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[Vander offered a mock salute and also shut off the device once he had memorized her features. Thankfully, he did have excellent facial recognition.

He made his way to the pub to be exactly on time of one hour since their conversation. He noted the patrons in the establishment before picking her out at the bar and approached. He slid into the chair next to her and rested his forearms on the bartop.]

So, what's your poison of choice, hmm?

Oh, I'm ready to taste-test the whiskey.

[She says, lifting an arm to flag down the bartender.]

I'm Sameen Shaw. You got a name?

Ah, whiskey is your poison, is it? On the rocks or straight?

[He leaned over the bar and was tall enough he could simply reach over and grab bottles if he wanted to. He surveyed the line up and settled back in his seat again so the bartender could serve.]

Vander. [No last name.] You looking to slide a little wild and crazy or just ask me invasive questions about previous comments? [His conversational tone indicated he wasn't bothered by either potential scenario.]

Straight-up.

[She says, an amused smile shifting across her face as he procures them the bottles (it'll get even bigger if the bartender glares at him for his antics). A consummate soldier and order-taker though she may be, Shaw has a healthy appreciation for people who are willing to bend the rules.]

And, uh... ordinarily I'd say the first, but you really did get me interested. How about storytime about past wild and crazy that leads into current wild and crazy.

[There was definitely a glare in his direction, but he offered a disarming smile as he reached over for two tumblers next. Look, it was all free anyway, and he had the arm length for it. He was a bartender, and he made a show of that as he poured them both a finger of whiskey neat.

He slid her a tumbler and recorked the bottle to utilize later. No doubt neither one of them were going to settle for just drink today.]

I'm not intoxicated enough to give my life story, so you're required to put in some work and ask actual questions.

I thought we already agreed you were gonna share some stories about this apparently dangerous job of yours; is that not narrow enough?

[She hmmmms, crossing her legs at the ankle as she leans sideways against the counter, taking a measured first sip of her drink.]

Okay. You work solo or with a team?

Oh, is that what we agreed to, hmm? [He took a sip from his tumbler and inclined it toward her afterwards.] I worked in mines, and let's just say that safety wasn't always top priority.

[He shrugged his shoulders.] Teams in that many of us worked the same twelve hours shift.

-- Huh. I assumed you were the soldier type.

[Personal bias, she supposes; she sees a big, burly guy who says he works a dangerous job, and she assumes fighter before she assumes manual laborer, even if both options build muscle and put personal safety at risk.]

So... 'wild and crazy' for you meant less exciting capers, and more horrific human rights abuses?

We don't have a military. [He set his tumbler back on the bartop.] I used to be a brawler, if that feeds the stereotype for you.

[Vander could still brawl, and the train had proved to him that he was more than capable if slower and less longevity due to age. He'd put his fair share of people in the dirt face first.]

Can't it be both? You want bloody details of eye gouging or pulling another man from a cave-in with missing lower legs? I can regale you with all the juicy facts.

[He didn't want to, but he could. And perhaps he was looking to see if she was flapped by the potential for description.]

[Shaw doesn't flinch, doesn't grimace, doesn't look perturbed at all. But she doesn't look overly interested, either; there's no trace of sick fascination or schadenfreude on her face. She just looks... impassive. Her eyes are sharp, and she's clearly paying close attention rather than zoning out, but that's about it.]

Nope. And I didn't mean to offend.

[Vander shrugged his shoulders, not offended. He lived his life and she didn't belittle or shrink from the reality he laid out. Good.]

I'm not. What kind of story are you looking for me to weave?

I-- okay.

[Shaw takes a second, longer pull of whiskey, pushing herself up a little more upright and propping her elbow up on the bar counter.]

'Tell me some stories about your work' was an opener, you know what I mean? An excuse to meet up and drink. But you clearly really don't want to talk about it, and that's fine, because I don't actually want to drag it out of you and make you perform like a trained seal. This isn't an interview, it's a...

[She hesitates, unsure of what word to go with.]

Social... outing?

[Sure, that's as good a pick as any.]

Ah, is that it?

[Vander rebound far too easily, his smiling arriving fast and warm upon his lips as he swirled his drink. He watched her, not willing to lose the opportunity to actually socialize.]

Well, how about I tell you about the far more entertaining stories of my being a bartender, hmm? I used to own my own place before I arrived here. [Though, he supposed he didn't own it anymore, did he? No, it was Silco's now. He wouldn't dwell.] Nice homely place that welcomed people far and wide with good music, questionable people at times, but it was a good time all around.

