Post by Deleted on Jun 1, 2015 15:24:34 GMT -5
Leodor looked upon the building that would soon be his workplace. He dreaded the thought of having to work in a bar as a janitor but he desperately needed the money. Dorms were expensive and he couldn't live off of the cafeteria food, so there was a need for grocery money as well as rent. Not only that, but he did want some money to be able to spend freely as a bit of a goodie to himself. He sighed and muttered, "I can't believe I have to do this," and walked in through the door. Trying not to cringe at the bell ringing as he walked in, Leo found himself standing just inside the door, the door closing with a chirpy 'cling, cling'.
"Hello sir, what can we do for you?" A smooth, calm voice spoke. Leo turned to his left and looked over to the voice only to see a counter. Behind it, a man who seemed in his mid to late twenties kept himself busy drying the wineglasses and looking over the wine cabinet taking stock.
"Uhh..." Leo scratched the back of his head, "I'm the new janitor for this summer..." He felt awkward being in a room filled with alcohol. After all, the last time he tried drinking it, he was sentenced with in school suspension by the principal at his old school. He looked around a little more to notice a shaker behind the bartender, depieced and flipped upside down to dry. He also noticed a TV in the top left corner behind the counter, turned on to a sports channel spouting some nonsense about player stats and probabilities. He looked to his right, towards the farthest end of the room from the door and noticed a bathroom. Lots of tables were scattered about, all in decent shape. At least this comforted Leo in the fact that he wouldn't be working in a complete dump.
"Oooh, yes, the new janitor! Right. I almost forgot. You're name was... Uh, Theodore?" He inquired.
Leo internally took his hand, and applied it with force to his face. 'Ooh great, first day on the job and already someone is making this job less enjoyable for me.' Leo groaned miserably. He decided to endure it, and intoduced himself properly.
"My name is Leodor, though it does sound close to Theodore," he admitted.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend in anyway!" The bartender apologized. Seeming genuinely sorry, the bartender came out from behind the counter and extended his hand to Leodor as a sign of welcome. "My name is Hanson Jovan. I'm the bartender around here and the manager. I hope you and I get along well." He smiled happily.
Leo noticed that the man was limping very slightly, as if he had a small injury to his foot, but great enough to limit his movement. If a fight occurred, that would be the first place to hit. He gave a quick glance to his face. Smooth, unscarred skin made it evident to Leo that Hanson had never been in a fight before. Furthermore, his hands lacked calluses, meaning he had never wielded a weapon, done tedious, heavy work, or fought using his hands. He seemed easy enough to fight, but he still remained cautious. His legs and feet were clothed so he didn't know whether his injury was fight related or accident related. If it were fight related, Hanson could indeed be dangerous, and so Leo made sure to be on guard. Either way, if Leo were quick enough, a broken nose, a stomp to the foot, pushing off balance and a smash to the jaw should be enough to end the fight.
"Let's," Leo shook Hanson's hand. He spoke again, "what do you want me to do?"
Before Hanson could respond, a group of people walked in. Piercings decorating a many variety of skin areas, the group of men and women alike, dressed to fight, was led by one especially angry looking man, who proclaimed, "get us some whiskey on da pronto. This bar is now a part of our turf."
Hanson calmly looked to them and responded, "how many glasses?" Leo commended his composure.
"Ehhhh? Are you bliiiind old fart?" The man asked. "The great warring Walter wants drinks for everyone, that means 22 of us. Can't cha count, you stupid geezer?"
"Warring Walter is it?" The bartender smiled. "That's $45 for each glass, in case you can't do your math right, that's $990." Hanson said without even blinking. Leodor decided that the guy had a death wish or just lacked common sense.
"Do you want to get killed?" Leo asked Hanson quietly. "I mean, they have 22 of them..."
Walter responded before Hanson could reply to Leo. "Well dats too bad then, ain't it? Cuz I own dis joint now," Walter leaned back on a table, brought up his leg, and placed it on the counter.
