apocalypsehowcomm | Log: Fun with flaming shots

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Log: Fun with flaming shots

Who: Steve Rogers and you!
When: Sometime in October (handwavy time is fine!)
Where: World’s End Tavern (a small bar in town); later heading home to the ADI apartments
Summary: Steve has been investigating the recent flaming fad that's been making headlines. It appears to be banned in most bars, but he's found one bartender who still seems willing to serve the flaming shots — and tonight, one gets a little out of hand. The idea is to save the bar — I'm totally open to multiple threads or a multi-person thread or anything people want! I've also included a thread for later if someone wants to encounter him heading back to the apartments, only a little singed!
Warnings: fire-related death, injury, property loss

This bar is on fire
Ever since he'd heard about the whole flaming shots business, Steve had decided to check out for himself whether the fad had or hadn't spread to Gloucester. Early in the month, he'd definitely witnessed a few incidents — no fires, but some near misses. But by now, most bars, it seems, have banned the drinks altogether — and that's something, at least. A good sign, he thinks, if there's any concern over what might be prompting the fad (or fueling the fire, ha, ha) was trying to gain traction.

The World's End Tavern isn't big, but it's a pretty nice place. He's been here before a couple of times; they've got good whiskey and beer. Steve is nursing one of the latter tonight — he doesn't want to get drunk while he's keeping an eye on things — when down at the other end of the bar, flames suddenly spring up. At first, it's just the drink; he'd thought they were banned here, too, but the bartender isn't one he recognizes, and the patron seems young and stupid. But three shots in, someone fumbles, and the glass goes tumbling to the floor — with the liquor inside still on fire. And this place? This place has a lot of wood in it.

Slightly singed
Bar (mostly) saved and fire department squarely on the scene, Steve decides he should probably call it a night. Especially because it's getting late. Actually, he'd better step up the pace or he' might not make it back in time for curfew.

Anyone who catches him jogging back through the streets will notice the distinct smell of alcohol and smoke — but real, thick, heavy smoke, as evidenced by his slightly sooty skin and clothes. His face and arms are a little flushed, but he's not badly burned, just a little crispy around the edges. Well. A bit of his hair might be sort of singed, too. Whoops. Maybe he'll need to find a barber tomorrow morning.

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Steve's not the only ADI personnel on the scene, it seems. Though Nick has been sticking to the back corner, the better not to draw attention to the fact he's barely touched his drink. He's been here a few hours now, keeping an eye out. When he sees the glow of fire out of the corner of his optics, he stands up--

Just in time to watch the whole surface of the bar go up in flames. Funny, you'd expect that the fire would go out when the alcohol burns off, but it's almost as though there's an accelerant all across the bar counter. Flames leap up, causing patrons to shriek and back away, and the young drinker stands there, stupefied as the fire catches on his shirt, too.

Well, that's not good.

Everyone at the bar jumps back - definitely wise, even if it's probably just an unthinking reaction starts going up in flames. Jesus.

Most of the people in the place scream and start to scatter, but Steve's not concerned with them. He's more concerned with the guy whose shirt is on fire. He looks around frantically; there's a fire extinguisher, but it's on the far wall (whose idea was that? Aren't there building codes or something?) and not within easy reach. Still, there's a face in the vicinity he - thinks? now that he's looking - might be familiar from ADI. At the very least, said owner of the face is not screaming and running. Good enough.

"Grab the fire extinguisher!" he calls, hoping the guy in the corner realizes Steve's talking to him. If so, though, the bartop could certainly use a date with said extinguisher.

Meanwhile, he yells at the poor bastard who'd started this whole ordeal (or maybe one could argue it was the bartender?) to drop and pull off his shirt if he can. Steve's going to try to make his way around the bar for the soda gun. And hopefully not catch on fire, himself.

Nick is on it in an instant, lunging for the fire extinguisher while also trying to shrug off his coat. He snatches the heavy red device from the wall and catches his coat on his arm, ready to smother out some flames if need be. He's never actually used one of these things, all worn out and spent up by his time, worth little more than the steel and traces of chemicals left inside it. But an old memory flashes right on time. Pull the pin. Aim. Fire.

