(Untitled)

[misterparker]

Parker's at a booth, hand hidden under the table, carefully.

He's drinking icewater and looks like company wouldn't be a bad thing.

Comments

[yuppie_trash]

A large (forty ounces) and unopened bottle of beer (Pabst Blue Ribbon) is set unceremoniously hard on the table. A wide, tilted (a very funny joke) smirk is offered.

[misterparker]

Parker raises an eyebrow, but pulls out his keychain to open the bottle.

"Thanks."

[yuppie_trash]

The smirk twitches, as if Patrick might make a comment. He might chuckle. He does neither. The expression holds.

His gaze lowers.

His eyes wander, "Trying to keep it hidden only raises more questions."

[misterparker]

Parker doesn't pull it out from under the table.

"You curious how they tried to fix your handiwork?"

[yuppie_trash]

"No, it's medicine." With an expressive shrug of his shoulders. "Fairly predictable."

[misterparker]

A shrug and Parker pulls out the hand, cast and bruising.

Holding the bottle carefully, he pops off the top.

[yuppie_trash]

Leaning into the booth, slightly.

[misterparker]

Using his right hand, he takes a drink.

Keeps the left arm open on the table.

[yuppie_trash]

Patrick straightens up, although he isn't ready to leave just yet. It's boredom (curiosity that prompts him to ask lazily, "Why?" His shoulders slump and his back bends into a slouch. Eventually he is sitting at the edge of Parker's bench, beside him and not across him in the booth.

[misterparker]

Parker briefly closes his eyes when he drinks the beer. Shouldn't be having alcohol, but it's PBR. Not going to kill him.

He doesn't turn to look at Patrick, wiping a drop of beer off of his lip and then sucking his thumb briefly.

"Why what?"

[yuppie_trash]

He drums his fingers impatiently against his kneecap, tap-tap-tap, and studies the wood grain pattern of this table and how it differs from the one that he frequents. A crease in his brow. Disturbed by the differences. "There was a window of opportunity in which you could have remained unscathed. You closed it. Why?"

[misterparker]

"Why not?" Parker asks.

He twists the bottle on the table and then reaches into his jacket to pull out a pill bottle and removes two pills from it casually. He places them parallel to the bottle.

"Why do you think?"

[yuppie_trash]

He picks up one of the pills between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it blankly. Soft snort. "I asked you the question." Drops the pill back down the table. Watching it bounce once.

[misterparker]

"And I answered."

Parker slides the pill between his lips, downs it with some beer.

"Why'd you want to do it?"

[yuppie_trash]

"Impulse."

Begins to tap-tap-tap his fingers against his knee once more.

[misterparker]

Parker puts the other pill on his tongue.

"Well."