angel of small death

He should’ve known that putting Helena up with the task of getting them drinks would be too much to ask. With a sigh, he slides off his chair and heads towards the bar where of course she already has a line forming behind her.

“What’s the problem here?” Hallen’s presence towers over the small brunette when he approaches but he already puts two and two together at the sight of her trying to fish for some change. “Jesus, Helena. They’re just beers.” He grimaces, pulling his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans to pay for the drinks. The bottles are quickly swiped from the counter and Hallen leads her back to their table. 

“It’s a dive bar. I don’t even know why they’re accepting credit in the first place.”

"The problem is that this fuckin’ bar is scamming everyone here with their bullshit credit card limit. It’s just a way for us to cough up more money -- who the fuck even carries cash anymore?” Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but Helena had already had a long day and had never been the type to mince words -- so, the outcome of those two traits didn’t exactly make for a calm and collected woman.

Andy enjoyed when he and the boys ended up at the Watering Hole, because generally – It was a hell of a whole lot quieter than the Dive. At least, when there wasn’t a Saints game on. They’d settle in for a few games of pool, shitty appetizers, and a few beers. While he’d been cutting back for a few months now, tonight he’d allowed himself a little less self restraint – Not enough to get hammered and end up stumbling into his home at four in the morning, but drunk enough to need a cab ride home. He’d caught a good enough buzz once he’d downed a few beers, only to have his attention pulled as someone seemed to be starting a scene at the bar – He’d been in line behind her, a woman who apparently hadn’t known what she was walking into.  Andy didn’t know her well – She had been friends with Rowan, but he’d never been particularly close to her. And once she’d been shipped off to prison, he lost all contact. By the time she was out, Helena made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the club – So he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Just get another ‘round n’ move on.” He finds himself saying, eyes rolling as he speaks. “It’ll be a whole lot faster than this.”

There were the people that went to prison and stopped drinking for their own good, and then there were people like Helena who’s desire to get wasted beyond belief had been heightened by the lack of mind-altering substances while she’d been stuck in a prison cell. And, while the oh-so pleasant ‘advice’ to buy another round and move on wasn’t exactly a bad one seeing as she was probably going to have a few more drinks as the night went on, it was most certainly unwelcome. Especially when she realized who was on the other end of it. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter, Thane,” she replied sharply, slapping a ten dollar bill on the counter after it’d been dug up from the bottom of her purse. “And I really don’t feel like takin’ pointers from the likes of you. Do you do this to your wife, too? Mansplain her to death ‘til she gets sick of you and bails?”

"Yeah, I was beginning to forget what the hell this place even looked like,” Helena lamented, glancing around her old apartment, one that she’d been lucky enough to rent back from her landlord who (thankfully) had been unable to get the place occupied in the nine or so months that the dark-haired woman had been in prison.There were still some boxes that needed unpacking, some artwork that needed to be hung up, but all and all if there was one silver-lining to this whole situation, it was that she had a familiar place to sleep in at night. “Might give it a fresh coat of paint or somethin’, but...I dunno. I’m indecisive as fuck -- plus my hours at the bar have been fucking killing me,” she rolled her eyes, leaning back into her green velvet couch whilst taking a small sip of wine. “Anyway, though, thanks for comin’ over and keeping me company. And Einstein, I guess,” Helena glanced over to the black cat that was purring against Teagan’s leg. “I should call you the cat whisperer. I don’t think he’s ever been that affectionate with me.”

She was getting used to bartender, her previous work as a barista in college serving her better than she’d initially hoped upon getting the job at the Dive. Working for under one of the Primordials’ better known business ventures hasn’t been at the top of her list, but after exhausting most of her options in Olympia for employment, it turned out that simply no one wanted to hire her. Well, no one except Seth, apparently, so while she wasn’t thrilled about her situation, at least she could pour herself a couple of free drinks and not feel bad about it. “Hey, shitface,” Helena called out toward Finn with a deadpan tone, pouring two shots of whiskey and placing both between them on the bar. “If you’re gonna look miserable, at least have a fuckin’ drink while you do it. I basically work off tips by what the hell they’re paying me.” She arched a dark brow before taking one of the glasses between her fingers. “‘Least the liquor is a nice touch, though. You gonna toss this back with me or what?”