"Watch out!" he shouts as he steps up towards the bar, and lets it rip. Foam sprays out of the extinguisher and he directs it at the guy on the floor first and foremost, if he hasn't already stopped, dropped, and rolled for his life.

The poor singed patron has at least dropped and is both trying to roll and pull off his shirt; he sputters and shouts when the foam hits but at least it seems to be doing its job, which is really all that matters, right?

Steve's getting a little warm behind the bar, but at least everyone else has run out from behind it as flames continue to lick up and down the long surface. He finally finds the soda gun, hits the button for water, and does his best to start spraying down the surface, knowing it's not going to help at first, but the more he can dilute the alcohol and wet down anything that might catch fire because of the heat, the better.

Besides, the patron takes precedence over the property, his mind.

"Thanks," he calls to the fellow with the extinguisher. "Make sure he's out and then see what's left in there for the bar."

Winter is waiting just inside the gates of the ADI apartments, leaning on the fence, watching for Steve. Steve came for him, when he was locked out... he's not going to let Steve wind up in trouble, too, because no one was looking for him after dark.

He badly wants to leave and go look for him, but he'll wait until curfew. Just in case. No sense getting into trouble when Steve might make it home in time.

So when he sees Steve jogging back just ten minutes before the gates lock, he's actually nearing furious. "Where were you!" he barks, before he's even close enough for a proper conversation.

Steve sees Winter; actually, it pings something in the back of his mind, that man waiting for him to come slinking home after -

Well. This time it wasn't a rally or a back alley fight. And it wasn't his fault. This time, it was something good.

Which is why he doesn't quite bristle at the tone of Winter's voice, but he does maybe sound a little defensive when he says, jogging up, "Firefighting."

Okay, that would not have been the answer if there'd never been trouble, but there had, and he'd helped put it out, so it's a good thing he was there.

He sort of tries to derail the line of questioning he suspects will come next by saying, preemptively, "I'm okay."

Winter hunches his shoulders up a little at the tone, but still glowers. "I was afraid something had you," he mutters. It's not like it would be the first time. He pushes open the gate for him. Get inside, buddy, before things lock up for the night.

"What happened?" he asks, most flat than combative, at least.

Steve blinks, but - no. He's not really surprised Winter was worried, but, "No," he says, a little softer now, slipping past the gate. "No, I was trying to keep an eye on things, you know? I heard about people serving these flaming drinks and I wanted to see if it was happening in the bars around here."

Fortunately, for the most part, it hasn't - except, well. Tonight.

"Finally found what I was looking for," he explains, smile wry.

"You found flaming drinks." He hesitates, closing the gate behind him, and has to ask, just in case, "You didn't drink any, right? Just stopped the mess after someone else did?" You never know what entity-inspired food is going to do to a person, and he wouldn't put it past Steve to try, whether out of an excess of confidence, or on a dare.

"No, I didn't," Steve confirms; yes, part of him had been curious. But no, he knows better by now. Fortunately, Jaeger had made it sound sketchy enough that Steve hadn't been interested in drinking them to find out what was going on. "Poor guy who did almost paid pretty badly for it, but I think he's gonna be okay."

He had stayed long enough to see the ambulance off, but between Steve and the fellow who'd helped him, they'd gotten worst of the flames under control pretty quickly.

"Besides. I'm more of a whiskey or beer kinda guy."

Winter snorts at that. Whiskey or beer. Gross. "Okay," he says, and turns to lead him into the building proper.

At least this makes for a fine opening for something that's been weighing on him for a few weeks, now. "Belova and I had a thought. For some of us to help keep track of each other. Our important people."

Steve follows, curiosity certainly piqued by the statement. For several reasons.

"You did? What're you thinking?" It certainly sounds like a good idea, if you ask him. Cellphones are great, until they don't get reception or someone doesn't pick up. Or can't.

