(no subject)

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

If you've met Paul Avery before, there's a small chance you might not recognize him. His features are much more worn, there's a generous amount of gray in his hair, and the circles under his eyes are more pronounced than ever.

He's sitting at the bar, both elbows on the counter. The bar has provided a bowl of lapel buttons, and a series of newspaper clippings for his entertainment.

(Remarkably enough, he doesn't seem very entertained.)

Every now and then, he'll cough, and you can almost hear his health deteriorating.

Regardless, he has a tumbler of vodka in front of him, along with an ashtray and a half-smoked cigarette. He knows better, yes. He will act upon it, no.




[ tiny tag: paul avery

ooc: last chance to tag him before he goes out for some canon. open until further notice, mun subject to major and unannounced slowtimes. ]

Comments

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

"Got a doctor's appointment comin' up, my side of the door. I'll check in next time."

(He means it.)



"How's the infirmary around these parts, anyhow?"

[scurlock]

"Patched me up after gettin' shot three times an' wanderin' around with a fever for two weeks before I found a door."

Inhale. Exhale.

"That was...two weeks ago? Details are a little fuzzy, I don't reckon I was makin' much sense."

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

"Sounds like do a mighty good job, then," Paul mumbles, giving Doc a once-over.

"Assuming you are feelin' fine, now."

[scurlock]

He lifts the cigarette.

"Feelin' just fine, thanks to you." A beat. "And the painkillers they put me on."

[averyhasagun.livejournal.com]

"Happiness comes remarkable easy sometimes," Paul remarks, nodding in response.

"But I'm not complaining."

[scurlock]

"Neither am I. Though, I'd rather have not gotten shot and kept away from the...whatever the hell, morphine, somethin'."

He finishes the cigarette, and the the remaining end of the filter is stubbed out in the ashtray and left.

"So...what's San Francisco like in '72?"