milliways_bar | (no subject)

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He walks down slowly, as if not quite sure what'll be there. When one is newly dead, one fears heading down far more than one fears heading up but he does in fact make it to the main bar. Another few steps gets him to the bar counter proper and then he's ordering a meal, neat as you please, and taking the bites slowly as if afraid they might disappear as readily as they appeared.

[ooc: in and out due to groceries and parentals, but I'll answer your tag]

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Wells has a hard time getting the attention of the wait-rats without someone else at his table; he's forced to go to the Bar for refills. Thus he happens to turn up at the Bar not long after the newcomer arrives.

It takes him a moment to realise why the other man looks so familiar, but he shortly smiles and nods in his direction.

He blinks in response, not quite sure why this gentleman's even noticed him among the varied sorts about this place. The nod back it s little more certain than the smile, but he's still a little shakey after dying.

"Afternoon," says Wells politely. "Didn't mean to interrupt there, but you put me in mind of someone I know. Works on the security team here."

That's true enough as far as it goes, and far safer than anything else, really.

He blinks and looks around.

"I wouldn't know who that might be, sir, as I've just come in from Yorkshire," true enough, though not exactly a full explanation. "But you're probably mistaken. I've been told I've a face that could fit a few men."

"Mm. Might be," says Wells. "Sorry if that's the case, then. My name's Harry Wells."

Hey, he could be wrong. Wasn't like he hadn't met Errol Partridge and Sharpe both, after all.

He nods and holds out a hand.

"Matthew Truman, sir."

Ding.

Wells shakes the hand. "Pleased to meet you," he says. And to recognise you, he thinks, though he's not saying that any time soon. "Welcome to the Bar, anyway. How's this place treating you?"

He shrugs and nods his head to the welcome.

"Thank you, sir. And so far, it's treating me well enough. I've at least found a familiar face upon entering and I'm sure some can't even say that. Better than the alternative, I say."

That gets a nod. "When I first came here I didn't know a damned thing about what was going on," Wells admits frankly. "Sort of got thrown through the door, and that was that. You're a step ahead of me in that, at least."

"You living, man?"

A crooked grin.

"Living? Yeah," says Wells. "Cursed, though. That's got to be worth a couple of points off."

"You're at least a step ahead of me then. Though I wonder about a curse. Most of that stuff seems nonsense."

Wells smiles wryly. "Turn up next time I'm here and the moon outside is full," he says. "You'll see how much nonsense there is in it then. Though I suggest you keep a good distance and carry something silver and sharp, 'cos I can't always keep it under control."

His brother's sitting not far away, security badge on - duty calls, after all.

And Matt gives him a nod, but not much else. It wasn't as if the two had been fast friends and companions for years. There was the bond of brotherhood between them, but Matt was an independent sort of man; such had life made him and such would he always be even in death. Thus a simple nod, an open invitation, but nothing more as he continues to enjoy his breakfast.