A hole-in-the-wall joint.

[Shaw says - her face still impassive, but giving a quick nod of recognition.]

I've visited a few of those myself.

[And more often than not, she's been one of the questionable people: if not there specifically for shady business, than using them as rest points between shady jobs, places to blow off steam before getting back to work.]

Okay. Tell me about your bartending job. You wanna hear my soldier stories, or is that too much?

Basically. Built a community around it.

[He inclined his head, appreciating that she had some experience with them. They were all different, of course.]

Hopefully most of those were a good time, yeah?

[Whatever time that was, of course. Vander was used to all types in his establishment, though of course he had his regulars.]

Soldier stories, hmm? I'd be interested. [He leaned his forearms on the bar and swirled his drinks.] Now what story could I tell you? Ah, I don't have bouncers at my place; I'm the one the breaks up the scuffles. One time, there was a ten person fight right in the middle of floor. Chairs flying, tables toppling over, people jumping on each other, drink making things slippery. It turned into such a night.

Was it an ambush? Ten on one?

[She's seen a fair number of those; nothing about her tone indicates that the idea shocks her.]

Or are we talking ten individuals getting into a drunken brawl for no particular reason?

Squabble over a gambling game. People took sides and it was mostly a free-for-all.

[He shrugged his shoulders. It was common, though he preferred to limit the property damage to his place when and where he could.]

You ever been in a brawl before? They can be fun. You seem like you have a mean right hook on you.

[Shaw hmmmms, giving the question some consideration before answering. Violence is a contextual thing for her, and "brawl" has certain connotations, so--]

I've been in battles, and I've physically defended myself and others. I've thrown a lot of punches. And I've even gambled a little, but, uh... mostly I've broken up bar brawls with a little added violence of my own. Not starting things, but finishing them.

[Does that count?]

[Vander nodded his head in understanding. That sounded about right for him; he tended not to start fights, but he was more than capable and at times willing to finish them. In his youth more so than now. He tended to play it on the reserved side these days.]

So you're a scrapper. Do you have formal training or learn as you go?

[His interest in this rose at the conversation. She looked like she could hold her own.]

Mostly the first, a little bit of the second.

[Even with extensive military training, there are things you don't learn until you're fully in the field; things you can't pick up through anything but experience.]

But you - I bet everything you know, you learned on your own. Is that right?

There's value in both. You can be taught everything, but if you don't practice in real situations, it can be limiting.

[He had no doubt that she could hold her own, and he currently wasn't interested in challenging her to see how his skills measured up to her own. No doubt there would be opportunities to see her in action. They could enjoy their drink together.]

Mostly. I was taught how to punch so I didn't break my knuckles at a young age. Everything else was trial and error and watching other people before practicing. Mentors were hard to come by, and formal programs were never offered to the poor kids.

But you needed to know how to punch, huh. Sounds like a rough neighborhood.

[She sounds matter-of-fact rather than properly sympathetic, but that's just her baseline: which tends to be refreshing for people who don't particularly want sympathy, and disconcerting for people who are looking for commiseration.]

My dad was a soldier. I didn't start out wanting to follow in his footsteps, but it's where I ended up, and I don't regret it.

Eh, I wasn't much of a biter, so fists seemed a better option for me.

[If she had made the assessment of the rough neighborhood, he wasn't going to confirm as it would be pointless. She had her answer, and he had grown up like that and learned considerable amounts despite the environment. He didn't need sympathy; his city was the way it was and it made him the man that he was.]

Was your father a good man or a good soldier then?

Both.

[She sounds as subdued and straight-forward as always, but still, there's conviction in her voice. Shaw may struggle with feeling things strongly, but she believes this strongly - and in a sense, maybe that amounts to the same thing.]

He cared about helping people and keeping them safe, and he - he and my mom - raised me to know how important that is. I'm lucky as hell that they did; I don't know where I'd've ended up if they hadn't given me those values.

That sounds real nice.

[Vander could hardly relate on that point. His parents had died when he was very young, and he could barely remember their faces. Their influence on his life had no doubt been profound for those years, but he had spent much of his time making his own way under the stretched and exhausted guidance of orphanage matrons. Kids were found their own way on their own more often than not, forming gangs of gaggles of kids to survive.

Still, he had been a father long enough to appreciate the idea and liked to think he had provided that to his own children. Those that were still alive anyway.]

I think you would have made your way, but their impact seems to have driven you in a particular direction. What do you do the pass the time here since there is no formal military, no enforcer presence and limited punishable crime?

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