Re: Late-night intermission, at the bar: Sonya C & Jack P
He trailed other people's shadow-memories like a worn coat. They clung, to the accent, to the taint of fog and rain and cold relentless weather, to the way his face could be seen through memory's prism as remarkably similar to other people's. He had stood out, once. A face for photographs, a smile. Now he looked like a cipher. It was rather apt, if utterly depressing.
Whoever she was, she looked caught off guard. She was drinking something that looked neither frothy nor sparkling which was usually a sign that it was at least moderately potent. Jack hadn't decided if he liked cocktails when he wasn't sure the bartender's pouring hand was lethal or not. He ordered a whiskey, double over ice and watched the bar pleat the light through her glass over solid black.
"There are at least two others," he allowed, watching the cherry disappear in the crush of teeth with not even an eyelid-flicker of a blink but the most latent and lazy of interest. "A place that errs on the blunt and naked, emphasis on the latter and a place in a carnival on the edge of town which I've heard is a lot like this."
She was bare-armed and whatever it was she was wearing, it wasn't substantial enough for a winter in this place, even one with a heating bill suitable for burlesque. "The place or the town? Where have you come in from?"