2024-11-21 - No Flying Karens

The soft hum of the jukebox fills the cozy pub as its blue and green glow reflects off rows of bottles behind the bar. A few locals occupy the booths, their low chatter mixing with the occasional crack of a pool cue. The scent of polished wood and faint hops lingering in the air as Harper drags a stool forward with a scrape, settling in as the bartender—leaning casually against the brass-railed counter—offers a friendly nod. A fresh quarter clinks into the jukebox, and the faint sound of a classic tune begins to play. The fact that it's Queen's We will Rock you, should be telling.

"Can we turn the game on? The Spartans should be playing tonight, I think they are up against the Wolverines?" She asks hopefully, "And I have a bet on my Alma Mater."

"Oh my God, what a day," is the declaration from the door of the pub as it briefly opens and closes, Wesley's lanky silhouette showing in it for a moment before he's inside and heading towards the door, his hands spreading to either side, "I swear, the tourists get just a little bit dumber every single week."

He's dressed casually, probably just post-shift and post-change-into-civilian-clothes; grey pants, grey shirt a little too big for him worn open, black t-shirt beneath. He slides a hip onto one of the stools, and he flashes the bartender a wry smile, "Could I get a Daisy Cutter? Thanks, man."

Then he's looking over - to the television and Harper, brows raising, "Hockey?"

There is a sardonic twist of Harper's lips as silver-blue eyes shift to appraise the poor mascot, "It feels like the same level of intelligence if I am honest, but then again, I don't spend my days in a fuzzy dragon costume. That may have a slight impact on the quality of guests I deal with." Ordering an old-fashioned, and a plate of nachos in a moment when the tender's free.

She squints at the man at the question, "Yes, only the most gloriously violent sport known to mankind, only slightly less violent than MMA." She grins. "I prefer Field Hockey, but it's the wrong season for it. You?"

"Yeah, well, you haven't heard what I had to see happen today," observes Wesley in wry tones, one hand lifting in a vague motion through the air that flutters long fingers about, "Although - you're not wrong, people say and do much stupider things in front of a fuzzy dragon, because they don't really consider me a person so much."

His hand drops back down to the bar counter, and he admits, "I'm more a basketball guy, myself. Bulls for life."

"Oh come on, Even you have to admit, they aren't all that bad. The little ones are adorable, the way they light up when they see you coming to the meet and greet. Don't deny it." Harper Laughs, shaking her head at the mention of basketball. "I refuse to call that a sport. Sorry." Scooting over the plate of nachos as it arrives to offer a conciliatory bite.

"So, what noisesome chaos did I miss this time?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors," Wesley declares with a wrinkle of his nose, refusing to admit that the little ones are adorable. Even if he probably agrees. As the nachos are proffered over, he reaches out to pluck one off the edge, toppings wobbling precariously in its corn-crunchy curve. "So, this lady--"

Crunch! Chew, chew, swallow. He waves a hand in a vaguely circular motion, as if to keep the story going while he can't speak, until he can again.

"-- this lady is all 'that guy stole my wallet!' and he goes running, right, and security chases him down. And it's not until they've tackled him into a fountain and everyone's all together that she realizes her wallet was just lost in her purse. And they ask the guy 'why did you run' and he goes 'I don't know'."

Harper listens attentively between bites, but the end results in a bark of laughter, shaking her head at the tale. "I guarantee you that man had sisters as a boy. That or ..." She trails shaking her head.

"You'd think people would figure with as much security as we have in this place that thevery is just a bad idea all around, but then again there's no telling with humanity as a whole." She pauses to take a swig of her drink, washing down the cheezy goodness.

"So how did security handle it?"

"I mean, nobody actually stole anything, so they just let everyone go on their way," Wesley shakes his head, grinning wryly, "But man, running when someone points and shouts 'thief', that's just -- not smart. Plus, seriously, could you not double-check to make sure your wallet wasn't just buried under all the other shit in your purse before an accusation?"

He reaches over for the craft beer set down before him, lifting it up, "People, man. Not bright. The adults at least."

