NOVEL WEB Chapter 3: CHAPTER 3: THE INAUGURATION OF MACLAREN'S
CHAPTER 3: THE INAUGURATION OF MACLAREN'S
The glow of the Plots System reward faded, leaving Adam with a satisfying hum of enhanced mental acuity and a newfound swagger in his step. "Adam's Paradox" was already percolating in his brain, a genuinely mind-bending problem that he knew, with his system-granted brilliance, he could now solve. But first, a pilgrimage. To MacLaren's Pub. His pub. The very idea sent a shiver of geeky delight down his spine.
" I mean, seriously, what's cooler than owning a legendary pub? It's like having your own personal Batcave, but with more beer and significantly less spandex. "
He hailed a taxi, giving the address that the system had so conveniently embedded in his mind. The ride through the bustling streets of Manhattan was a blur of yellow cabs, towering skyscrapers, and the relentless energy that defined the city. He pulled out his new, surprisingly sleek smartphone (another system perk, he presumed, because his old flip phone definitely wouldn't cut it in this swanky new life) and quickly located the "MacLaren's Pub" entry in his mental map. It was a few blocks from Caltech-NYC, perfectly situated for after-work commiseration and general shenanigans.
Stepping out of the cab, he found himself on a quintessential New York street, lined with brownstones and bustling storefronts. And there it was. MacLaren's Pub. It looked exactly as he remembered it from the show – the familiar dark wood, the frosted glass, the comforting glow emanating from within. A small thrill, the kind only a true fan could understand, shot through him. He was standing on sacred ground. And he owned it.
He pushed open the door, and the familiar warmth of a well-loved bar enveloped him. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations, the faint scent of stale beer and fried food – it was perfect. The place was, thankfully, not packed, it was still early afternoon, but there were a few patrons scattered around.
His eyes immediately landed on the bar. A woman with bright, engaging eyes and a cascade of blonde hair was wiping down the counter, humming tunelessly. Penny. The one and only.
" Okay, Adam, play it cool. Don't fanboy. Don't accidentally blurt out her entire life story. Just be the smooth, charming, ridiculously wealthy, and intellectually superior new boss. "
He walked up to the bar, leaning casually against it. "Afternoon," he said, injecting just the right amount of laid-back charm into his voice. "This place looks… familiar."
Penny looked up, a friendly smile on her face. "Welcome to MacLaren's! Never been here before?"
"First time in this specific establishment, yeah," Adam replied, "though I feel like I've known it my whole life." He paused, then continued, "My name's Adam Stiels. I, uh… I believe I own the place."
Penny's smile faltered, replaced by a look of utter confusion, then suspicion. "You… you own the place? Who are you? Where's Carl?" Carl, the gruff but lovable bartender from the show, was evidently still running the joint.
"Carl's still here, don't worry," Adam chuckled, holding up his hands. "He's still managing the day-to-day. I'm more of the… benevolent, largely absent, and occasionally prank-prone landlord/owner. The papers just went through. Long story, involving a very eccentric great-aunt and a series of convoluted financial arrangements. You know how it is." He hoped she wouldn't press him for details, because honestly, the "eccentric great-aunt" was a fabrication, and the "convoluted financial arrangements" were the Plots System just magic-wanding money into existence.
Penny still looked skeptical. "So, you're the new… boss?"
"Something like that," Adam confirmed. "But I prefer to think of myself as the guy who makes sure the beer flows, the good times roll, and no one gets stuck in a conversation about their mother for more than five minutes. Which, if you ask me, is a public service."
A genuine laugh escaped Penny, and her suspicion seemed to melt away slightly. "Okay, you've got a point there. I'm Penny, by the way. Bartender, aspiring actress, and master of the perfectly poured beer."
"Pleasure to meet you, Penny," Adam said, extending a hand. "And speaking of aspiring actresses, I hear the audition grind can be brutal. Flexible hours, good pay, and a healthy supply of free chicken wings sound appealing?"
Penny's eyes widened. "Are you… offering me a job?"
"Consider it an official offer," Adam confirmed with a nod. "Carl vouched for you, of course. Said you're quick, charming, and can handle even the most aggressively terrible pick-up lines with a graceful eye-roll. Plus, I need someone reliable around here. And someone who can appreciate a good joke, because my humor tends to be of the 'intellectual, slightly sarcastic, and occasionally borderline offensive' variety."
Penny grinned, a flash of her usual bubbly personality returning. "You got it, boss. So, what'll it be? First drink on the house, seeing as you own the house?"
"A celebratory craft beer," Adam decided. "Something hoppy. And for the record, you can call me Adam. 'Boss' feels a little… corporate. And frankly, I'm trying to escape the corporate hellscape I just, uh, vacated."
As Penny poured his beer, the door to MacLaren's opened again, and a whirlwind of perfectly tailored suits and over-the-top pronouncements entered. Barney Stinson. In the flesh. He was flanked by a tall, earnest-looking man (Ted) and a shorter, more jovial one (Marshall), followed by a striking woman with a confident stride (Robin) and a petite, fiery redhead (Lily). The HIMYM crew. All five of them. Adam had to actively suppress a giddy squeal. This was happening.
