alone, together

goes strictly by mack unless you’re his mother or have him on payroll

grew up not too far in santa fe ‘til he was eighteen and free

decided with some older guys to move their band ‘weather balloon’ to roswell, brand themselves with the alien schtick and consequently blow up

while it came a liiiittle close for a sec there -- it didn’t end up happening

instead the side job mack got at the wild pony to pay his bills ended up becoming a full blown career once his bandmates all moved on

he moved up the ladder from food runner to waiter to bartender and finally to manager. these days he’s only one step below the owner (who he quietly despises tyvm)

music is no longer a part of mack’s life, only drums when he needs to rage, but he’s fine to let it go in favor of Real Life stuff

mack’s personality is... high strung. he can be uptight and is very rarely amused, mostly bc he’s usually surrounded by ppl in their early 20s who already find themselves far too amusing

at work, he does his very best to run a tight ship but really only ends up slinging empty threats - though mostly bc, at the end of the day, he trusts his employees. if he looks pissed off behind the bar, that’s just a normal shift. it’s when mack’s not huffing and puffing that you should be worried.

he’s a decent man. got an extra crispy dry sense of humor and is loyal to a fault once he knows you. pessimistic (”realist”), stone-faced, and dad-ish. the type to ask when’s the last time you got your oil changed and then just start doing it for u himself, scolding you the whole time

archie: bitch!! you'll never guess what

archie: i'm in the ER!! broke my fuckin arm didn't i

archie: hurricane katrina???? more like hurricane tortilla!

archie: no but forreal tho are u ok?? this shit is crazy

mack: wtf archie that's horrible!

mack: how the hell are you gonna bartend w one arm ???!!!

mack: and get well soon etc etc

mack: i mean i wasn't swept away in the storm so thats a downside

He catches her before she can interject, accusatory finger at the ready, the mischief in her eyes a dead giveaway of the retort at the tip of her tongue. Her mouth snaps into a simper. “What other kind of strangling could you have meant? Oh, Mack, you didn’t mean… Ugh, really? Gross. I can’t believe your mind would even go there.” She leans forward on her elbows, hands framing her lips as they melt from mock disgust into a smirk. “Why, d’ya wanna? Because I know the guy in charge and he’s a total pushover. Would totally look the other way if we went for a cheeky snog, you wrapped your hand around my throat, you know, the whole bit.” Her eyes slink to his drink, then back up to his face. “My husband on the other hand…” She begrudgingly pushes herself up, face scrunching with the effort as she sneaks his glass away, nails clinking out a rhythm against it. “I’m not making you another Bloody Mary. Pick something different,” she insists, sliding the glass back and forth between her hands like a game of air hockey before he drops a bomb and stops her dead in her tracks. “’Somebody called out’? Oh, fuck right off… Are you kidding? I never get Saturdays off. Who was it? Was it Jovi? Fuckin’ Rochelle? Fuck, that’s so annoying. What if I have plans?” Eyes roll and she’s reaching for her own drink to soften the blow, downing a few swigs with a scowl. "Who else is on that night?” 

disdain scrunches his features, waves off her playfulness with a passive, impatient hand. “where is archie anyways? ain’t he supposed to be here?” mack redirects, eyes dropping to the face of his watch. “-- or did the pushover guy in charge finally wise up and start scheduling you two separate?” he really can’t recall, usually uses scheduling day as an excuse to hole up in the back office, only to scribble something out last minute. more often than not, the schedule is rendered moot anyway considering how swiftly everybody tends to trade their shifts around. head hangs back on his neck and he sighs, relents with a roll of his eyes. “fine, do me a whiskey ginger.” face points down toward the bartop, miming exhaustion but really just trying to hide the gratified smirk at her protests. “y’know, i really can’t recall,” mack lies, shrugging. “losin’ my memory in my big age, you know how it is.” he pauses in deadpanned thought, lower lip rolling inward as his brow furrows. “plans? plans to what... come here and hog the mic? you can do that and sling drinks, vic.” hand wipes at the side of his face, exhaling slow as he tries to find the names somewhere in his brain. “uhh, shit, does it matter? ...bryce and rochelle, i think, i dunno.”