If Hanson was annoyed earlier, then he was pissed now. Hanson grabbed Walter's leg and ripped him down and away from the counter, leaving Walter on his back with a small, but painful looking, head injury from the fall. Hanson then turned towards the rest of them and said with a quietly disguised rage in his voice, "If any of you dare dirty this counter, Leo and I will send you to the emergency room for multiple crushed bones," he turned to Walter, "try and beat me," Hanson seethed, "if you do, I'll give you the whole, damn bar. If you lose, I'm taking you to the cops."
Leo couldn't process what had just happened. He was just abducted to fight alongside a bartender over the pride of a... Counter...
"Wait Han-" Leo started. However he never finished half of that thought, because someone suddenly charged him.
"I'LL RIP BOTH OF YOUR HEADS OFF," yelled Walter, as he charged at Leo, pulling himself off of the bar floor. Leodor looked at his trajectory and speed, the angles of his feet and legs and predicted that he was heading for his face at a slight shift to the left, so as to corner his movement in dodging. Leodor barely managed to sidestep the lunge and connected with Walter in the form of Leo's left fist to Walter's gut. To Leo, the sensations were familiar. The loud yelling circle of people around him, a person lying in front of him injured, and him standing over them. His blood was pumping with adrenaline from the almost nostalgic feeling of the aching punching hand, and the saliva that was smeared on the back of his hand from the victim's mouth after giving him a quick enough hit. Leo was about to kick the guy in his face for bugging him on an especially crappy morning, when he heard Hanson yelling, "DUCK!"
Leo turned around to see a goonie diving at him. He ducked quickly and jerked his fist up as the reckless fool passed over him. As soon as his fist connected with the flying man's stomach, Leo felt an impact on the side of his jaw. While the goonie who had managed to land and impact a hit on Leo's jaw was curling up in pain as he sailed by, Leo was seeing stars, trying to get a grasp of his surroundings and waiting for the vertigo to cease.
Meanwhile, Hanson was being surrounded by the rest of them. Leo watched with confusion, thinking that there couldn't possibly be so many of them. He counted twenty in his discombobulated state. 'There couldn't possibly be that many. Maybe it's my dizziness?' Was what he thought until he remembered the order number.
'The great warring Walter wants drinks for everyone, that means 22 of us...'
Leo had 2 down, that meant twenty left.
2 thoughts raced in his mind.
1) holy hell, he could count while being in a confused state!
And
2) Hanson is royally screwed.
Leo thought to just leave the guy and go, after all, the bar fight was his fault and Hanson had been the one to drag him into it. Then Leo realized that he wouldn't be paid if he left, and would be in debt because of his inability to pay for his utilities at least. So, Leo shook his head to clear his confusion, sighed, and dashed over to join the brawl. What he was shocked to see was Hanson wasn't even using his hands, but rather, fending everyone off with his kicks. Leo jumped in, pushing a couple people away to get to the middle of the crowd. He pulled Hanson out and sat him down on the counter. Leodor then grabbed a bottle of liquor and a lighter.
He then approached a guy about Hanson's age who was angrily fighting his own comrade who fought back just as hard. Leo dumped the contents of the bottle on the man in front of him and turned right, striking the thug there in his jaw. Crystalline showers of glass fell to the floor, as outraged cries of pain echoed. The room turned quiet.
"If none of you idiots leave this building now," Leo grabbed the alcohol soaked thug in front of him and caught him in a lock, "I'll set this alcohol drenched moron on fire, and let him burn down with the rest of you." Leo calmly stated to the gang members.
He got a few stares of fear in the first following second, then eyes widening in panic as feet rampaged out the door in the next few seconds. The fuel drenched bum struggled, trying to break free of Leo's grip. Feeling generous, he let him go, watching him slip and slide as he attempted to scamper out the door.
"Thanks Leodor." Said Hanson.
Leo shook his head and sighed in irritation. "Why'd you bring me into the damn fight in the first place? What's so special about that old wood counter that you'd risk your health to fight for it?"
Hanson suddenly got a distant look to his eyes. Leo wasn't sure but, he could've sworn that the bartender's eyes were glazing over. He turned to the two near the bathroom and jerked his head to them. "Clean those two up first. That is what I hired you for," he then smiled sadly as he said, "and then we'll go into story time."
