(Untitled)

[king_of_flirts]

It's been one of those days in Torchwood. Forget that, nearly every day was one of those days with Torchwood. He just wants a drink. He doesn't care where. This bar, looks familiar. He doesn't even notice that his beer appeared for him.

Just because he wants a quiet drink doesn't mean he's going to get one.

[new mun, so I'm bringing him back

Comments

[scots_wolf]

He might.

Next to him, a very tall, very broad-shouldered man with very long blond hair is leaning against the bar, silently sipping whisky from a glass.

At the man's feet, a solid white-and-brown dog is dozing.

[king_of_flirts]

Owen looks up, then down at this guy, sees the dog then in acknowledgement as he lifts the pint gives a nod.

"Alright?"

[scots_wolf]

The man nods to Owen, sips his whisky, and grunts assent, the way somebody who's comfortably ensconced at a bar might do.

The dog stands, stretches, yawns hugely, and sniffs at Owen's feet, which seem to smell of strange and fascinating things.

[king_of_flirts]

Owen takes a drink watching the dog, he wasn't smiling. No. He'd deny it. He reached out give the dog a pat.

[notabricklayer]

"'Evening, m'dear. Is Olga in yet?" The lazy Georgia drawl is from the man in the blue scrubs who has belied up to the bar. The one who seem completely unsurprised when a scribbled-on napkin appears at his elbow.
"No? Damn. Hope she's bein' careful. How 'bout a bit of supper, then?"

There's a pause.

"Yes, a whiskey would be just the thing."