Bar: Atticus, Casper, Carver, Michael, Will
[Fixing relationships wasn't something Atticus did. Was too involved. Was too active. He wasn't looking at this as fixing anything. Was just some beers, and maybe things would calm down between his old students. Even suggesting the gathering was, for Atticus, very proactive. But evening came, and he found himself walking to the cop bar, hands in the pockets of his old and faded jeans, and a tan jacket over a sweatshirt that had faded from gray to near white.
As he neared the bar, Atticus briefly lit up a smoke. Carver probably didn't like cigarettes. Will might ask what they were. Better safe than sorry, and Atticus didn't even have a read on Casper these days. Michael he understood best, but Michael lived under his roof, and Atticus was fairly sure Michael was dead. Had died. Had died and was no longer dead. Wasn't sure how that worked, but Atticus didn't question it. Carver claimed to be dead. Have died. Same thing. Maybe Casper and Will died along the line. Could ask.
Atticus, as he pushed open the door to the crowded bar with it's gleaming wood, had to chide himself for even thinking it. Would be a hysterical opening line, wouldn't it? Hey, boys, you two also dead? But that would get everything off on the wrong foot. Macabre humor must be kept at a minimum. An altercation would only make the acrid and overly cold air that embraced Atticus turn into something much more solid and much more dangerous.
Just some beers. The pool table was free, and Atticus claimed it. Pool sticks could be weapons, but he hoped it didn't get that far. Ordered a beer, racked the balls, and waited for the first of the boys to arrive.]