Liam Walker ♚ Robb Stark (starkshonor) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2012-07-19 23:46:00 |
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Entry tags: | liam walker |
Who. Liam Walker
What. Drinking alone and generally feeling sorry for himself
Where. Capitol Club, LA
When. Thursday night, July 19th 2012 (after closing)
Warnings. None, really
It was closing time at the Capitol Club and Liam wasn't ready to go home. Not unusual for the man, who hated Las Vegas more than most and yet he'd chosen to settle down there anyway. In some twisted form of logic he'd done that on on purpose, intent on never letting himself get completely comfortable wherever he was. You were less likely to get caught off guard that way, and as the reincarnate of Robb Stark, getting caught off guard was pretty much the one thing that could mean the difference between life and death. Liam wasn't exactly King in the North in this life, but it wasn't just Robb's enemies he had to worry about, it was Camelot's. That was usually enough to keep him wary and on his guard at all times, except lately he hadn't given much thought to any of it. Truth be told, on a bad day there was no greater enemy to Liam than himself, and tonight definitely qualified.
"Damn drunks," Liam grumbled to himself as the last of the late night stragglers had stumbled their way out, Liam barely giving them time to get out the door before he was slamming and locking it behind them. Now it was half past three, a whole hour after the club had closed down for the night and the last of the night crew had gone home, even Jess had thrown in the towel once it was clear there was no more cleaning to be done. Now the place was dark and empty, the only sound in it the occasional clinking of bottle to glass, and a lone figure sitting at the bar in the darkness.
The whiskey burned all the way down his throat in a way that took his mind off things. It wasn't the best brand in town (it was certainly no Arbor gold, but Liam would sooner shoot himself than go all the way to Westeros for that), but it did the trick. At least temporarily, which is all he was really after. Liam Walker? Not a guy with many expectations, if any. He'd come back from the army to be what, a bartender? Sure he fought for Camelot, when there was fighting to be had, but other than that Liam didn't have too much going for him. He had Camelot, he had his estranged brother, and he had the club. Not exactly a life full of surprises, and yet, sometimes things still happened out of the blue when you least expected it.
Hunter's death? Not something Liam had anticipated, but it'd cut deep into him more than he cared to admit. That was just his way, and Robb's, who had a habit of taking the deaths of those closest to him the hardest. Dead friends. Liam hadn't made a habit of making too many friends, not since he left the military, but if he was going to call anybody a friend since then it would have been Hunter. Then the idiot had to go and be noble - something that Robb always had been and Liam had never quite reached - and before anyone could blink? Hunter Mitchell was gone, taken from the world covered in blood and berry stains. Liam still couldn't stomach the thought, it made his insides turn every time, even now. It'd been two months and everyone else had already started to move on, but Liam had never been very good at moving on. Just ask his brother.
Liam Walker sighed into the bottom of his empty glass, holding it by the rim before letting it plunk back down onto the counter top and poured himself another. The ticking clock overhead struck four A.M and he barely noticed, his dulled eyes watching the bubbles at the surface intently as the whiskey resettled into his worn cup. He looked at it for a long time, almost seeming to ponder if he actually wanted another one. How did that saying go? The one Eddard Stark always used to tell his children. When the cold wind blows the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Maybe that hadn't turned out to be so true for the Starks, but even as he scoffed Liam found an unexpected burst of catharsis in it. Hunter was dead, but because of him Jess had survived, and they were all moving forward now in his wake. Everyone except Liam.
"Well, Hunter," the young wolf finally said out loud to no one in the bar so empty it felt like a place for ghosts (There are ghosts in Winterfell, and I am one of them.), head fuzzy from the whiskey and holding his glass out in a toast to his dead friend. "Here's hoping upstairs is all it's cracked up to be." He brought the glass to his lips and drank it all the way down, cringing and swallowing at the same time as his entire throat burned like fire. "See you soon."