—chapter one.

  ❛ wednesdays always suck. ❜  

ELODIE DID NOT PARTICULARLY LIKE HER JOB.

It was not a bad job, per se. It certainly paid the bills, and moreover, allowed her to afford a good apartment with utilities included in the costs (oh, what a luxury).  Nothing fancy, but a not-bad job hardly allowed for a penthouse suite.

She was good at the work, too. She was able to sort it all into step-by-step procedures that she could hum out in her head, preparing the drinks and wiping down counters to a melody-less song. Her coworkers were friendly enough, and her boss wasn't the worst - sure, he had hit on her at first, but a quick conversation and he had left her alone. She could buzz around and work her way through an eight hour shift comfortably, easily if the occasion allowed it. Sure, she left her job each night exhausted, swearing under her breath and hating the world around her - but that was any job.

No, the place of work was fine and being a bartender was fine, but she did not particularly enjoy it. At all. It was hardly a full-time career goal, and not where she had imagined herself when she got to her twenties. Not that many did, but still - weren't there some achievable dreams, left in the world? At least one or two to spare for her, give her a little bit more in life? 

Whatever 'more' was supposed to mean to her.

Such was the issue of Elodie's life. She knew there was more she wanted from the world, but did not know what or how, and so the world just kept screwing her over, again and again. And she just kept going about her life hating it, continuing to be the reason why she was so unhappy and yet knowing nothing about how to stop it.

Not that it was entirely her fault. But sometimes, it was easier to pretend it was.

And so she scrubbed and served and polished glasses on a bleak Wednesday night, eyeing the crowd with a disgruntled grimace and begging for time to speed up already, so she could get the hell out of there.

Elodie did not like Wednesdays.

Truthfully, Elodie did not like a lot of things. But Wednesdays were pretty high on her 'dislike' list, for several reasons. They were in the right middle of the work week, and just about the peak of her frustrations and hatred for her life choices, leading to a pissy attitude and self-deprecating habits that led to her making much less than she would another day. The people that came in always sucked on Wednesdays too. Too loud, too grumpy, too high on their metaphorical horse to ask her nicely for a single thing, leading to shouting matches way too often and often some sort of consequence she'd regret later. 

Most of Elodie's Wednesdays were the worst (not a hyperbole - her exact words). But one particular one, played out much differently than she had been expecting.

The place was pretty empty, a strange situation for the night - normally there were shouts and peals of drunken laughter echoing around the bar late into the night. Instead, there were only a handful of people scattered about, drooling on the tables or weeping into their drinks. 

Elodie was on shift alone that night, after telling the other two scheduled to just head out, that there was no point in wasting their time too. They had accepted eagerly and gratefully, and she had watched the two saunter out with heads high, ready for the luxury of an early night in. And Elodie had prepared herself for a long night, already asking for the world to have a change of heart and bless her with some sort of miracle.

 That had been four hours ago. Safe to say, no miracle arrived.

The young woman stood behind the counter with a worn cloth rag and a dozen or so glasses, one in her hand mid-clean. She focused on removing all the fingerprints, lipstick stains that did not wash off before, and making sure each glass practically shone in the dim light before moving to the next. It gave her something to do in the hour she had left, and it was better than going to the back to clean the toilets.

Elodie shuddered - just the thought made her want to gag. 

"'Ey - lady."

She hardly glanced up, focused on biting back her sharp comment. She still had to pay bills, after all. "Uh-huh?"

"Refill. Now."

Apparently, she had missed the death of manners - oh, how they would be missed. She'd have to write them a good obituary the next morning.

It took barely two minutes, not even, to swing around and then back again with the completed drink. Sure, her movements were hardly fast as she would have been with a busy crowd, but her hands were still sure and unquestioning. She handed over the new drink, trying her best not to touch his hands but oh, how he reached. Elodie grimaced and slid her hand away.

"I'll add that to the tab."

"Took you long enough, bitch," he grumbled, before stumbling away to his spot.