Hanson looked sad, as if remembering something bittersweet. While Leo cleaned up (begrudgingly), Hanson was resuming wiping down the wineglasses, and then moved on to the bottles in the cabinet. As Leo finished up cleaning and turned around, Hanson had already started smoothing out the wood counter with a warm moist cloth.
Leo walked over lazily. Fighting always ended up in tired and sore body muscles. Cleaning up after didn't help his aching physique either. He had never worked this long before, or this intensely. Hanson turned around as Leo came over.
"So, about story time." Leo prodded. He was curious as to what the reason was and for what worth he'd been dragged into the fight for.
Hanson sighed with a distant look to his eyes. "A long time ago, probably before you were born," he said, glancing quickly at me, "My father owned this bar and managed it, while my mother worked as a performer here, supposedly because she really liked the bar counter. She had said it was gorgeous. My father and my mother met while they worked together and fell in love." He looked down at the table. "The story ends great. They get married, have 4 beautiful children, and the business prospers." Hanson's eyes shifted downwards to the counter that separated him and Leodor. "Then my mother fell ill. My father did everything he could to make sure she would be okay. He worked his fingers to the bone, took care of the housework and the kids, and even sold things we didn't need to make sure mom's medical bills got paid and we could still eat everyday."
Leodor was about to tune out. It was just another sad story, typical really. Mommy got sick and family suffers to keep her alive. Yada yada yada. Just when he thought he had done all this for nothing important the next part caught his ear.
"Suddenly, the medical bills stopped coming. We thought maybe she was okay now. Maybe our mother would come back home.
Of course she didn't. She had died the week before, in the morning at 3:30 am sharp. The cause was from fluid loss they said. We later found out that it was a strain of Ebola that one of our customers had brought in with him, and because my father was there with mom at work when it happened, he wasn't allowed to come home either. My neighbor took care of us of course, but not having even one of your parents around, knowing that they're dying, takes something away from your heart. Something from in there." He took a breath as he lightly massaged just above his left chest, eyes watery. "My brothers and I were allowed to go see him one last time when it seemed his fever wouldn't subside. I remembered seeing my father behind a plastic wall, his mouth moving but no noise to be heard. I was told what he had said was 'take mom's ashes and smear them on the bar counter. She always loved that bar counter."
Leo was a little stunned. He didn't expect someone to want to be smeared all over a countertop. It was just furniture after all.
"So," Hanson continued, "an eight year old boy got to hold his mother once more and yet, he didn't feel her. He was given another chance to listen to her, and yet, all she said were hisses as she was gently poured onto the counter." Hanson looked up. "When you see that, when you're an eight year old, you wonder, 'was mother always this quiet? Was mother always this cold?' and what hurt more was that you couldn't remember. You didn't know the answers, and that's what hurt the most."
Leo sat quietly. He knew what it was like to forget. So much so that he knew where the guy was coming from. Though, he still didn't understand the whole, 'smear me all over the counter." fetish.
Hanson's eyes met Leo's. "I know the request was weird," he said as if reading Leo's mind, "but mom always said, 'if it hadn't been for that desk, I'd never would have had you four. I'd never have met your father, and that's too painful to even imagine. That counter, is what led me to all this.'
Once I had fulfilled my father's dying wish, I returned to him to tell him. He died happily after.
That's why I worked hard to be a bartender. I wanted to be with my mother, even if it meant only for 6 hours of my day."
Leo looked at the surface of the counter and noticed it was wiped down without flaw. Hanson noticing his eyes, replied, "of course the ashes have long since been wiped off or blown away, but her memories and life are still here. All I want to do is protect this bar. Her memories. My father's memories. All the while making some of my own."
Leo was a bit, startled to say the least. The story was weird but the sentiments were there. He could understand the idea, but it didn't really bother him.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this Leodor, but you helped me anyway, and, well," Hanson started tearing up, "thank you so much on my family's behalf." He bowed.
Now Leodor was feeling hella awkward. "Uh no it's okay. I just wanted to do my job and get paid." He responded.
"Mhm, and you've done great." Hanson shook Leo's hand and smiled. "Your shift is over, but I'd be welcome to have you back. Janitor, bodyguard, or as a friend." He nodded smiling. "Come back soon, okay Leodor?"
