Good Brown Stuff
She was just closing up when he walked in—stumbled, if you wanted to get technical. The bell over the door jingled half-heartedly and ensuring footsteps followed down creaking wood floors towards the bar.
"We're closed," Raven called, annoyed. They have a 'closed' sign for a reason, but drunk people usually don't care much for directions. She put the glass she had been cleaning on the bar and stuck her head around back, "Blake, you forgot to lock the door again! We've got a straggler."
"I thought it was your turn to do it." His reply was muted, as he had disappeared into shelves and shelves of inventory with Clarke. By the time he replied, the straggler was seated in front of her and Raven was getting a headache.
She rubbed her forehead and the man in front of her looked smug. She was just reaching for her pepper spray when Clarke's voice broke the silence…it didn't help that she sounded breathless. "Jasper's up front, Ray. He'll protect you."
Jasper was sleeping on the pool table, a bottle of bourbon cradled in his arms. The stranger eyed Jasper as if to say, 'That guy?'
Raven decided that her friends were completely useless. She set a shot class on the counter and poured herself a drink, not paying attention to the stranger at all. "We're closed."
"You don't look closed to me," His words sort of dragged on, like he was taking his time to construct sentences in his head. The bar lights were still on, the TVs still going, and the music was just low enough to set the mood. It looked to him like the bar had just opened, and it might as well have.
"Guess you couldn't read the sign on the door, huh?"
"This one?" He held up their 'sorry we're fuckin closed' sign with a twist to his lips. It was then that Raven noticed the bruises. He rose both eyebrows and slid the sign between them; there was a cockiness in his lips that Raven wanted to punch him for.
"I have a Taser," Raven crossed her arms. "But I'm not afraid to use my fists." The one thing Raven prided herself on was the fact that she said 'fight me' and meant it.
The stranger rose his hands in mock-surrender, looking more amused than scared-which only pissed her off more. "Just one drink and I'll leave. Promise."
"A drink," Raven rolled her eyes, "Usually turns into several." Despite this, she took out a few freshly cleaned shot glasses and set them on counter between them. The neon lights behind her made them glow red. "What do you want?"
"Surprise me, friend." He drawled out sarcastically and Raven felt her eye twitch in response.
She poured two shots of the good brown stuff to start him off and he handed her a hundred-dollar bill in response. Raven rose her eyebrow but pocketed the cash. She wasn't going to ask too many questions—especially to a guy who walked into a bar at 3:30 am covered in bruises with a wad of cash. It wasn't her business what his business was.
"Keeping the cash for yourself?" He didn't miss the movement.
"It's after 3, I'm off duty, friend."
o
A full week later, the bruised stranger returned. He came before closing and he didn't have to steal their sign to get a drink. (For the record, Raven had only humored him because he was clever. And bruised.)
Raven and Clarke we working the bar while the rest of them took turns pretending to be busy. Monty and Jasper were smoking with some guys out back, and Miller was eyeing the rowdy crowds while downing a beer himself—not exactly in his job description. Octavia was supposed to be working the bar with Raven and Clarke but she'd been walking around trying to get their customers to drink more. She was good at bringing in revenue, but only when Bellamy wasn't there. Actually, she and Lincoln dominated sales. Raven was positive and they both had some sort of contest going on.
The stranger sat down in front of Raven and said, "Surprise me."
And she poured the good brown stuff, curious, but not enough to ask. The bruises blossomed under the collar of his t-shirt. Like flowers, almost, red and purple in color; green when they met the space between neck and shoulder.
She may have been starring and he noticed. He had green eyes to match the green bruises.
Raven refilled his drink.
Then, the questions began, "What's your day job?"
Raven didn't know why, but every time he spoke she got offended. His words seemed condescending. Maybe it was the way his eyes glinted when he spoke.
"What's your night job?" She countered, annoyed at his intrusion, even more so at the smirk that played on his face.
"Why do you think I have a night job?" He pulled the glass towards himself and Raven eyed his fingers; all covered in bandages and scars.