"Trackers. Not on ADI's network or using cell towers for reception. Belova and I are buying them soon." He opens the front door for Steve, as well, into the lobby. "I'd want you to carry one. So if something happens, we can find you."

He considers that, as they slip into the building. Trackers aren't... a bad idea. Not after some of the things he's been through.

That they've all been through.

"Are you two going to carry them, too?"

"Of course. It's for all of us to stay safe. I'll give you the codes for your phone to track them, too," Winter promises. He might think Steve does some stupid shit, he might actively worry about the man, but he still trusts him to have his back. And to come after him if he's in trouble.

Steve will definitely have his back. And come after him. Always.

(He will never make that mistake again. He's maybe still got half a notion to unmake it in the first place, but that's... far off, for now.)

For now, all of that meets with clear approval. "All right. Sure. You can get one for me." He pauses, as his lips twitch. "I appreciate your asking, instead of just slipping it into a pocket."

He... would not put that past either of them.

"You have too many clothes for that. I'd have to bug everything you own. That's not efficient." He says it with such careful blandness that it's probably a joke.

Especially since he adds, with a little more inflection (still not much, Winter does not emote much still), "And anyway. You can't help if you don't know."

Well, hopefully it is a joke, because it makes Steve chuckle. "No," he agrees, "not very efficient."

But Winter's also right about the rest, because, "That's true. And I want to help. I..." He glances around the hall. "I like the idea of having something that's not tied into ADI's system."

A backup. A contingency. Something just their own. "You're giving them to a couple other people, too?" Winter had said our important people. Plural.

Yelena had liked that, too. Winter is less concerned about the spying and tracking and control aspect of ADI, and more concerned about ADI constantly being under attack, but he understands their perspective, as well. "You, Belova, Kate, Cortana. Maybe others. If you have anyone you want to track, who you think would keep it secret, tell me. I'll get one for them, too."

Well, it pays to have everyone concerned about different things, right? That way they're sure to cover all their bases.

It pretty much takes no time at all for Steve to ask, "Do you think Stark would take one? Or maybe he's the kind of guy who needs one slipped into his pocket..."

That's (mostly) a joke.

Even so, "I'd like to see if he'd be willing to carry one. And I trust him to keep a secret from ADI."

Winter looks... skeptical. Not so much that he doesn't agree that Tony could stand some tracking, but at the idea of the most chattery person he's ever met having even the faintest idea about proper opsec. "Stark can't keep his mouth shut on a good day. Or a bad day. Or any day. You think he could keep a secret? Ever?"

Steve does have to laugh a little. "Maybe he can't keep his mouth shut, but he can be selective about what comes out of it." He's not stupid - far from it - and even though Steve by now has learned (or at least long suspected) that he talks to cover fear and discomfort, he still trusts Tony with something like this. "I understand if you don't want to. It's your call. But I think it would be safe."

There's a beat where Winter continues to look uncertain, but then he shrugs. "You know him better than me. And he could do with some tracking. But he has to promise to not try and improve them. That might make them stop working right."

Steve nods - honestly, he was thinking the same thing. He'll have to get Tony to promise not to tamper with them.

Hell, maybe it'll prompt him to make something of his own, instead. Which is fine - if he wants better, he can make better, as long as he doesn't change the existing system until he's got it.

"I'll ask him. I'll - impart the importance of not improving them," he says, and it's clear he means it. "But I think he'd be a good guy to have in on the loop, yeah." If nothing else, maybe he could find someone even if their tracker isn't working well.

"All right. Him, too, then." They're on the right floor for Steve's apartment, now, and Winter is clearly aiming them for that, before going back to his own. "I'll bring them by tomorrow. Try not to disappear on me before then."

He gives Steve's sooty hands a disapproving look, but there's not a ton of ire behind it. Just resignation.

Steve's seen that look a thousand times. If not more. It makes him smile, because it can't not, and he offers Winter the sloppiest of salutes as they near his door. "I'll do my best. Promise."

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Log: Fun with flaming shots

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