"There's intelligence, and then there's common sense. Unfortunately, not everyone is blessed with both." Still laughing, her attention briefly drifted back to the TV screen long enough to tell that the game hadn't yet started.

"Its a kind of privileged mentality that you just can't get away from, unfortunately." Moving the plate so he can continue nomming should he so choose. "I don't know what's worse, that or one of the parents coming up to me and asking if they could buy one of the Rufio hummingbirds as a pet for their six-year-old. Try explaining the migratory bird act to a surgeon. Felt like something straight out of a movie. Fortunately, they listened when I suggested the plushes for the gift shop. with the little squeeze me chirping sounds."

She pauses for a minute grinning, "I will fully admit that I have a photograph of me and someone in the Flynt the dragon costume from when we did opening day here. Not sure who was in the costume at the time." Raising her glass as if in salute. "Tis noble work you do sir, even if it makes you question your own dignity."

"Common sense is not so common," Wesley quotes Voltaire, although whether he knows he is or he's just parroting something he saw online once is a coin-flip. He reaches over to steal another cheese-soaked nacho chip from the basket, his nose wrinkling a bit at the mention of the pet purchase, "Those are like those-- parents who buy the kid a rabbit for Easter, and end up tossing them in the woods later. Plushie bird is definitely the better purchase."

Then he's wrinkling his nose up, although he might be hiding a smile with that even as he raises his glass, "No comment."

"I guess it does sort of take the shine off the place, realizing there are that many adults in the world who just, don't really think about consequences." She nods at mention of easter bunnies, "Although there have been studies about keeping chickens in urban environments, and the ways it helps cut back on food waste, and grocery spending." So maybe not all of them ended poorly. A girl can dream.

"Something has to drive a man to put on a blue fuzzy suit for work every day." She grins back at him, "Though I imagine a lot of people just ended up staying for the strange little perks the Islands offer."

"Yeah, I suppose there's that..." Wesley glances down at his hand for some reason, flexing his fingers into a fist and then straightening them out again a few times - reaching out to close them around his beer afterwards, bringing it up for a swig. Lowering it, he gestures with the glass, observing wryly, "I don't think most of the people we're talking about are gonna look up renewable urban farming practices though. Also, counterpoint, chickens smell. They're awful, smelly little dinosaurs that would murder us all if we gave them half the chance. They remember being the T-Rex and they resent that they aren't still like that."

"Like any living thing, they require proper care." She admits, "And if you care for them properly it mitigates the smell. Hellovua fertilizer though." The mental image of Trex chickens jarred her thoughts for a moment. "But, I guess I kinda decided long ago that if I only focused on the bad ones, I'd never learn to appreciate the good ones. People. Not chickens. I like chickens. Except when they eat my larvae." A pause, "Then the chickens can get deep fried."

"You keep the chickens," quips Wesley, motioning with his glass towards her, "And I'll deal with tourists, knights, maidens, and the occasional wicked witch or fairy. I draw the line at Karens, though, those are above my pay grade." A grin twitches a bit, "You're such an optimist, Harper."

"Technically the chickens belong to food services." She notes with a wry smirk, "But I concede the point."

The comment on optimism earns a soft laugh from Harper and a gentle shake of her head. "I guess in my line of work you have to be. I suppose I get by with the knowledge that all the cash the Karens are dropping on the place is going towards saving endangered species, and research that can - someday reverse the damage we are doing to our world. And besides," She grins at him, "I think you are much less of a cynic than you let on."

"Whoa, whoa, that is out of line there, little missy," Wesley exaggeratedly refutes, thrusting a finger in the air, "I am a cynic, a pessimist, a curmudgeon even. Bah! Humbug!" He pauses, lowering his finger and glancing around suspiciously - although playfully in that, "Shit, I need to be careful. Someone hears me and the next thing I know I get cast as Scrooge for whatever they're planning around Christmas."

