Lacking any particular plans for the day, Indy's big concern was staying out of the snow. Lunch wouldn't kill him either. The morning's encounter with Luke Skywalker and the subsequent exchanges on the bulletin board at Callahan's had put him slightly out of sorts. As always, Pilgrim and Peter had good intentions, but in this case he thought those intentions were misplaced. If they were bent on helping Luke, they'd be better off making friends with him so he'd have something to talk to when the blows inevitably came, rather than scrambling to keep him insulated as if he were a kid who still believed in Santa
( ... )
At this point in his life, the only kind of alcohol that Harvey was interested in was shots. It got the job done quickly and also took the edge off, which was exactly what he was looking for. It also seemed that these days, he was drawn to things that were painful, and that stuff sure did burn on the way down
( ... )
Painkillers, Indy thought, and then, ah, hell with it. He hadn't seen an actual nurse all morning, and whatever they'd had him on was wearing painfully off. Failing medical treatment, a drink was the next best thing. Maybe better.
"Sure," he agreed. He bellied up to the bar and studied the offerings behind it. They were extensive, particularly to someone for whom Prohibition hadn't ended all that long ago; some of the brands he knew and some he didn't. He didn't particularly care which one he drank. There'd probably come a time when being in a bar didn't remind him of Marion, but if so, he hadn't hit it yet.
She wouldn't be impressed by this little place. Indy shrugged the thought off, unfurrowed his brow, and ordered a shot of whiskey, sliding his card across the bar as he did. "How're you holding up today?" he asked Dent while he waited for the bartender to look at it.
So Jones was up for drinking at this early hour and he was getting whiskey. Good man. The unburnt side of Harvey's mouth curled up into something that might have been a smile as he also slid the bartender his card. "What he's having," he said with a tilt of his head to the other man.
And seeing how he didn't want to be bothered (and the bartender didn't look like the chatty type), he ended up seating himself at one of the stools. It was no surprise that there was no television in here, even though they were more or less a staple at any bar these days. Even if it had only been a game that was on, it would have given them some sort of information and it would have gotten rid of this bothersome silence that was lingering in the place.
At least a few other people were filtering in.
At the question, Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "Everything still hurts, but I can still walk on my own, so that's something." Ending up in a wheelchair would more or less be torture for him. "How's the hand?" he asked in return.
Leela spent the morning alone, and that suited her just fine. She wasn't used to her life requiring a great deal of thought to get through. She'd always attributed this to the people around her being incapable of deeper ruminations
( ... )
After the morning in the park, Gren needed someplace to warm up. He wasn't feeling any better--mentally or physically--but he very much doubted there was much he could do about that. The town wasn't much to look at--small and antiquated with nothing much to catch his eye. Food was far from appetizing, but at the end of the street, he spotted the bar and decided that would do for the moment. After everything that had happened, quite frankly, he could use a drink
( ... )
Leela was happy to find that the prices were just as quaint as the décor. What she really wanted was one of those green, sparkly drinks, but they were too technologically advanced for this place. She decided that the beer her Landel's Not-Fun Bucks would get her, even uncaffeinated, would make a crisp, refreshing eye-opener. She'd ordered (it was a good thing she wasn't aksed for proof of age, but she still felt a twinge to her vanity at being pegged as obviously old enough), when she saw someone familiar approaching, and walked over to greet him
( ... )
"Leela. Hey." He kept the smile up for her sake while glancing around the bar again. With the decor, he half expected Big Shot to start up over a television somewhere at any moment. He hadn't expected to find anywhere more worn-down looking than the Rester House, but somehow, this place managed it. There were peanut shells on the floor. Was that supposed to be charming?
"You probably don't want to know," he replied, smile fading a bit. "I had a bad night. You look good, though." Even if the clothes were not exactly fashionable. No one's were, which meant the army was either cheap, or wanted them to suffer just that little bit more.
