The Bar at the End of the Universe

Life, it seems, had taken on some sort of routine, whether or not that routine was actually preferable. Stay at the... place they were staying at (certainly not home), go out for a few things but mostly patrol, go back. The bar had stopped inserting itself, and while he was grateful to not have to discuss things, he wasn't grateful for the absence.

But his routine had changed in the last few days, mostly because his father had decided he deserved some sort of break. He'd protested, and tried his best not to, but in the end got ushured off because his father was even more stubborn than he was. So it's been a lot less stressful, and now it seems that the bar is inserting itself once more.

Because instead of ending up where he wants to go, he ends up there instead.

He really has no idea if he's grateful or reluctant about it. He supposes he'll just have to decide after sitting here for awhile in a booth, and seeing who comes around.

Injuries are easy things to deal with when they've happened during patrol. You know that they've happened for a good reason, and that you did good while getting hurt.

But when they happen for completely idiotic reasons... that you know should have never occured... that's when they're annoying. And that's exactly what happened to Connor now. He sits in a booth in the bar, applying an ice pack to his face. He is not admitting to anyone what happened, nope. Not at all.

Never.

Connor likes to be well prepared. That's why he's been sleeping later since the bar has started grabbing him: as much as he likes to enjoy the early morning dew, he feels he needs to sacrifice a few minutes of it. If this place is going to keep interrupting his sleep, then he needs to prepare for this.

It's been working pretty well, but he hasn't been snatched by the bar again. At least not until today. And when he walks into it rather than his bedroom (for a third time), he can't help but grin a little.

He wonders what interesting things he'll see today...