2816/An Old-Fashioned Soda Fountain

An Old-Fashioned Soda Fountain
Date of Scene:	07 August 2020
Location:	Soda Parlor, New York City
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	James Barnes, Patsy Walker

---

James Barnes has posed:
This time, he's the one to specify where they're going. No name, just a request that she meet him at a certain street address in Brooklyn.

And when she arrives, there's James in a plain t-shirt and sleeve, good jeans. No cap, his hair pulled back into a low knot. Lili's at his side, sitting on her haunches, waving her tail and grinning. As if she really were sort of his little emotional translator.

Patsy Walker has posed:
Just an address accompanying a request which ensnares her curiosity as quickly as a cat's claws in a ball of yarn.

As such, Patsy arrives with a pert click-click of white kitten-heels and with a white purse slung over her shoulder. Her hair, left down and loose in waves, catches the sunlight to prove its red hue natural. Her summer dress is royal-blue and a show of flirtatious good taste: its seamed bodice flatters her form and the tie at the subtle bust certainly draws attention there, but the scooped neckline is modest and the loose fall of the skirting past her knees. White floral accents at the shoulders add an extra element of charm.

"James!" she calls out on approach, lifting her hand -- and when she realizes just //where// the address is? And what it is? Her smile is bright as sunshine and it's clear she's charmed as hell. "Wowzers. Look, it's -- oh wow." A quick greeting for Lili before her attention returns to Bucky once more.

James Barnes has posed:
Lili's evidently delighted....and even James is smiling, one of those odd, shy little smiles. "I've been here before. It's not *just* like the soda fountains I used'a work in, but it's pretty darn close. You keep showing me all these new flavors like bubble tea and lavender coffee, so I thought maybe you'd like to try something more old-fashioned?"

Then he's holding the door for her. "You look really nice. Blue is definitely a good color for redheads."

Patsy Walker has posed:
Patsy's smile softens. "Thank you, James. You're sweet." Is that...actually some honest shyness on display from the author? Her manicured nails comb through her hair to tuck it behind her ear before she walks through the open door and into the general coolness of the soda parlor. It's clearly summer by the temperature difference indoor and out.

Her eyes flicker to the menu, but she's far more interested in continuing to interact with Bucky by the way she doesn't wander too far inside or far from his personal bubble in general. Of course Lili gets her particular side of her handler deeply respected. "You're not wearing a hat. I might pinch myself," she teases gently, fingers wrapped around the straps of her purse. "I like it. I can see your face better. But see, here's the thing: you have to tell me what's best if you've been here before." Her verdant eyes twinkle as she looks back towards the menu. "...because potato chips do not belong in ice cream."

James Barnes has posed:
He laughs that bouncing, nearly soundless laugh. "Yeah, for once, I'm not." he allows. Then he's glancing at the menu. "I'll be honest, I haven't tried any of the weirder stuff. I go for the classics. So...root beer float. Strawberry milkshake. Cherry lime Rickey. All of 'em are good here, like we made 'em back when." The 'back when' comment has the man behind the counter looking fairly skeptical. "Yeah, I haven't had the courage to try a potato chip sundae. Though I have come around on this whole sea salt and caramel thing," he says, with the air of a man making a great concession.

Patsy Walker has posed:
"Ugh. James, no." Patsy drawls out the vowel of the word before breaking it into a giggle. "Salt does //not// belong in caramel or chocolate or any kind of confection. Ugh. UGH. If I wanted salt in my candy, I'd go gargle some ocean water. Blech." Her pert nose wrinkles even as she smiles. "But you've sold me on the idea of a root beer float. I haven't had one of those in forever, not since...wow."

A blink or two.

"Wow, not for a really long time, holy crap," the author murmurs almost to herself. "About time then!" She then tells the man behind the counter of her order, please and thank you.

James Barnes has posed:
He orders himself a raspberry lime rickey, and pays for the both of them. "No, it's good!" he protests, brows up, apparently in earnest. "It really is. It's like the contrast sorts of makes the caramel better." Whereupon James turns to the man behind the counter. "Back me up here, mister," he says. "Salted caramel is good, right?" The shopkeep nods, solemn as a hanging judge. Then Buck looks down at Lili. "Right, Lili?" She has no idea, of course, but thumps her tail on the cool tile of the floor.

Patsy Walker has posed:
"Lili, you can't just wag your tail at anything," protests the red-head merrily down at the German Shepherd. Patsy still laughs despite herself, shaking both her head and her hand before herself finally. "Look, I've tried it, gents, and I couldn't handle it. More for you both because of this, right? I'm a simple girl. Salt goes on chips, sweet in my chocolate."