She gripped tight to her rag in hand and tried not to imagine how fun it would be to talk back. Because oh, what she could do...but again, as much as she did not care for her job...it was work. She needed it. Hell, she could literally do nothing without a steady paycheck coming in. At the end of the day, that was what mattered, because she could care less about the drunkards and assholes, she would probably never even know their last names and anything past how shitty of a tipper they were.

"Just a little more time," she whispered to herself. 

In the corner of her eye, the clock mocked her mantra.

Elodie yawned and leant her weight against the counter. She had just over an hour left, and sure she had volunteered her time - and it was more money, again a plus, but oh how she wished she hadn't stayed. With every passing minute she got more tired, her feet hurt more, and the bar room smell that never washed out of her clothes was reaching a peak disgusting level.

The smell was always bad, sure but it was just so much easier to ignore it when there was something to do.

And just when she debated sitting down and taking a cat nap - ten minutes would not hurt a soul - the door flew open. Elodie nearly howled in frustration. 

That damned rattle of the glass and the bell above that she had asked them not to install had just created a whirlwind of anger, perhaps irrational but still furiously building in the mere seconds of the stranger entering. 

It took a lot more to bite that anger back that time, her nails pressing painful half-moons into the soft skin of her palms. The pain and the repeated 'don't be stupid, Verbeck' steadied her, but only just. At least she wouldn't immediately bite their head off.

Elodie wiped her hands off on the rag, and let her eyes wander to the door, to the stranger who just had to disrupt drunken peace that Wednesday night. She had expected any other schmuck, nothing more than a brief glance before moving on with her movements - but what did she see, well she would be a liar if she said it did not catch her eye. 

If he did not.

The stranger was dressed in all black from head to toe. Nothing that screamed tough winter weather at all; thin layers held together by some sort of wacko...was that a harness? She could not be sure, just could see a glinting outline in the dim lighting that did not just look like a shirt. Whatever it was, it was odd. He was odd. And that stupid harness-looking thing...

He stood out greatly in the crowd of faded blues and greens and flannels, mysteriously dressed and wearing sunglasses he did not move to take off. And if there was any sign of a weirdo, well that was numero uno right there, and mentally the woman steeled herself for either an asshole or...something probably worse.

 Elodie had lived long enough and worked in a bar long enough to know just when to be cautious. And this person was ringing all her mental 'danger! danger!' bells. Sunglasses always signified either a douchebag, a criminal, or something else that she did not want to get between. And whatever option this stranger fell in, she was not a fan.

As he got closer and stepped into the night more details were apparent, and Elodie wasted no time collecting them as red-flag evidence. There was no telling the look in his eyes due to the blasted sunglasses - really setting him up for a bad image right off the bat - but she could see the rest of his face, the strange scar circling down to his ear, and then how he carried himself. She found it said a lot about a man and that night was no different - despite the slight limp in its step he walked proudly without a pause or any hesitation. Less confident, more cocky with a side of no-one-fuck-with-me-or-else.

What an image to project.

Her eyes shifted down to the glass in hand. He probably noticed her staring, but it was not like she had no reason to (bartending sort of allowed her a pass in observing; a nice bonus to the shit work). But her interest had moved from observing him, to watching her own self, steadying her hands and gripping a little tighter to the rag in one. The cool, moist cloth did some good in helping her calm down, though only some. There was only so much one could do in the face of a douchebag-looking stranger and rising panic levels. 

Elodie glanced back up when he sat down - nearly right in front of her, weren't there other seats to take - and raised a brow. 

"What can I get you?" echoed out, brusque and cold. Standard procedure, nothing about how he looked or how funky his get-up was - or dammit, how rude it was to wear sunglasses inside. Made him look like a real douchebag.

Maybe he was.

"Mm, one on the tap."

Elodie blinked. Despite the pre-determined image she had of the man before her, she could hold nothing back for herself - his voice was strangely nice. She had never, ever thought that about anyone before, but how could she not acknowledge it? It was husky and though quiet, there was a strength to it that hooked her in. 

Then again, his weird little harness and whatever weapons he was carrying said something else about him. And those damn sunglasses - why had he not taken them off yet?

