Jack Frost, completely male and untransgendered, is in the bar ( Read more... )

Parker comes in, blinks and takes a seat at the bar. He's road dusty and travel dirty.

He looks like he could use a beer.

Thom, at a table, sketchbook open before him; pencil twirling between two thin fingers. He seems to find it a little dull.

Parker steps into the bar, his boots newer than before. He's wearing an Italian shirt and worn jeans, his expression carefully controlled.

Striding to the bar, he asks for a beer, taking a long swallow before settling against the bar to wait.

[oom: IN which Jack Frost holds a rather eventful dinner party.

Assume, shall we say, that this was a day ago. Perhaps two or three.

Warnings for violence, specifically leading to death.]

When Parker woke, he knew something was wrong. It wasn't until he realized that he was padding on four legs down to the bar that he realized there might be a huge problem.

Yipping unhappily, Parker settles near the fire.

Mary Anne walks in the door tired, filthy, and immensely pleased with herself.

She pulls up a stool, giving Bar's surface an affectionate pat before ordering a steak and some onion rings. Tequila will inevitably follow.

She's in a friendly mood tonight and wouldn't mind sharing some food, drink, or just conversation. Pull up a chair.

Sitting in front of the lit fire in the fireplace is Midna. Drinking at a mug of hot chocolate.

A small knowing smile on her lips.

She certainly seems to be in better spirits.

Jack Frost is in the bar, with a glass of water and a book of poems that he's still working his way through.

Occasionally, he will pause, and reread a verse. Contemplate a line. A word.

He's going to have to write this one on the window.

It's been a while. And things have happened, in that time, things that maybe Fire wasn't expecting, things that she's not proud of. Maybe that's why she's quiet, tonight, not playing with fire or people-watching, hunched over the bar with a cup of hot chocolate, stirring it idly ( Read more... )