milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Jack'd come in, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans, to sit himself down at the Bar and order some coffee. Been up working with the horses since early morning, man could use some good coffee, and, as has been previously noted, Bar makes a damn fine cup. And maybe now and again he turns his head to glance over his shoulder at the door, that one he can see and Ennis can't. Could also be some vague notions of getting lunch in his mind, too.

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"Yes, a young lad who works with the smithy. He was quite excited to start, really."

And homesick, but Lawrence wouldn't tell anyone about such things.

Lawrence is a good listener, maybe. Jack only nods, satisfied with the explanation.

"Guess I'll run into him sooner or later, then."

Even as he's saying it, though, he glances over his shoulder at the door, and maybe his voice don't sound quite so convinced as usual.

He's a good listener when he feels like being one, perhaps.

And when he watches Jack glance towards the wall - he can only assume Jack's door is there - he blinks.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. You seem .. uncertain about such things."

His eyes move over the door before he turns back to his coffee, and Jack studies the liquid in the cup, eyes downcast.

"Meet him if I'm still around here. Been thinkin'...might be bout time for me to head back to Childress for a spell, you know? Gettin' to missing my boy."

The slightest pause.

"And Lureen."

"That is understandable, I suppose." He's half-tempted to ask about the pause, but he doesn't. He fancies his jaw healed up like it is right now, really.

"It is possible, isn't it, for you to simply not be able to come back? If the door chooses not to open again from .. whereever it comes from."

Hard to tell Jack's expression, when he's looking down into his coffee cup like that, beat-up hat shading his face, and his voice is a mumble.

"Seems it. Hell, took me near a year t'find it this last time."

And he shakes his head. "I should think that you must be very certain that you are leaving because you miss your family, then, before you do such a thing."

It's sensible advice - and he watches Jack carefully, firmly.

What he wants to say to that is that if he's got no particular reason to stay, ain't a problem if he goes, but he does, so he stays silent, toying briefly with the lit cigarette before bringing to his mouth.

"Can't stay forever," he says, finally. "Got stuff I gotta see to back home. Got my family. 'f I don't find my way back here, guess I don't, but I can't just not go back."

There are reasons for him back there, too.

Lawrence notes this toying of the cigarette.

"I suppose that is true...you cannot simply not go back. But I should think that if you'd really like to come back, the bar will offer up such a chance."

At least, that's what he assumes.

"Sure like to. Better bar than any in Childress, that's for damn sure."

He grins a little, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes, and takes another pull at the cigarette.

"I can imagine. There is a disturbing lack of bars in Arabia - and an equally disturbing abundance of them in Britain. Though they're called 'pubs', that I know of."

He nods.

"Mostly they're just dumps at home."

Jack grins over his coffee mug at Lawrence, before glancing down and shrugging.

"Hell, it ain't like I wouldn't come back. People here I'd want a see. You know?"

There's something a little odd, maybe, about his tone--less cheerful than usual, more questioning--hard to tell. But it's there.

"Cracks in the ground seem to hold pubs in London, especially."

He nods.

"I know that on my part, I should hate to lose people to talk to."

He notices the odd tone - and he's got a good idea why, but he doesn't say it. It's implied in his tone.

"I'm sure other people would hate to see you go, too."

Jack looks up at him, frowns, slightly, but either sees nothing in Lawrence's expression to make him pause, or chooses to ignore it.

A quiet word to Bar, and a beer appears, which he takes, pushing the coffee mug aside, and tilting the bottle at Lawrence, eyebrow raised in a silent get you something?

"I'm quite fine, thank you."

He grins and shakes his head, wiping absently at the corner of his mouth and leaning back a little, thinking.

Glancing at him, Jack smiles a little, himself, uncertainly.

"Somethin' on your mind, bud?"

He's rolling his shoulders a tad.

"Feeling a bit out of my skin here, I think." Lawrence shakes his head.

"You understand, I'm sure." He's ... almost twitchy.

"Shit, yeah," Jack says, immediately. "Been feelin' like a long-tailed cat in a room full a rockin' chairs, like my momma always said. 's 'nother reason I feel like I oughta go on back to Childress, you know?"

There's a nod.

"I'd be going back to Britain right now, if I could. Even just for a change of scenery..." His hand curls around his glass a bit more firmly, but he only manages a smile.

"It cannot be helped, however."

Jack watches him, with something like sympathy in blue eyes, and glances away.

"Would offer to bring you back," he says, "only I ain't sure how I'd manage t'explain to Lureen who the hell you are, or 'f you could get back here."

He gave a light laugh.

"I don't know that it would be easy to explain me to anyone at all, let alone your wife. But ... thank you for the offer, at least."

"Guess we gotta settle for what this place's got for now."

Jack squints towards a window looking out over the lake, suddenly wishes he were outside, too-moist air, too many trees or no.

"For now."

He seems to be sharing a similar sentiment. "We should go out and watch the lake."

It's something that he says - because as much as he wants to swim, something about the lake makes him uncomfortable. Most water did, unless it was an oasis.

"Think that's a fine idea," says Jack, getting up and taking a last drink of his beer.

"Get outside. Some air. Shit, this place sure seems to close right on in sometimes, don't it?"

If this were Ennis, he'd grab a bottle of whiskey and they'd drink it in shares--but it ain't Ennis, so he doesn't, only waits for Lawrence to walk out the door together.

Lawrence might grab a bottle anyway, because he's feeling more like the more drunk he gets, the less worrisome the 'trapped inside a bar' will become.

When he arrives at the door he motions for Jack to go first, adjusting his robes so that they hand low on his neck and he can get at least the cool air on his throat.