♣️

It isn’t often that Rowan finds herself in a situation where she doesn’t know what to say. It’s one of her fatal flaws — talking too much, always feeling the need to fill the silence with too many words, often rambling on about things no one gives a shit about. But with Helena — she never knows what to say. At least, not anymore. They had been friends once and she would like to think they will be again, but that doesn’t seem likely. Rowan walks a tightrope of trying to respect her friend (former, she reminds herself) and the trauma she’d been through and what she needs to heal from that, and her own selfishness, the fact that she misses the brunette. Tonight, surprising absolutely no one, she leans into her selfishness at least a little. “One more overpriced drink would get you there real quick,” she points out. An olive branch she knows is likely going to be ripped off the damn tree, snapped in half and shoved back at her — but an olive branch all the same. “Which is probably the whole point. S’a good marketing strategy. You should tell Seth to get in on it, I heard you’re workin’ for him now.” 

Her head whips to the side, chest heavy as Rowan comes into her field of vision. At any other point in time, Helena might have been pleased to see her -- more than pleased, even, as she considered herself quite close to the redhead once upon a time. But, how could such a relationship remain, with her close ties to the very organization responsible for landing her in jail in the first place? She didn’t want to be mad at Ro -- and in some sense, she wasn’t. She was just filled with so much anger, so much hatred and rage that coursed through her blood and veins at any given moment that it was difficult to look at her withing feeling some sense of utter betrayal, even though she knew that Ro had nothing to do with it. No -- she was just as complicit as the rest of them, though. “I ain’t plannin’ on staying long enough for that,” Helena tossed back, averting the other’s gaze as she slapped a ten dollar bill on the bar top. “I’m also not in the business of pandering to shitty bars and their ‘marketing strategies’. Dunno what happened to the whole ‘customer is always right’ bullshit they preach here.” Tongue poking at the inside of her cheek, Helena shrugged. “Seth can go fuck himself for all I care. Just needed a job,” she finally peered over to her. “Who told you that? Your husband?”

Helena is mostly unpleasant but considering she’s a native and honestly, not hard to look at, he hired her on a whim. She hadn’t found anything else, clearly, or she’d be long gone from the position. Still she stayed, allowing herself to be subject to whatever mood Seth decided to be in on any particular day. “Not really but good guess,” he replies. Actually, similar to that of Helena, Seth had just been out of the prison system himself, serving eight years for murder in the state prison. After he got out, having done plenty to push business for the Primordials on the inside, he came into a hefty amount of money. Considering the man eventually almost enjoyed prison, minus the dry conditions and lack of women, he’d managed to make himself well-known for bringing in plenty of contraband and instilling respect into everyone on the block. Ultimately, he’d opened a bar because what else was he going to open? The town needed a strip club, bar, and pool hall and well, the Dive would eventually serve all of those markets. It gave him something to do and a place for the Primordials to go. “‘M sure you’d make a subpar barista if they could get passed the fact that you ain’t spotless,” Seth shrugs, a subtle smirk on his face. “Think you’ll survive stayin’ past your shift by a couple of fuckin’ minutes so you can pour your boss a drink. –Pretty sure since you’re new and I’m your boss you’re supposed to suck my dick like I’m God— or did you miss the memo?” Seth replies back, sarcasm dripping from his words. Tonight, he repeated to himself. Had he pissed someone off? Yeah probably. And maybe it was a given but it didn’t mean that she needed to say it. “Threw some fucker out for grabbin’ a girl tonight so yeah, guess so. Next time he comes back I’m knockin’ his fuckin’ nasty teeth out.” Holding up his drink she pours him, he cheers to that and sips on the drink, brown eyes scoping her. 