The bar was quieting down. Octavia stopped harassing their customers and took her place a few steps down, Clarke had left early to study for a big test, and the neon lights seemed a bit dimmer. He didn't glow as red as before, despite the fact that it was earlier in the night. Monty and Jasper were loudly singing Bohemian Rhapsody somewhere in the background.
She cracked a smile at the noise and the lack of it. The stranger was watching her closely, so she decided to answer his question. "Well, you came in here past closing. Bruised, huffy, and carrying a wad of cash."
"Huffy?" He sounded offended, then he took it in stride. "Maybe I'm just a lost rich boy." He drawled and then leaned back, exposing his pinks and blues; the bruises that moved up his jaw she hadn't noticed in the lighting. "Who fights to feel something and spends his parent's money on cheap vodka."
"An interesting theory," Raven admitted, refilling his glass. He had taken the first two down without so much of a wince. "But wouldn't daddy at least pay for some fighting lessons? At least to protect that pretty face, and besides, you only drink the good brown stuff."
He had bruises all over, really, trailing from his collar bone and downward, the rest hidden by a black v-neck. His lips were busted and scarred and they twisted into a smirk. "I think you missed the part about 'feeling something.'"
Raven didn't respond—didn't need to-she just filled his glass a fourth time and left him to his devices.
o
The next time he came was weeks later and Raven didn't even recognize him. His face was completely devoid of bruises and marks and his lips actually quirked up in a lazy smile when Raven breezed right by him.
"Don't recognize me, sweetheart?"
Raven stopped and turned to him, an eyebrow raised at the pet-name. "Wow, 'sweetheart,' I'm honored." She cocked her head, "What are we?" She stopped in front of a couple to his left and placed down two beers. Dimples appeared when she smiled and thanked them.
A second later, a glass was placed down in front of him. Raven poured herself her own glass and leaned on the counter above him, her hair swinging between them. He noticed, for the first time, the tattoo sleeve going up her left arm. She was wearing a loose muscle-tee tied at her side, it had the bar's name printed on the front: The Ark. It was cut and tied in a way that exposed her stomach and he was distracted, only a little, by the brown of her skin.
She pushed her hair out of her face and into a ponytail and he shook himself out of his trance, "Are you always here?" He asked idly, taking the glass she'd placed down.
"I work here," Raven responded. Her dimples appeared again as a customer walked past and handed her a tip. He watched her movements as she put the cash in her back pocket.
"I hadn't noticed," He leaned toward so that their foreheads almost touched and she leaned back, frowning at him. "But don't you have days off?"
"Sorry rich boy, some of us have to work for a living."
o
His face was fucked the very next day and his favorite bartender wasn't even there to witness the glory of his purples and yellows.
He guessed that this was one of her off days.
He sat at the bar, sort of pissed at the turn of events. The bar seemed kinda…empty without her there. He turned to look at the other two people who were bartending; an Asian dude and a dark haired girl with an attitude. She walked over when she noticed him frowning.
"You looking for Raven?" The pretty brunette (but not his pretty brunette) said, looking down her nose at him.
"I'm just looking for a drink," He replied shrugging.
"Right." The Brunette said, her tone not believing. "Well, she's out sick. Overworked, probably. What can I get ya?"
"The good brown stuff."
The bartender didn't understand, not really, and he didn't want her to.
o
Raven came back a few days later and she was asking (quite rudely, if you ask him) if he had a drinking problem.
"Do you ask that of all of your regulars?" He droned, putting the glass to his lips.
"Sometimes. Most of our regs are here 'cause of that one though," Raven pointed to the brunette from a couple days before. She was pouring beers from the tap and giving him the evil eye for some unknown reason.
He tried not to snort, "Maybe I am too."
Raven rolled her eyes and wiped up a spot in front of her, "O' has that effect on men, wouldn't be surprised, rich boy."
It was his turn to roll his eyes.
o
"What's your name?" Raven asked one day. She was closing up the shop when he wandered in, bruised and limping but smirking. She allowed his smirk, his raised eyebrows, and his bandaged fingertips to rest at her bar as she put glasses away. She kept two out: one for her and one for him, then she sat and poured the Brown.