“Says who!” she huffed, but figured it wasn’t worth it to fight, especially since he was her boss.  “I’m not even on the clock, Mack, my brain shift immediately from work mode to not work mode.” Jovi whined, but it was true - she hadn’t completely memorized the menu yet.  “Besides, do you really  think someone is gonna come in here and order that?  Everyone who comes in here has their usual, and I don’t think any amount of promotion is going to change that.”

“not with that attitude.” to be fair, she’s not wrong. but, to mack, that’s simply besides the point. “listen, it’s just owner’s orders,” he admits with a vaguely disdainful shrug of his hand. “we gotta move the fancy, expensive shit. if everybody sticks to the cheap well liquors, we’re not making good numbers.” blah blah blah. even he can feel the drone of it all. there’s a beat before he sighs a scoff, might even be partly like a laugh. “whatever, forget it. so, what, you don’t got anything better to do with the rest of your day but hang around here? you make friends yet?”

“Oh, that’s not actually a spot. That lil crusty’s been there since the dawn of time. Can carbon date it all the way back to the tree’s prime. Or at least back to whenever they lacquered this bad boy.” But when she takes a finger to the bit of grime it scratches to dust and disappears. “Huh,” she muses, corners of her lips ticking up as bleary eyes squint beneath her nail. “What do ya know. Must’ve been a different spot.” An impish grin as she flicks the speck in his direction and the dirty rag makes another quick appearance, likely doing more harm than good. “Mack,” she matches his tone, smile turning devious as she lets him rant and rave, the towel falling into a forgotten heap on her side of the bar, tucked away from prying customer eyes alongside her phone and her briny makeshift cocktail. “Sorry, Victoria is it now? Victoria? That’s like, so intimate. I didn’t realize you wanted to fuck me.” 

“don’t pretend like that thing isn’t just a prop,” mack pleads, pinching the bridge of his nose. one brow arches at the antic, but it’s about all he can muster under the circumstances. will to partake in the exchange wanes further at her accusation, which he meets with a slow exhale. “currently? i wanna strangle you.” there’s a perceptive pause and his eyes roll. “in a dead kinda way. but, unfortunately, i need someone working saturday. somebody else called out, so you’re in.” when his straw starts sucking air, clinking empty against the glass, he pushes it forward. “one more, will ya?”

Jovi was still fairly new in town, but when it came to coworkers or regulars, she could recognize them on sight.  “I’m not loitering,” she protested, though that wasn’t exactly too far off.  “It it a crime to hang around after I clock out?”  Her face twists in abject horror and disgust.  “Ew, I thought people only did that with bloody mary’s.”

“well, it doesn’t exactly bode well,” mack contends, brow arching at one of his newest employees. then again, it’s none of his business what her life is like outside these walls. he gulps down more of his drink, willing it to bring him back to life. or at least give him enough energy with which to scold her. “bacon bit rimmed glass, two parts orange juice,” he counts off in a way that makes it seem like she should already know it, despite the fact that precisely no one has ordered the breakfast bacon margarita since it’s introduction. “learn. the. menu.”

—

The Wild Pony isn’t their usual haunt of choice; but then again, these days, it’s been more and more difficult to find Bryn in any establishment. They’ve been needing to be somewhere other than their house or the funeral home, though, and here they’re a lot less likely to be bothered as they write furiously in their notebook. Well, Bryn thought they wouldn’t be bothered. Looking up with a furrowed brow, they gesture to their half-finished glass, one in a succession of several now. “I’m not loitering if I’m a paying customer, now am I? And if I wanted food, I would have gone to a restaurant.”

blinking slow in response to what seems like barely restrained irritation, mack cants his head. “no, you are not,” slow and steady, robotic like a customer voice should be. mack’s mastered it, but only in a way that implies his distaste without being able to be truly accused of it. chin jerks up in something like a nod, chomps another inch from his celery. “suit yourself. just saying, the food’s not to be discounted.” in fact, he waves over one of the bussers. “put in an order of fries, will ya? for me and my, uh...,” fake smiles stretches short over his mouth as he flourishes a lazy hand to the person beside him, “new friend here.”

