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Entry tags:

✞ — dropped characters — ✞

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Date & Time: tonight!
Location: SOME BAR
Characters: Snake & Laurence
Summary: ROOMMATE BONDING. or failing that, two dudes out for a drink.
Warnings: probably none!

He shouldn't be here.

Of course, Laurence counsels himself, none of them should be here. None of them belong here, and he's quite sure they all have their own important business to get back to. He tells himself this, yes, and it does no good. All he can think of when he thinks of home is the desperation he'd been ripped from. Prussia, fallen. Fort Danzig, captured. A desperate flight to England, with Temeraire weighted down by more Prussian soldiers than any dragon had any business carrying, refugees from the Fort-- desperate enough and long enough a flight to make the soldiers forget Temeraire and his crew were trying to help. Men in pain, dying of wounds and of thirst, could think only of freeing themselves. Fights had begun to break out, and then French dragons had been spotted, and--

--And none of that would help him now. Laurence slowly released the fist he hadn't known he'd clenched, and gave his somewhat-restored coat a quick brush. Habit and nerves, more than necessity.

Yes, a drink sounded really very welcome. He resettled himself again on the couch in the main room of the small apartment, willing himself calm. Perhaps answers to the many questions of the war that he could pose to Snake would help. Perhaps.

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After everything he's heard so far, and despite his title, Jack suddenly feels very small in the grand scheme of things.

He still wishes that all of his is just a very weird dream--probably a fever dream--he'd wake up from soon; with Kaz sitting at the bed and starting to yell at him for worrying all of them the moment he opened his eye. Sadly, the more time passes, the more unlikely that particular scenario begins to seem. Right now, all he can do is hope they'll be all right and that things will turn out for the best. And that a third world war hasn't already begun once he goes back. If ever.

Maybe his world would be better off without him, anyway.

Sighing, he returns to the apartment which he finds very hard to accept as his new living quarters. It's not even the fact that he's sharing it, but rather the fact that it's always been hard to feel at home anywhere as a nomad. He'd just gotten used to their maritime base, and then this--now he feels almost exactly like a fish out of the water, only that he isn't dying yet.

But he supposes it could be worse. They could've taken all of his weapons from him... which he's carrying on his person at all times; like hell he'll leave them laying around somewhere. He'll probably have to, sooner or later; but only once he's made up his mind where he's gonna stay.

Ngh. He's just raised his hand to knock at the door when he remembers that he does still have the key. Laurence may be in his room or the bathroom, so it's possible he wouldn't even hear him, so he ultimately decides to open the door himself. If his internal clock's right, he might already be five minutes late, but he doesn't really give a damn. Hard to give a damn about anything, but he wants to remain friendly, and he will.

He's remarkably quiet when he unlocks the door and pushes it open--out of habit. His voice is a stark contrast to the language of his body, which is inherently more subdued.

"Hey, Captain."

The most amazing change wrought by the years so far, Laurence thinks, are the time-keeping devices. Not only are they directly numbers, instead of the hands of a clock face, but most of them are portable-- more so even than pocket watches. No man goes about wondering after the time. It's thanks to the particular gently glowing blue numerical display that he can see from the couch, that Laurence knows precisely how late Snake is. Which is, of course, his right to be. He's been kept waiting for hours by his superiors, and if anything, Laurence is pleasantly surprised that it's so little time gone past the agreed-upon meeting time.

He rises, nearly as soon as the door opens, and gives a polite nod. He remembers of course that he'd been asked to leave off the man's title, but he's still unwilling to refer to him by anything less formal. So he says instead, "I hope the evening finds you well," formal by namelessness.

His manner, outwardly, is very different from the stiffly offended face he'd presented at their last meeting. There's no tight clench of his jaw, and less hardness about the eyes, but little else has changed. If he's planning on relaxing at all, it clearly won't be any time soon.

"Do you need anything from here, or shall we be off?"

Jack's pleasantly surprised. He doesn't expect the man to drop the somewhat stiff, formal demeanor, but at least most of the tension seems to have dissipated. Going out with a man he barely knows will already be awkward enough by itself; he'd rather prefer to keep it at manageable levels.

