"Marceline Lyra Salden, at your service."
"Spencer Reid," he says, "Detective Spencer Reid, actually. At yours."
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+Spencer Reid X OC
A weary detective strides into the dimly lit bar, his sharp eyes scanning the faces of the patrons...
That's not the beginning of a bad joke. Spencer Reid, detective extraordinaire and precocious genius of Scotland Yard, walks into a Whitechapel bar on the hunt for information, wearing a big overcoat and a red tie. Such is necessary in the London winters.
The place isn't too crowded a few people at the bar and some tables. Waiters are coming to and from the kitchen. Marceline Lyra is wiping down the bar counter, she throws up a berry in the air and catches it with her mouth, the people at the bar cheer, "HUZZAH!" and she takes a bow, laughing. She still hadn't noticed him walk in.
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Reid sits down in a corner to watch. He's never really liked bars, mostly because of the smell- alcohol, stale air, and, if he's really unlucky...
Well. This place doesn't seem to have those particular scents. He won't dwell on them. But the berries, he notices. That's not bar food.
She took a double take at him before wiping her sticky hands on her apron. She smiled real friendly, very invitingly. "What can I get for you Hon?" She says, waiting for his answer.
Spencer starts just slightly. He's bright, a precocious genius, but-
He clears his throat really quick, and frowns.
"Oh. Ah. Yes. Whatever you have on tap, please."
-but he's still not very good with people. That's bad, for a job that largely involves people, but what can he do.
"Sure thing Hon." She turns around, grabbing a cup from the cabinet. She pours the beer into the cup, allowing it to foam. She places it in front of him, "Pay whenever you're done, Dear." Her attention was called across the bar by someone wanting a refill
And he watches her walk away, resting his chin on his hand.
There are two ways to get information at bars. One is to sit and listen for hours. Sit at a table and listen, listen, listen. People coming and going and getting into fights.
The second one is to ask someone who might not only know things but is willing to speak.
Spencer largely prefers the first one. He's good at observing and remembering. He's always fine as long as he can just... be on his own.
He fixes his eyes back on his beer, contemplating. He'll have to talk to that barmaid. She's sociable and she seems well-known.
He has to get through the beer first. Resigned, he downs half of it. It doesn't taste good.
The musicians knew how to rave up the tavern, they played one of Marceline's favorite songs. The bar started clapping in unison, anticipating her reaction. She began dancing, then a man helped her on the bar counter. There she stands, dancing some more. The way her body contorts is memorizing, it has the men in a daze, and loud cheering and whistling are heard from all over the room.