Leodor, now feeling more and more awkward by the second, bowed and said his farewells.
Leodor walked out the bar and thought, 'maybe being a bouncer next time wouldn't be such a bad idea.'
"Hello sir, what can we do for you?" A smooth, calm voice spoke. Leo turned to his left and looked over to the voice only to see a counter. Behind it, a man who seemed in his mid to late twenties kept himself busy drying the wineglasses and looking over the wine cabinet taking stock.
"Uhh..." Leo scratched the back of his head, "I'm the new janitor for this summer..." He felt awkward being in a room filled with alcohol. After all, the last time he tried drinking it, he was sentenced with in school suspension by the principal at his old school. He looked around a little more to notice a shaker behind the bartender, depieced and flipped upside down to dry. He also noticed a TV in the top left corner behind the counter, turned on to a sports channel spouting some nonsense about player stats and probabilities. He looked to his right, towards the farthest end of the room from the door and noticed a bathroom. Lots of tables were scattered about, all in decent shape. At least this comforted Leo in the fact that he wouldn't be working in a complete dump.
"Oooh, yes, the new janitor! Right. I almost forgot. You're name was... Uh, Theodore?" He inquired.
Leo internally took his hand, and applied it with force to his face. 'Ooh great, first day on the job and already someone is making this job less enjoyable for me.' Leo groaned miserably. He decided to endure it, and intoduced himself properly.
"My name is Leodor, though it does sound close to Theodore," he admitted.
"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to offend in anyway!" The bartender apologized. Seeming genuinely sorry, the bartender came out from behind the counter and extended his hand to Leodor as a sign of welcome. "My name is Hanson Jovan. I'm the bartender around here and the manager. I hope you and I get along well." He smiled happily.
Leo noticed that the man was limping very slightly, as if he had a small injury to his foot, but great enough to limit his movement. If a fight occurred, that would be the first place to hit. He gave a quick glance to his face. Smooth, unscarred skin made it evident to Leo that Hanson had never been in a fight before. Furthermore, his hands lacked calluses, meaning he had never wielded a weapon, done tedious, heavy work, or fought using his hands. He seemed easy enough to fight, but he still remained cautious. His legs and feet were clothed so he didn't know whether his injury was fight related or accident related. If it were fight related, Hanson could indeed be dangerous, and so Leo made sure to be on guard. Either way, if Leo were quick enough, a broken nose, a stomp to the foot, pushing off balance and a smash to the jaw should be enough to end the fight.
"Let's," Leo shook Hanson's hand. He spoke again, "what do you want me to do?"
Before Hanson could respond, a group of people walked in. Piercings decorating a many variety of skin areas, the group of men and women alike, dressed to fight, was led by one especially angry looking man, who proclaimed, "get us some whiskey on da pronto. This bar is now a part of our turf."
Hanson calmly looked to them and responded, "how many glasses?" Leo commended his composure.
"Ehhhh? Are you bliiiind old fart?" The man asked. "The great warring Walter wants drinks for everyone, that means 22 of us. Can't cha count, you stupid geezer?"
"Warring Walter is it?" The bartender smiled. "That's $45 for each glass, in case you can't do your math right, that's $990." Hanson said without even blinking. Leodor decided that the guy had a death wish or just lacked common sense.
"Do you want to get killed?" Leo asked Hanson quietly. "I mean, they have 22 of them..."
Walter responded before Hanson could reply to Leo. "Well dats too bad then, ain't it? Cuz I own dis joint now," Walter leaned back on a table, brought up his leg, and placed it on the counter.
If Hanson was annoyed earlier, then he was pissed now. Hanson grabbed Walter's leg and ripped him down and away from the counter, leaving Walter on his back with a small, but painful looking, head injury from the fall. Hanson then turned towards the rest of them and said with a quietly disguised rage in his voice, "If any of you dare dirty this counter, Leo and I will send you to the emergency room for multiple crushed bones," he turned to Walter, "try and beat me," Hanson seethed, "if you do, I'll give you the whole, damn bar. If you lose, I'm taking you to the cops."
