Sam and Jack have been in their corner of the bar for some time. Long enough, in fact, that it's not so much their corner any more as it is their ... well, measurements in the bar are traditionally more like guidelines than rules, but suffice to say that they've taken over a sizeable section of it. Tables have been pushed together, sofas moved, and
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Jack jumps down off the table in search of more.
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"Sam, check this out, good-looking, efficient and damn near psychic."
And by that he means, Sam, look how awesome by boyfriend is!
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"I fear and tremble at the thought of you without sufficient caffeine in your system."
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On the other hand, she could stay seated on her own table, hand pressed to her mouth and snakes giggling (well, hissing, really, but she knows that they are giggling) and laugh at them from here.
Yes.
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Oh yes, there's been sugar.
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She and her snakes stick their tongues out at him.
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Helpfully!
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Is he supposed to arrest the other Captain Jack Harkness (not the one he knows well, just the one he met briefly) if he does more than flap his coat, up there on the table?
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It is not precisely a threat, but it does suggest that any attempt to use the crossbow will only be disapproved of.
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And he doesn't plan to use the crossbow; it is not his, and he does not wish to make it so.
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. . . at least, one might think that if one didn't know Cal very well.
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Which is why he calls out, "Hey, Favourite. We have food!"
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"Hi," he calls back. He leaves the point about the food unaddressed.
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"Hey, Cal! Done with your shift?"
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Hrmmph, tough decision.
There is a woman dressed in what looks like some kind of old fashioned hunting gear made of some sort of black reptile hide walking around, picking the meat off the pizzas and feeding it to an unusually large rooster she has tucked under her arm. And the occasional bit of sushi.
She isn't feeding herself anything, though.
SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG HERE
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