She slips her fingers out of her purse, having been wanting to pay for the drinks, but instead makes it seem like she was searching for her chapstick. Finding it, she notes with a point of the tube at Bucky, "Coffee is on me next time. Okay, where should we sit? Inside? Outside?" There's a moment where she looks as if the next thing out of her mouth might be cheeky as all hell, but Patsy keeps her silence on this for the moment, simply opting to gloss her lips.

James Barnes has posed:
"Let's sit inside. It's nice and cool in here, and I'm still honestly amazed by refridgerated air everywhere in summer now," he says, nodding at one of the tables. Lili, aware she's being addressed, only wags harder. Yes, yes, I can. And apparently how at ease James smells around Patsy is enough to make her feel easier, too.

Patsy Walker has posed:
"Alright, how about this table here?" Patsy turns in a light swirl of her skirts -- they float out from her legs almost on a breath, proof of being absolutely appropriate for swing-dancing in turn -- and walks over to put her hand upon the table's top. A slide into the booth and she can be seen to fuss her skirt flat on her legs after setting her purse to one side.

"And you said 'back when'," she then murmurs as she looks up into Bucky's face with a gleeful little grin and glitter in her kohl-lined eyes. "How do you know? Did you go to them often?" Her voice is still pitched low, private.

James Barnes has posed:
"I did. I worked in one for a while. I was a soda jerk, when I was in high school. One that was part of a pharmacy. It was a really nice place to work. The pharmacist that ran it was a guy named Reuben Rabinowitz. He was a real good guy. He'd let me take home leftovers and stuff for me and Steve. This was during the Depression, when food and money were both at a huge premium."

He settles in to the booth across from her, lets Lili slink underneath, as their drinks are made.

Patsy Walker has posed:
Patsy's once more charmed by the information given to her. She looks between his eyes, even having leaned her forearms on the tabletop in order to unconsciously further communicate her fascination.

"Wow. He was an amazing guy then, Rabinowitz, if he did that. I really can't imagine. But what a job title though: soda jerk. It's amazing how the words change over time," she says, amused as only a writer can be about the matter.

James Barnes has posed:
"He was the best kind of Jew," Bucky's voice is quiet. "His memory is a blessing. His wife treated us like we were her kids. I don't know how they ever made any money, they were both soft-touches." He laughs that soundless little laugh.

Patsy Walker has posed:
"Yeah?" Patsy's still leaning in on her forearms, her smile a sweet crescent of honest amusement. "Sometimes, the ones who seem like push-overs are stronger than they appear -- and sometimes, they can be push-overs and still get places. There's a thing about being genuinely nice, y'know? There are still assholes who will try to take advantage of it, yeah, but...not everybody. Nice people are few and far between. Good people too."

She then laughs at herself, lifting her eyebrows and rolling her verdant eyes towards the shop window. "Wow, Patsy, what a pessimist," she mutters, glancing back at James. "Back to the better stuff -- like how you were a soda jerk. What else did you do back then? What other jobs?"

James Barnes has posed:
"I mean, yeah, God knows I seen plenty of people who were jerks as gifted amateurs, not pros," Buck retorts, dryly. "I mean, the Rabinowitzes ran a tight ship, and he wouldn't hesitate to give me an earful if my work wasn't up to his standards. The really good are rarities, and I've been privileged to know quite a few. I'd say that pessimism is pretty justified," he allows.

He waggles his human hand, side to side. "Everything I could. I started by selling papers on a streetcorner when I was twelve. Shined shoes, too. I was a short-order cook in a diner. Worked down on the docks unloading ships. It sounds quaint now, but man, we were desperate, and social relief was not like it is now...."

Patsy Walker has posed:
There's the degree's tilt of head now as the author listens. The way her mind brings up visions of the jobs listed can almost be seen in the reflection of her eyes upon him. Children arriving at the front of the shop makes Patsy glance away for a second, but just as quickly, she's returned her attention to Bucky.

"Quaint? I think I'd use something more like...crucial, yeah, because things weren't easy then. I seriously can't imagine. I bet you're a good cook though because of that diner job. What's your favorite thing to -- "

One of the shop attendants stops by the table to drop off the drinks. Patsy claps her hands quietly before herself once and gives the attendant a grin and gratitude. "Wow, look at this thing! I might be able to drink all of it," she says of the rootbeer float. Two scoops of ice cream in a tall glass; already, the ice cream is beginning to crystal-caramalize from the rootbeer engulfing it. A long spoon and a wider straw stick out from the top. "Alright, bub, how's your drink? Is it the real deal?" she asks cheekily.

