milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Lorne's getting kind of fond of being asked to fill in, so when that oh-so-familiar napkin pops up as he settles into his barstool, he just smiles and gives Bar an affectionate pat before moving around to the other side and picking up the specials board.

Specials

Terminator Stout
Old Chub
Athosian spiced ale
Sweetwater Motor Boat

There's a theme of sorts, but it pretty much only makes sense to Lorne.

[ooc: ~~Open 'til 6ish PST.~~ No new threads, please. Have fun, go crazy, threadhop like mad!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

John sits down at his usual spot at the far end of the bar.

"Plymouth gin, double, neat."

Lorne arches an eyebrow at him, quite eloquently if the narration does say so, and pulls out a glass. There's none of Lorne's usual flashy glass-flipping this time. He just fills it with the requisite alcohol and slides it across the bar to John.

"Anything else?"

Just as efficiently, John knocks back the double shot, puts the glass down and says, "Yeah. Another."

Looks like it's going to be a long, drunken, morose night...

Lorne sighs. He's seen that look before, and this time, he thinks he can guess what it's about. He gets John a refill (a bit more generous with the gin this time) and sets it in front of John.

"Want to talk about it?" He can't imagine John would. Not with him at any rate, but it never hurts to ask.

John looks at him doubtfully. "It's gin. What's to talk about?" He sighs, knocks back the drink, and says, "Again."

And there's another quick refill. Lorne has no idea what the policy on cutting people off is, and he's not really in a mood to look it up.

"No, right. Just gin. Nothing to talk about." It's really hard to fight the eyerolling that would normally accompany this comment, so Lorne doesn't bother trying.

John only knocks back half of this one, and then lights a cigarette. "If you're going to be a nursemaid about it, just leave the fucking bottle." He finishes the other half, slams the glass down, and says, "Or do your fucking job and pour."

"Just tryin' to help," Lorne mutters, pouring him another.

John laughs mirthlessly. He doesn't down the shot immediately, though. Instead, he takes a drag on his cigarette and looks at Lorne for a bit, then says, "You're that friend of Ianto's."

"Yep," Lorne says. "I'm that one."

John nods, takes another drink, another drag, still shooting Lorne looks filled with daggers. "He's a friendly bloke," he mutters sarcastically.

"He is, yeah," Lorne says, pausing for a moment before adding, "We never...y'know. If that's what you're thinking."

John snorts something that might be a laugh. "Smart man." He takes another drink, but doesn't finish the shot. Yet.

Oh, there goes that arched eyebrow again. "That something you regret?"

"I don't regret anything," John says. "If I did I wouldn't have time left in the day to do anything else." He finishes the drink and says, "Hit me again."

"Good philosophy," Lorne says, filling his glass again. "Easier said than done though."

"Gin helps," John says bluntly.

After a moment or two, he says, "He doesn't know what the fuck he wants. Or rather, he does. I don't know which is worse." He takes a drink.

"I'm more of a whisky man myself," Lorne confesses.

He leans on the counter, watching John drink. "He's with you now, though, isn't he? Should count for something."

John shakes his head. "Not with me. Not with me at all. Just... killing time, is all." He smokes, and stares at the glass of gin as if he's trying to decide whether to have more.

Lorne sighs. "I don't think it's like that." But he's not sure how much of what Ianto has talked to him about he should tell John.

"You know, he asked me if I would draw you."

John lets out another laugh that has no humour whatsoever. "Draw me? That's rich. Dunno why he'd do that. He's waiting for someone else to snap his fingers."

He finishes the double shot, puts it down and sighs. "Let's switch this over to the stout. Better part of valour."

"Good idea," Lorne says, taking the gin glass and pulling John a pint of the Terminator and setting it in front of him.

"I think...I think he's afraid of what he'll do if someone else does snap his fingers."

John snorts. "He'll snap to heel like a fucking dog, see if he doesn't." He takes a nice long pull on the stout. "Not a bad pint, that," he says, being polite.

"Thanks," Lorne says dryly.

"That's what he's afraid of though. Because he knows it'll mean...well...losing you."

Why that's a problem for Ianto, Lorne still hasn't quite worked out, but it does seem to be, and that's enough.

"Yeah well," John shrugs. "He's a kid, he thinks he can have his cake and eat it." Then he chuckles and leans forward toward Lorne. "You know what's the kicker?" he asks, a bit boozily. "He's making cow eyes at this bloke, and they've barely kissed. And me, I've had me prick so far up the bloke's arse he could have spurted come out his nose." He laughs. "S'a funny old world, innit?"