(no subject)

[twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com]

[OOM: The Americans claimed to be dragon slayers when they turned up on Quinn's doorstep. And now, they get to prove it... only things don't turn out like they'd planned.]

When the Bar's front door opens, the only thing visible on the other side is a dimly lit castle hallway. There's a whiff of disinfectant and iodine, and of scorched ... hair, perhaps, if one tries not to think about to too hard. The man who opened the door doesn't notice; he's too busy looking around the Bar as the door closes behind him. "Oh, hell," says Quinn, and his shoulders sag visibly. This was not where he'd meant to end up.

A few moments later he's got a seat at the bar, but the near-invisible trembling that'd been touching on all his movements when he came in's overcome his resistance. He doesn't even bother ordering just yet. He's just going to thunk his head down on the Bar's top and leave it there for a while. It's simpler that way.

(OOC: I realise I posted this last night, but I'm still good for tags this morning if anyone's interested.)