James Barnes has posed:
His eyes round. "They didn't used to make 'em that big," Buck says, clearly astonished. "Damn, I mean, wow," he says. Only then does he remember his own drink, takes a sip. There's a sigh of approval. "Yeah," he says. "It's really good. You want to try a sip? I like stuff that's sour..."

A little moue from him. "I'm an okay cook. Peoples's tastes've changed. Used to be it was a lot more simple. I get cookbooks from the library, try new things. Go to different restaurants, too. I don't think I ever even heard of a Vietnamese restaurant when I was a kid, but...now I've had a couple different dishes from 'em."

Patsy Walker has posed:
"Ooh, sure, I'll try it. I like some sour stuff," the red-head admits. Having not yet taken a bite or sip of her float, she slips the spoon back in and reaches for the offered drink. Bucky is observed overtop the rim of the drink and she purses her lips after the sip, almost snort-laughing once.

"Whoa. Sour," she agrees as she gives the drink back. "I like Vietnamese. Chinese food is still where it's at though -- and you didn't tell me what's your favorite thing to make, short-order cook." The notation is followed by a spoonful of rootbeer-crystallized ice cream and Patsy makes a happy sound. It's very sweet after a sip of the Soldier's drink, after all. "You want a sip?" comes the counter-offer.

James Barnes has posed:
"Usually just a burger," he admits, without hesitation. "Still love 'em. I....it's hard to believe, like....really believe that I've got enough money to get the food I need. That was one of the few things I really loved about the Army, when I was enlisted: three meals a day, and I mostly didn't have to cook 'em," He says, even as he holds out a hand for her drink, in turn. "Yeah. I love things that taste like lime and lemon and orange. Lotta good Chinese places down in Chinatown proper...."

Patsy Walker has posed:
"If you're always around Chinatown, you have to try the place with the papier-mache dragon in the window. I order from it so often, it's a speed-dial in my phone." She gives Bucky the name of the restaurant, pronouncing almost correctly. "Mom and pop place, run by the kids and the rest of the family. They're such nice people."

The rootbeer float glass is slid in the direction of the Soldier and Patsy watches his face now very carefully, more than likely guessing he'll pull one because of the sweet in opposition to his sour drink -- hyper-sweet, it might taste like.

"I still kind of can't believe that you had to enlist in the Army to eat properly. That's just...hmm." There's a deep empathy for him in her eyes now.

James Barnes has posed:
He takes a spoonful, nods his approval of it. "'s good," he says, blowing out a little breath. "Really sweet, but....good." Buck cocks an eye at her, and then grins. "I like sweet, too. Just sour more." He nods at the name. "Haven't heard of it, but....I'll try it."

There's a little shrug at that. "That was life in the Depression. Steve and I were poor orphans, by then. Had to work, and Steve was sick a lot."

Patsy Walker has posed:
There's almost a flutter of eyelashes at Bucky for the way he looks at her and smiles -- almost. Instead, Patsy simply smiles back as if she knew precisely what he was thinking.

Regaining her rootbeer float, the author then takes no time in beginning to work her way through it. "I didn't know you were both orphans...? Christ on a cracker, James, geez. I'm so sorry," she says quietly, her spoonful lifted and paused over the glass in case of drips. Her expression goes sober, introspective. "Hearing that, it...it makes me grateful for how lucky I am now. I wish more people would realize how lucky they are too."

James Barnes has posed:
"By the war, yeah, we were. My dad lived into my teens, that was the last of our four parents. Then it was just me and Steve," There's hurt in the pale eyes, for a moment, and he looks down at the glossy tabletop. "To make it worse.....Steve got his serum treatment while I was en route to Italy. And they stopped letting his letters through to me, and mine to him, for fear he'd inadvertantly let slip some kinna secret. Yeah, I'm...really lucky in him," he says. James's smile is wan, a little tired.

Patsy Walker has posed:
"Hell yes, you are." Very softly, Patsy tells the man this, trying very hard to find his eyes and hold them again. "You're very lucky and you know it and that's the best part. You know what you can appreciate rather than take for granted -- like your super-sour drink. What's it called again?"

She takes a long sip of her drink as she awaits the name and then asks, "What's the worst recipe you ever had somebody order when you were a soda jerk?"