“ that’s the most disgusting thing i’ve ever heard , “ sparrow responded , deadpan , as they leaned over the bar and swiped a bottle , not caring whether anybody saw . they were a moore , after all , and such a thing was expected from one of their sort . who could blame the youngest of the siblings for playing up to the stereotype that was impossible to shake , no matter how much good behaviour they exhibited ?? “ i’ll stick with the tequila and bowls of olives . thanks . and don’t you dare sneeze in my direction , “ 

“you must not get out much,” interjection is swift, barely a thought. it’s not ‘til they go groping behind the bar that mack awards them his whole attention, turning to face them fully, his chin canted up. just a physical reaction to imply how little he’s amused by the take-have mentality, particularly when it comes to what he feels is his bar. “classy.” talking about the drink now, and he means it. mack blinks slow, perturbed like a begrudging parent at having to be in this kinda interaction now, had only wanted a quiet time nursing his drink. he gestures his hand, chock full of sarcasm. “if you wanted a job as a bartender, all you had to do was ask.”

+

“––Makes two of us. Cheers.” Dilan tosses back the remainder of a tequila sour in the hopes of curing the perennial hangover she’s been nursing for three days now. No dice. Probably because her current method contributed to those long lasting effects and something something about the definition of insanity. “Oh, definitely loitering.” Why deny the obvious? Her lips pull to one side in a half-hearted smirk, a wry sort of thing that holds little weight. Running away with the express interest of blending in had felt easy enough upon first arrival, but as she sits posted up inside a locals only dive, it makes any attempt trickier when she doesn’t quite fit. No point in leaving when she already committed to the bit an hour ago. “Look at you peddling something nobody wants,” she comments with her own vague amusement. “Like a used car salesman or some shit. They should put you on a radio commercial.”

mack tips his drink in acknowledgement, finishes it off. vodka and tomato juice go down with a satisfied exhale, punctuated by another snap into the celery which he then abandons in the empty glass. “mm, see, you should move on. you’re classin’ the place up.” his passive glance ends up sticking to her profile, reconsiders the sentiment. maybe it’s not class, maybe it’s just that she’s different. not just unrecognizable and presumably not local, but that she was sitting in her stool like she was supposed to be. like she’s been doing it for years. eventually eyes peel away, scoffing a light chuckle as his head shrugs. “thought i was doing good. get the marg, you’ll love it, do the pitcher.” muttered phrases wrapped up in that fake hype tone. mack hums, glancing around for one of his employees. “i’m on the right track though. only one true cure for a hangover.” then, to the bartender, “food. something... uh, sophisticated for the lady.” mack blinks lazy, extending a hand toward dilan, the gesture reads like a sardonic question. “-- nachos?”

“Gross.” Scooting a little bit away from the stranger, Jude props their head up on their hand and gazes dubiously at his… dinner? Drink? Who knows at this point, but they’re definitely not going to risk getting sick. They hate that shit, and they always turn into a big-ass baby over it, too. God knows Ender doesn’t need to be roped into taking care of them (again). “Maybe you should worry less about me loitering and worry more about you spreading your nasty germs everywhere. Nobody needs that.”

“is this how you get all of your meals?” wren teased, fingers gripping a piece of charcoal as it danced across the page of her sketchbook. every now and then, she’d flash the male a quick glance, watching whatever he was doing before getting distracted once more. “and no, i’m not loitering. i’m a paying customer just like everyone else in this watering hole.” she gestured lazily to the soda in front of her, clearly untouched. “my ass belongs on this stool.”

winter couldn’t help the small giggle that fell from her lips when he spoke, before she gave a small shake of her head. “no, if i get a novelty drink, i go for the cotton candy martini,” she hummed, one of her eyebrows quirking up as she leaned one of her arms against the bar. “but i don’t see how a bloody mary would make you feel better if you were coming down with something… but that might just be because i think they’re…” her nose scrunches up. “gross.”

“mm, fair play.” head dips approving. “we were thinking of discontinuing that one. it’s a bit,” mack gestures his hand limply, “niche.” but he always appreciated the weird shit, though it was never his cup of proverbial tea. whatever oddball recipes the bartenders crafted, he’d begrudgingly add them to the menu. eyes anchor to his drink, deposits the celery back into the glass with a clinking splash. “vodka’s restorative. i mean, there’s a reason the russians are essentially invincible,” he explains with some humor and then, offering a sidelong glance, shrugs conceding. “guess you lean sweet more than savory.”