The guy, whatever his name, had become a regular here and she knew nothing about him. She just knew his bruises and his walk, maybe better than he knew them himself. His mannerisms were predictable; he wasn't nearly as impulsive as he had talked himself up to be.
He rose his eyebrow and his whisky, like he was toasting her for asking. "I was beginning to think that you didn't care about your regulars," He leaned back, "Raven." He said as an afterthought.
"So you know my name," Raven rolled her eyes and gestured to the nametag. "What's yours?"
"It's Murphy," He said. "John Murphy. Maybe you've heard of me."
"Psh." Raven took the whisky back in a gulp, exposing her neck to him. "Why would I, rich boy?"
Murphy didn't answer, he just watched her smirk and saunter off.
o
"What are you working so hard for, Reyes?" He asked one night. It was storming outside and the place was empty. The mean brunette from before was playing pool with the blackout drunk one the very first day he was there. The tall angry guy was flirting with the small Asian guy. The curly haired dude with the stick up his ass was glaring at him as he stuck his hand in Raven's face.
A lively night at The Ark. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the neon lights were bright behind Raven's head. Her fingers glowed red as she flipped the page. She took a pencil out from behind her ear, scribbled something, and looked at him.
She was striking, but Murphy wouldn't admit that.
"Paying for school, mostly," She said after a second. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and Murphy watched her eyes dart from left to right. They were calculating and smart and bright with confidence.
He was curious even though he didn't want to be. "What are you studying?"
It took a second for her to respond. His glass was empty and rain was pouring down the glass windows of the front of the bar. He could see the sidewalks from his place at the bar; the roads were sleek and oily and colorful with their neon lights. Her friends were playing karaoke—Bohemian Rhapsody again. She yelled "Do you fucking mind?" and turned back to her book, tapping her pencil against her lips. Brows were furrowed; confidence still there.
Murphy repeated his question.
Raven looked up, a light in her eye. "Aerospace engineering."
Her smile was practically blinding, Murphy blinked and took a sip from an empty class. "Impressive."
Raven laughed at him as he swallowed air. She got up and poured him another glass, shaking her head. "I want to work on spacecraft's. I'm aiming for NASA, you know?"
"I have to admit, that's pretty cool."
"'Pretty cool?'" She snatched his glass from out his fingers and took a sip, a grin making its way on her face. "It's fucking badass."
Murphy took the glass back and silently agreed.
o
"You've been coming here for months and I know nothing about you, rich boy."
"I'm not really hard to find out about," Murphy shrugged. "You haven't been trying."
"Now that's a damn lie," Raven reached out an arm and swatted his head. "Tell me some goddamn fun facts or something."
He avoided her swat and told her some goddamn fun facts and some somethings. He stayed until closing.
o
Two weeks had passed and Murphy had miraculously disappeared off the face of the Earth. He usually showed up Fridays with a face full of purple and a mouthful of swears. If God was particularly angry at Raven, he'd send Murphy in on a Monday—which, by the way, was the worst.
She couldn't bring herself to think on it too hard. The Ark was bustling with activity and she still hadn't figured out why. People were crowding around their TVs and shoving themselves inside booths to get a good look. Raven had handed out at least a thousand beers by now. She had just handed out five to a group of men when the rush had died down a bit. She leaned on the bar, her head in her palm, sighing a little.
"Missing lizard boy?" Clarke grinned cheekily as she slid past Raven to pass out more drinks. Clarke and the rest of Raven's friends have taken to calling Murphy variations of everything reptilian for his, well, lizard-like features.
"Har-har," Raven said, "I'm just dead on my feet."
"Take a break," Clarke suggested.
"Do you see all these people in here?" Raven gestured to the crowd around the bar. "What's even going on tonight? Did the Superbowl come early this year?"
"Wow, studying aerospace really does have you living in a hole. There's a big fight on tonight. We paid, like, 100 bucks, to get it on pay-per-view."
Raven shrugged, maybe she was living under a rock, but boxing never interested her that much anyway.
A couple of guys came to the bar. After they left, another group took their place.
"You need a break," Clarke said frankly as she leaned down to get ice. "I'll have Lexa take your place. She said she'd stop by and help tonight anyway."