She rolled her shoulders and swung around to hand him the prepared drink, hesitating only for a moment before moving back. She focused her energy back down to the glasses, though her strength was only half given. Her hands trembled more than she would have liked, and her attention wandered off far too easily - she did not want to think about him, certainly not, and yet -

-she cursed to herself, under her breath. Maybe that was why she should never work nights alone. 

It was then the stranger spoke again. His husky voice floated over to her, low and dare she say melodious. "Long night?"

She huffed. "Sure. You could say that." One more glance his way and she could see he hardly took a sip out of his drink, maybe not even touched his lips to the glass yet. Elodie stalled a long moment, and then her curiosity spoke for her. "How about you?"

"Hm?"

"Dressed like that," aka, harnessed up and still wearing his sunglasses as though he just walked off the set of a d-list action movie, "and the limp. Surely there's a story to all that."

Elodie rarely cared about her customers and conversation was only ever light, just to catch a couple of dollars more in tips. She never cared for the socialization aspect of her job. She still really could not actually care about the stranger either, just about the oddity he presented and the strange energy he gave off. Curiosity was a plague and it unfortunately only added to her sharpened tongue, forcing her forward and asking questions.

Damn that foul beast.

The man looked at her smugly, lips twisting into a half-smile. "So you were staring."

"Observing."

"Oh, sure."

"I'm a bartender. The only one here. You're a customer, 'course I'm going to  when the door goes 'ding-a-ling' and I've got a new weirdo coming in."

"Wait." He was frowning, then. "Weirdo?"

She clutched the cool rag tighter in her hands. Water dripped like tears past her wrists. It went unnoticed. "Yeah-huh. You-nevermind. Whatever. Enjoy your drink."

With that, Elodie swept herself to the other side of the bar, far away from the mysterious man in black. She sank into the little incline where just half her weight could rest - not comfortably, but enough of a seat to hold onto. The rag fell abandoned to her lap, and her hands clenched tight. Her face was hot and tight, too, and she could feel little bouts of frustration echo off her skin like bubbles. 

It was just a customer. Sure, he looked like a runaway trapeze artist, but she wasn't there to judge. She was there to serve drinks, not get herself worked up at a simple question. It was small talk, that was all, and yet there she was fuming at her own self and the fact that all she wanted to do was get mad.

For no seemingly good reason.

Elodie did not like a lot of things, but she certainly was not a fan of keeping her mouth shut. Hotheadedness wasn't even the word for it; she was left with honesty as a crutch, forcing her mouth to snap shut before she ruined another person's day or night. There was probably some reason for that, and some way to actually fix the issue, but medication and therapy weren't cheap - and well, it should not even matter. Hadn't she worked on this?

It had taken years to train herself to keep a zipper, or pin her lips closed before they insulted a random person all out of the blue. It normally worked, too! She hardly ever even batted an eye at the assholes that berated her while wasted and depressed. So why, had Elodie found herself sweating over losing it on a customer just because she was pissy and it was a Wednesday? 

What an embarrassment. Her hands clenched tighter. Truly, a sight.

"Hey, hell-o?"

That was her wakeup call. An older returning patron stood shaking his bills in the air with - was that drool, or old alcohol staining his cheek? Perhaps he had spilt again, fallen asleep in it. Again. She forced herself not to think about it.

"Change?"

"Yeah-huh."

Without looking up, Elodie took the bill and slipped out several coins of different shapes and sizes to pour into his hand. For a moment she just stood there with the cash half open and her head cocked, before realising the man was stumbling rather badly off without help. And while she was not a great person, oh not at all, well she prided herself on sometimes caring about another human being not related by blood.

Though mostly simply because if he died doing something stupid, she did not want her place of work and her name connected to it.

She really disliked murder investigations.

"Hey - hey, sir?"

He turned back, swaying to and fro.

"You should call a cab, okay? You can't drive in your state."

"Piss 'er-off."

Elodie rolled her eyes. "Look. You cannot drive in this state. Do you need me to call a ride for you?" At this point, she had forgotten where she was and who was there, the strange man who watched with amusement and apprehension. His beer still, hardly drunk. 

