These were the days that Brook loved the best. Not necessarily the days where it snowed (things were a bit chilly with his provided clothes coming up short), but the days that they were given so much freedom of movement! They could do whatever they wanted within reason, so while the actual act of piracy was out Brook could at least enjoy the quaintness of the town and all that entailed.
Following a nice stroll around the town to see if things had changed, Brook found himself outside of the town bar and debated a moment on whether that would be allowed, him entering. Age had nothing to do with it more than personnel restrictions. Would they let patients inside? And if so, would they even be allowed to purchase such things as alcohol? They had been given the small cards with money on them that morning...
After some thought, Brook decided that it couldn't hurt to try. He could always apologize for being in the wrong if he was, and on the off chance that the place had a piano he might at least be able to play a bit during this "day off" as it were.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained..." Brook hummed to himself as he strolled in hopefully.
Carter's latest interaction with Claire left him sparkling like a star. He'd had a few people tell him that he was doing right and okay, but the happiness-high had only lasted until the next time something horrible happened. It was just a bandage on the lingering psychological and moral issues present in the young sergeant's destructive mind.
Claire was different. She understood. She wasn't a career soldier, she was just a young man who'd joined the army on a whim, gotten swept up in one of the most effective underground cells in Germany, and then been transported somewhere far beyond her comprehension to face a situation that no training could have prepared him for.
Well. The equivalent, anyway. Point was, she got it and she got him and it was the first time he'd spoken to someone who really understood why he was having so many problems. He had a cause now, a reason to fight besides some vague vendetta against an evil organization or a desperate effort to avoid dying. He'd have to kill someone (or something) again, probably soon, up close or with his bombs. And he'd probably get upset about it again like he had the last two times he'd done it. But it would be easier this time and easier the next time, and now he knew why he had to do it. Having a good cause and knowing the ache would end made the anticipation far easier.
Carter had intended on watching the TVs over at the electronics store again but excitement and internal monologue had made him wander and eventually wind up at the bar. He strolled in, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune he'd long forgotten the name and lyrics for. Maybe he would have a beer for himself, see if the future American beer still fell short of the hofbrau's products.
"Heya," he said, nodding to a nearby large-haired man, grin so wide it nearly touched both ears.
Brook watched as the barkeep and one of the nursing staff seemed to exchange glances concerning him before he went over to the bar without either trying to stop him. He unfortunately did not see a piano anywhere around, so that would mean he'd have to settle for a drink if they allowed him. There were others around the bar that might have been patients as well, and it looked like they were drinking so...
"Would it be possible to get a beer with this, sir?" As he showed the card to the man behind the counter, he heard someone give a greeting and looked to the side to see that it was directed at him. And with a smile like that, Brook could not help but oblige with one of his own. "Hello yourself! You seem to be in a good mood. Yohohohoho!" Was this a patient perhaps? Or maybe one of the townsfolk? Whichever he was, he seemed to be friendly enough. Brook was usually the one to start off conversations, not the other way around!
"Well, it's been a pretty good day so far." The coffee was warm in his stomach and Claire's words were warm in his chest, the outside chill hadn't been able to touch him.
Carter pulled himself up a seat and put his elbows on the bar, giving a happy little sigh. "Doyleton days are always good, but this one's being especially pretty good. What about you?" This seemed like a nice man, despite his alarmingly large hair. Perhaps he was an alien, or foreign.
"It has! Even if it is a bit chilly..." Brook mused as he looked towards the window before coming back to the bar. The man behind it had taken the card, once again after getting a look from the staff at the door, apparently with the intent of getting Brook exactly what he wanted. Beer before a meal generally wasn't something Sanji would allow, but Brook was convinced that even he might have made the exception had he still been there.
"And it's always a good day if you make it that way," he answered positively as he continued to follow the man's movements behind the bar. How that small little card was the same as money he wasn't sure, but he'd go long with it if that was how it worked. The alternate probably would not have ended well for anyone in the vicinity. Unless pirates were normal in these parts. He doubted it.
Carter fingered the edges of the card in his pocket, pondering the length and breadth of the town. Six dollars wouldn't be enough to buy a TV or anything particularly fancy, and he'd managed to smuggle at least one thing out of town in his pants before, but he should still try and be as legal as possible. Even if the institute was able to rebuild the entire thing in one night, he still felt a little guilty for blowing up the Twin Pines.
"Or if other people make it that way, I guess," he said with a thoughtful little pout. "I just showed up, it's everyone else doing the nice things." Maybe a book on rockets?