"So I’m close then,” she affirms based on his response to her assumption, though with a guy like Seth one really can’t be so sure if he was telling the truth or bullshitting. Not that she really cares to know either way -- no, their relationship was strictly business, and Helena wanted nothing to do with his other notorious line of work less she drive herself absolutely bonkers. Does she want answers about the bitch that killed Oliver? Absolutely, but she also doesn’t know what the cost of asking for information would be, so she decides to tread lightly. Well, as lightly as Helena Delgado is capable of treading, and these days her combat boots are weighing her down. “Fuck you, I’m spotless. A hell of a lot more spotless than some of the fuckin’ dopes you got manning the bar,” the dark-haired woman counters defensively, unsure if he’s talking about her cleanliness -- which is decent at best -- or her criminal record which has been wiped clean by now. No, it’s only by reputation that people don’t want to hire Helena despite the college degree and the extensive resume. “Yeah, suckin’ up to you -- or sucking you off-- may work for the other chicas you got sliding up ‘n down these damn poles for an extra couple’a bucks, but not me.” He’s good looking, sure, far more than he has the damn right to be, but Seth is also the head of the organization responsible for basically ruining her life. That isn’t something she wants to look pass, no matter how ‘nice’ she’s playing or how decent he may be to look at. She arches her brows, grabbing another glass from under the bar and quickly pouring herself some of the same rum she’d served him. “I ain’t got anything to lose these days.” A breath leaves her lips, the harsh truth of her words causing a slight sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach -- one that shes been feeling far too often these days. “Wow, what a feminist,” she says sarcastically, neglecting to join in on the ‘cheers’ he was offering before she takes a sip. “I’d say he had it coming, though -- more like he pissed you off. There’s a difference, isn’t there? A lot of people deserve to have their asses handed to them. Rarely is there just no reason,” she pauses. “Unless you consider yourself a sadistic fuck, which...I dunno, that’s the vibe I’m gettin’ here.”

@helenadelgado​

It’s the end of the night and he’s put up a few chairs to help out the employees at the Dive. But after a long night and last call being called out, Seth is ready for a drink. He puts his shit on the  bar, sliding himself onto a barstool, finger tips tapping the bar quick, trying to get Helena’s attention. “You got somethin’ still left back there?” he asks, although he knows the bar is fully stocked. Seth eyes the woman. She’s a new hire since getting out of prison and although there’s a sense of distaste for just about everyone that follows her around, it’s part of her appeal. Hell, maybe it’s the thing that makes them just similar enough. “Somethin’ good and none of that well shit, I don’t own the place to drink that bullshit,” he reminds her although he’s sure that the routine they’ll someday have down pat, well, she’ll know his drink of choice by heart. While he’s cheap in almost every way, Seth’s not one to drink bottom shelf. “Tryin’ to quit yet? Piss anyone off?” 

Sweet freedom is just within her reach, so close she can almost taste the grape-flavored blunt that’s sitting in her car for her to enjoy at the end of her shift. Working at The Dive had been, admittedly, a lot less miserable than she was expecting. Sure, she had to cater to -- and work under -- dirtbags of all shapes and sizes on any given day, but at least it kept her busy. These days, bored and sober was the very thing she didn’t want to be. Head whipping in the direction of her oh-so-pleasant boss, her brows knit together when he takes a seat and inquires about the liquor selection. “You tell me,” Helena says with a deadpan tone, tossing the dirty rag she’d been using under the bar as she eyes him. While most employers might have been put off by the personality consumed by utter contempt, Seth seems rather unphased by it -- and she’s not sure if its because he pities her or enjoys mocking he, but either way she isn’t sure if she’d be pleased by any explanation, which is why she never asks. “So, your decision to open a bar came from just wanting to indulge in your own alcoholic tendencies?” Helena still obliges, though, reaching for the Captain Morgan rum that she’s been eyeing for the past week as well as a glass to pour it into. “Not to mention keeping your bartender past the end of her shift...” Eyes peering over at him from across the bar, she allows a scoff to escape her lips. “Not yet. Still waitin’ to hear back from Starbucks ‘bout my application,” she says sarcastically. “I mean, that’s kind of in the job description, isn’t it? Kinda hard not to when you’re dealing with clowns all day.” Helena adds a dash of coke to the drink and pushes it closer to Seth, head cocked to the side. “What about you? Probably a given, right?”

