milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The door isn't back yet, but that isn't a bad thing for the teenager who has taken over a table near the bar. Not a bad thing at all. Neither is the fact that most of his injuries and bruises have faded from their ugly purples and reds to just faint greens and yellows.

There is a piece of paper (with names on it) tucked into his vest pocket. He's kicked back in his chair, feet propped up on the chair across, and he's occasionally drinking from the bottle of ale he managed to swipe off someone's table when he came downstairs. They're not missing it, so there's no harm in it, in his eyes.

He's got a look in his eyes like he's in the middle of coming up with a really great (or really dangerous and exciting) idea, and a smug little smile on his face as he watches the room. He is looking for marks, but, he's always doing that. And tonight, there are more important things to think about.

Like how to swipe another ale.

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"Sorry, I didn't renew my license with NASA."

"Your loss." A beat. "You from Earth, then?"

Tony snorts. "No, really."

"Well you don't look like an overstuffed slimy Hutt, so..."

"I don't even want to know," he replied with an apathetic shrug. "Enjoy rehab."

"Big slimeball alien type. You don't look like one so I figured since you mentioned an Earth based government organization, you're from Earth."

A pause.

"And who's to say I've had more than one, huh?"

Do we have a problem, Mr. Stark?

"Instinct. The way you're handling it."

The fact that I'm the child of an alcoholic.

"The fact that you're so obviously defensive. You don't have a lot of sublety, kid."

He just chuckles, shakes his head, and moves (ironically) in the direction of the bar.

"Well until y'get to know someone y'should be makin' assumptions."

This is said with all the authority of a thirteen year old street rat.

"Should, or shouldn't?" Tony tosses over his shoulder.

"Both."

Han follows Tony to the Bar and hops up on a stool next to him.

"Cause if you think about it, y'shouldn't make assumptions and discredit people but at the same time, y'get too comfortable an' you end up a pile of smokin' flesh in a back alley somewhere 'cause you're kriffin' stupid."

Oh, now they were going to have this conversation.

"You never know with anyone, no matter who or how long," Tony replies. "That's all you have to remember."

"You don't trust people."

Statement, fact.

"I don't trust most people."

Tony doesn't like being pegged like everyone else.

"But you just said you never know. So how can you trust some people but not trust them at the same time?"

Bar takes the empty ale bottle when he's finished, and Han lightly drums his fingers against the wooden top.

"It's complicated." Tony's eyes meet his in an intense gaze. "More often than not it's yourself you don't trust."

"If you don't trust yourself, you ain't gonna get nowhere." Han scoffs quietly. "'Sides, what's worth livin' for if you ain't willin' to stand up for it?"

"It depends." Tony snorts. "The world gets complicated when you stop being abstract."

"Well, if you want my advice, trust yourself."

Han smirks.

"S'good advice."

"Relax, Ann Landers. I wouldn't start a column yet."

Tony snorts and checks his notes on his latest insane idea.

Han peers over Tony's shoulder.

"Kriff's that for?"

"I'm working on a project. What is that, failed ebonics?"

"The fuck's ebonics? What kind of project?"

"A very complicated one, and watch your mouth."

"You ain't my mother."

Han studies the notes a bit more. They don't make much sense to him, a few scribbles, plans, words and stuff.

"You can't speak English."