Re: quicklog: Atticus, Casper, Carver, Michael, Will
[Carver set the empty shot down and then reached for a beer, taking a gulp as he made a recurring realization that social situations were not his forte. He was good on a team (except when someone poked too hard at his temper) and one-on-one he could be passable. But, a group of guys, guys that had known him before the "accident", that was a different story. He set the beer down next to the shot glass and leaned forward on the barstool as they talked. It reminded him of the time he was sent to investigate an old, abandoned part of a monastery and found a group of spirits sitting around a keg chatting, joking and sulking endlessly. Their fat, transparent bellies jiggling with jolly laughter, their mugs brimming with ectoplasm. They would have done so forever without any understanding of who or what they were if Carver hadn't taken care of them.
Was that the right thing to do?
His gaze settled on Will and Carver decided that his friend wasn't much of an adult and he couldn't blame him for it. What do you do after you murder someone as consequence of being a dumb teenager in a group of similarly stupid boys? Carver yawned and jumped off the stool, hit the cue ball too damned hard. All the balls scattered everywhere and one of the solids gently dipped into the right corner without sinking any stripes (thank the Lord). He brought the pool stick up like a walking stick, squeezed the wood with both hands, and intently tried to figure out how to do better next time. By his estimation, he could be good at pool with a few games under his belt. Plus, he was pretty sure one of his saints helped. Olga?
Carver looked at Atticus, Will and then Michael (squint) and didn't say anything. Back to perching on the stool with his beer.]