You sound like a man in search of a solution then.
Who: booker and Morrigan What: Drinking, other things When: During the age plot Where: a bar, then Booker's place Status: complete Rating: PG-13 for drinking and nosebleeds
Booker needed a drink. Neena was stuck as a seven year old. And sure they were on the outs (and never to be in again. Probably.), but it was still bothersome. Between that, and the constant assault by his dreams he needed a fuckin’ drink.
He wiped his nose before stepping into the bar, looked at his hand, then wiped the blood off on his black pants.
Morrigan’s shift hadn’t been going as well as she’d have hoped. A large group that had settled in at her end of the bar seemed to have set the tone to her whole night. Rowdy and shitty tippers. It was a Tuesday for god sakes. Go the fuck home and drink your own cheap crap booze.
Getting a shot of tequila in her system before her last two hours started was needed. She’d had a string of shitty customers all night, no regular patrons (for once she was actually disappointed about that fact), she’d made maybe sixty in tips.
If this night was going to go out with a whimper, then she was sure as hell going to enjoy the apparent dose of karma that had been dealt to her.
Booker made his way up to the bar, sitting on a stool and staring at the bottles in the back like he was trying to make the most important decision of his life. He wanted something that could knock him off onto his ass but also didn't taste like ass. He wanted a quality drunk.
"Give me somethin' from that shelf. Ain't carin' what jus' as long as it's good."
As she tossed her shot glass in the sink another new face settled in front of her. The expression he was sporting was an all too familiar one. And his request made that fact all the more evident.
Morrigan’s lips quirked at the request and she read the man as one that might enjoy a decent tumbler of whiskey.
Turning and reaching up to one of the top shelves, Morrigan grabbed a bottle she’d been eyeing the whole night simply to see what a customer may think of it. Carefully pulling down and peeling off the wax seal off the top of the Knob Creed Single Barrel Reserve, she slipped one ice cube in the glass before sliding it over to him, leaving the bottle down as she could foresee this all going in one direction.
“Good is a matter of perspective. But I would put money on the fact that what you have there is what you’re looking for.”
Couldn't do much to beat Whiskey, he had to admit. He eyed the bottle, then decided he could afford it. "That's damn good shit." Might as well drink his wallet while he was at it. Make it a party! He took a sip, and closed his eyes with a groan. "Oh. Yeah. That's the stuff."
Morrigan’s lips curled upward, at least one customer was satisfied this evening. “Just let me know when you need to be topped off.”
Turning around, she started to clean her station up a bit. That initial party that came in had sent things into a bit of a tizzy and she hadn’t yet had a chance to reorganize really. Nor had she had the desire to yet.
His eyes followed the woman’s hips as she walked and he grinned to himself. Drink with a view? He could live with that. And it was a hell of a view. He sipped his drink again, and watched her clean up her station. “Some people don’t know how to take care of themselves.”
Morrigan’s mouth quirked while she finished cleaning up, “I like to think I can take care of myself quite well.”
There was no offense taken, if anything she found his commentary amusing. At least his conversational quips weren’t salacious. Well...these initial ones. With the way he was easily downing the liquor that was most likely set to change.
Once she was done cleaning up her station, she moved back over to him, noting the dangerously low liquid level of his glass. Topping him off, she gave the man a quick wink before leaning back against the shelf behind her. “Rough day then?”
"Rough year. Keep havin' to close my pawn shop, an' then there's some other crap." He swirled the dark liquid in his glass and then took a longer swig. "Could use a do-over. That'd be nice."
“Self owned businesses are something to be admired. That takes quite a bit of sacrifice. And I do believe we all have at least one time in our lives that we desire a redo of something or other.”
Morrigan had a bit of luck as of late and didn’t have much to regret, but she had plenty of times in the past where she would have gladly sold her soul or worse for a do-over.
Booker smiled grimly. He wondered if she dreamed, and if she did if they were pleasant. There were mornings he didn't know if he was Comstock or Booker and the line was so thin between the two that he couldn't face himself in the mirror in the morning.
"I could use about six."
Moving back over to the edge of the bar, she nodded, “But at the end of the day, we only have what we have. Be it that we have to fight to keep it, or it’s simply given to us. We make do with what we can,” she paused, “Or we drink until our legs can no longer carry us and our minds are no longer our own.”
Morrigan smirked and nodded to him, “But I’m no philosopher. Just simply a bartender.”
"Bartending and philosophying kinda go hand in hand," Booker pointed out. How many bartenders had he come across during the darker portion of his life that practically had degrees in psychology just from experience?
“And half the time it’s a poor attempt at getting someone to feel guilty enough to fork over an extra large tip.” Pouring him a little more she got herself a small glass of water, “I take it you’re a frequent patient of the bar then, yes?”
