but there's certainly no hard feelings if you say 'no' too."
If the question bothers Clara, she doesn't show it. To be honest, there's very little reaction at all besides thoughtfulness. Behind the punning doctor and often silly facade is actually a woman who knows more about her finances than she lets on. "Selling shares certainly is the way to build capital to get started. Will these be controlling shares or simply interest bearing stock?"
Tara's fingers flick slightly. "The latter. I'm paranoid that I'll find myself ousted someday if I don't own a controlling percentage. Which, actually, brings up another question. Your family's got this stuff all figured out by now, I'm sure. I've got a corporate lawyer. Nice guy, but young. He drew up all the papers and such, seemed to do a good job. But if you happen to know... and can recommend... somebody with a tad more experience in this sort of thing, that'd be a goodness."
Clara considers this for a long moment, taking another thoughtful sip of rum, then swirls the remains of the liquid in her glass slowly. "A lawyer in these circumstances is beyond helpful. And yes...my family...well, they'd -better-," she decides, grinning slightly. "If you like, I can shoot a copy of the contracts to the Family lawyers and let them give it a onceover? What kind of investment are we looking at?"
Tara laughs quietly. "Yes, they'd better. Oh, that'd be great. Even he admits he's not done a lot with this sort of thing. But he's enthusiastic and has lots of energy... just an all-around nice kid. And if folks like me don't give him work, how's he going to get the experience, neh?" She pauses, blushing slightly. "Mmmm, can ya be a bit more specific?"
"Everyone gets a start somewhere," Clara agrees, grin broadening slightly. "And the younger lawyers...well, often they're still earnest enough that you don't have to pay them to stay honest. Loyalty helps a lot too, though, and I can guarantee that from ours." She lifts her gaze, that faint smile still in place, brows lifted. "How much per share?" she clarifies.
Tara ahs, her expression clearing. "Only a hundred giros. I can keep the price down simply because I've already got a lot of folks willing to do business, not to mention some pilots with their own ships willing to get in on this as well. Later, as we expand, we'll buy more ships, hire more pilots."
Clara quirks a brow, eyes going thoughtful for a moment. "Roughly 82.35 Terren credits per share, then," she converts. "At least from today's currency reports. The rate doesn't flutuate all that much though, given the metropolitan outlooks of both Linnae and Terra. How many shares do you expect most folks will purchase?"
Tara blinks at the conversion, trying not to look -too- startled. "Um, I'm hoping around 1000, but that's with a huge safety margin."
Niko walks here from the Java Quarter.
Niko has arrived.
Niko, the pinnacle of suavity in his leather jacket, seems to be unaware of said suavity. He pads over to the bar to get a beverage--something brown, though that doesn't say much. His eyes scan the crowd almost automatically, and pause briefly on a certain pair. He casts a smile in that direction, but doesn't approach yet. There's a nifty song being played, see, and he must listen. And, natch, he can't walk and listen at the same time.
Clara takes another sip of the rum, then sets it aside carefully to blink slowly. "A thousand shares...a -person-?" She clears her throat slightly, one brow lifting. "That's...well. Ambitious," she decides after a moment. Of course, then she has to do a double take of definite appreciation. She may be his brother's lady, but she's by no means blind and Niko is defintiely suave looking. She does lift a hand and grin at him in greeting, too.
Tara blinks. "Oh, hell no! I'll be happy if I can get each person to buy just a couple shares. I'm hoping to sell a thousand -total-." She glances over her shoulder, and spots Niko, waving as well with a grin.
As the song ends, Niko snags his drink and ambles over to the table, rummaging in a pocket as he does so. He replaces an envelope, and silently offers Clara... uh, whatever it's been established is used to record music. A blue crystal? The band, naturally, picks that moment to comment about bootlegging, and Niko rolls his eyes. "Sorry to interrupt," he adds, with an apologetic grin. "It's just that this'll never get delivered if I don't do it while I'm thinking of it."
Clara exhales a decided sigh of relief that trails into a laugh. "Ooooh, okay. Far, far more reasonable," she agrees with a grin, shaking her head. "I was about to choke a little. I don't know too terribly many folk on Linnae that could afford that much." Meaning she knows them on Terra? "Tell you what, let me get my lawyers to look it over, and I'll consider an offer?" At Niko's greeting and offering, she brightens considerably. "Oh, -Niko-! Is it those songs we were talking about?" she asks, obviously delighted.
Tara arches an eyebrow curiously, but grins at Clara. "Oh, it's not just here I'm recruiting investors." She nods, looking pleased. "I appreciate that, Clara." The crystal gets a curious look too. "No worries, Niko. Join us?"