"Same," he says, not wasting time with unnecessary formalities, "And no, but I want to drop something off." He's been thinking that over for a bit, but ultimately he has to let go as well--of a lot of things. He still remembers which room Laurence had claimed for himself and chooses another one, making his way over to the door. And guesses that's probably some sort of confirmation that he'll be staying here, at least for a while.

Because. He doesn't even know for sure, but in the end he's feeling a little more apathetic than he likes to appear.

And so he disappears into the room for one, two minutes at most before re-emerging, without some of his gear, and straightens the collar of his own coat.

"Sorry. If you'll follow me? I don't think we'll be walking even ten minutes. You can tell me about anything interesting you've come across today on the way."

And with that, he starts leading the way.

Laurence only nods at that; for as wordy as he's noticed his sentences tend to be, compared to most of those around here, he's never been a fan of speaking without need of it. He waits patiently, taking the time afforded to him to idly explore the small kitchen. Most of the appliances are unrecognizable, and not only because he rarely finds himself in kitchens at all. He's eying the microwave with all skepticism when Jack reappears, but promptly falls into step behind him as they leave.

The loss of gear doesn't go unnoticed, just as the previously well-armed state hadn't. He'd been doubtful before as to whether or not the man would take the proffered accommodations of this place, but he supposes this much confirms that he will. Or, at the very least, that he'll keep belongings here. Laurence doesn't mind. As blunt and coarse as Jack is, Laurence is sure he could secure worse as a housemate.

"To speak frankly, everything interesting I have run into should take fully more than the ten minutes to touch upon." As soon as they're to the street, Laurence keeps pace at his side, rather than to the back. A pause, and he adds, in an attempt at something that could be mistaken for the twice-removed cousin of humor, "The years have made an art of making coffee, I can say that much."

Jack has a hard time imagining that the other man could have run into so many interesting things in one day (considering there isn't much to do and Jack himself doesn't marvel at technological progress for very long) until it occurs to him--

"Oh right. Almost everything must be completely new for you." Mankind really has made some progress in two hundred years... though this is supposed to be the year three thousand something. Thinking about it, it's kinda odd they would've needed that long for a time machine... but who knows what the world beyond this island looks like?

"Did you find the coffee maker? It's pretty convenient, though I prefer the more traditional approach. There's nothing quite like a freshly brewed cup of black Costa Rican coffee in the morning."

Which just reminds him that that they don't have anything like that here, it's all very bland... but they must have around 300 different brands of tea--or at least it feels like that to him--he could really do without. He'd rather stick to his 'muddy water'.

"...Of course, as a British man, you might not agree with me."

Here's to hoping that the booze will be better. He leads them around the next corner, and there's their destination. Actually, he finds it a little surprising that they can just move around like that... maybe he should try and see how far he can get without anyone dragging him back, even if he has no idea where to even go.

The pub, then. Looks and sounds pretty busy--people apparently have had the same idea.

Laurence had found the coffee maker, and had spent a good half of an hour puzzling over its use, before finally unlocking the secret quite by accident. It had been quite impressive, even through the general haze of his suppressed anxiety.

"Although I confess I have not had the pleasure of Costa Rican coffee, I have never turned away a cup. Indeed, it is nearly indispensable on a cold morning's battlefield," he says, and edges just a little closer for the noise of the freshly entered pub. It's been some time since he was around so many civilians all at once, in a setting like this. And here, he's not even marked apart as an Aviator to be avoided by respectable company. Or at least, no one here knows to recognize him as one. It's odd to think of it like that.

He glances around and, failing to see two seats together readily apparent, looks instead toward the bar.

"I offer up the first drink of my own pocket, if only you can find us a decent seat."

Jack arches a brow. Well, at least they agree on one thing. A certain former colleage of his would have spent the next thirty minutes going on about how much more sophisticated tea is compared to coffee, as well as recite every single member of the royal family and their relationship with tea, but he's pretty glad he's being spared that lecture for now. They're here for something else, after all.