Her hands clenched around the rag.

"Fu'gerrf, I be fine."

"Yeah, and I'm Bruce freakin' Lee. Sir, I cannot let you leave knowing you're going home unsafe."

The man did not turn back to her or even acknowledge she was behind him, but Elodie did see the obscene hand gesture kept by his side. She also heard the mumble that sounded a whole lot like a 'ger'off, stupid bitch' - but one could never be sure. It was not like she would run after, try and get him to be honest about his words - or even really worry too hard about his next life choices.  She could check, sure, but...that meant caring.

And Elodie did not really care all that much.

Instead, she retreated back to the bar, took in the last remaining customer sitting at a table, and let her head fall to the counter. A loud groan echoed, muffled only by the fact her face was pressed into the wood, followed by her choking back bile at the nasty smell.

Laughter echoed softly above her head. She did not have to look to know who it was, it was obvious it was him, chuckling at her pain as though he had a right to in that stupid get up. As if!

While before he had been intriguing, she could only find frustration when thinking of him anymore. The whirlwind of brutal honesty was flaring up again and she could not hold it back that time, barely biting back a thousand curses.

Elodie did not turn or lift her head to address him, only lifting her hand lazily up to jab in what was sort of his direction. "You - you gotta take off those sunglasses."

He snorted. "What?"

"You look like a douchebag, man. Whoever you are-" she lifted her head up to deliver the next part, propping it up on her palm. "-I don't wanna judge, but you sort of look like you've just escaped from the circus or somethin', messed around with being a Grease wannabe and now don't know what you're doing. And if that's the look, fine, but...take off those damn sunglasses. Else you're out."

The stranger cocked his head.

She felt her face run hot - that time for a completely different reason.  A not so familiar reason.

Elodie had not meant to sound so harsh - well, maybe she did. No, she most certainly did, she did want to say it all but there always was the edge of regret with it all. She did not know him, how much sarcasm could he take? Maybe the outfit had some sort of meaning to it, or...well, she could not think past that but she definitely stepped over a line. Not to mention he was a customer. Her customer. 

Stupid Wednesdays. Stupid her. Stupid, stupid sunglasses and stupid everything.

Her face pressed back into her arms, down towards the wood. It smelled horrendous, but maybe she deserved that. "M'sorry, man. It's been a long day, and - you're fine, I mean the sunglasses are dumb, but you're fine. I'm just pissy. Sorry."

There was a snort, and then a clatter of plastic hitting wood - it echoed in Elodie's ear pressed up against it. She dared to open her eyes then to take in his smirk, pausing for just a second more before realising his face was bare to her at last.

It was then that Elodie began to seriously question herself. Completely, utterly, totally question herself, her life, everything that got her to that place and perhaps-delusional mindset she found herself in that night. 

Maybe she was delusional. She was definitely delirious, that was for sure - man, she had to work on sleeping more it was messing with her far too much. But all that aside, her mind was convincing herself that the stranger in front of her was quite handsome. Sure, with the sunglasses anyone could tell he wasn't the worst, but with the eyes being the window to the soul and such nonsense along with that, she could never determine a person's beauty without them. The guy was damn gorgeous.

Not that she needed to consider that right then.

"Sorry, dude," she offered again, trying not to think about that smug little smirk given as he watched her. "I - I should not do that. My bad. You know what? Fifty percent off your drink." He had not even drunk a third of it. "There you go, there's that. Uh-huh. Yeah. Great work, me."

She gave herself a pat on the back.

It was then when his expression changed, transitioning just barely from the smirk to something softer. "You okay?"

She let out a sharp 'ha!'. "I'm freaking awesome, dude. Absolutely great."

"Seems it."

"Oh, yeah. Stuck here closing up, cleaning up the shit left in the guys' toilet? It's my lucky day. Seriously, go and take a look - it's a treasure trove of faeces, and I don't know how it's literally everywhere." Elodie was rambling, but once her tongue started to wag, it was a lot to get it to stop. She was too tired to try and perform another miracle that night, might as well embrace it. "I love my life!"