Leo couldn't process what had just happened. He was just abducted to fight alongside a bartender over the pride of a... Counter...
"Wait Han-" Leo started. However he never finished half of that thought, because someone suddenly charged him.
"I'LL RIP BOTH OF YOUR HEADS OFF," yelled Walter, as he charged at Leo, pulling himself off of the bar floor. Leodor looked at his trajectory and speed, the angles of his feet and legs and predicted that he was heading for his face at a slight shift to the left, so as to corner his movement in dodging. Leodor barely managed to sidestep the lunge and connected with Walter in the form of Leo's left fist to Walter's gut. To Leo, the sensations were familiar. The loud yelling circle of people around him, a person lying in front of him injured, and him standing over them. His blood was pumping with adrenaline from the almost nostalgic feeling of the aching punching hand, and the saliva that was smeared on the back of his hand from the victim's mouth after giving him a quick enough hit. Leo was about to kick the guy in his face for bugging him on an especially crappy morning, when he heard Hanson yelling, "DUCK!"
Leo turned around to see a goonie diving at him. He ducked quickly and jerked his fist up as the reckless fool passed over him. As soon as his fist connected with the flying man's stomach, Leo felt an impact on the side of his jaw. While the goonie who had managed to land and impact a hit on Leo's jaw was curling up in pain as he sailed by, Leo was seeing stars, trying to get a grasp of his surroundings and waiting for the vertigo to cease.
Meanwhile, Hanson was being surrounded by the rest of them. Leo watched with confusion, thinking that there couldn't possibly be so many of them. He counted twenty in his discombobulated state. 'There couldn't possibly be that many. Maybe it's my dizziness?' Was what he thought until he remembered the order number.
'The great warring Walter wants drinks for everyone, that means 22 of us...'
Leo had 2 down, that meant twenty left.
2 thoughts raced in his mind.
1) holy hell, he could count while being in a confused state!
And
2) Hanson is royally screwed.
Leo thought to just leave the guy and go, after all, the bar fight was his fault and Hanson had been the one to drag him into it. Then Leo realized that he wouldn't be paid if he left, and would be in debt because of his inability to pay for his utilities at least. So, Leo shook his head to clear his confusion, sighed, and dashed over to join the brawl. What he was shocked to see was Hanson wasn't even using his hands, but rather, fending everyone off with his kicks. Leo jumped in, pushing a couple people away to get to the middle of the crowd. He pulled Hanson out and sat him down on the counter. Leodor then grabbed a bottle of liquor and a lighter.
He then approached a guy about Hanson's age who was angrily fighting his own comrade who fought back just as hard. Leo dumped the contents of the bottle on the man in front of him and turned right, striking the thug there in his jaw. Crystalline showers of glass fell to the floor, as outraged cries of pain echoed. The room turned quiet.
"If none of you idiots leave this building now," Leo grabbed the alcohol soaked thug in front of him and caught him in a lock, "I'll set this alcohol drenched moron on fire, and let him burn down with the rest of you." Leo calmly stated to the gang members.
He got a few stares of fear in the first following second, then eyes widening in panic as feet rampaged out the door in the next few seconds. The fuel drenched bum struggled, trying to break free of Leo's grip. Feeling generous, he let him go, watching him slip and slide as he attempted to scamper out the door.
"Thanks Leodor." Said Hanson.
Leo shook his head and sighed in irritation. "Why'd you bring me into the damn fight in the first place? What's so special about that old wood counter that you'd risk your health to fight for it?"
Hanson suddenly got a distant look to his eyes. Leo wasn't sure but, he could've sworn that the bartender's eyes were glazing over. He turned to the two near the bathroom and jerked his head to them. "Clean those two up first. That is what I hired you for," he then smiled sadly as he said, "and then we'll go into story time."
Hanson looked sad, as if remembering something bittersweet. While Leo cleaned up (begrudgingly), Hanson was resuming wiping down the wineglasses, and then moved on to the bottles in the cabinet. As Leo finished up cleaning and turned around, Hanson had already started smoothing out the wood counter with a warm moist cloth.
