(Untitled)

[themanclion]

Gene had been told to stay off his injured knee for about five days. Of course, that meant that he'd ditched the crutches as soon as he got upstairs and had decided that the next morning was the perfect time to take himself horseriding again.

So the morning after that, when he couldn't walk on the thing at all and had run out of Scotch upstairs, it

Comments

[bloody_awful]

Did somebody say "twat"?

Out from under a table crawls a young bloke who looks like he's wearing Johnny Rotten's castoffs. He smells like it too. He's obviously hungover and has obviously spent the night under the table.

He staggers up to the bar, lights a Silk Cut and mumbles, "Tea. Stewed. Double shot of Bushmills." He leans on the bar as if just saying that has exhausted him.

[themanclion]

'Bloody 'ell, mate. You look like I normally do on Sunday mornin'.'

Only he doesn't smell as bad. Well. Not often, anyway.

'Hair of the dog first, eh?'

The whiskey is easy enough to sort out. He sends a rat to the kitchen for the tea. He can't be arsed making it and it's awkward with only one free arm anyway.

[bloody_awful]

John looks at the crutch and grins. "Bloody 'ell mate, you look like I normally do on a Saturday night." He has a heavy Scouser accent overlaid with London. "'m stuck here, inn't I. Found myself here last night and the door disappeared. Figured I'd make the best of it." He blinks. "Wasn't a barman here before." He leans in and whispers. "I think the bar's alive."

(They may actually be from the same time period. Late 1970s?)

[themanclion]

Gene's from the early 70s but he recognises that the style of clothes this bloke is wearing is a lot closer to his time than anything he's seen other people wear around here. He's also British (if a Scouser, the bastard) so that automatically earns him favour points.

He leans forward a bit as well, as though listening and then a bit confused as to why something so obvious is being pointed out.

'Well, yeah. 'Sentient' they reckon. I dunno if tha's the same as bein' alive but its as close as. She's asleep at the moment though which is why muggins 'ere had to step in.'

He doesn't look all that impressed with this state of affairs.

'You new or somethin'?'

[bloody_awful]

"I said I got here last night, didn't I?" John downs the double and pushes the glass forward. "Again, ta." He takes a drag on his cigarette and a grateful gulp of the tea. "You sound like you're from my manor, close-like. So then, s'truth? End of the Universe?" He waves vaguely at The Window. "Mysterious Landlord? Gate between worlds?" He takes another slug of tea and grins. "S'brilliant, is it here?"

[themanclion]

Another double, and he gets one for himself as well only he sticks to Johnnie Walker.

'I'm from Manchester, yeah. You don' look like you're far from my time either. S'1973 out there for me.'

He glances at the window, then looks away. He doesn't spend much time staring at it because it makes him vaguely uneasy.

'But yeah, seems t'be true enough. Dunno anythin' abou' a Landlord but it's definitely a place where folk show up from all differen' worlds an' times.'

[bloody_awful]

This is the first time that John's ever been asked what time period he's from. It hadn't occurred to him. "Ah, '77 where I come from. When." He frowns. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I think I've even been here before...? But I ain't, you get me?" He points up at the Bar Tab Board, where his name, John Constantine, is noted next to an impressive positive credit score. He grins. "I'm drinking on shout from someone else named me."

(He doesn't know it, but the John who ran up credit is 37 years older than this John's 20, in his own timeline.)

[themanclion]

Gene glances up at the tab board too and pulls a sour face at the size of his own bill.

'You're prob'ly not.'

Sorry, John. He points up at his own name.

'Tha's me. Gene Hunt. An' there's an older version of me tha' comes here sometimes as well. Looks like he drinks as much as I do an' doesn' pay the tab either.'

Some things never change.

'Migh' be th' same for you. 'Course, might not be. I don' bloody understand how this place works. Might really be some other bugger with your name.'

[bloody_awful]

"Christ. That'd be a laugh, meeting meself coming and going, wouldn't it? So, oi, you stuck here as well? Or maybe I can leave with you if you leave? I'd make it worth your while."

[themanclion]

His eyebrows raise at that one.

'Make it worth my while how?'

Because that? Sounded dangerously like a proposition to him, attuned as he is to such things around this place.

[bloody_awful]

John shrugs. He's a pragmatical bloke and it wouldn't be the first time. But what he says is, "Could pay part of your tab." He grins, "Could make the girl of your dreams fall in love with you, could make you win at the ponies, could let you talk to your dead dad..."

[themanclion]

Gene's face goes flat and he straightens up, surveying the man coolly. Or...well. Icily.

'What're you then? Some sorta magician?'

The very last person in all the multiverse that Gene would want to talk to is his dead father.

[bloody_awful]

John's smirk is epic. And yeah, he knew about the dad. He's a twat, remember? "I'm the bloody best, ain't I?"

[themanclion]

'Not right at this minute, no.'

To say the least.

'People come from all different worlds, son. You probably aren' from mine so you can' go back through my door, see? I won' let any random bastards loose in my gaff, 'specially not ones that can do magic.'

[bloody_awful]

John shrugs. "Worth a try, right? And don't fool yourself, squire. I am the best. Probably why you're looking like you just sat on a nightstick." He chuckles. "Sorry about your dad. Mine was a right bastard as well." He holds up his whiskey in a toast. "Bugger 'im."

[themanclion]

He doesn't know what he's supposed to be the best at exactly, but that's alright. He's not in the mood to pick any more fights and this bloke is the closest he's seen to anyone from his time, barring his teammates that have come in.

He raises his own glass.

'Bugger 'em both. Twats.'

And then some.