3958/Barry's Crab Shack

Barry's Crab Shack
Date of Scene:	27 October 2020
Location:	Barry's Crab Shack
Synopsis:	WAR OF THE SEA--food. Tigra and Aquaman share a drink, discuss their lack of geographical skills. Totally unaware of Arthur's heroic identity!
Cast of Characters:	Arthur Curry, Greer Grant

---

Arthur Curry has posed:
    There are a lot of places that people in their whole lives will never visit, and would never think to visit. Places that look rough on the outside, or are in parts of the neighborhood you don't want to go to at night. Places that are in unfortunate locations that smell all funky or have a certain vibe that's not amenable to foot traffic.
    And Barry's Crab Shack is one such a place.
    It's on the edge of the East River in Manhattan, under the bridge, near the docks. There's the smell of fish all day long. The place sounds like seagulls and buoys clanging and ships steaming by, it definitely has its vibe.
    But not a lot of customers. Which is just how Barry likes it.
    Barry is an old sailor, used to travel, used to be in the merchant marine. He opened up the crab shack since he had a lot of friends in the business. Most of his friends aren't in the business anymore. And most aren't even living. But he takes pride in giving a place where people can come to for good seafood even if it's prepared in the most basic of manners. Like his crab feast, seasoned, fresh, all you can eat, people come here for that. And the small restaurant with its twelve tables and four booths are able to at least seat some of the people. Inside the decor is what one would expect. Nautical, plastic nets, a bit rusted buoy in the corner, life preservers on the walls. And right now this time of night it's fairly quiet save for a handful of customers.
    Make that a handful plus one. As through the front door, shouldered open and thwakking against the wall as it's carried by he wind. Outside it's been raining a bit, more sprinkling and drizzling, but it's still going on. But now emerging, wet from the weather or the river, a tall man with dark skin and wild hair stomps into the foyer, grinning like a mad man. "Am I too late? Did I miss it?"
    Only to hear an old rough voice call from the back, "Happy Hour ended like hours ago, boy!"
    "Hey, it's always happy hour when I'm here. Barry." And with that he grins and shakes the forearm of the young man at the door.

Greer Grant has posed:
It's one of those quiet places, small and secluded and you never go there unless you MEAN to go there. Barry's Crab Shack is such a place-- old, rugged, worn, dressed with a run-down aura of faint menace but with a heart of fiery gold.    
    
And the best seafood Greer's ever tasted.    
    
"I wish I had more to offer," comes the purring admission, a wistful sigh from the corner booth. Near the fire, warm and happy and working from (what appears to be) her third plate of crab legs. "I know dear old Shellhead has a thing for shwarma, but he really is missing out on other things in life." Sighing voice, relished breath-- and a rumble as something shelly cracks open, quickly slurped down without fanfare. Taking advantage of the late evening, Tigra sits in the corner booth; coat draped lazily alongside, she basks in-- while less than normal, at least dressed to admit the cooler temperatures of oncoming winter.    
    
"Anyway--" *crunchmunchcrunch* "--a certain Captain mentioned that old bell from one of the ships he was acquainted with through family." SHe poauses, glancing back the kitchen way. "It was recovered a few weeks ago. He hopes it goes well with the decor."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    He doesn't see her at first, he hears her, though her conversation sort of blends a little with the general ambiance of the room. Though one part sticks out as the Atlantean man emerges from the foyer into the main room with its warm flickering fire, and the handful of people around the tables and at the bar.
    Yet he does inquire, "What ship was that?" As he steps on in carrying a fairly large canvas sack over his shoulder. And should she look over at the newcomer she'll see the tall man. A few inches over six foot, broad of shoulder and chest. He's wearing canvas pants and work boots leaving wet prints on the hard wood floor. His shirt is open partially, tan and loose and buttoned up and on his arms are a myriad of rings and bracelets as well as leather bracers. His hair is wild, slicked back and his beard is just as crazed. Might seem like he's wearing a tight undershirt but if one took a look close enough... it's more that he has a very large series of tribal tattoos all on his body.
    Another voice pipes up, Barry's this time. "What'd you bring me?"
    "Some of those Northern blues you like, Barry." The bag is tossed across the distance, though Barry catches it with a slight /whumpf/ then disappears into the back likely to cook whatever it is.
    Then as if he hadn't had a break in his conversation he adds to Tigra, "What bell?"

Greer Grant has posed:
The munching sounds continue, quick, swallowed. "Jamestown's Pride," comes the answer, a slightly fuzzy head peering around the side to sta-- to glance. Not stare. GLANCE.    
    