These were the days that Brook loved the best. Not necessarily the days where it snowed (things were a bit chilly with his provided clothes coming up short), but the days that they were given so much freedom of movement! They could do whatever they wanted within reason, so while the actual act of piracy was out Brook could at least enjoy the quaintness of the town and all that entailed
( ... )
Carter's latest interaction with Claire left him sparkling like a star. He'd had a few people tell him that he was doing right and okay, but the happiness-high had only lasted until the next time something horrible happened. It was just a bandage on the lingering psychological and moral issues present in the young sergeant's destructive mind
( ... )
Brook watched as the barkeep and one of the nursing staff seemed to exchange glances concerning him before he went over to the bar without either trying to stop him. He unfortunately did not see a piano anywhere around, so that would mean he'd have to settle for a drink if they allowed him. There were others around the bar that might have been patients as well, and it looked like they were drinking so...
"Would it be possible to get a beer with this, sir?" As he showed the card to the man behind the counter, he heard someone give a greeting and looked to the side to see that it was directed at him. And with a smile like that, Brook could not help but oblige with one of his own. "Hello yourself! You seem to be in a good mood. Yohohohoho!" Was this a patient perhaps? Or maybe one of the townsfolk? Whichever he was, he seemed to be friendly enough. Brook was usually the one to start off conversations, not the other way around!
"Well, it's been a pretty good day so far." The coffee was warm in his stomach and Claire's words were warm in his chest, the outside chill hadn't been able to touch him.
Carter pulled himself up a seat and put his elbows on the bar, giving a happy little sigh. "Doyleton days are always good, but this one's being especially pretty good. What about you?" This seemed like a nice man, despite his alarmingly large hair. Perhaps he was an alien, or foreign.
Kurogane wasn't going to put up a fight if the nurses didn't want him going into a bar in broad daylight, clearly intent on drinking, but that didn't mean he was going to be cautious out going into the place. It was a bar, and he was anything but underage. Even if they had a problem with him getting anything there wasn't any real reason why he couldn't go in
( ... )
While he still wasn't entirely sure how much $25 would buy him, he had a sort of inkling, after exploring the town for the last few weeks. Currency was always different, no matter what world they visited, though usually something like this came up a lot sooner
( ... )
Kurogane didn't like the response he got, mostly because it didn't make sense to him. "Not in this hemisphere" didn't explain anything so much as the tone it was said in. No sake then. After watching the man get a look from the nurse at the door though, he eventually sighed out that they had wine and beer. Wine made sense, and it was exactly what the ninja wanted
( ... )
The glass that arrived was almost enough to make him forget his worries, if only for a moment or two. The scent, the taste, the feeling of a glass in his hand, it was all so painfully familiar. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip that was probably much longer than it ought to be. Sure enough, even the taste was just as it should be. Not the best quality, perhaps, but even cheap wine was better than none at all.
He let out a contented sigh, pointedly ignoring his present company in favor of the glass in front of him. There was another sip, more leisurely this time. While it probably wasn't the best of ideas to come here on an empty stomach at lunch, it would certainly heighten the effects of the drink. Not that he minded.
Stepping inside the doorway, the Scarecrow paused to take in the sight: bottles and glasses everywhere, signs on every wall, the floor littered with peanuts, a large green table without any chairs, and a long counter with several cushion-capped stools lining it. Well, he couldn't say it wasn't an interesting place, and it seemed a few other patients thought the same thing. He was fairly certain he heard Sergeant Carter's voice trailing through the room.
Spotting a few empty seats at the nearest table, the Scarecrow stepped out of the way for his friend. "How about here?"
Small bars went one of three ways. Sports, Irish, or kitsch. This was definitely number three, though the gun looked real. So did the chairs.
"Lifesaver, man, you're a lifesaver." He took a seat. "The cold felt good for a while, but if you hadn't come along I'd have sat there all day. Ow."
Adding ethanol to the cocktail of synthetic opioids and non-steroidal anti-inflammatories running around his bloodstream was something he would have been contractually obligated to protest. People with principles were expected to be so damn inflexible. His were more like guidelines. Don't fuck with your brain chemistry unless it's serious.
Almost three weeks trapped in an alternate dimension where the irreversibility of death was on the list of guidelines that weren't rules qualified as an emergency.
Cold beer for brunch. Maybe they'd bring some peanuts out too. He ordered two half-pints, to spare his liver and the world from a drunk Scarecrow.
