(Untitled)
Dan's in the bar, tonight.
His hands are nearly healed up, but the wraps are still lightly around his palms, and he's dressed a little bit casually, but it's still obvious he's not from most modern times. Right now he's contemplating what to get to drink, sitting on a barstool.
Just another night.
[plotlocked, thanks]
[[tinytag: dan evans]]
His hands are nearly healed up, but the wraps are still lightly around his palms, and he's dressed a little bit casually, but it's still obvious he's not from most modern times. Right now he's contemplating what to get to drink, sitting on a barstool.
Just another night.
[plotlocked, thanks]
[[tinytag: dan evans]]
A man appears at the bar next to him.
He's very clean, dressed in civilian clothing -- a blue hooded sweatshirt, jeans, sneakers -- and sitting in a wheelchair.
He mutters an apologetic, "Sorry, sorry," as he pulls up beside Dan, adjusting the angle of the chair. A glance up, and he smiles at Dan.
"Evenin'."
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Dan eyes the wheelchair (and is suddenly reminded of how lucky he is that he's only got one bad leg) and then shifts the stool over to give him a bit more space.
His eyes fall to the man's face.
Accident? Nah. That...he's not sure about those scars, but he doesn't pry.
"Can I git you somethin'?"
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"Uh, uh, uh."
The man's eyes flicker up to the tab board, then back at Dan.
"Only 'f you let me repay the favor. Don't want to come off as a freeloader, ya know."
(His mannerisms are different from the 'clown'. He has re-created himself, specifically for this.
And it's a frighteningly good act.)
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He nods, briefly, before he reaches over and offers him a hand in greeting, of sorts.
"And that's fine with me," he agrees. "Name's Dan."
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Shrugging back the sweatshirt's sleeve, the Joker takes the offered hand, wrapped with gauze.
"Harvey. Nice t' meet you, Dan. Just a club soda, if you please."
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He turns to the bar and orders two. Never had club soda before, and hey he's always up for trying new things. Bar seems to take a bit longer than usual but the drinks show up soon enough.
"First time here?"
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"N-nah."
The wheelchair-bound man shakes his head.
"Been here a couple o' times before. Never - never thought too hard about it. I assume you've been around a while?"
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He hands one glass down to Harvey.
"Time's a bit...funny, suppose. Round here."
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"Lots o' things about this place are," 'Harvey' remarks.
"Well, I take it back. Depends on your sense of humor, doesn't it?"
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Dan sips at the club soda.
Not half bad.
"You learn t'fit in well enough."
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"Easier to fit in here than other places."
It is, oddly, true.
"When're you from?"
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It is true. No matter what's wrong with you.
"You?"
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"2008, Gotham."
A wry smile.
"Not the best city in the world."
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Bone dry dirt. Crime. Same difference.
Finally,
"You know they got doctors here," he dares. "Maybe they could help heal your legs up faster?"
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"They aren't healing up," he says, after a pause.
"Never will."
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He looks down.
"Know the feelin', how it goes. My apologies."
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