Leaving Beacon Hills had seemed like the best option available in the aftermath of all that had gone down. Chris Argent had offered him that escape, and Isaac hadn’t much hesitated to agree. He’d needed something different, some new change. He needed time. Somehow, though, he’d ended up alone in Paris.
Isaac hadn’t ever been very good at languages, and he’d honestly not been terribly motivated to learn much of anything at first. Still, he’d spent awhile there, and he’d picked enough up. He’d taken up an art class, focusing on an old hobby because that kept him from the newly developed penchant for drinking way too much. He didn’t want to become his father, and so the alcohol he consumed made him feel resentful instead of better. It was a cycle he wasn’t benefitting from.
He’d cut himself off, mostly, in the last few months. It was starting to make a difference, he figured, but Atlantis made for another change of pace. And frankly, he might’ve been okay save for two very specific circumstances: Violet Parr looked just like Allison, and she’d told him that Erica had been here before. The possibilities were endless, and even pessimistic Isaac couldn’t resist wondering about them.
He’d ended up at Dive out of boredom and a need for something familiar. (And he hated the fact that alcohol was familiar.) Sitting at the bar, he ordered from the bartender, an inexplicable urge drawing his attention to the man at the other end of it. Offering a nod, he ordered a second beer for the man, shrugging a bit by way of explanation. “Atlantis compulsion, maybe. I hope it’s your type.”
Porthos was generally spending less time at the pub than when he’d first arrived. Aramis, and now Athos and Louis, gave him quite a few reasons to spend his evenings elsewhere. But he still loved the atmosphere, a good game of cards, or a round at the dartboard. The only reason he was alone in this particular instance was that he’d decided to grab a quick beer and a chat on his way home from training to decompress. Sometimes all the good in his life here made him anxious in a way he couldn’t quite pin down.
So he didn’t try. He grabbed a spot at the bar and joked around with the bartender until the free beer was offered up. His eyebrows rose and he happily picked up the pint to salute the welp a few seats away.
“Well, thanks, mate. Was just thinking I needed one more.” He took a big gulp, foam sitting on his mustache before he wiped it away. “If it is against your will, though, you can see me for a pint some other time. You’re new here, yeah?”
Isaac saluted back, offering a smile as well. “Apparently, I was thinking you did as well,” he responded, good natured in spite of the compulsion (and in spite of pretty much everything). He took a drink of his as well, then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said. “I am, just arrived the other day. Isaac Lahey, nice to meet you.”
“Porthos, nice to meet you.” Porthos was never against making somebody’s acquaintance and hopefully a friend rather than a foe. The kid looked young, but d’Artagnan was bloody young too. Course, that comparison made Porthos curious. “Are you drinking away your woes or here hoping to make a--,” he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis, “--friend?”
“Oh, hey. You’re one of the Musketeers,” he said, smiling. He raised his glass again at that, happy to drink with a figure from literature that he actually knew. “Neither,” he laughed. “Just… drinking. I don’t drink the woes away much anymore, and I’m mostly getting my toes wet now. Can’t do with making any ‘friends’ who might have expectations, you know?” He looked at him curiously. “What about you?”
Porthos lifted his mug against at the mention of the Musketeers and then pushed to his feet to wander closer rather than talk over the stools between them. “Just passing through before I go home to cook dinner. Now what’s this about expectations? You’re, what, twenty?” He took a drink and tipped his head. “Dead certain you could have fun without expectations, mate.”
Isaac was glad for the closed distance, because it did make it a bit easier to chat. “I mean, you know how it is. You meet someone at a bar, and then all of a sudden they want to get married and raise a family and I’m just not ready for that yet,” he responded, his tone one of joking. “It was a weird choice of words, really -- I’m still on my week-long trial period here, I guess, so I don’t want to get attached just yet. I try not to do that.” Anymore, at least.
“Ahh,” Porthos lifted his head and then nodded. “Now that I get. I was worried about you for a second there,” he laughed. He’d made his choice fairly quickly, but it had taken Aramis showing up to cement it. Perching on a stool, he gestured towards Isaac with his tankard and gave a sympathetic smile. “What do you think so far?”
“You wouldn’t be the first!” he said in response, amusement in his expression as well. “It’s really something else. I was largely alone before I showed up here, so being around people again is nice.” He looked over with curiosity. “What’s your favorite part here?”
“Too much time alone can be rough,” Porthos nodded. “I’m glad you got a break from it, whether you decide to stay or not.” While he wasn’t always quick to get too personal with a stranger, he didn’t care much for lying either, so he answered Isaac’s question truthfully. “I like how this place lets us be more ourselves than I was allowed at home, and with less unfair consequences. No one’s called me a mongrel in months, either, so that’s nice,” he added, lifting his mug in cheers.
“Yeah, me too,” he said, nodding a bit. He looked at Porthos curiously as he awaited the answer, smiling a bit at the response. “Hey, I can imagine. Pretty sure anyone calling you that is worth being away from,” he said. “Are the other ones here? The other Musketeers, I mean.”
“Aramis got here shortly after me. Athos just arrived two weeks ago. Shockingly, the loudest and most reckless one is taking his sweet time about it,” Porthos joked. The drink he took then was more to keep the light atmosphere. Wouldn’t do to let a stranger see how much he missed his young friend. “Do you have some people you’re hoping might show here or was the alone thing a choice?”
“I bet he’ll come in with a bang,” he responded, amused as well. “I’ve got a few I wouldn’t mind seeing again. I’ve heard that apparently sometimes people will show up from after they’ve died, so… that opens up some possibilities. But my fingers aren’t crossed too tightly. It’s been a year or so since I saw any of them last.”
“He better. His wife is here without him.” Porthos’ smile was amused and understanding at once. He wasn’t sure Charon would do well here, but if his childhood friend could find some peace in a strange world, he wouldn’t begrudge him that. Finishing off his beer, he gestured to the bartender for a refill. “I’m sorry you’ve suffered that kind of tragedy already, so young. The magic here can be fickle, but I hope you get a reunion anyway.”
“I bet he shows,” he said, smiling a bit and offering a node. At the condolences, he shrugged a shoulder. “It’s alright. Sort of… par for the course these days, honestly. At the risk of sounding like a teenage edgelord, people tend to die around me. But here’s hoping?”
“Right,” Porthos frowned, peering over the rim of his mug at the kid next to him. First impression might convince someone that Isaac was a happy-go-lucky sort, but second glance was making Porthos think the bloke had a wounded core. “Well then. Think it’s my turn to buy you a round, mate. Better yet,” he grinned, cocking his eyebrows challengingly, “how about a couple shots before I go?”
“Shots it is, man. I’m in,” he said, deciding it’d be more fun not to disclose that alcohol didn’t have a huge impact on him. “Let’s do it.”