but it doesn't matter, 'cause I'm packing plastic

[improvesmorale]

WHO: The Narrator and Jim Moriarty
WHERE: A bar.
WHEN: Tuesday evening.
WARNINGS: --
SUMMARY: An unlikely encounter, unlikely results.
FORMAT: Quicklog.

[He spends all day following the man who wears his face, from street to street, scrapyard to scrapyard. Stalking had never really been his style because, until thirteen months ago, he was Mr. Cautious, he was Mr. Stay Quiet and Mr. Avoid Eye Contact, and there was never any need to connect so completely and invasively with another human being.

But here he is.

Shake the collage. Your face flies off and snaps onto someone else's.

You wanted to change your life, something within him buzzes. You could not do this alone.

Shake the etch-e-sketch. Do over.

At the end of the day, he slides into a bar and orders a gin and tonic, his back crouched over the counter like some great arch.

He inhales and tastes smoke.]

Comments

[playedgay]

[Jim has a habit of reading people. He knows a troubled soul when he sees one and he can pick a shady character out of a crowd. It's all in a day's work, it's what he's good at, and it's a great way to pass the time.]

Trouble at the office?

[It couldn't have been it. It was obviously something much deeper than that. But Jim needed to be casual in his encounters and not raise suspicion.]

[improvesmorale]

[He turns his head without turning his body, his elbows flat against the hard wood of the counter. Stranger danger is the phrase for it, but he hardly feels threatened by this well-groomed man with the sweet, concerned voice.

What he does feel is an itch on the back of his head. Then, a throb. He can't place what is wrong about this, though -- pain is so usual, so typical. It's as natural as yawning.]

I'm happily unemployed.

[A perfect deadpan. Absently, he snakes his hand around to feel at his scalp.]

You should try it.

[playedgay]

[A smile tugs at his lips, and he lets out a short laugh.

Of course, that was the problem, wasn't it? He was unemployed, and he needed a job to keep himself occupied. But not just any job, he wasn't that kind of guy.

He watched the other man carefully before responding, his expression, his mannerisms, any clue as to who he was.]

What was it, then?

[improvesmorale]

[He rolls his eyes not so subtly, a smile tugging at his own lips. Still, his head aches.]

Do you care?

[playedgay]

[Jim glances down at his drink for a moment before bringing it to his lips. He takes a slow drink before placing it back down before him, his expression still amused. ]

Just making conversation.

[Because 'no' would probably be too rude of an answer. And he didn't feel like pretending to be sympathetic today. ]

[improvesmorale]

I gathered.

[His response was supposed to cut, to push this man away, but half a breath later, he realizes why the ache he's feeling right now is so special. Last week, he hit his head when Bellatrix tried to torture him. It bled and bled and bled, but he felt nothing until Sunday, when the pain eased in like it should have. Then it went away on Monday, like it always does.

Pain is only felt on Sunday.

Today is not Sunday.

His eyes widen as he pats the back of his head, fear and dread and hope surging through his veins.]

[playedgay]

[Jim's head tilted to the side slightly as he watched the other man with curiousity. He hadn't put all of the pieces together yet. It was obvious the other man was irritated, but it was more than that. His constant touching at the back of his head was a clue, but it still didn't tell him why. ]

Headache?

[improvesmorale]

[He downs the entirety of his drink in a single sip, his throat and lungs choking on the alcohol. He puts the glass back on the counter, panting, and then he looks over towards the bartender.

He has a plan.]

A-- A pina colada?

[His breath is still struggling with the alcohol, but he gets the words out.]

For my friend, too. Please.

[playedgay]

[Jim looks down at his glass- scotch.

Then back at the stranger.

Then back at his drink.

Well... it wouldn't be very polite to turn it down, would it? Play nice, Jim. This one seems fragile. This could be fun.

He watched the other man quietly, waiting.]

[improvesmorale]

[The bartender slides forward their pina coladas, the usual umbrella toothpick lolling against the side of the glass. He's been here before, watching the less certain drinkers giggle as the umbrella brushed against their lips. Once the drink is front of him, he takes the umbrella out and folds it up.

And then he slams it down into the soft, giving flesh of his own hand.]

God-DAMMIT!

[He knocks his hand against the bar, thump thump thump, his teeth clenched tight.]

Shit! Goddammit! Fuck!

[playedgay]

[Well. He certainly wasn't expecting a show this evening.

His eyebrows shot up, watching the man impale his own hand with a drink garnish. He held back a smirk, a laugh, anything that would raise an alarm to the other patrons.

Instead, he sat watching, the smallest hint of amusement on his face, just enough for the other man to notice, and finished off his scotch.]

Has anyone ever recommended anger management?

[improvesmorale]

[He slips out a laugh at that, the sound curling his lips. He knocks his hand against the bar again, again, again before gripping the tooth pick with his other hand and pulling. He gasps, the blood trailing down his wrist. Between his fingers.

Oh, this is so perfect. This is so right.]

I d-- I don't-- I don't understand.

[When he looks to Jim, he immediately catches the amusement in his face. What's so funny? What does he know that I don't?

Mere sadism is far from his mind.]

Did you do this?

[playedgay]

[Another eyebrow raise.]

Did I make you impale yourself with a tiny cocktail umbrella?

[He laughs, shaking his head. That couldn't have been what the other man was referring to, but it wasn't as if Jim was actually aware of this power.]

No.

[improvesmorale]

Fuck.

[He breathes the curse between his teeth, drawing his hands (one bleeding, bleeding, bleeding) towards his face and then lowering them again.]

I'm an import. [Firmly. With resolution.] This shouldn't be happening.

[playedgay]

[Jim leaned in closer, watching the man closely. It would make sense that he was talking about a power of his. It just wasn't obvious what.]

Should you have healed?

[improvesmorale]

I shouldn't feel pain.

[Wincing, he runs his fingers over the bleeding wound. He notes every twinge of pain, every sting and jolt.]

That's my whole magical shtick.

[playedgay]

[His expression remained amused, watching the man wince from the pain in his hand. It was coming together in his head, he had seen other people grow frustrated in his presence, but this was the icing on the cake.

Rolling up one sleeve to this elbow very neatly, he stretched his arm out for the other man to shake, taking care to not get blood on his clothes.]

Glad to be of service. I'm Jim.