For a very, very long time.    
    
"...er... Jamestown's Pride," Tigra repeats, coughing as she smiles sheepishly. "It was a Merchant Marine vessel that served back in the War. Built almost completely through the recycled items and donations of a single town up the coast, she supported the D-Day landings. She was sunk as part of convoy 94 by a rogue U-Boat attack." Obviously reciting from memory, she purrs pleasantly. "Care to have a seat, sailor? I promise the warm fire close by and good company out of the rain. And possibly convinced to ask the good cook for one more round?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    When those feline-like eyes peer out of that corner booth, the lantern's light from above catching them perfectly so, it causes that tall man to be taken aback slightly. But just slightly. His lip twists up as he listens, one hand resting on the back of a chair as he props a boot up on the lower ring of one of those high-top tables that are so often near the bar. Almost looking a bit like Captain Morgan with his foot on a barrel of grog. All he's missing is the hat.
    "Jamestown's Pride..." Arthur lifts a beringed hand and pushes it through his hair, slicking it back and making a face as he lets those pale grey eyes slip to the side. "Hnh. Why does that name sound so familiar to me?" As if the thoughts preyed on him in some manner.
    He worries at the inside of his cheek thoughtfully but shakes his head as if it escaped him entirely. Which i did.
    Then he looks back up as she offers her invitation and his lip curves, "Yeah. That sounds like it'd be pretty good right now." He looks toward the bar, "Manny? Another round?"
    The kid behind the bar bobs his head, "Sure thing, Arthur." Though the young server does grin sidelong at Tigra.
    The tall man walks over though, having to slightly nudge the bench seat of that booth a little wider to get in comfortably but he takes a seat, resting his elbows on the bar and his eyes on the catwoman opposite him. "Thanks, was going to get something to go but it'll be nice to sit and relax a bit."
    That said he lifts a hand, chains jangling a bit on his wrist as he offers it, "Arthur Curry."

Greer Grant has posed:
Greer Grant reaches over her plate-- mostly devoid of anything but a last, lonesome crab leg, the rest having met their feline fate beneath voraciously vicious gnashing! "Greer Grant," she returns, smile twinkling in her eyes. "Or Tigra, if you prefer. Pardon the mess--"    
    
She coughs politely, picking up the plate and setting it atop the other four empty sets. Voracious! "I came to deliver the bell as a special request from a friend, stayed for lunch, and..." She grins again, laughing quietly. "Well, that was a while ago. I prefer tuna, but Mr. Barry suggested at least trying the crab legs too." She sighs wistfully, leaning forward to take the offered hand with a fierce relish. "What brings you in out of the rain, Mr. Curry? A regular here, I suspect?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Ah, Barry..." Arthur says as he straightens up and gestures in the back, even as Manny comes by with his beer and sets it down in front of the man. He once again takes a glance at Tigra and smiles nervously before he heads back. Poor kid.
    Arthur continues, "Barry was friends with my father, back in the day. They worked the merchant marine for a time before he settled down and started tending to a lighthouse up North." He takes a sip of the beer, seems to savor it. Just the way the first cold drink of the day really reaches you and slithers down your throat, he seems to take such enjoyment from it and ends with just shaking his head. "Man."
    Then those pale eyes return to her and for a time he looks at the curious vertical irises of her own, openly curious, openly watching her. His lip curves and he says faintly, "You're..." He lifts a hand, points. "An Avenger, aren't you?"

Greer Grant has posed:
Greer Grant steeples her fingers, playful as she grins. "Got it in one. I tried to try out for the role of Catwoman, but someone complained." Mischief dancing in her eyes, she leans back with a quiet, pleased groan. Food-coma!    
    
"Lighthouse keeper? I don't think I've ever been that far north yet." She stifles a grin, closing her grasp around a cup of just-delivered tea with quiet bliss. "On this continent, at least. And flying off planet doesn't count either." She glances back, gaze curious. "What does a watcher do?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    A small chuckle slips from him as he nods and sips his beer, then sets it down on the table with a faint glassy clink. He leans over it and wraps one hand around its base, broad shoulders and arms framing it well as he keeps his gaze on one of the Mighty Avengers.
    "I think I saw your picture in the newspaper." He says with a wry grin, "I remembered thinking I couldn't tell if that was the color of your skin or if it was fur." He looks down at her hands and tilts his head to the side, "Fur though, that's kinda cool."
    Indeed, he has pronounced her cool. She may carry that judgment with her forever.
    "But yeah, you live there, tend to the maintenance, turn it on during storms. Decent work if you can get it. My father loved it."
    He lifts his chin and asks, "And what does an Avenger do when they're not avenging?"

