Captain Jack Harkness (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
captgreatcoat) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2015-05-12 11:28 pm
captgreatcoat) wrote in ten_fwd2015-05-12 11:28 pm
Entry tags:
The Captain, in the bar
Nobody's seen much of Jack lately. He's been quieter, more subdued, more prone to keeping to himself, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat and ....
Rose would have called it brooding. Gwen probably would, too.
Rose is gone. Gone back to her time, perhaps. But who knows? She'd just disappeared. He should know better than this, now, to be so attached to people, but Gwen would say that's what keeps people human, and human is something he doesn't always feel. And Rose Tyler was one of the best people he'd known in so many lifetimes' worth of living. She'd taken a con-man and helped show him how to care again, how to live, how to love. She'd had adventures with him across time and space, been his best friend and his best girl though nothing more than friendship had ever officially passed between them, at least not in the confines of 21st century Britain's understanding of relationships.
Rose is gone, and he doesn't know if he's sent her to her death by not warning her.
To anyone who truly knew Jack, the sight of him in his Second World War era coat perched on a barstool with a glass of brandy might seem ... out of place.
He's not breaking his self-imposed not-drinking-unless-he-really-needs-to rule, though. It's synthehol.
He'd probably be better off talking to someone.
Rose would have called it brooding. Gwen probably would, too.
Rose is gone. Gone back to her time, perhaps. But who knows? She'd just disappeared. He should know better than this, now, to be so attached to people, but Gwen would say that's what keeps people human, and human is something he doesn't always feel. And Rose Tyler was one of the best people he'd known in so many lifetimes' worth of living. She'd taken a con-man and helped show him how to care again, how to live, how to love. She'd had adventures with him across time and space, been his best friend and his best girl though nothing more than friendship had ever officially passed between them, at least not in the confines of 21st century Britain's understanding of relationships.
Rose is gone, and he doesn't know if he's sent her to her death by not warning her.
To anyone who truly knew Jack, the sight of him in his Second World War era coat perched on a barstool with a glass of brandy might seem ... out of place.
He's not breaking his self-imposed not-drinking-unless-he-really-needs-to rule, though. It's synthehol.
He'd probably be better off talking to someone.
Sorry for the super late tag-in
Kaylin strode in and sat at the bar. She needed them to hire her as security already. It wasn't just that she felt she had to do SOMETHING to justify being fed and housed - though that was part of it - it was mostly that she had learned that complaining was the hard earned right of those who were doing something useful and she wasn't.
Didn't stop her from complaining, though. Which made her a hypocrite. As she hated hypocrisy, this just gave her more to complain about, and the whole thing made her wish she had Teela or Tain here... someone she could get drunk with.
"If you have anything that even vaguely resembles booze, I have two of those, a tray of meat buns, one of those pizza things, and some meat. I don't care what kind so long as it's dead and I can eat it and it isn't sentient." Sad the life that forces her to tag that last bit on. Happy the life where she can actually order food and expect to get it.
She swore quietly but with some heat at the dichotomy.
She was in leather pants - the armor sort of leather more than the tight and clingy sort of leather - a linen shirt, a tabard with a flying Hawk, a translucent dragon looking thing around her shoulders and around her wrist - a very expensive looking archaic bracelet. Antique gold, deep set gems; it was probably older than the doctor. The thing looked older than some universes, though it was in good shape.
The bracelet clinked as she rested her hands on the bartop and closed her eyes. The side of her face turned towards him had a delicate tattoo of deadly nightshade. A pretty little flower that went more with the bracelet than with the daggers at her hips, unless of course, one presumed the daggers were poisoned. Which they were not.