“Yeah, a hangover.” She’s nursing one of her own and no amount of temple massaging seems to make any dent in the pressure in her skull. Urban legend or not, pickle juice is the only thing that’s helping. Or maybe it’s just the vodka she spiked it with, though she can’t help but wish Phoebe was here with something stronger—her own fault for going wild last night with nothing on reserve for the comedown. Pinched eyes squint open just wide enough to shoot him a scathing glare. “Loitering? Is this what loitering looks like to you?” Her steadying grip on the bar loosens enough to wipe a dirty rag in a single, performative circle along the varnished wood. “I thought not. Go on, go grab us some bacon.” A half-assed smack with the towel. “I won’t tell the boss.”

“a rage blackout,” mack swiftly corrects, palm kneading against his closed eye. or, yes, a slight hangover. it’s not typically in his nature to drink to completion, but he’d used the excuse that he had today off work. of course, he’d come in anyway. trading her glare for a deadpanned furrow, mack reaches forward to tap against the bar. “missed a spot.” the hand turns into an impatient gesture at her insistence, scoff reading like he’s at the end of his rope. “victoria,” tone pitched and filled with warning, “this is my day off, yeah? believe it or not, you aren’t the only one entitled to those. doesn’t anybody work around here?” then, after a beat of thought, he caves, buries his attention back into his drink. “put the order in. extra crispy,” he demands with an authoritative index finger. “have ‘em burn it black.”

          “loitering  and  being  adorable,  absolutely,  ”  phoebe  happily  fills  in  mack’s  blanks  with  the  bravery  of  someone  who,  yes,  had  been  enjoying  her  second  margarita  of  the  night.  “  you  know,  you  really  need  to  get  braver  with  the  menu.  and  by  that,  i  mean  you  should  just  let  me  have  an  entire  margarita  pitcher  with  a  straw.  two  straws,  if  we’re  taking  your  ailment  into  consideration.  ”  bright  blues  follow  his  highly  expressive  celery,  lips  pulling  into  a  faint  smirk  as  she  rests  chin  atop  the  palm  of  her  hand,  “  mack,  i  know  i’m  your  favorite  customer  in  the  entire  world,  and  you  can’t  bear  to  lose  me  …  ”  already  playing  fast  and  loose  with  the  facts,  but  she  breezes  on,  “  …  but  i’m  supposed  to  be  meeting  someone  here  soon,  and  this  is  someone  i’d  very  much  like  in  my  bed  later,  so  if  you  could  be  the  champ  i  know  you  are  and  talk  me  up  while  i  conveniently  dash  to  the  bathroom,  that’d  be  great.  ”  not  that  getting  laid  is  a  challenge  in  the  slightest  around  here,  but  she  keeps  her  gaze  trained  on  his  profile  with  latent  hope  nonetheless.  “  i’d  owe  you  big  time.  ”

“you’ll be pleased to know that very concept is in the works,” mack advises, deadpanned tilt of his head giving the impression it wasn’t exactly his idea. “not a pitcher though -- a carafe. and if you saw it at applebee’s already, no you didn’t.” straw clinks the ice around, jabbing at a settled film of tomato juice at the bottom. he passes a doubtful, but sardonic glance sidelong at her imagined facts, but allows her to continue nonetheless. “i’m really not...,” he scrunches his face, head shaking, “pep talk material, you know? anyway, we’re really gonna pretend like you need a hype man to get the job done?” humored scoff, mack waves away the idea. after a long gulp, he decides he’ll bite, looking over at her with a curve in his brow. “so who’s the lucky person? -- and if you say vic, you’re banned from this establishment.”

“m’coming down with something,” with a celery stick mack points to his bloody mary, as if to say obviously. as if it’s strictly medicinal. “and you’re...,” he gestures the celery conversationally before taking a chomp, “what, loitering? get the novelty margarita, with the bacon or something. get some protein in.” gruff, passive. but his head cants in mild humor. “who says you can’t have a four course meal at the bar?”