"Sure is," Niko replies cheerfully. "And I got threatened with blackmail if I wouldn't make a copy for Aspasia, too," he adds, with a quiet snort. "There are definitely disadvantages to having her on-planet. But I swiped the blackmail material." Yes, he's smug. He is hot shitake mushrooms. With a nod to Tara, he indicates a chair. "If I'm not interrupting? I can just as easily go somewhere else, plenty of room here."
Clara nudges a chair out with one foot, grinning cheerfully. "Of course not, if you don't mind us discussing the deathly dull world of finances. Pull up a seat and share. What was this blackmail, and how do I get ahold of it?" she wonders, then winks back at Tara. "You're recruiting investors elsewhere?"
"Blackmail material? Do tell, Niko." Tara grins, then nods to Clara. "I've got contacts all over the place. Through... judicious communications... I've been able to spread the wealth, so to speak."
Niko slides into the indicated seat. "I have the blackmail material in my pocket," he says, tucking hands into pockets to keep said blackmail material safe. "It was part of my deal with Aspasia. Maybe she should be a politician after all," he adds ruefully. "And I will show it to you both, on a couple conditions--that you mention this to nobody else--well, except Riley, that's okay, that I get it back when you're finished, and that I get to go hide on the other side of the room while you're looking." There's an exaggerated shudder at the mention of finance, though he grins. "Actually, that's good. Maybe it'll put me to sleep, so I can go home."
Clara's smile fades into the thoughtful look again as she regards Tara for a long moment, sipping at her drink again, then setting it aside with a slow nod. "Interesting choice of terms," she murmurs, then pauses and brightens abruptly at Niko. "Oooh, I think I can certainly make that promise. You brought me happy music, you're wearing that fantastic leather jacket, and if I get to mess up your hair, I'll agree to all those conditions," she explains cheerfully.
Tara nods amiably to Niko, taking a sip from her beer. "You've got my promise. Who's Aspasia?" She grins over at Clara. "No worries. Everything's perfectly legal and above-board. It's just easier to get investors when said investors don't get paranoid about working with an ex-con. Hence judiciousness."
Niko leans forward, folded arms resting on the table, so his hair is more easily accessible. Of course, he got a haircut in the not-too-recent past, so it won't be as much fun. "Deal," he says amiably. Tara gets a flickered look of curiosity--yes, he's listening more than he's letting on--and then he replies, "My sister--the second-oldest of them. I figure, if we import enough family, maybe we can overthrow the Council and set up another government." He says this perfectly deadpan.
Clara leans forward to reach out and muss Niko's hair as much as possibly, well and truly pleased. "Life is good. If you can drag your brother off duty and send him home to me sometime tonight, I'll even get Niles to send an extra batch of fudge for you." She nods amiably enough at Tara in wry agreement. "He's not kidding. I figure in ten years, the Alliance will be run by this one big Family, syndicate style."
Tara's eyebrows rise. "Sister... Ahhhh. She's here? She's not a SecOff too, is she?" The pilot gestures toward the Complex, and laughs. "I'm not sure whether to applaud that notion, or fear."
"Fear," Niko replies promptly to Tara, as he gets to his feet. "She's going to school on the islands, though, not a SecOff. Going to teach politics if she ever gets out of school. I think she likes it." He pauses, then, and nods amiably at Clara. "Sure, I'll try to shoo him home once I'm finished here. Depends what's happening, but they didn't yank me back from Bakaretsu..." He pulls that envelope from his pocket. "The blackmail," he says, dropping it on the center of the table before he, yes, flees. He does not want to watch the reactions to the contents of the envelope. The exaggerated haste is, though, pretty cute.
Clara trades a vastly amused look with Tara, then reaches for the envelope to carefully open it and start to pull out the contents. "I can't imagine what would have him so wildly embarrassed," she admits. "I've seen pictures of him as a child, and he was insanely adorable. Goodness, get little Niko, Greer, and G'ben all in the same room, and you'd have lethal cuteness."
Tara watches the fleeing with some amusement herself before turning curious eyes to the envelope stuff. "SecOffs and politicians," she murmurs. "Interesting family." She grins. "Got a cure for lethal cuteness, Clara?"
The contents is, in fact, more pictures of Niko as a small child. The first, in fact, is the obligatory "'horribly embarrassing' small child in the bathtub" shot. That one is probably the reason he's fleeing. Or maybe it's the next one--goodness, he was a choirboy, as that particular picture proves. Of course, choirboys aren't supposed to look quite that mischievous. Kinda makes one look for the horns holding up the halo. There are more of the same, and then one that's just sweet--Niko at about six, holding a baby so teeny that she must be newborn, or pretty close to that. Aww. At the other end of the room, Niko stares very firmly in the opposite direction, head cocked to listen to the music.
