milliways_bar | (no subject)

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He desn't get many entrance posts anymore. That hardly means his mun has forgotten about him.

That said, there is a MacManus inna bar. Drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.

He's friendly enough, so don't hesitate to say hello. You may not get the chance again for a while.

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And, lo, ~~the beast looked upon the face of beauty~~ there was a Jack nearby, with coffee instead of beer, looking midly annoyed.

If he saw Connor, he might say hello, but he's far too distracted by his own magazine.

Connor looked up from his paper, but as the man nearby was reading a magazine, he didn't say anything to interrupt.

Jack coughs, flips a page of the newspaper, sips at his coffee, and glances up towards Connor. Who's looking at him.

"Hello."

"Hey." Connor nods in greeting.

"What are you reading?" asks the nosy writer.

"Sports page." Connor answers and turns the paper around. He's not overly interested in sports, but it's something to do to waste the time. "You?" he eyes the magazine.

"The New Yorker," he replies. "It's an old edition; I've read it before." He closes the magazine and pushes it aside, folding his arms on top of the booth. "My name is Jack Driscoll."

"Connor MacManus." Connor offered his hand, rough and calloused from years of hard work and gun handling. "Pleasure."

Jack unfolds his arms and extends his hand, shaking Connor's as he observes the condition of the other man's hand. This hand reminded Jack of the ones he had seen on the men the Venture, the men he had shared an adventure with--the men he doubted he would ever see again.

"The same."

He pulls his hand back and folds his arms again.

"I guess the usual introductions are in order: I'm from New York City, 1933."

"Boston, 2010." Connor answers. "Been Bound since I got here, about eight months ago."

[OOC: Not entirely sure of the year, accounting for how long Murphy's been dead on the outside...but it's close, yeah]

He nods.

"I've been Bound for close to two weeks, now. How do you like it here?"

"'Sokay, I guess. My brother's here. Adopted a sister, we did, and she's here too." Connor says with a little smile. But his eyes darken abruptly. "My brother's dead, where I come from."

Jack's smile fades just as abruptly. "I'm sorry," he says in a sympathetic tone. "How old was he when he died?"

"35. But he's only 28 here." Connor rubs his face. "It's complicated. We're twins, but he's here eight years behind me."

Maybe the fact h's able to talk about it with a complete stranger is a good thing? Maybe it means he's healing, if only a little.

"That must be...awkward."

Understated much?

"We're dealing with it." Connor nods. At least, he's trying to deal with it. "I shouldn't have brought it up. It's difficult to understand, and I'm living it."

He shakes his head. "Talking about it helps."

"Not talking about it certainly doens't help," Connor mutters. He turns a smile to Jack. "I guess. I'm working on that too."

"We all have our vices," he says pensively.

Connor takes a sip of coffee.

"Aye, and we do. What's yours?"

"Pride."

"Only a problem when it's in excess."

He shrugs. "Every vice has its ebb and flow."

"I suppose that's true." Connor nods. "I see you've got coffee, but can I get you a drink?"

He shakes his head. "I've had enough to drink tonight, thanks."

"Fair enough." Connor drank the last of his coffee.

"We need ta do somethin'."

Twin in the opposite seat, no warning.

"Oh, aye. And what do ya suggest?"

Twin looking nonplussed at the sudden appearance of brother.

Sheepish look. "Was hopin' you'd have some ideas."

"Aye, 'swhy I'm readin' a week old paper."

Slumping over the table, grumbling in German.

"Anyone ever told me before this I'd be bored in a bar, I'd of thought them insane." Not even looking up.

"Aye," a shake of his head.

"I'm so bored I don't even want to get drunk."

"You just don't want any more encounters with th' hangover potion."

"And d'ya blame me, then?" Blue eyes stared back at him.

"Fuck no. Th' stuff's nearly fuckin' worse than th' hangovers themselves. Be glad I only made ya deal with a half dose."

"Very brotherly, aye." Connor tips his coffee cup toward him.

"'S all I can be, deartháir." Nodding in response.

"Aye." A nod.

"'S not much, but we could go outside for a walk. Get out of here for a bit."

"Better than nothin', aye."

"Aye." Connor slid out of the booth and nodded toward the door.

Murphy slides out of the booth a second later.

"After you, deartháir."

And they're gone.

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