Greer Grant has posed:
An audible groan rises as she closes her eyes, Greer shaking her head in elaborate frustration. "Probably the Planet. It was the Planet, right? Always with the horrific photography." SHe sighs as one long-suffering, fake-grumbling as she hides the grin on her features-- tail suddenly like quicksilver, a swift lash of mirth! "..or was that one of the tabloids? Always angling for an image or story."    
    
Smiling with rue, she listens intently, fascination in her gaze. "Like a cross between landlord and handyman?" she hazards, lacing her fingers thoughtfully. "Ah, well-- er. Invent new ways to Avenge things, watch out and take patrols of the city, state, and county for Avenging things, and occasionally stop for a photo opportunity or two." She smiles, more warmly. "Though between things, these days. To be more serious, I was spending a good amount of time working with a game show, of all things. It got cancelled." She smiles again, sourly. "Ratings."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Oh that's too bad, if I... had a television or computer or whatever I woulda watched it?" He turns his head to the side slightly as he smiles as if seeing if she'd buy that. But he probably has a phone, the jerk, coulda watched it on there.
    But then he bites his lower lip and grins, leaning forward to peer at her plate and... /steal/ the last crab leg that was on there, casually pulling it up and breaking it apart with a subtle twist of the true crab aficionado. He holds her eyes as he oh so perpetrates that crime and tells her.
    "So, here's the thing." He starts, "I live on an island. Off the coast of Maine. Cold all the time. Lots of rain. Lots of snow. Big waves."
    He tilts his head and then takes a bite of the last of the crab meat and looks rueful. "Think that means this friendship is doomed from the start? Cats hate cold. And water. And snow. I should just pack it up right now, shouldn't I?"

Greer Grant has posed:
Greer leans forward, eyes flashing with silent laughter. "I walk around most of the day in a *bikini*," she replies, tailtip twitching. "Not waiting eagerly for Captain Jack Frost or whomever to come by so I can snag his parka. The fur is flashy, fancy, *and* functional." She brushes her arm for emphasis, smiling. "I might have to pass on the heavy wave action, though the promise of fresh sea food is ever my lure and weakness." SHe sighs theatrically-- breaking out in quiet laughter as she bends her head.    
    
"More seriously, I came at the request of a good friend. He was a professional salvager, and managed to find the bell on one of his last trips out." She gestures, pointing at the freshly-shined clangor. "He lives in a rest home, so asked me to deliver it for him. Couldn't say no."    
    
She smiles, taking the now-empty plate and adding it to the rest. The Leaning Tower of Seafood! "But-- photo ops. Yes. You wouldn't believe the number of... modelling offers I've passed on."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    A small laugh escapes him and he shakes his head, but he listens as she tells him the reason for her wandering by. His brow furrows then he nods, "That's good of you, thoughtful." A glance is given back towards the kitchen, where Barry is likely cooking up a storm, he smiles a little but his eyes seem distanced.
    "I have a soft spot for these old salts and all. Feels like times are going by and getting past everyone. Robotic fishing vessels and rapid-transit trade." He lifts a hand, waving it to the side slightly. "Makes me wonder what I'll miss when I get up there in years and not realize I wasn't appreciating it when it was going on."
    His lips twist as he looks back at her and takes a sip of his beer.
    "Well, to be fair, and this doesn't do me any favors. Reason I remembered you was because it was still a flattering photo. You have this sort of..." He leans back and lifts a hand, "Casual beauty I guess you could say. Exotic still, but it seems effortless. If that makes sense."

Greer Grant has posed:
Greer's smile shinse through; a warm purr of pleasure evoked as she bows her head, nodding. "Thank you," she returns, smiling. "I only occaisionally have to dodge the crazier phot-shopers. Most are very considerate. And if that doesn't work, I threaten to ask Capotain America to come frown at them."    
    
She winks, eyes warm as she leans her head back-- pausing to take a sip of tea as she exhales. "But your tattoos..." She flicks her eyes open, curiosity vibrant as she glances again. More closely, gaze brightening as she leans near. "I've never seen the like. Pacific Island? Chest, or full sleeves to go with the body work?"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Ah," His lips twist as he straightens up and extends both his arms, turning them palm up as if offering them to her. She can see the intricate work, the repeated patterns that wend their way up along those firm forearms, over the swell of his biceps, only marred at points by the way some of the veins in his arms stand in prominence. His skin is tanned and dark, his palms a lighter shade, and it wanders up to the short sleeves of that shirt, and is clear on the chest visible. It looks like chainmail armor in places, or twisted gauntlets and symbols.
    "Some are Polynesian," He murmurs, then turns his arms over revealing all of those shark teeth, "These represent, Ka-moho-ali?i, a deity from my father's people."
    He reaches a hand back and draws his hair away then lowers his head slightly, closer to her. Enough that she can likely catch the subtle scent of him, smelling of sweat and steel and the sea. But now she can see the collar around his neck, "Some are from my mother's people. It's... more to remind me."
    Though, of what, he does not say.

