Desmond figures that there is a bar for a reason. It has to exercise its purpose like everything else in the common room, and enough days have been spent with him wandering around the corridors trying to ignore the magic and the strange people walking past him. He's all well and good with knocking back a bit of alcohol and getting merry with a couple of strangers--a nice welcome after year sequestred alone on an island.
So here he is, pulling a stool back and slinging his leg over, nursing a shot of whisky that he'll look at for a few moments, contemplative, before knocking it back quick-like and getting some more. The kid off to his right draws his attention.
Desmond laughs. "Quite a bit older than that." And with those few words he dodges the question and ducks into his whiskey again. Whiskey just for a change. "What's got you drinking, then?"
'I just found out that the friend I followed here is actually Brice, my brother, who was stabbed and killed in a knife fight when I was three. And he's an angel--to make matters worse, a former Fallen one, who messed with my memories so I had no idea. He gave up Heaven to look after me, and had to kill people for it. You?'
"I'm still trying to find my way around, brother. I entered an around-the-world race a couple of years back and wrecked my boat on a remote pacific island; man that found me fed a lot of propaganda into my head before shooting himself and leaving me completely alone for at least a year until a bunch of other people showed up. And I'm reeling, still, from a electromagnetic anomaly that I had to shut off with a failsafe key that somehow left me with precognition." He gets a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, then shakes his head.
'And my family tried to kill me,' Dom offers. 'It's not exactly what I'd call 'baggage'. 'Baggage' is having a few deep dark secrets. This...is beyond normal anomalies. It's just not funny.'
"What are you going to do about it, then? Sit here and drown it all away with the lager?" Desmond raises an eyebrow and lifts a hand to stroke his beard--force of habit. "Or are you expecting me to feel sorry for you? The first, there--I can tell you right off that doesn't work. I've tried it before. The second, eeehhh, what can I say?" Hey, it IS a kid.
'They're not here, so it's safer,' Dom points out. 'And yeah, I think I will act like a kid, seeing as I am one, thanks. Talk to Brice's girlfriend about how he was before. Do some work. Study. What are you going to do here?'
So here he is, pulling a stool back and slinging his leg over, nursing a shot of whisky that he'll look at for a few moments, contemplative, before knocking it back quick-like and getting some more. The kid off to his right draws his attention.
"Little young to be at the bar, aren't you?"
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Dom inspects the level of lager left.
Hey, if you can't be direct when you're at a bar, it's just not cricket.
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"We all have our baggage, yeah?"
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'And my family tried to kill me,' Dom offers. 'It's not exactly what I'd call 'baggage'. 'Baggage' is having a few deep dark secrets. This...is beyond normal anomalies. It's just not funny.'
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