Melt. Melt melt melt. "Oh, -goodness-," Clara breathes, shifting over so Tara can see the pictures as well, expression one of overwhelmed 'awwwww'. "How utterly...wow," she murmurs, staring for a long moment and grinning fondly before flickering a look up at the man the little boy in the pictures became and grins. "Not a single cure, especially not for women in the last decade of childbearing years. Talk about a clock-ticker," she murmurs to the other woman with a chuckle.
Tara's own 'awwww' is quite verbal. "Oh heavens. So basically Niko's been breaking hearts all his life. You suppose his kids'll come out with this apparent cuteness gene too?" She laughs quietly, though she gives Clara a thoughtful look. And then a wicked grin forms. "You suppose we can get these pics copied before giving 'em back?"
Niko is still quite staunchly hiding from all these awwws. He doesn't like them, nope. And he's not cute! He's supposed to be dashing. Well, the jacket helps with that. (Indiana Nick and the Complex of Doom?) He leans lightly against the nearest table, apparently planning on staying where he is until he's summoned, or until his 'aww' radar has stopped flashing.
Clara snickers quietly, shaking her head and continuing to look from pictures to the current version of Niko. "He'd kill us both, and that would really tick of Riley. No copying. And yeah, I'll say he has been. And have you seen Ela? Those two are going to produce children of seriously lethal cute factors. I'll have to hide from them," she decides. "Look at this one...I'll bet that's one of his sisters, hmm?"
Tara snickers quietly. "Well, yeah, your death would probably have that effect. Especially since he probably couldn't get anybody to replace Niko if he ended up in jail." She shakes her head. "I don't think I ever have. I always figured she must be gorgeous." She cocks her head a little to peer at said pic, and nods with a light smile. "That'd be my guess. Maybe even Aspasia. The age factor'd be right, think, if she just started her studies." She sneaks a glance toward Niko, murmuring about taking a trip to Bakaretsu.
Niko is starting to fidget. It's too quiet. They must be plotting about him! Aiee! (Just because he's paranoid doesn't mean you're not out to get him.) He shoots a look over his shoulder, bushy brows quirking as if to ask if it's safe to return to the table.
"You haven't? Trust me on this, Ela is hands down gorgeous. Niko's an excessively fortunate guy, because I'm pretty sure she adores him utterly too," Clara adds with a warm smile, obviously fond of the woman in question. "Awwww..." This is for the look from Niko, not the pictures, which she tucks in the envelope before waving him back over. "It's safe..." she calls.
Tara smiles slightly. "Yes. I'm sure she does." She nods over at Niko with an obviously fakely-innocent grin, confirming the safety factor.
Niko ambles back to the table, hands tucked in his pocket. One hand emerges from hibernation to take the envelope back. And he's very trusting. He doesn't even count the picures before he does this. "Remember," he says, with a grin. "Just between us. If Anya hears about these, she'll nag--er, that is, she'll -persuade- me to give her one for the picture board." There's a look to make sure Anya didn't mysteriously appear to catch that statement.
"Niko, you -ought- to let her," Clara notes with a terribly fond grin, reaching up to tap her fingers on his coat sleeve in a mock-slap. "You, my friend, were painfully adorable, and that picture of you with... was that your sister? Wow. Just wow."
Tara grins. "Just between us, yep. Hell, Niko, it's not like Anya'd take my word for it anyhow even if I shouted it from the roof of the Complex. Besides, with those plastered on that bulletin board, you'd probably be underestimated." She nods her agreement with Clara. "Adorable. Downright cute." A snicker escapes. "No matter what Greer says."
Niko pulls a face, shaking his head. "Adorable--that's almost as bad as 'cute.' I'm not cute!" The protest is automatic. "Greer is an amazingly perceptive kid, she's absolutely right. And there's no way I'm letting Anya get these. No way. It's 'spasia, though, yeah. That one's the one that isn't blackmail. She's a lot more evil than she looks in the picture." He takes a step towards the door. "But I should probably go see if Ela's maybe still awake. Probably not, but it's worth a try. And you ladies can go back to talking about disturbing financial stuff."
Clara snags her nearly empty glass and lifts it cheerfully in farewell. "Give Ela my best, and you are hearby under orders to kiss her when you get home. Unless she's asleep, and then you get to stare in dumbfounded awe." Gee, bet you never heard -those- orders in boot camp? "G'night, Adorable Man!" She leans aside to Tara. "We really should get him a superhero costume for that. Adorable Man."
Tara snickers, waggling her fingers at the SecOff. "Maybe next birthday. Hey, don't forget to check on the Chief, Niko."