Harper just laughs, "A Curmdgeon, fine." Mention of the changing season however turns her attention as she picks through a few more nachoes, thoughtful. "I haven't seen the announcement boards yet, I imagine they will make you wear the one with the santa hat and jacket, but I've no idea what else they have planned for the holidays this year." Tilting her head before allowing, "I suppose that's more your department than mine."

"The one good thing about the suit is that it's pretty warm, at least, during the winter," admits Wesley, "The poor girls they have playing sugarplum fairies or whatever tend to freeze their tuckuses off. If I could figure out a way to hide a coffee machine in that suit I'd become the most popular guy in the park."

He grins, both eyebrows raising at her, "Wish I'd gotten that sort of magic. 'Summon Coffee' would be the coolest magical power ever."

She wrinkles her nose, "Coffee. I should have guessed you were a Heathen." She teases without real malice. "Give me that peppermint marshmallow hot chocolate, with the little penguin marshmallows any day." She lifts a shoulder thoughtfully. "I take it then you are amongst those of us who have ... it feels so absurd to call it magic, but there's no other word for it. I guess it's becoming more and more wide spread these days."

"You can keep your fancy hot chocolate, I need to stay awake out there," Wesley observes with a wry twist of laughter in his words, reaching out to steal another nacho chip, "And-- I mean, we've both been here for so long, seemed a fair bet. I don't know what else you'd call it, you know? Hell, I heard even some of the tourists, now."

Harper frowns, quietly thoughtful. "It's strange, I was here during construction, but everything seemed to go so smoothly I didn't even notice until a few months after open. But it seems so varied, it was weird noticing that plants had feelings. I don't think I ate anything for like... two days during that particular existential crisis. I didn't know what to make of Flicker at first."

"Shit, that must be weird. Plants having feelings...? Even veganism isn't safe I guess," Wesley quips, shaking his head, "I-- well. If I wasn't being stupid as hell I probably never would have found out my own weird little trick, honestly. Nobody seems to have any idea why any of it's happening though."

"It is super weird, but then again the science seems to suggest that as well, it's just very different from ours. I read somewhere that a study found that they could actually understand they were being eaten by listening to the catapiliar vibrations as they eat." She glances over thoughtful, "How did you figure out your trick, I don't know that I've ever heard you discuss it before."

"Yeah, well, it's a little less fun than yours," admits Wesley with a slight wrinkle of his nose, "I was trying to impress a girl, walking on top of one of the ride tracks, leaned the wrong way, hand met gears." He brings his hand up, wriggling his fingers as if to show them off, "They all grew back, though."

Harper's expression runs through a series of emotions, laughter at first, right up until the phrase, "hand met gear" and then she grimaces. Looking a bit green at the wiggling fingers, before adding, "So you really are part lizard now?" A beat before adding more seriously, "Was she impressed?"

"No," Wesley barks out a laugh, reaching for his beer, "Not really. Probably wouldn't have been even if I didn't get hurt, honestly, it was kinda stupid." He grins as he makes the confession, taking a long swallow of the microbrew.

Harper returns the grin, laughing. "At least you have matured enough to realize the error of your ways. Besides, everyone does something stupid at least a few times in their lives." She frowns, thoughtful. "It's a mystery, and I'm not so sure that tourists having those kinds of abilities is the greatest thing... given how wisely we've seen them act." She looks at her nearly empty nacho plate and glasses thoughtful. "Does the why matter?"

"It might." Wesley brings one shoulder up in a shrug, "I mean, if it's just some random thing maybe not. But if, like, some goblin king and his armies are going to emerge through a portal on New Year's Eve or something and we are the destined ones that have to stop him, then maybe."

Then he shudders, "I'll take the goblin king over a flying Karen though."

There is a whole body shudder at mention of flying Karens. "One day, we will sit down and be drunk enough for me to dive into the useless knowledge of the concept of a Goblin king and it's origins in poetry, but until that day, I think I'll just toast to no more flying Karens." Harper notes with a nod.

"I'll hold you to that promise," Wesley replies with a grin, raising his glass in a toast, "To no flying Karens, may God have mercy on us all."