Letting Sangamon choose his seat first, the Scarecrow took the one next to him, still eyeing the rest of the room. He remained silent, allowing his friend do the ordering: the former strawman wouldn't have known what to get in the first place, and his stomach was surprisingly quiet for how little he'd eaten the day before. Thumbing through his book, there was a note for a free meal at one of the other places in town; he supposed he could wait a little longer
( ... )
S.T. was still laughing -- real irony-flavored belly laugh -- when the beers arrived. He washed down the reaction with a swig. It was colder than his half-frozen hands, like it should be. "Fuck if I know what they're good for. We got a little silver shield from the Sphinx's riddle, and two swords from last night
( ... )
Comments 53
Reply
Reply
"Sure," he agreed. He bellied up to the bar and studied the offerings behind it. They were extensive, particularly to someone for whom Prohibition hadn't ended all that long ago; some of the brands he knew and some he didn't. He didn't particularly care which one he drank. There'd probably come a time when being in a bar didn't remind him of Marion, but if so, he hadn't hit it yet.
She wouldn't be impressed by this little place. Indy shrugged the thought off, unfurrowed his brow, and ordered a shot of whiskey, sliding his card across the bar as he did. "How're you holding up today?" he asked Dent while he waited for the bartender to look at it.
Reply
And seeing how he didn't want to be bothered (and the bartender didn't look like the chatty type), he ended up seating himself at one of the stools. It was no surprise that there was no television in here, even though they were more or less a staple at any bar these days. Even if it had only been a game that was on, it would have given them some sort of information and it would have gotten rid of this bothersome silence that was lingering in the place.
At least a few other people were filtering in.
At the question, Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "Everything still hurts, but I can still walk on my own, so that's something." Ending up in a wheelchair would more or less be torture for him. "How's the hand?" he asked in return.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
"You probably don't want to know," he replied, smile fading a bit. "I had a bad night. You look good, though." Even if the clothes were not exactly fashionable. No one's were, which meant the army was either cheap, or wanted them to suffer just that little bit more.
Reply
Reply
Reply
"Would it be possible to get a beer with this, sir?" As he showed the card to the man behind the counter, he heard someone give a greeting and looked to the side to see that it was directed at him. And with a smile like that, Brook could not help but oblige with one of his own. "Hello yourself! You seem to be in a good mood. Yohohohoho!" Was this a patient perhaps? Or maybe one of the townsfolk? Whichever he was, he seemed to be friendly enough. Brook was usually the one to start off conversations, not the other way around!
Reply
Carter pulled himself up a seat and put his elbows on the bar, giving a happy little sigh. "Doyleton days are always good, but this one's being especially pretty good. What about you?" This seemed like a nice man, despite his alarmingly large hair. Perhaps he was an alien, or foreign.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
He let out a contented sigh, pointedly ignoring his present company in favor of the glass in front of him. There was another sip, more leisurely this time. While it probably wasn't the best of ideas to come here on an empty stomach at lunch, it would certainly heighten the effects of the drink. Not that he minded.
His smile came just a little easier.
Reply
Stepping inside the doorway, the Scarecrow paused to take in the sight: bottles and glasses everywhere, signs on every wall, the floor littered with peanuts, a large green table without any chairs, and a long counter with several cushion-capped stools lining it. Well, he couldn't say it wasn't an interesting place, and it seemed a few other patients thought the same thing. He was fairly certain he heard Sergeant Carter's voice trailing through the room.
Spotting a few empty seats at the nearest table, the Scarecrow stepped out of the way for his friend. "How about here?"
Reply
"Lifesaver, man, you're a lifesaver." He took a seat. "The cold felt good for a while, but if you hadn't come along I'd have sat there all day. Ow."
Adding ethanol to the cocktail of synthetic opioids and non-steroidal anti-inflammatories running around his bloodstream was something he would have been contractually obligated to protest. People with principles were expected to be so damn inflexible. His were more like guidelines. Don't fuck with your brain chemistry unless it's serious.
Almost three weeks trapped in an alternate dimension where the irreversibility of death was on the list of guidelines that weren't rules qualified as an emergency.
Cold beer for brunch. Maybe they'd bring some peanuts out too. He ordered two half-pints, to spare his liver and the world from a drunk Scarecrow.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment