milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There was a time, Shephard vaguely remembers, when he got to sleep on a regular basis. He's not exactly sure when that went away.

Oh, it's not a nightmare thing or a combat-related thing; he has issues but sleep disruption isn't one of them. This is just plain being entirely too busy to be able to spare much time for rest, other than the occasional nap when no one's looking. Lucky thing he has Milliways, because he can come here and conk out upstairs for sixteen hours straight. It'll play hell with his circadian rhythm, but at this rate he's willing to deal with that. Besides, he's got yet another round of sword lessons and learning How Not To Sink A Ship with Bumi later on. It's all just part of being practical.

So, yeah, urban-camo-wearing Marine with a rather nice curved sword, if he does say so himself, nursing a cup of especially oily black coffee and looking like he only just woke up. Feel free to bother him, it's not like he brought the dogs today or anything.

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Not that Jason has an unhealthy interest in knives but he does glance over from his table, openly admiring the nice curved sword.

Hard to blame him, really. Shephard would do the same in his shoes.

That being said, a man in his position doesn't last long if he doesn't learn to tell when attention gets directed his way. He glances up in search of the watcher, expression curious.

(ooc: Sorry that took so long! I'm RL in Boston, which is GMT -5. I'll do my best to tag back properly!)

Jay leans back, realising he's being rude. "Sorry mate. Couldn't help but notice you're sword. That's a beautiful blade."

[ooc: don't worry. I'm in Australia so I'm on a weird times too. Happy to slow tag whenever.]

"Why, thank you kindly," Shephard says. "Friend of mine made it for me 'bout a year or so back. Been takkin' some lessons here in its use- you familiar with that sort of thing at all?"

Ceremonial weapon drills for Corps formal occasions isn't the same as actually being able to use the weapon respectably in a fight, after all.

Jay moves closer and nods to a chair at Shephard's table, waiting for permission before sitting. "It's damn fine. Your friend has a good hand."

He shrugs, "Done a bit of training." Just a slight understatement but no-one else needs to know that. "I prefer knives to swords myself. A long blade has it's place but once someone's inside your guard, better something quick and close to get the job done."

Shephard leans back and pushes the chair out for the other man with one foot; he's welcome to sit if he likes. "She had a good example to work from," he says. "There's a smith who works here made the original. I got to talk to him about a couple commission pieces sometime soon."

Then he smiles, a brief, crooked thing. "Tell you the truth, I ain't that big of a sword man by nature. Gimme a knife you c'n gut a deer'n strip the hide off a bear with and that's good enough of a blade for me. This fucker's part of the Corps dress uniform, so I reckon I ought to be able to use it proper. Ain't right to carry a weapon you can't use for more than looks."

Jay sits with a grateful nod, bringing his own bitter coffee with him. "Mind introducing me some time. I might have some work for him too. Got a couple of pieces need reworking."

He flashes a grin too, liking this man. Clearly they're on the same page. "I know what you mean. No point carrying anything that's gunna be dead weight in a fight." He hesitates a moment before pulling something from the inside lining of his jacket. Handle first, he holds out a kris knife. The handle is simple and undecorated but the blade is clearly much older than its modern fixtures. "This is my favourite."

Shephard whistles softly, leaning over to have a closer look. "Oh, now, that's just pretty. That's a damn fine piece of work you got there," he says. "Where'd you pick that up?"

"It was a gift. From someone I very literally owe my life to. The blade belonged to her family." He moves to put it away, nicking the tip against the back of his hand and cleaning it across his sleeve in one neat and clearly practised movement. This is a blade that knows blood every time it's drawn. "Not quite as utilitarian as most of my gear but everyone's gotta have something."

"Damn straight," Shephard says. "Got a longbow along those lines. It ain't the weapon so much as the wood there- brother of mine planted the tree it came from twenty years back, 'n gave me the stave to work from. I got a shitload of other options when it comes time for hunting but it just ain't the same takin' somethin' else out with me as that bow."

"I tried to learn the bow. My brother's best friend was a dead-keen archer but I basically suck at it but I get what you mean. Last time I tried to shoot one, I put an arrow through the gas tank of my brother's bike. He never forgave me." Jay sips his coffee, his eyes a little distant. Fuck, he misses his brother!

"Helps when you got uncles who git you started 'bout as soon as you're strong enough to pull the string," Shephard says. "'n even then, bow ain't for everyone."

"Name's Shephard, by the way."

Jay nods and grins, knowing exactly what he means. "Yeah, I had a... I guess you call him a mentor like that." There still a lot of bitterness behind his memories of that time. "Asshole put me in some fucking dangerous situations before I was old enough to deal but he did teach me a lot." He slips a finger into the edge of his boot and very casually flicks a tiny throwing knife across the room and into the dartboard.

"Jay." He holds his hand out before retrieving his knife and sipping it away.

Shephard just shakes his head, and maybe chuckles a little. "Wasn't quite like that," he says. "More like my momma wouldn't let 'em take me out for it earlier'n that no matter how much of a fit I pitched. I'd'a started earlier if they'd let me."

That's him, though, and he's well aware that the vast majority of people who know him believe him to be not entirely right in the head.