"Ah well... I'd say if you're willing to trust that others can be as positive as yourself, then that would certainly be the case! Yohohohoho!" he decided but then lost a part of his smile at seeing the man's pouting face. So he was new. "Oh, you just arrived then? I'm sorry to hear that. Hopefully things haven't been too terribly rough on you..."
Things had been terrible when Brook had first arrived, but his friends had been there to guide him through it somewhat. Now that they were gone he had to deal with being alone once more; however the thought that they were safe once more kept him going. For someone new, there was neither of those thoughts keeping them sane. "Have you made any friends here?"
As he awaited an answer, the bartender returned he had a pint of beer ready just for Brook, making the musician think that his mind may have been read. He pardoned himself a moment from his new acquaintance to give the bartender a, "Thank you sir!" and wrap his long fingers about the glass. As the first alcohol he'd seen in close to a month, and the first beer he'd be having since getting his skin back, Brook simply could not wait. "Bottoms up!" he announced before lifting the glass back.
Following a nice stroll around the town to see if things had changed, Brook found himself outside of the town bar and debated a moment on whether that would be allowed, him entering. Age had nothing to do with it more than personnel restrictions. Would they let patients inside? And if so, would they even be allowed to purchase such things as alcohol? They had been given the small cards with money on them that morning...
After some thought, Brook decided that it couldn't hurt to try. He could always apologize for being in the wrong if he was, and on the off chance that the place had a piano he might at least be able to play a bit during this "day off" as it were.
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained..." Brook hummed to himself as he strolled in hopefully.
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Claire was different. She understood. She wasn't a career soldier, she was just a young man who'd joined the army on a whim, gotten swept up in one of the most effective underground cells in Germany, and then been transported somewhere far beyond her comprehension to face a situation that no training could have prepared him for.
Well. The equivalent, anyway. Point was, she got it and she got him and it was the first time he'd spoken to someone who really understood why he was having so many problems. He had a cause now, a reason to fight besides some vague vendetta against an evil organization or a desperate effort to avoid dying. He'd have to kill someone (or something) again, probably soon, up close or with his bombs. And he'd probably get upset about it again like he had the last two times he'd done it. But it would be easier this time and easier the next time, and now he knew why he had to do it. Having a good cause and knowing the ache would end made the anticipation far easier.
Carter had intended on watching the TVs over at the electronics store again but excitement and internal monologue had made him wander and eventually wind up at the bar. He strolled in, hands in his pockets, whistling a tune he'd long forgotten the name and lyrics for. Maybe he would have a beer for himself, see if the future American beer still fell short of the hofbrau's products.
"Heya," he said, nodding to a nearby large-haired man, grin so wide it nearly touched both ears.
Reply
"Would it be possible to get a beer with this, sir?" As he showed the card to the man behind the counter, he heard someone give a greeting and looked to the side to see that it was directed at him. And with a smile like that, Brook could not help but oblige with one of his own. "Hello yourself! You seem to be in a good mood. Yohohohoho!" Was this a patient perhaps? Or maybe one of the townsfolk? Whichever he was, he seemed to be friendly enough. Brook was usually the one to start off conversations, not the other way around!
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Carter pulled himself up a seat and put his elbows on the bar, giving a happy little sigh. "Doyleton days are always good, but this one's being especially pretty good. What about you?" This seemed like a nice man, despite his alarmingly large hair. Perhaps he was an alien, or foreign.
Reply
"And it's always a good day if you make it that way," he answered positively as he continued to follow the man's movements behind the bar. How that small little card was the same as money he wasn't sure, but he'd go long with it if that was how it worked. The alternate probably would not have ended well for anyone in the vicinity. Unless pirates were normal in these parts. He doubted it.
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"Or if other people make it that way, I guess," he said with a thoughtful little pout. "I just showed up, it's everyone else doing the nice things." Maybe a book on rockets?
Reply
Things had been terrible when Brook had first arrived, but his friends had been there to guide him through it somewhat. Now that they were gone he had to deal with being alone once more; however the thought that they were safe once more kept him going. For someone new, there was neither of those thoughts keeping them sane. "Have you made any friends here?"
As he awaited an answer, the bartender returned he had a pint of beer ready just for Brook, making the musician think that his mind may have been read. He pardoned himself a moment from his new acquaintance to give the bartender a, "Thank you sir!" and wrap his long fingers about the glass. As the first alcohol he'd seen in close to a month, and the first beer he'd be having since getting his skin back, Brook simply could not wait. "Bottoms up!" he announced before lifting the glass back.
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