" Oh, sweet Mother of Pearl, it's them! The whole gang! Barney's suit is even more immaculate in person. I need to resist the urge to high-five him and shout 'Haaaaave you met Ted?' It's too soon. Way too soon. "
Barney, naturally, was mid-sentence, his voice booming with theatrical enthusiasm. "…and that, my friends, is why the 'He's Dead, She's Pregnant' play is the most foolproof strategy in The Playbook! It combines sympathy, urgency, and the undeniable appeal of impending fatherhood!"
Ted sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Barney, we talked about this. It's wildly manipulative and ethically questionable."
"Ethically questionable, Ted, is a subjective term!" Barney declared, gesturing dramatically. "It's about achieving results! And results, my friend, are always… legen…"
His eyes fell on Adam, who was nursing his beer, a smirk on his face. Barney paused, mid-word. His eyes narrowed, assessing. Adam knew this look. It was the Barney Stinson "Is this guy a threat? A potential wingman? Or just someone who needs to be educated in the art of suiting up?" look.
"…dary," Barney finished, a little less emphatically than usual. He then walked purposefully towards Adam. "And who, pray tell, is this perfectly coiffed individual infringing upon our sacred ground? Are you… new?"
Adam raised his beer in a mock toast. "New to the ownership, yes. Adam Stiels. And you must be Barney. I've heard… stories."
Barney puffed out his chest. "I'm sure you have. All of them true, by the way. Every single one. So, Mr. Stiels, what brings you to the finest establishment in all of New York City? Aside from, naturally, basking in the glow of my sheer awesomeness?"
"Well, Mr. Stinson," Adam replied, matching Barney's theatricality, "I'm told I own the place. And as for basking, I try to keep my sun exposure to a minimum, given my pasty complexion. But I appreciate the offer."
Barney blinked. "You… own the place?" He looked at Penny, who nodded. Barney's jaw dropped. "The legendary Carl sold MacLaren's? Without consulting me? This is an outrage! This is an insult! This is… a travesty against all that is good and right in the world!"
Ted, Marshall, Robin, and Lily had gathered around, looking bewildered.
"Calm down, Barney," Marshall said, ever the peacemaker. "Maybe he's a good owner."
"A good owner?" Barney practically shrieked. "Carl was a national treasure! He understood the delicate ecosystem of this bar! He knew that this booth," he gestured wildly at "their" booth, "is the spiritual heart of our existence! What if he moves the booth? What if he changes the beer selection? What if he tries to make this place… trendy?" The last word was uttered with such venom, it could have melted steel.
"Rest easy, Barney," Adam said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The booth stays. The beer selection will, if anything, improve. And as for 'trendy,' my friend, I wouldn't know trendy if it hit me in the face with a designer handbag. My idea of cutting edge is owning a really comfortable pair of sweatpants. I'm more interested in ensuring that this place remains what it always has been: a sanctuary for good friends, bad decisions, and enough liquid courage to make those bad decisions seem like brilliant ideas at 2 AM."
Barney stared at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was the kind of smile that promised a lifetime of mutually assured destruction. "You… you get it. You really get it."
"I do, Barney. I truly do," Adam said, clinking his beer bottle against Barney's imaginary martini. "Now, I hear some stories about a particular yellow umbrella… or perhaps a slapsgiving bet?" He immediately regretted the last part, realizing he was perhaps pushing it, breaking the fourth wall a little too much.
Barney, however, merely straightened his tie. "Ah, the yellow umbrella. A classic tale of destiny and sartorial elegance. As for the slapsgiving bet… a truly epic saga of unparalleled cunning and strategic brilliance, culminating in the most satisfying percussive event in the history of human interaction." He paused, looking Adam up and down. "You know, for a new owner, you seem surprisingly… cool. And you have excellent taste in blazers."
"Thank you, Barney," Adam said, genuinely flattered. Barney's approval, even conditional, meant something. "And if you ever need a wingman with a PhD in String Theory, you know where to find me. I can explain the quantum entanglement of bad pickup lines."
Barney's eyes lit up. "A theoretical physicist wingman? This is… beautiful. This is beyond legen—"
"Don't you dare," Robin cut in, a wry smile on her face. "He's going to spend the next hour trying to explain the science of his 'plays'."
"Too late, Robin. The seed has been planted," Adam said with a wink. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to find a particular precinct in Brooklyn. Something about a detective who thinks he's a movie star."
He left them buzzing, Barney already launching into a new, undoubtedly inappropriate, story to Ted, Marshall, Lily, and Robin. As he stepped back out onto the street, the Plots System shimmered again.
["PARTICIPATION REWARD: MACLAREN'S PUB DEED VERIFIED. FIRST INTERACTION WITH HIMYM GANG SUCCESSFUL. HIDDEN REWARD UNLOCKED: 'MASTER NEGOTIATOR' – ABILITY TO DE-ESCALATE CONFLICTS WITH WIT AND CHARM. +10 CHARISMA, +5 LUCK. UPCOMING PLOT ALERT: 'THE PINEAPPLE INCIDENT' – TED MOSBY'S MYSTERY."]
Adam chuckled. Master Negotiator? He just made Barney Stinson like him in under five minutes. That definitely counted. And "The Pineapple Incident"? Ted's drunken mystery was one of the classics. This was going to be an interesting week. First Sheldon, then Barney, now Ted's questionable judgment.
" Well, if my life is going to be a series of sitcom episodes, at least I'm in the driver's seat. Sort of. And honestly, this is way better than data entry. No offense, Gary, wherever you are. Probably still arguing with a stapler. "