That stupid smirk grew back, and she had to glance away. It was stupidly attractive and he would not stop doing it - and it was worse without the glasses covering up his big, dark eyes that compelled her to keep rambling at him. He did not say anything more, aside from a couple of chuckles, but if he had spoken she probably would have just gotten more pissed off. So at least that was good, for his own sake.

Wednesdays' were slowly creeping into hatred territory.

Elodie grabbed the rag once more and began to scrub at the counter. Her rant had stopped, she had caught herself before the flood of sarcasm rained too heavily, and instead was looking for yet another escape from her own self. And yet still, her mind went back to the stranger in the harness, her eyes glancing back and forth like she was playing poker without a performative face.

Once more, she gave into her curiosity. Elodie propped an arm up on the counter and cocked a brow his way, taking careful note of the severe lack of beer drank so far. "What's your deal, then? What are you doing, dressed in spandex in this bar this late at night not trying to get wasted?"

He scoffed. "It's not spandex. S'leather."

"Oh, wow - my bad." To herself, in a sort-of aside that he could maybe probably totally hear, she chortled, "totally different."

He looked back towards the beer in hand and shook his head a little. In the light, his scar gleamed, and vaguely Elodie wondered the nature of it. After all, by the looks, it could not just a run-of-the-mill playground incident, but perhaps it was not her place to inquire so far into this stranger's life.

He might try to like, douchebag her to death.

"I, uh..." his shoulders shrugged, and those dark brown eyes that made Elodie want to simultaneously swoon and vomit turned back to look full-force. Always a classy combination, "I wanted a drink."

"Oh, so you wear that to all the bars?"

"Okay, you think you're so funny..."

"...in another life, I was a comedian," Elodie teased, somewhat more comfortable poking fun at him knowing he could at least take it.

The man scoffed again. "Sure." Pause. He seemed to be in the same boat as her, wondering just how much could be said before it was the wrong territory to be in with a total stranger. But finally, he spoke, looking up to meet her curious gaze. "Let's just say, I have a side gig doing - uhn, I don't - trying to help some people out. You get my drift?"

"No. Not at all."

He groaned. "Fine. What would you call someone who, uh, deals with crime?"

"Uh, I don't know - the police? A delusional lunatic? Robin Hood?"

He snapped his fingers her way, "like the last one. Though police's more up to speed. I just don't, uh, dress the part."

She could tell that, and also know he had nothing to do with the world of cops, detectives, or anything remotely connected to officially stopping crime. She had never seen him in or around the police station in all her days of being there (much more than she would confess to). In fact, she had never seen him anywhere, and though she did not necessarily search out everyone in the godforsaken city, Elodie did pride herself in knowing most faces who came around this area. But him, he was a complete stranger to her.

She did not comment on that though, just nodded and moved to scrub the lower shelves, then the spigots. "You got a name, stranger?"

"Diego. You?"

"Elodie Verbeck, at your service."

The man - Diego, and oh why did that name suit him so? - smirked, "pretty name for a pretty face."

For the first time that night and in really quite some time, Elodie was rendered speechless. Just for maybe half a second or so, but still. Pretty impressive, though she would never dare to tell him that. Also something she would not admit: while it was a surface remark and a stupid little flirt, it did get in her head a little. Just a little.

Instead, she cocked her hip and continued to scrub the lower shelves, biting back her smile before replying. "And just for that flirtatious remark, Mr Diego, you lose your discount."

Updated note - this has been edited so as to clean up the dialogue a little - it's not perfect editing, but frankly I just didn't want to spend the entire time rewriting the entire thing. But it's a little bit crisper, at least!

Also, the character development will be a lot cleaner, too. And it'll make sense - like I've found reading through, Elodie's arc was like the craziest rollercoaster, Canada's Wonderland style (or Six Flags, or whatever else...amusements parks you frolic in, I suppose). Again like stated in the summary part, I clearly just wrote and didn't think about how actual humans were, so hopefully this time it's a little better. I'm excited.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you think!