Re: [Bar: Jack & Patrick]
[In vino, veritas. Or at least, in bars reeking slightly of drink came a smidgeon of truth. Jack wasn't a romantic about bars, christ no. If the only place in town had been the strip bar, he would have been at the strip bar. But there was something about who you were when you were trying to find some sort of an answer, absolution or oblivion in the bottom of a glass that Jack didn't think was all temporary.
The memories. Jack blinked. He remembered the memories. It sank to the back of his throat, and he chased the recollection of what being four and Newt and with his father had felt like with the second glass of whiskey. He remembered Connie well enough and he could probably speculate on her reaction to her brother behaving like - well, a perfectly ordinary 21 year old boy with a mangled hand.]
I was rather commenting on the fondness for alcohol. Another dimension, really? [This at least, was news. Jack finished the whiskey and determined not to think about Halloween. He felt far too old and only faintly aware of just how wretched the whole experience had been when not being near-double the age of the man sat next to him sounded bloody incredible.]
Oh no, old man. [Jack's voice was kind, he couldn't help it. There wasn't much of the man who'd pointed out Newt's parallels with Chant to the one sat here, was there?] It's not an imposition but it wouldn't be terribly appropriate, would it? Not to Newt. You can tell me how fucked up you are, if you feel like it, christ knows it wouldn't be the first or last time someone has.
[On Des, and Newt:] Yes, it's a little different, don't you think?