"Seriously?" Raven's back and and feet ached with every movement but she couldn't rationalize leaving Clarke to the vultures until Lexa showed up. "I don't know…"
"I can handle this for now. Grab a beer and sit down somewhere." Clarke said that part like she was annoyed at Raven's work habits. She put a Corona into Raven's palms and practically shooed her out of the bar.
Raven found herself sitting with Jasper, Octavia, Miller and Bellamy minutes later. She was squished between Jasper and Octavia's shoulders and could tell that the four of them were already well on their way to being wasted. "Why's this fight so important?" She dared to ask, talking around one of Miller's french-fries and blinking up at the screen.
"Dude," Jasper protested, shaking her a little. His breath reeked of Corona. Raven started on hers just to get through the night. "This is like, the fight before the fight!"
Raven blinked, "Okay..."
Octavia turned to her, "What he means is, it's like the preliminaries. After this, the winner will be on his way to the title fight. This ones gonna be good because there's a newbie."
This still meant close to nothing to Raven. She wasn't against boxing or anything…it was just that she would rather be watching the Superbowl.
"And apparently he comes here all the time," Bellamy cut in. "That's one of the reasons why it's so packed."
"I've never seen the guy," Raven shrugged this time, putting the Corona to her lips. Octavia gave her a weird look that Raven didn't have time to comment on because the entire bar busted into cheers as the opening played.
Raven turned her eyes to the screen as Octavia and Jasper shook her sides with their yelling. Raven swore they were just doing it to hype each other up. They were the worst combination.
The first boxer came on stage all buff and confident. He was introduced with a string of titles and was shouting obscenities at the camera for some reason. People loved it.
His component appeared seconds later and there were significantly less cheers. Raven assumed that this was the underdog Octavia was telling her about. He came out hooded and didn't look nearly as excited to be there as the first guy.
Something about him bugs her. Raven sat up, eyes glued to the TV. The way he walked was vaguely familiar but…
"Next in the ring is the rookie, John Murphy."
Oh. Raven wrinkled her nose.
He took off his hood to reveal a mocking smile and heavy lidded eyes.
Oh.
o
It was past closing time and Raven sat alone at the bar, finishing up her fourth beer. Her friends were lagging around, a few too drunk to function or be of any help to her. Bellamy was cleaning up the bar and Clarke and Lexa were sitting at a booth, flipping through infomercials, imitating the dumb ones.
The neon lights behind her had been turned off and the lights were dim. Raven felt nice and warm and right when the bell over the door jingled, signifying a customer.
Bellamy looked up, ready to tell the strangler to leave but Raven waved him away.
At four thirty he walked in, holding the 'closed' sign between carefully bandaged fingers. He sat beside her at the bar, saying only, "Can I get a drink?"
"I'm off duty," Raven answered, but passed him her beer. He wrapped his fingers around it, brushing her hand and she said, "Congrats on your win, by the way."
Both of his eyebrows rose, "So you finally figured it out."
"Yep," She said, popping the 'p.' "I guess I live under a rock after all, rich boy."
Her eyes trailed the bruises lining his jaw. He handed the beer back and she took a long swig. "So how do you feel?"
"Not much different," He admitted, taking the shared beer back. "I've still got another fight to finish."
"Oh right," Raven said, remembering what Jasper had told her. She tilted her head, examining the cocky look in his eye. "You better win." And she pushed his shoulder and he grabbed her hand. He didn't let it go for a few seconds, he waited until she would move it. She didn't.
So Murphy turned to her, his eyes holding a weird spark that she had never seen before. "This has been a fun game of tag."
She rose and eyebrow and turned her body towards him, smirking. "It's been okay. I wasn't the one doing all the running around."
"Yeah, I guess but-"
He always wanted to have the last word, the winning insult. Raven rolled her eyes grabbed the back of his head. She pulled him down to her lips and smiled. John Murphy might be a winner in the ring but he's going to learn to lose.
Please review! This is a funny little thing because I first wrote it when I shipped Murven quite a bit (like early season 1) now I don't ship them much at all. I found myself rewriting this nonetheless.