He shakes the offered hand. It's probably worth noting that his own hand is gloved; the glove's leather runs up under his sleeve and out of sight. "Good t'meet you, Jay," he says. "Ain't seen you 'round here before. You new?"

"I was a violent, dangerous little shit who needed channelling. What I got channeled into just was't much better in the long run." He shrugs. "It's good you have family to look out for you."

Jason notes the gloves but doesnt comment. Plenty of reasons aan would want to protect his hands, he can respect that. His own hands have the scarred, broken knuckles of a street fighter. "Yeah, got here yesterday as far as I can work out. Got caught in a dust storm in Tunisia and wound up here. Good thing too; my bike's pretty fucked up. Gunna take me a week at least to get her running again."

Shephard nods- and then gets a curious look. "What kind of bike you ridin'?" he says. "I got an old Buell I been workin' on lately- ain't had much time with it since I joined the service, but shit, there's all the time in the world 'round here to fix things up."

He grins. "She's a bit of a mongrel. She was a BSA when I got her but I've had to patch her back together with whatever I had so many times I'm not sure what she is anymore. She's got a Norton engine that I picked up in street market in Morocco."

'Yeah, it's nice to have time here. Maybe I'll giver her a proper strip down and rebuild if the bar's happy to hook me up with parts. You should bring your bike here. Give you something to clear your head with."

"Sweet," Shephard says approvingly. "Yeah, I bring mine in more often than not. Parts'n gas're way fuckin' easier to come by here. I ain't got a whole lot of time to work on her back home anyways. Too much shit goin' on even when I ain't on duty or out hunting."

"She's a battered, fucked up mess but she's mine." He shrugs. He doesn't have much that's his beyond what he's wearing and an assortment of knifes. Somehow that makes it easier to not care where you end up.

"So I'm going to take a wild guess and say Marine?"

"Since 'bout a week after graduatin' high school," Shephard says. "Job keeps a man busy these days. There ain't a whole lot of us no more- ain't been in a few years." His mouth twitches. "Dunno what kind of a world you come from, but we had us an alien problem."

"Half the aliens we got are superheroes, the other half keep the superheroes busy. I take it yours are more the invade and destroy types?" He leans forward, sympathetic to Shephard's lost. He knows how hard those guys fight and how much of themselves they give up to do it.

"Invade, conquer in seven goddamn hours, run the planet for sixteen fuckin' years, grind the shit out of the population, damn near wipe us the fuck out," Shephard says. "We got rid of 'em 'bout a year or so back, but there ain't a whole lot of humans left no more, and half the fuckin' wildlife these days is from another shitfuckin' weird-ass dimension that hit us first."

"Fuck man. That's fucked. No wonder you put so much time and effort to hunting." He looks distant for a moment, scanning through his own experience and arsenal for anything that might help.

"Agriculture's more or less shot," Shephard agrees. "Combine Empire didn't let humans grow their own food for sixteen years. Folks lose a lot of skill'n seed lines in that kind of time. This past year's been a rough one food-wise. I do what I can to fill in the gap. Turns out, you do the right shit to bullsquid once you kill it, it's near as good as bacon. I c'n think of worse things for human folk than killin' fuckin' alien predators for meat. Ain't much good at growin' shit, that's my momma's kind of thing, but by damn I c'n git meat on the table."

"Killing things that's just as sooner kill you seems like the natural order to me. 'specially if you're feeding folks." Jay nods. "I'm afraid I'm a city kid when it come to things like that. I like my bacon precut and wrapped in plastic." Which is a pity, he'd liked to have helped if he could.

"Fair 'nough," says Shephard amiably. "I'm gonna guess you ain't much for boats or ships, neither. We got us an icebreaker a while back'n we aim to use it to git up to Svalbard, crack open the Doomsday Vault. Only we ain't got a whole lot of Navy survivors left, so my CIC made me captain. I ain't had to sail nothin' much bigger'n a river raft most of my life. This shit gon' be interesting."

Jay laughs. "I'm afraid I'm not much use to you there either. Truth be known, other than kicking the shit out of things and people and fixing mechanical shit, I'm not much use for anything." Taking over a city's drug trade, pissing off other vigilantes as deserved. Contract killing maybe but he's not that hard up for cash yet.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with kickin' the shit out of things," Shephard says. "Happier a couple hunnert yards away lookin' through a scope myself, most of the time, but some days you got to git in there in person and lay some serious shit down hand to hand."

"Never got the hang of sniping. I can do it if I have to but... I like seeing the face of the man I'm taking down." He grins a little. "It might not work with your alien monster types but sometimes scaring the hell out of someone is more fun than actually hurting them."

He cocks his head and looks Shepard over. "If you ever want to spar, I'd be keen. You seem like the sort of guy I could really enjoy a work out with."

"Sure," says Shephard after some thought. "Don't see why not. I got to be honest, it ain't like I'm one of them kung fu types you git in here sometimes, but I c'n hold my own bare handed if I got to."

"I've done a bit of martial arts." He admits with a grin. "Problem is you spend too much time right people who are trained like that, you forget how to just fight, you know?" He laughs to himself. "I have to admit, I get into bar fights from time to time just to say in shape. Not here though!" He add quickly, glancing over his shoulder to bar. "Just random bars along the way."

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