For the record, Joe hated costume parties. At first instinct, he had wanted to say no, almost said it and had his freedom. And then he remembered what Mary Kay would have wanted: to mingle with the community (as remained a typical facade of those with money). And so, that night, the Empathy Bordello Bookshop and Bar was the prime event in town.
As he was every time he did something out of duty and the pure, untainted goodness of his heart, Joe was dejected, bad at mingling in that nasty-when-he's-nervous way. Regardless of how well his pockets were lined with Quinn hush money, Joe was much better at blending in in a street-smart way — never quite black tie. His unwilling role as host, however, had thrust him into the ambient spotlight. In the spirit of the event (Mary Kay would have absolutely insisted), he did do his due diligence in dressing up, if one would call a black pea coat and business suit a costume. He called it Kendall Roy (not Neo, because it wasn't 1998, and certainly not Peaky Fucking Blinders, not after he swore off Dickens cosplay).
The space was intimate while still offering space for book-perusing and drinking, which gave Joe practically a front-row seat as a high roller wiped his drink-condensation-damp fingers on a Paula Fox paperback.
Cue "Ironside." This was the worst night of Joe's life.
So, making himself useful and doing the host-ly thing, and because service instincts never truly die, he shuffled behind the bar, grabbing a glass and turning to the first customer he saw.
no subject
As he was every time he did something out of duty and the pure, untainted goodness of his heart, Joe was dejected, bad at mingling in that nasty-when-he's-nervous way. Regardless of how well his pockets were lined with Quinn hush money, Joe was much better at blending in in a street-smart way — never quite black tie. His unwilling role as host, however, had thrust him into the ambient spotlight. In the spirit of the event (Mary Kay would have absolutely insisted), he did do his due diligence in dressing up, if one would call a black pea coat and business suit a costume. He called it Kendall Roy (not Neo, because it wasn't 1998, and certainly not Peaky Fucking Blinders, not after he swore off Dickens cosplay).
The space was intimate while still offering space for book-perusing and drinking, which gave Joe practically a front-row seat as a high roller wiped his drink-condensation-damp fingers on a Paula Fox paperback.
Cue "Ironside." This was the worst night of Joe's life.
So, making himself useful and doing the host-ly thing, and because service instincts never truly die, he shuffled behind the bar, grabbing a glass and turning to the first customer he saw.
"What can I get you?"