milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Steve comes through the door in his dress uniform, looking hollow-eyed and grim. He goes to the Bar and drops a pile of Army scrip on the top.

"A bottle of Atlantean, please," and then adds, "And some paper and a pen, and a poppy from Remembrance Day, if you have one."

The Bar delivers. Perhaps with an air of concern.

"Thank you, ma'am," Steve says and, in big dark letters that are nothing like his usual cheerful hand, writes:

IN MEMORIAM
SGT. JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES
1918-1944

and pins it to the bulletin board, along with the poppy.

He then takes the bottle and goes to the darkest, least visible booth he can find.

[ooc: Feel free to have your pup react to Steve's announcement, but please PM or email me before tagging Steve as he is in a Very, Very Bad Place. Thanks.

All threads millitimed to before the thread with Orpheus, please.]

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He looks at the apple.

"Thanks," he says quietly and takes it. He rubs his thumb over the peel before he bites in.

"I know it's not much," Ellen says, "and- and you can handle an awful lot of liquor, but... it's still not good, drinking that much on an empty stomach."

"My metabolism is four times faster than average," says Steve. "My stomach's usually empty."

".... oh."

Pause.

"Um. I'll just... see about getting my foot out of my mouth?"

Steve shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. That's why the--" He holds up the bottle of Atlantean. "It's the only thing that gets me drunk now."

"Ah," Ellen says. "I guess that makes sense."

She'll start on her own apple regardless, although she's going to cut it into pieces first. Easier to handle, and it's not like she doesn't have a knife on her pretty much all the time.

"I wish I could- I wish I could offer something more than that anyway," she says. "I mean. Nothing I can- I can't make it better. I know that. Nothing can. But I wish I could make it less bad."

Steve smiles bleakly and shakes his head. "Yeah. Nothing can."

"I... I've been... somewhere similar," she says, very carefully, because saying something stupid or trite or hollow right now would be worse than saying nothing at all. And it doesn't get much stupider in a time of loss than I know how you feel. "I have- I've got something of an idea."

"I can just keep you company, if you want. Or go, if you'd rather. Either one."

"I've lost people before," Steve says. "Grandparents when I was little. Mom when I was a teenager.

"But not like this. Never like this. Never... because I failed."

He waves a hand. "Go on. I'm not fit company for man or beast."

"I don't know, Dogmeat would seem to disagree," Ellen says mildly.

(Not that Dogmeat has particularly good judgment of who or what constitutes fit company, but the heeler is still quite close by, tail waving uncertainly.)

"I'll just- I'll be over there, at one of the other tables, if you need anything. Give you some space, and all that."

Steve nods and says, "Thanks, " so quietly Ellen probably doesn't hear it.

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