Niko lifts a hand to twoing one of Clara's curls. "See," he grumbles amiably, "-This- is why I shouldn't have shown the pictures. Feh. And I'll kiss her even if she's asleep. Won't wake her. And if I do wake her," he adds, starting for the exit, "Well, that's not necessarily a bad thing." Wink wink. "Check on the Chief, kiss or stare at my wife. These are easy things. Good night, ladies." He's going to leave you now. Fortunately, he didn't hear that aside, or he'd be -really- afraid.
Niko walks towards the Java Quarter.
Niko has left.
Clara shakes her head as the man leaves with a rather thoroughly fond grin. Yes, she likes Niko. Not like Riley, but he's obviously one of her favorite people. "Wicked man. Next birthday might just be good too...he'll be twenty-five, if I'm remembering right."
Tara's mouth quirks in amusement as she takes a pull from her beer. "We'll make it a silver superhero costume then. With padding in the appropriate places."
"For him being a knight? I like it," Clara decides amiably. "This sounds like a plan. I need to start plotting Riley's next birthday too, to be honest. He'll be forty, so maybe something special."
Tara's eyebrows rise. "Forty." She shakes her head ruefully. "I always think of him as being more than just a decade older than me somehow. Yesssss," she taps her fingers thoughtfully on the rim of her glass. "Something special."
"Forty," Clara confirms with a rather lovesick smile, obviously having it rather bad for the man. "He -is- a decade older than me," she admits. "Well, about nine and a half years. I'm just not quite sure what. I got him a quilt this year. He seems to like it."
Tara laughs softly. "Clara, I suspect you could give him... I dunno, a footlocker full of rocks, and he'd love it, simply because it came from -you-." She pauses, and grins. "Did he show ya the stuff Greer and I gave him?"
"I don't know that I could lift a footlocker of rocks though," Clara notes with a grin, then thinks for a moment. "Um...that ship in the bottle? I think he mentioned it when we were both crawling into bed at some ungodly hour. It's on a shelf in our apartment. It's -really- lovely."
Tara beams with sheepish pride. "Greer put that together. I don't have the patience for that sort of thing myself. I only contributed the idea. Of course, now she wants to build a whole bunch of 'em. She was driving the folks at the toy store nuts, I think, with all her questions." She pauses, and chuckles. "Maybe by next birthday I'll have earned his trust too. That'd be nice." Her eyes drift off to the side as she muses, "So much has changed."
"Perhaps," Clara allows quietly, then offers a comforting smile. "But if you don't, don't let it worry you. Riley, he's not an easy man to get to know well, I promise. And he doesn't trust many people, and when he does, there's a good reason."
Tara nods, her eyes thoughtful, then she blinks and shakes her head at her own thoughts, and offers a smile. "Let's hope there doesn't come a day when something big enough to make that happen happens. It'd probably take a catastrophe." Finishing off her beer, she leans back in her chair. "Speaking of ungodly hours... Hellfire, woman, I know doctors are used to odd hours, but you've been working long lately too. Aren't you tired?" She hesitates before blurting, "-Is- he alright? He seemed seriously out of it when I stopped by his office last night."
"Amen and amen," Clara agrees, downing the last bit of rum in toast to that, then chuckling and rubbing at her forehead. "Honestly? I'm exhausted. I'll be getting home mainly on willpower." At the question, an almost brilliant smile crosses her face as she nods slowly. "He's -fine-," she offers. "Terribly busy is all, but he's really okay. I just...well. I really hope he's home when I get there."
Tara chuckles sheepishly. "Sorry. I know I've no right to ask about him. Something perverse in me demands it though. But... thanks." She puts down her empty bottle and makes shooing motions with both hands. "Bedwards you go. As amusing as it'd be to have to explain to him why I was -carrying- you home asleep, I think I'll pass." She nods to that last. "Me too. Deskmarks on his face from sleeping on paperwork would look funny."
"It's all right, Tara, really. I can't discuss his condition, but I can honestly tell you that man is fine, if overworked," Clara offers, looking faintly relieved at Riley's status for some reason, as if glad he -can- be overworked. She climbs slowly but steadily to her feet, nodding. "Not to mention I'm a big girl to carry. Go ahead and get me that paperwork and I'll get it to my lawyers, hmm? We'll talk more later. Give Greer a hug for me, okay?"
Tara nods amiably, offering a wry smile. "I'll have Bucky jet it over to your place in the morning. I do assure you, Clara, there's nothing shady about any of it, from investors to the shipping practices I'll be instituting. I -don't- want another trip to Surratt." She can't quite suppress a shudder before she chuckles. "Sure thing. I suspect she'll want to return it in person."
"I know you don't," Clara offers softly, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder lightly. "That'll be just fine then, and I'd be thrilled to get one back from her in person. But now I'm going to crawl off to bed and try to hide from the world for a few hours. G'night, Tara," she offers, then heads off for the door after snagging and redonning her jacket.
