Characters:
pimpmyship AND YOU
Where & When: IN SOME BAR... in the Metropolis district why not!! The night after Christmas.
Rating: PG?? KIDS DON'T DRINK WHEN YOU'RE SAD. YOU KNOW WHAT JUST DON'T DRINK IF YOU'RE A KID
Summary: Warrius drinks because he's sad and has guilt complexes the size of harlock's hair
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The clank of Harlock's boots ceased at the bar where the drink had slid into view, just at Warrius' side. He took the seat without invitation or announcement (save for the bird hopping down with a graceless thud and hobbling around - wishes granted and all, there was a fish nearby it could pilfer without punishment). Half of the drink vanished in the silence, neither prompted nor prompting anything from his acquaintance. It wasn't an ignorant quiet, though - Harlock knew the air of discontent and how it hung on the shoulders of even the most sober of men. It wasn't hard to acknowledge or understand at the moment. More importantly, it wasn't his; those feelings or problems were Warrius', and that man was free to do or not do with them what he wished. Booze included.
Harlock just came in for the drink, after all.
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"Why are you here?"
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As for the question, well...it could've meant more than one thing, but Harlock didn't feel compelled to walk a more philosophical route on merely the notion of being prompted on it. Simpler was better.
"I wanted a drink."
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Wouldn't that be nice.
"You have your drink." He stated, leaning his forehead into his hand. Warrius had wondered, more than once, why Harlock was the one brought to Splendor. Of all the people he'd known and vowed to protect... Here sat only a reminder of his inability to do so.
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"The stars are foreign here," he remarked, an invitation in of itself. Whether the topic sank or floated was entirely up to the man sinking in misery.
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"They are." And the glass was raised again. "But they are there." That meant something. Maybe this world wasn't as distant as most made it out to be. Maybe their biggest obstacle was a matter of when instead of where.
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The glass made a dull and hollow sound when it was set back down.
"This is exactly what he would do," he said at length. "My friend. The problems of this place, if there are any, will come when they will. There's no point in taking up arms against something you'll waste all your energy to find. Let it come to you. Deal with it then.
"So long as there's something to drink to pass the time."
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"Drink and hope for the best. That's what you propose." The remains of his laughter eventually died out, turning it into something dry. Hollow. What brought the Federation's captain here wasn't the search for a way to deal, it was the desire to avoid dealing with anything at all (and even that had been ruined by the outlawed captain). He wasn't proud, he did not even feel justified, but he was human.
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There was an emptiness - a lack of motive or intent in Harlock's voice as he finished off his thought on it: "You're not him. You'll do or not do what suits you."
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