(no subject)
It's amazing how some things never change. Somehow, 20-year-old John has adopted the same exact bar stool as his 57-year-old future self. It's not difficult to explain; it's on the short end of the Bar, the return around the corner of the long front, so he has his back to the wall and a full view of the entire premises.
He's been raiding the library upstairs like a starving man, and has spent the day with his nose in some rather dubious and obscure texts, scribbling obsessively into a notebook. What, did you think that John never studied? That he can't even read? Even powerful mages have to start somewhere.
Finally, he looks up and stretches. "Gi'us a pint and 20 Silk Cut, ta sweetheart," he carefully says to the Bar. When the Guinness and packet of cigarettes appear (along with the same overflowing ashtray that the Bar gives to John's older self), John stifles a smile. He's still not quite used to the Bar being somewhat sentient, but he's growing quite fond of her and is careful not to get cigarette burns on her surface.
He lights a smoke and turns to face the room, scanning the occupants. From his pocket he pulls a half-crown piece and starts rolling it back and forth along the knuckles of one hand.
If idle hands are the devil's playground, someone had better stop John before he turns into a Tilt-a-Whirl.
He's been raiding the library upstairs like a starving man, and has spent the day with his nose in some rather dubious and obscure texts, scribbling obsessively into a notebook. What, did you think that John never studied? That he can't even read? Even powerful mages have to start somewhere.
Finally, he looks up and stretches. "Gi'us a pint and 20 Silk Cut, ta sweetheart," he carefully says to the Bar. When the Guinness and packet of cigarettes appear (along with the same overflowing ashtray that the Bar gives to John's older self), John stifles a smile. He's still not quite used to the Bar being somewhat sentient, but he's growing quite fond of her and is careful not to get cigarette burns on her surface.
He lights a smoke and turns to face the room, scanning the occupants. From his pocket he pulls a half-crown piece and starts rolling it back and forth along the knuckles of one hand.
If idle hands are the devil's playground, someone had better stop John before he turns into a Tilt-a-Whirl.