And he actually doesn't mind to enter the place without really being noticed; it's sort of nice--people have always made a big deal out of it in the recent months, and here nobody really cares. But it's a little unfortunate that it really seems to be that crowded in here, he wouldn't mind that either if it didn't leave them awkwardly standing near the door; that, and he would really prefer to sit down while having a drink.

But Jack usually gets what he wants, even if he sometimes needs to be a little pushy. He obviously has no problem approaching a pair of guys sitting at one corner of the bar, both visibly and audibly inebriated. He talks to them, something about 'haven't you both had enough by now?', but his friendly advice isn't quite being registered as such, and before Jack's face is met with a fist, he catches the the wrist belonging to it in a firm grip and twists it brutally.

There's a very piercing yelp, and heads being turned into the direction of the sound. But he doesn't mind, because ultimately the men don't seem to want to start an all out brawl, and decide to hastily quit the field--and the pub--instead. Nobody could blame him for not having tried a diplomatic approach at first, now could they?

He gives the few people who have been looking a glare that sort of seems to say, what the hell are you looking at? before turning towards Laurence again.

And sinks down into one of the seats, making a vague dismissive gesture. There you go.

Laurence can't not see this, even as he's headed for the bar and making a decent attempt to flag down the tender. It begins a surreptitious watch, just to see where Jack might place their seats, turns into a sidelong look when he sees the odd conversation begin, and is an outright stare by the time the two men decide their time would be better spent elsewhere.

Well. At least he'd sent the right man for the job. Laurence can't bring himself to feel too terribly sorry for the men, as anyone could argue that they really had had enough only by watching them stumble out, but he turns away quickly with a slight cough to cover what might be the smallest of amused smiles.

The ends, as they say, do tend to justify the means. And in this case, he now has a seat to be making his way back toward with two cold whiskys. But nonetheless, as he sets Jack's down in front of him and takes a seat, it seems best not to comment. Instead, he says, "I hope I find you a man of whisky. I was unfamiliar with a good deal of the options available, and did not want to risk something unknown."

"I'm not too picky."

He really isn't--as long as it gets the job done, a friend of his used to say, and he finds that to be pretty accurate. But somehow he'd expected Laurence to comment on his way of securing them two free seats; so he's pleasantly surprised when that doesn't turn out to be the case. Maybe he's just gotten too used to being lectured every step of the way.

Soon enough, people are occupied with their own business again, and the background noise is at its previous volume again. Good--now let's just hope those guys don't come back anytime soon, possibly with their buddies. Not that he minds a good brawl, but this probably isn't the time for it. Not when he has company. He sort of clutches the glass in front of him, falling silent and remaining so for a while; sipping quietly. Although it's tempting to just down the whole glass in one go and order another one. The taste doesn't really register; it's okay, he supposes, then thinks about something else, associations.

And almost zones out.

Talk.

"You didn't need to pay for that, by the way. I'm pretty sure the prices are outrageous, too."

Laurence is happy enough with the silence, if only because it allows him to get through his drink a little more quickly than conversation might. But of course he's terribly conscious of the fact that he's failing in his duty as a gentleman. A gentleman makes lively and engaging conversation, ensuring that none of his party ever should have to bear an awkward silence. The duty is, of course, waived with those one is better acquainted with, but this new housemate of his hardly fits into that category. The two of them are still nearly strangers.

...Still, though, their lulls in conversation don't feel to be periods of uncomfortable silence. It's very nearly companionable. He glances up with Jack speaks, drink clinking back down to the table.

"Outrageous is not the word I should have picked for it; indeed, I do not mind in the slightest." And here he smiles, because the alcohol is already reminding him that people prefer warm company to brooding company. "In any case, if I am to understand correctly, our wages earned here shall be plenty enough to cover the cost of pubs."

"Yeah, about five hundred Mark... no, that was Germany, wasn't it. Marque--something. Could've just stuck to Pound."

The latter of that is barely intelligible because he's grumbling and trailing off, speaking into his drink rather than to his companion, it seems. And he's only had a few sips so far, so he can't even be slightly dizzy.

The slurring will probably set in after another glass or two. And he's usually able to hold his booze; it might be a mood thing. But it's bound to make him more talkative.

