War Stories

Summary:
October 21st, 2014: Sam goes looking for an old friend and runs into Jason Lucky, instead.

Hanoi Bar - NYC


Characters

NPCs

  • Bartender

Mood Music:


It's an overcast day outside, not too hot, not too cold, with people from every part of the city wandering about out front of the old building. Occasionally someone stops in through the faded wooden door of the building, but there's not a lot of traffic into this old establishment.

Inside the place is fairly lively with people in faded uniforms throwing darts at the boards, or just leaning up against the wall by the juke box reminiscing. All kinds of military service personnel in here Army, Airforce, navy, young injured vets, all the way up to a few men sitting down with air tanks talking about the second world war. Everyone here knows everyone else, and no one's too keen on causing trouble knowing that everyone else is armed.

Up by the bar proper sets a man covered in scars, with a bottle in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. He looks like he's already spent most of the day here just drinking and laughing it up, but at the moment he's just sitting looking down at a faded photograph, the seats around him at the bar empty.

-

Generally, Sam Wilson doesn't favor places exclusively for veterans, with the exception of the VA itself. He would have a hard time explaining why, if anyone asked, but the man certainly has a complicated relationship with his years in the sandbox.

So it is that he's not a familiar face at this bar, although a few familiar faces from the support group he runs wave at him as he enters. He returns the greetings politely, but doesn't seem interested in engaging further; he's got the manner of a man seeking out someone specific. He approaches the bar and has a hushed conversation with the bartender, who seems noncommital: she just came on shift, so whatever he's asking about, she can't help.

He turns, and his eyes alight on Jason Lucky. (Speaking of complicated relationships.) The resurrection expert has obviously been parked here for a while. A bit reluctantly, he approaches his coworker and nods a greeting. "Hi, Jason," he says. "Have you seen a guy here: black, a little shorter than me, glasses?"

-

"Seen a lot of kids like that" Jason mutters, in that all too deep and gravely voice of his that sounds like if you pitch shifted Tom Waits down after giving him a few hundred years of hard smoking drinking, and drug abuse. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke roll out from the corners of his mouth. "Had to watch most of em die," It's obvious he's in one of those moods that some of the other stark employees talk about from time to time.

The picture in front of him is an old photograph of a young man, and woman in uniform, holding onto a baby in the middle of a military base. At a glance it's obviously a WWII relic, but what sort of relation those two could have to him is anyone's guess.

-

That response leads into a long, awkward pause, which Sam finally ends by clearing his throat and clarifying, "I meant here." The pararescueman taps the bartop with a fist. "In the past hour or so." He thinks it's pretty safe to assume that no one has died in the bar in that timeframe. He glances at the photograph, his expression torn, but for the moment he's going to hold his questions. Not that he would mind talking with Lucky, maybe figuring out what makes him tick — but first, he needs to make sure he didn't narrowly miss the person he's trying to get in touch with. He needs the bodyguard back to the present for that.

-

Jason takes another swig from the bottle of rather strong sipping whiskey, after that moment of silence is ended. It's got a strong kick, but he's got a strong handle on it. It takes him some time to actually think about it, but eventually he manages to ask, "You know the worst part about missing so much time?" It's not really the answer that Sam was prying for, but for the moment it's all he can really muster "I can't remember how long I've been at it myself," Though he's doing a lot of talking about something occasionally slurring his words "Just faces, not names not places, not dates"

The little Vietnamese woman with bright purple hair that seems to be taking the job of bartender slides Sam a fresh glass of what looks like regular beer. The knocking being caught as more of a sign for more drink then a call for Jason to come back to the present.

-

Sam flashes a self-deprecating smile as he accepts the beer, realizing his mistake. Still, a drink isn't unwelcome, and he passes the bartender enough cash to cover the drink and a generous tip. "That's unusual," he says, resigning himself to not getting any information out of Lucky today. "Most guys end up with better memories than they would like. But I guess getting killed as much as you do can't be good for you. Your parents?" He inclines his head at the photograph.

-

"Think so," Jason says rather quietly looking down towards the photograph, a bit of bitter resentment of all things towards it. "never met dad, got told he died in Normandy" Another swig from the rather large bottle that's already half empty "Just feels like there's big spots of time that are just… gone" He's slurring his speech somewhat but not nearly as much as should be expected from someone drinking as much as him, something about this place keeping him at least a bit grounded.

-

"You seeing anyone about that?" Sam asks, a look of concern flickering across his features. "Memory issues, I mean. They might not be able to bring them back, but they have pretty solid therapy techniques these days. They can at least keep it from getting worse, maybe."

-

Jason shrugs his shoulders down low kicking back another swig from his bottle and inhaling a large puff of smoke from his cigarette. "Sort of" he's still not really turned to look at sam, choosing instead to look at almost anything else "Was seeing a girl reached in to my brain, and fixed a few things Whole reason I went to find stark," Jason takes a long moment to pause and smoke down his cigarette to nothing before lighting up another. "Said he did this to me"

-

"This girl said Stark messed with your memory?" Sam says. There's a strong skeptical note in his voice; not only is Tony a friend, but the only mental damage Sam can picture him doing is a self-inflicted single malt. "Maybe you mean his dad? Or something done with one of his company's weapons, back in the day?" An incident along the lines of Agent Orange is all too easy to picture.

