(Untitled)

[themanclion]

[OOM:  Plus ça change]

When he comes in this time, he's much happier than he was last time, which is good. For him, at least. Not necessarily anyone else. And one thing that can be said about Gene is that he's consistent - when he's pissed off, he drinks and when he's happy...he's drinks.

So that's what he's doing, over there at the bar.

[Small tag of

Comments

[notaphony]

Joan's day could best be described as - well, moderate, at best.

But that doesn't mean she should neglect her mid-afternoon, post-work martini, does it?

She settles into a seat at one end of the bar to order, finding a cigarette in her purse to light up while she waits.

[themanclion]

He eyes her down the bar for a long moment, weighing up whether to speak or not. But in the end, he figures that she's going to see him anyway so it'd be pretty difficult to ignore her.

'Alrig', luv?'

He maaaaay sound a bit wary.

[notaphony]

It takes Joan a good long moment to recognize that the man sitting a few stools down is even speaking to her to begin with.

That, and she's mid-drag.

Discreetly, she exhales smoke through slightly pursed lips before responding with: "Pardon?"

[themanclion]

He frowns at her. She seems different, somehow. For one thing, she's not coming on to him like a train.

He's not sure whether to be glad of that, or disappointed.

'Gone deaf?'

[particularskill]

There's an older man already seated at the bar, one glass of beer in front of him almost untouched, his grey eyes scanning the crowd. To the untrained eye, there's nothing distinctive about him, save for his height, and the way he sits minimises the impact. Black leather coat, black shirt over fairly new blue jeans, black duty boots.

To the trained eye, he's got a shoulder holster rigged for a right handed cross draw underneath that jacket, probably a .45. He's also taken a seat that allows him a good view of both the front and the rear exits, as well as a good view of the rest of the bar.

He meets Gene's gaze and gives a small nod, his expression not impassive, but not threatening. Guarded is perhaps the best description.

"Afternoon."

[themanclion]

Gene eyes him through a cloud of cigarette smoke, taking in his appearance and the look on his face. He's not any sort of expert in body language, mainly because he's never heard of the concept officially and would think it a load of bollocks if he had. So his mind wanders to the default of vaguely suspicious, which is just about how he views everyone at first.

'Alrigh'?'

[particularskill]

Sometimes he misses cigarettes. He'd quit when he came back to the States for good (Kimmie had begged him to), and though poker night meant a good cigar with the boys, it wasn't the same as that constant companion.

"Not bad."

He's served with all manner of Her Majesty's sainted, and while he's pretty certain the man has been in the service at one point, he's certainly not career military. Which doesn't explained the eye he's being given.

"Yourself?"

[themanclion]

'Bloody marvellous, thanks.'

And he's not even being sarcastic. He does feel bloody marvellous.

'You lookin' f'someone?'

[themanclion]

He's smoking casually, not really paying attention to much. And then he spots movement by his elbow, looks down and nearly jumps out of his seat.

'Jesus Christ!'

He grabs a barmat and slams it down on the....creature (what the hell was that, anyway?) and then looks around for the source of the laughing.

'...oh, it's you.'

Hmfph.

[themanclion]

Yeah, he's aware that the mat just hit the solid bar-top and now he knows where it came from, he's not surprised.

'I don'.'

Except he just did.

'Usually. A man don' expect to be bothered by creepy crawlies when he's havin' a drink, tha's all.'