Leo walked over lazily. Fighting always ended up in tired and sore body muscles. Cleaning up after didn't help his aching physique either. He had never worked this long before, or this intensely. Hanson turned around as Leo came over.
"So, about story time." Leo prodded. He was curious as to what the reason was and for what worth he'd been dragged into the fight for.
Hanson sighed with a distant look to his eyes. "A long time ago, probably before you were born," he said, glancing quickly at me, "My father owned this bar and managed it, while my mother worked as a performer here, supposedly because she really liked the bar counter. She had said it was gorgeous. My father and my mother met while they worked together and fell in love." He looked down at the table. "The story ends great. They get married, have 4 beautiful children, and the business prospers." Hanson's eyes shifted downwards to the counter that separated him and Leodor. "Then my mother fell ill. My father did everything he could to make sure she would be okay. He worked his fingers to the bone, took care of the housework and the kids, and even sold things we didn't need to make sure mom's medical bills got paid and we could still eat everyday."
Leodor was about to tune out. It was just another sad story, typical really. Mommy got sick and family suffers to keep her alive. Yada yada yada. Just when he thought he had done all this for nothing important the next part caught his ear.
"Suddenly, the medical bills stopped coming. We thought maybe she was okay now. Maybe our mother would come back home.
Of course she didn't. She had died the week before, in the morning at 3:30 am sharp. The cause was from fluid loss they said. We later found out that it was a strain of Ebola that one of our customers had brought in with him, and because my father was there with mom at work when it happened, he wasn't allowed to come home either. My neighbor took care of us of course, but not having even one of your parents around, knowing that they're dying, takes something away from your heart. Something from in there." He took a breath as he lightly massaged just above his left chest, eyes watery. "My brothers and I were allowed to go see him one last time when it seemed his fever wouldn't subside. I remembered seeing my father behind a plastic wall, his mouth moving but no noise to be heard. I was told what he had said was 'take mom's ashes and smear them on the bar counter. She always loved that bar counter."
Leo was a little stunned. He didn't expect someone to want to be smeared all over a countertop. It was just furniture after all.
"So," Hanson continued, "an eight year old boy got to hold his mother once more and yet, he didn't feel her. He was given another chance to listen to her, and yet, all she said were hisses as she was gently poured onto the counter." Hanson looked up. "When you see that, when you're an eight year old, you wonder, 'was mother always this quiet? Was mother always this cold?' and what hurt more was that you couldn't remember. You didn't know the answers, and that's what hurt the most."
Leo sat quietly. He knew what it was like to forget. So much so that he knew where the guy was coming from. Though, he still didn't understand the whole, 'smear me all over the counter." fetish.
Hanson's eyes met Leo's. "I know the request was weird," he said as if reading Leo's mind, "but mom always said, 'if it hadn't been for that desk, I'd never would have had you four. I'd never have met your father, and that's too painful to even imagine. That counter, is what led me to all this.'
Once I had fulfilled my father's dying wish, I returned to him to tell him. He died happily after.
That's why I worked hard to be a bartender. I wanted to be with my mother, even if it meant only for 6 hours of my day."
Leo looked at the surface of the counter and noticed it was wiped down without flaw. Hanson noticing his eyes, replied, "of course the ashes have long since been wiped off or blown away, but her memories and life are still here. All I want to do is protect this bar. Her memories. My father's memories. All the while making some of my own."
Leo was a bit, startled to say the least. The story was weird but the sentiments were there. He could understand the idea, but it didn't really bother him.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this Leodor, but you helped me anyway, and, well," Hanson started tearing up, "thank you so much on my family's behalf." He bowed.
Now Leodor was feeling hella awkward. "Uh no it's okay. I just wanted to do my job and get paid." He responded.
"Mhm, and you've done great." Hanson shook Leo's hand and smiled. "Your shift is over, but I'd be welcome to have you back. Janitor, bodyguard, or as a friend." He nodded smiling. "Come back soon, okay Leodor?"
Leodor, now feeling more and more awkward by the second, bowed and said his farewells.
Leodor walked out the bar and thought, 'maybe being a bouncer next time wouldn't be such a bad idea.'