Izzy had been hanging by the bar of her less commonly chosen bar— but it’s been stale at the Dive lately. The same people, the same shit to do, and well, apparently she wasn’t going to get away from some people from the Dive anyways. She saw Helena, or rather, heard her from the other side of the bar, the pretty girl over trying to checkout. Izzy pops off her barstool and comes over next to her, a subtle hand touching her arm. “This is why the Dive’s always so busy, baby. It fucking sucks here,” she tells her, knowing that the woman being so new to town (well, fresh from jail), she probably wouldn’t know how bad it’s gotten. Izzy looks around the bar. “Pretty sure you could get one of these love struck people to pay for you,” she reminds her. Considering the looks of the woman, anyone would just pay. “Fresh blood has them drooling around here. Haven’t eyed you in a while,” she grins. 

Her eyes peered over to the familiar figure that took the spot next to her, in part glad that it wasn’t another drunk rando pushing their luck by bringing up her arrest record. She assumed that because no one wanted step on any of the Primordials’ toes when it came to asking  too many questions, Helena was the next best thing. Besides, she wasn’t an actual threat -- what could she do besides toss that trademark glare and some biting remarks in their direction? “You’re tellin’ me,” the raven-haired woman mumbled, letting out a sigh as she slapped a ten dollar-bill down on the counter -- and no, she would not be telling them to ‘keep the change’. “The problem is, I don’t like to shit where I eat. You know?” The Dive was better, sure, but after spending thirty hours a week serving drinks behind their bar, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be on the other side. “Love struck? Please. More like a bunch’a judgmental pricks and horny perverts. ‘Sides, all the good ones’ll probably frolic to you in no time -- if there even is such a thing as any ‘good ones’ these days.” Helena rolled her eyes, casting her attention fully to Izzy. “Speaking of not eyein’ me in a while, where’ve you been? Haven’t seen you durin’ my shifts lately -- granted, I’ve been gettin’ the short end of the stick with my schedule ‘cause I’m fresh meat there, but anyway...” she shrugged. “Been getting yourself into any trouble?”

It was the start to a bad joke, really. An accountant, archivist and a tour guide walked into a bar. Ryder had no idea where his life derailed to get him to this moment, but here he was. Going to the bar with two of his coworkers to watch a football game. Why he was invited, the man had no clue. Maybe it was an olive branch from two people that Ryder never spoke to, or maybe it was to be able to try and get the story behind the fresh bruise on his arm, thinking it was something related to the club that they were always trying to get him to talk about. The blonde man didn’t have the heart to tell them that it was from his dog getting a little too excited, just yet. So there he was, walking into the bar, looking for a punchline. 

He couldn’t spot it, but he did spot a line at the bar, so once the two men he arrived with turned to grab a table, Ryder moved up to the bar, trying to see if he could get at least the first round ordered. What he wasn’t expecting was to see an old friend arguing with the bartender. It had been awhile since Ryder and Helena hung out, so with a grin and blue eyes sparkling with silent amusement, Ryder shoved his way through the crowd. “Awe Hel, it’s alright.” He said, patting her shoulder as he leaned one elbow on the bar to face her. “You can buy my drinks tonight, too.” 

Her head whipped in the direction of the oh-so familiar voice, flinching slightly at his touch before registering who it was that seemed keen on playing around with her -- the nerve on this kid. “If I was gonna buy you a drink, I probably would have -- I dunno -- invited you out with me,” she said pointedly, voice heavy with utter distaste. Though, she knew that if anyone could see right through that rough exterior of hers, it was Ryder, whether she liked it or not. Letting out a sigh after a quick moment, the raven-haired woman lazily tossed her debit card onto the bar top. “Whatever he’s having,” Helena relented before turning back to her friend. “What the hell are you even doing out, anyway? I didn’t realize you had other friends willin’ to put up with your belligerent ass after ten o’clock,” she paused, unable to help herself. “or, y’know, other friends period.”

“ — how the fuck was I supposed to know that you guys have a fifteen dollar credit card limit? It’s not like y’all have a sign,” the raven-haired woman raised an eyebrow at the clerk who’d been eyeing her since the moment she walked up into this stupid sports bar. Helena had gotten used to getting those kinds of judgmental looks since she stepped out of prison and back into society, but was finding it more and more difficult to not let it affect her. Taking a deep breath to collect herself, Helena peered up at the ceiling before setting her gaze back on the woman behind the bar. “Look, okay — I have some change in my bag, just give me a sec…” she trailed off, hyper-aware of the crowd that was forming behind her as she frantically dug through her coat for a couple of dollar bills.