Greer Grant has posed:
Greer Grant leans forward, senses alive with the poignancy, the warm scent. She reaches to the neck marks, a trace before she smiles, nodding, curving away. "A good thing," she says in return, settling back with warm reverence. "Polynesian. Thank you-- I was about to start with Samoan, go to Hawaiian, and then demonstrate my wonderful knowledge of geography by knowing exactly no other places in the Islands."    
    
She smiles wistfully, fingers returning to her cup with gentle traces. "I'd never been to too many places, before starting Avenging. California is about the limit. Then: fursuit, and zany adventure sabound."    
    
She winks, raising her cup for a sip. "I hear they will cast me for the part of Adventurer Archaeologist any day now."

Arthur Curry has posed:
    She touches the strong curve of his neck, the tendons taut, supple muscles twisting slightly to let her get at it easier. At the small caress a hint of goosebumps race along that tanned flesh, small hairs standing on end as he smiles a little, but says nothing.
    Then she eases back and he bobs his head once with a smile. "Yeah, to be fair my knowledge of geography isn't /that/ much better." He straightens up and shivers a little then takes another sip of his beer.
    She makes that wry comment about her oncoming movie career and his lip twitches, "I dunno, I could see you with a whip and a fedora. You'd make it work." He tilts the mug back and drains it finally, then tilts his head, "Want another round?"
    Even as he's lifting a hand to gesture toward the bar and poor Manny, making him run back around with a fresh brew. Two if she seems inclined.

Greer Grant has posed:
"Just one," Greer answers after a moment's hesitation, "Mostly because being an Avenger-- especially one as obvious as me --is a bit of a 24/7 gig." Smiling ruefully, she gives Manny the plates after he arrives, apologetic as she nods. "At least I don't have to ask if you got the tattoos by putting them on yourself with a sharp stick and snake venom." She grins, tossing her head. "And Halloween *is* coming up. Mayhap I should dress up for the occasion! More than just going outside--"     
    
She laughs, waving the thought away. "I missed the last one. And Mardis Gras. And part of Christmas." She shakes her head, grumbling ruefully. "You'd think supervillains and would-be world conquerors and intergalactic take-it-alls would other things to do, really. Schedule evil plots in advance! Around the holidays, because --yeesh!"

Arthur Curry has posed:
    "Mmm," The tall man's lip twists a little and his smile is wry. "I know, ain't it the worst?" Arthur says, playing along but also weirdly enough being honest.
    "There you are, in the coolest seafood place you've been in for a while, meet a cool gal or guy, chatting it up, having fun." He shakes his head and pushes a hand through his hair, grinning as he straightens up, then spreads his hands wide. "About to ask their phone number, when out of the blue. Wouldn't you know it?" He glances toward the window as if he heard something, then sloooowly looks back at her. "Space robots."
    Shaking his head sadly, "Then it's off to defend the planet and you get back and realize they're gone and you didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. It's a hard life. Avengining."
    His eyes gleam with amusement even as he gives her a hard time.

Greer Grant has posed:
Greer nods somberly, sadly-- sighing to the heavens! "I know! Just wanting a quiet time alone, and then-- bam. Killer ninja cyborg zombies in tripod death machines from Mars. About the only thing needing avenging then is the cup of cocoa and the latest Tom Clancy novel on my reading table!"        
She sighs, lips twitching as she grins. And a buzz from her hip-- a grimace as her hand flips down, brushing agaisnt her thigh-- the dull thrum coming from there. From a hidden pocket (don't ask how!), she retrieves a small, thick card, for all the world like a rather heavy driver's license in shape.    
    
"I'm going to assume this wasn't you foretelling the future," she says with a smirk, glancing up. "Because I need to go off and take care of some 'Avengining' business." She grumbles at the card, quick as she pauses-- hand back at her hip, quick to withdraw a bill from the slender folds.    
    
"Raincheck on the drink!" she adds, langour dashed away as she twists upright; one hand catching her longcoat, she vaults up and forward, smiling as she casts a quick wave. "See you here again! Thank you, Mr. Barry. Great food!"