-

"Yeah," Jason mentions taking a single puff before just holding the hand with the cigarette up to the side of his head. "Howard" There's not a lot of thought going into anything that he's saying words just sort of going out as they please. Then he just sort of mutters something a bit strange in a more pained voice, just mentioning "There were saws, and syringes, locked up like cattle for months, used the boy first"

-

Sam takes a swig of beer while he processes what Lucky said. "That's a pretty far cry from the man's reputation," he finally says. He doesn't want to sound skeptical, but it's quite an accusation. Something on par with the Tuskegee experiments, but carried out on servicemen rather than unsuspecting black people. He'd thought Stark, Senior was mainly into conventional weapons. He'll have to talk to Tony about it when he gets a chance.

-

Jason finally looks over to Sam and his expression changes a bit. "You're not," He looks a bit confused for a few seconds before actually being able to recognize him. "Oh, I, just forget I said anything". There's a quick motion from his hand, and Jason offers over what's left of the bottle in his hand to his co worker.

-

"I'm not what?" Sam asks, the latest non sequitur leaving him confused. One thing he isn't: forgetting Jason said anything. There's nothing wrong with his memory, and even if there were, the claims are memorable, to say the least. He holds up a hand, declining the whiskey in favor of the beer he already has. "You seem pretty out of it," he adds. "You sure you're okay?"

-

"Thought you were someone else," Jason's voice trails off somewhat his words getting a bit more slurred as he gets further down the bottle. "Just forget it, I'm fine" He goes to stand back up but just falls back into his chair, trying to remember something. It's proving a bit difficult at the moment to do a lot of things.

-

"Well, you won't have met my dad in Vietnam," Sam says after a moment, turning back to his beer with a smile. "Pretty sure he was the definition of a conscientious objecter. Probably wouldn't have been too happy about me enlisting, either. So whoever you're mixing me up with, pretty sure he's both no relation and ridiculously handsome." He watches the man's attempts to get off his barstool, partly amused and partly concerned. "I can call you a cab, if you want to leave."

-

It takes a few more tries but eventually Jason manages to make it to a full stand stumbling his way towards the bathroom. "Bet he's almost as much of a looker" his voice trailing off somewhat as he falls over again just by the door, his legs moving like they where some sort of jello.

-

Sam glances at the bartender. "How much has he had?" he asks rhetorically as he stands up as well. He grabs his own beer and makes his way over to his fallen coworker and helps him up. "I am not helping you take a piss," he says grudgingly. "I'm helping you get to the bathroom and you're in charge of everything that happens from there."

-

The bartender doesn't exactly speak much in the way of English, just going back to cleaning up what's been left at the bar, and fixing up a few more orders. By her reactions, and the reactions of the general patronage this is nothing new as far as Jason goes.

While not really looking it at a glance Jason weighs quite a good deal, but with a bit of help he's able to come back up to a stand. He offers Sam a pat on the back speaking in a hushed voice, as he's helped over towards the restroom "J-ju-just don't tell pepper, she overreacts sometimes,"

-

"Yeah, she has no idea how to deal with a heavy drinker," Sam says dryly as he helps Lucky along. The bodyguard may be heavier than he looksm but Sam is just as strong as you'd expect, so he handles the extra weight without too much trouble. "You should probably head home, though. I think you've spent enough time in the bar for one day."

-

"You kidding kid?" Jason's more muttering at the moment then actually speaking with heavy slurring. He's obviously had a bit more then he ever should have been allowed to have, by the looks. "This is nothing," He laughs a bit, stumbling on his own feet slightly as he's helped along. "Should have seen the boys"

-

"Yeah, I'm sure you've been worse off," Sam says honestly, propping the door open for Jason with the hand he's been carefully balancing his beer in. "But you should probably save that up for special occasions. If you're already feeling crappy, more booze isn't going to help."

-

Jason stumbles his way into the bathroom pulling out a small unlabeled pill bottle from his pocket. Pouring out a single small capsule into his hand from the collection, "I've got plenty of time to quit drinking" He starts off moving towards one of the stalls, and about falling over again. "Got an easy solution anyway" A small smile coming across his face, as he moves past an older looking grey haired man with an eyepatch.

-

"Yeah, you do that," Sam says, grimacing and moving away from the bathroom. He finishes off the last of his beer and sets the glass on the bartop, locking eyes with the bartender. "You're young, you live in New York, and your hair is purple. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess the 'no hablo American' thing is so you don't get sucked into listening to boring war stories for the fiftieth time," he says quietly. "I'll tip you fifty bucks if you don't sell him anything alcoholic for the rest of the day. We cool?"

-

The bartender thinks for a few moment to herself, before just holding out her hand with a slight wink. It's a good sign that she does speak quite a bit more English then she'll ever let on in this place, and she knows a good bit of money when she see's it. Her nails are just as bright purple as her hair, and it's clear they don't stay as nice as they are now for cheap.

-

Sam grins and slips her the cash. "I appreciate it. So does his liver," he tells her in the same undertone. He glances at the bathroom, then at the door. "I'd better go see if Riley's brother is at his usual spot. See you around. Let Jason know I'll see him at work tomorrow. Way too bright and way too early." He smirks and heads for the exit.


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