Jack's still staring into his glass, corners of his mouth turned down, watching the liquid sway back and forth.

"I don't even know how much that is in dollar, so they might be cheating all of us. And I can't take any of that back with me, I guess, so I return with empty hands from this assignment... if I return at all."

Idly, he begins fishing for something in one of his pockets.

Laurence is privately of the opinion that the most jarring aspect of his travel here-- the destination he'd been so desperately seeking, if entirely the wrong year and world-- is the change of currency. He had simply never considered he might see the end of pounds and shillings. It's quite the strange adjustment. He says nothing to that, however. It would only be complaints, if he added any of his own thoughts to what are quite clearly simply musings.

Instead he swirls the liquid in his own glass, eyes on it. "We will find ways home," he says calmly, as though there's really no use in speculating, it's just that sure. "The important tasks yet to finish, left for what I am certain is most of us, will insure that much. With so many minds in one place and striving for one goal, there are sure to be bright minds that will shortly make themselves known." He glances up finally, curiosity filtering in through the calm certainty. "Do you regard this as an assignment?"

Wise words.

He just wishes he could believe them. He's talked to quite a few people now, some of which seem very competent but haven't really been able to procure useful information either. You just hear the same things over and over again. He knows he should be more optimistic, but given there's no one around right now who's looking up to him, he allows himself to brood and be a little apathetic.

He orders a new glass--something stronger--before even finishing his first one. From his pocket, he produces both a small, silver case and a zippo.

"My life consists of nothing but assignments," he says, contemplating his own words and removing a cigar from the case, placing it between his lips. He continues, "But I hope what you said turns out to be true. What I've been told by people in the Hold isn't getting my hopes up... we'll have to see what happens."

Yeah, I love the waiting game.

He falls quiet again, lighting his smoke.

Well, Laurence can at least emphasize with that much. Since he'd originally joined the Navy, his life had been one of service, through and through.

He watches the lighter curiously, obviously interested when flame springs out of it. But it's not the most amazing thing he's seen here so far (though it might be competing for the title of most useful), and he's able not to comment. Eventually his eyes drop away again, lingering on his drink instead. It's true, that nothing he's heard has been encouraging. It would be easy to give up hoping and believe that they'll be here for a very long time indeed.

"If all attempts at returns should fail, and it becomes a matter of simply living out lives here, in the service of these war efforts instead of ones we are more familiar with..." He hesitates briefly. This is a question of an awfully personal nature to be asking a recent acquaintance. But of course the alcohol helps, even as he's a little surprised to note that his drink is nearly done already. He glances up at Jack. "What should that mean for you?"

It's a small miracle the zippo even works, really. Probably the only positive thing he's experienced in this place so far--well no, that's not entirely true. Things could always be worse, and considering he might as well be in a prison or torture chamber right now (the places he usually finds himself in when kidnapped), this isn't so bad. He still has his weapons, his smokes, a drink... and even a comfortable room.

And just as he thinks about that, Laurence asks his question. What if he really ends up having to live out his life here, would that really be that much or bad of a change? He never stays in one place for long, after all, but he'd just gotten used to that place they'd built together from the ground up...

He chews on his cigar a little, glancing at Laurence from the corner of his one, good eye. Granted, he's not an expert on his time period specifically, but he can't think of anyone with that name that would have been mentioned in history (but sometimes, that doesn't mean much). He wonders if there'd be grave consequences if he goes missing for long. As for Jack... it's hard to tell. MSF might disband, and the world might become a little more peaceful. And oppressive.

"...Nothing much," he sighs. It's probably the truth. "But I don't like to have my life and the way I live it dictated by others. I'd feel caged." Already do. "--And I like to travel the world. I don't think there's anything worth seeing here, even if it was easy to leave Britain."

The stuff he's heard about the United Earth--yeah, definitely not an exciting prospect. He waves his hand dismissively, smoke wafting in the air.

"You? You were sort of in the middle of something very important, I think."

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would you prefer i reply to the entry, or to your comments? I'M GOOD WITH EITHER

either is good, really! but I figured you'd get a notif anyway

to the comment it is, then B)

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