(no subject)

[herr_bookman]

Autor has always considered himself an intelligent person, but recent events have disproven that. For example, it wasn't until the middle of the fireworks last night that he even thought soundproofing his room was even possible. He's grateful to William for warning him on the notice board, but even with warning, the fireworks rattled right through Autor's head and drove him to distraction.

So, in short, it's a very cranky ex-soldier who's hunched over in a booth with good sight lines, wrapped around a cup of coffee. He's glaring at anyone who walks by, though he doesn't mean to. He's got his ankle wrapped and propped up on a pillow on the other side of the booth.

Comments

[childofrebellion]

Cassian's thinking about what he needs to do before he goes back and walking carefully with his caf and datapad to find a place to sit. If he waits one more day before taking off the bacta should have him at a point of still needing healing but able to get to Kay without too much pain.

Two friends talking pass him and while he turns, its not fast enough and his side is bumped and he curses quietly in Festian, resting on the divider between Autor's booth and another.

[herr_bookman]

Autor has never heard that language before, but it sounds vaguely like Spanish. He turns his head to face the person intruding on Autor's space, and wrinkles his nose at the faintly medicinal smell.

"What?" Autor says, frowning. "You're injured, too?"

[childofrebellion]

He's in his shirt, which has a slight bulge where the bacta is and stands up straighter at the question to see who's speaking to him.

His glance goes to Autor's ankle, "Sprained or broken?"

[herr_bookman]

"Sprained," Autor says, folding his skinny arms. "You didn't answer my question."

[childofrebellion]

Cassian puts his datapad under unhurt side and checks he didn't spill any caf as he says, "Yes, injured but healing."

[imthepilot]

Bodhi isn't doing much better. He doesn't like the fireworks at all. He's curled up on a couch within Autor's line of sight, twitching painfully with each bang.

[herr_bookman]

Autor spots Bodhi, of course. But the boy is loathe to leave his coffee, and he can't walk well, what with the sprained ankle. So, for now, he just sits and watches.

[imthepilot]

Bodhi forces himself up, walking to the bar with measured, controlled steps. It takes focus to stay calm. He spots Autor, not sure what to do or say. So he just gives the young man a small nod.

[herr_bookman]

Autor nods back, also unsure about what to do or say. Bodhi didn't believe him when it mattered, so he's not quite sure what they have to talk about now.

Hello? Sorry you were tortured by someone you thought was your lover? Autor just doesn't know.

[imthepilot]

Bodhi doesn't know what to say either. How to apologies for not listening when Autor tried to warn him. How it wouldn't have helped anyway.

So he leaves it at the nod and takes his caf upstairs.

{ooc: sort but very them. Maybe in time they'll manage an actual conversation.)

[cook_the_rude]

This is probably the last face in the multiverse Autor wants to see right now. Still, he does, as Hannibal passes him with an intentionally cheerful greeting.

[herr_bookman]

Autor has taken to rubbing his temples, but he stops when he sees the good doctor. "Go away, Dr. Lecter."

[cook_the_rude]

"Flashback or anxiety attack?" the good doctor asks, cheerfully. "Fireworks as a trigger is a classic for common war induced PTSD, of course."

[herr_bookman]

"None of your bloody business," Autor says, his tone a mixture of anger and disbelief. "As if I'd give you an invitation to probe my psyche."

[cook_the_rude]

"You're sitting here in the middle of the bar being visibly unstable," Lecter says. "I take that as a standing invitation, thank you very much."

[sunbaked_baker]

Young Rae Seddon is not subtle, not in the least because of the bright colors she wears, but also because she sees his glare and acts upon it.

Her lack of subtlety isn't something that will change with age.

A few moments after she stops by the bar, she is heading Autor's way, bringing chocolate milkshakes with curly straws (because curly straws are sometimes necessary), and one of those large, soft, blue cold-packs draped over one arm.

"Cold's supposed to be good for sprains," Rae offers the gifts she brings, hopefully.

[herr_bookman]

Autor's glare softens a little at her approach, and he blinks a few times to clear his expression completely. "Cold does help sprains, as far as I know. Thanks, Rae. How are you?"

[sunbaked_baker]

She very gently drapes the cold pack over the worst of the swelling on his wrapped ankle, buffered by a thin towel to keep the cold from being too intense through the wrapping.

"I'm doing okay," she replies, offering him one of the milkshakes. Not great, because her best friend isn't doing great, but okay. Rae could never abandon a friend to the mercy of the mood causing their glare. "Worn out from the fair - it was a lot of fun, but it was also just a lot."

Days full of things to see and do and foods to try just wear one out, eventually.

"How're you feeling?"

[herr_bookman]

"I'm sorry you got worn out," Autor says, accepting the milkshake and poking at the ice cream with the straw. "I'm... I'm all right. I don't like fireworks, as you know. But I'll be fine."

[sunbaked_baker]

She scoots up onto the booth seat beside him and hugs him, leaning against his side. "I was worried about you, because they were so loud."

[is_the_motion]

"Oh no! Did you do that at the race?" Bonnie asks, bringing him an ice pack.

[herr_bookman]

Autor glances up at her approach, his glare softening. "Hello, Bonnie. I did sprain it at the race, yes. How are you?"

[is_the_motion]

"Exhausted." Bonnie says, flopping next to him. "But okay. Just put Billie down fer a nap, it's her birthday in a couple days and she's been so full of beans."

[herr_bookman]

"Happy birthday to Billie," Autor says, blinking at her. "I can't believe it's her birthday already. And I imagine you're worn out from the fair?"

[is_the_motion]

"Yeah, she was born at the end of the last fair." Bonnie says.

She nods. "Also, Turtle brought over the divorce papers this week."