“Recently. Fell off the wagon.” He shrugged a shoulder like that hardly mattered anymore. He’d been clean for two years and then just like that. Between the dreams and Neena, anyway. It all got messed up.
That was a good queue for Morrigan to slow down on the dispensing. She usually wasn’t one to just take a shining to a random, no named, individual walking into the bar. But she’d seen others struggle with addiction, and it wasn’t in the least bit an envious thing.
Frowning, she leaned in a little more, not as free pouring as she was a moment earlier, “And what’s gotten you to this point? Takes a lot to make someone throw sobriety away.”
He looked mournfully at the less free pouring. “What else? Women and shattered dreams.” It was dramatic, but it was no less the truth. It felt like three people in his head, and he blinked his eyes to banish the memory of other places.
“Ah, so you’re willing to throw it all away so easily then?” Morrigan filled his glass again, but not nearly as high. At least for right now.
“A man looking such as yourself I would have imagined you more the fighting type. Then again, that’s simply speculation and observation from someone who keeps feeding to your addiction.”
"Easier said than done. Took one bad day and then the old cravings came back." Booker shrugged his shoulders, and started to nurse the drink in case it would end up being his last one. "And way more complicated than it should be."
“You sound like a man in search of a solution then. Not something that ever comes easy.” It was five minutes until last call, and against whatever judgement she had going for her this evening, she filled the man’s glass. He needed it more in this moment, despite the adverse outcome.
It wasn’t Morrigan’s place to pass judgement on someone. Nor was it her job to save them. But a part of herself felt as though she could spare the time to help one soul. At least this one for the time being. Even if it did more harm then good. But then again, he seemed pleased enough with the booze.
"What if I said I'd stopped looking for the solution a long time ago?" He'd had it, he'd though, but clearly it had eluded him. Fuck it. If he was going to be fucked over by life he might as well enjoy himself in the process.
“It’s not my place to judge, but if it’s something worth breaking your sobriety over it may be time to start looking again. Seems to mean much more to you then you let on.” She shrugged and put the bottle up on the shelf, waving off a coworker that was looking to get her to do clean up tonight. This wasn’t the time as far as she was concerned.
"Could be worse." He looked down into his drink. "Think I need to do somethin' on my side business. Might be a good distraction." And he wasn't near enough to being drunk enough yet for his tastes. He felt something warm on his upper lip and absently wiped away the blood.
The sight of blood there was alarming, not terribly so, but enough to gain Morrigan’s interest. She was never the type of person to issue first aid, but this had her grabbing a fresh bar rag from the back and walking around to check this guy out.
Removing the glass from his hand she turned his face to hers. Her actions were very matter-of-fact as she tended to his nose. “Are we just prone to nose bleeds?” She knew the alcohol was enough to thin his blood and the area from which it was running from would likely be worse then it was. She carefully pulled his body forward, letting his face tilt down. “Or do you enjoy bleeding all over the place?”
"It's complicated," he said, repeating his earlier explanations. "There's somethin' wrong with my brain. Which sounds worse than it actually is." He took the rag and waved her off. He didn't want anyone looking over him like this.
She rolled her eyes, “I don’t need you bleeding all over the bar and the floor. That’s one less mess I need to clean up. And I don’t see how something being wrong with your brain isn’t as bad as it sounds. You’re bleeding. From your head..” Fool. Morrigan shook her head and continued to get things closed up.
"Well since I don't wanna leave a mess for you..." Booker got to his feet. "I'll bring you by a new rag." He didn't want to owe her anything. He had enough debts to pay.
“We have plenty back here. Just don’t bleed all over the place and we’ll call it even. Alright?” She closed up her station and waved off her coworker, intent on letting them finish up the night as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
Booker just nodded lightly, and held the rag against his face until he was positive the blood had stopped. "that's the worst it's ever been. Usually it's just a few drops, here and there. nothin' to worry about."
Why was she feeling so generous this evening? Charitable. Caring. She didn’t know this man, and she felt that should SHOULD be feeling nothing considering their lack of attachment. But after his last words she found herself stopping in her tracks. What the fuck was wrong with her?
“Do you even see a doctor?” Morrigan turned and walked toward him, taking the rag roughly from his grasp and cleans him up, probably not as gently as one might with someone that actually cared for. “Or is death just on the menu for you?”
“Saw seven. Six couldn’t find anything, the seventh found something but she couldn’t do anything yet and then she got killed.” Booker shrugged a shoulder. It was a tragedy, but he’d barely known her.
“And have you pursued any other options? Or did she say what it was? You’d be surprised at holistic medicine and the results they produce.” Morrigan managed to clean up the blood there on his face but his nose was still dripping slightly. The man should be in a hospital, or something...Anything, really.
She knew she couldn’t stay inside as her coworker was wrapping things up, but she (against her better judgement) wasn’t going to leave this guy here like this. At least for now. “Do you live far from here?”
"She was the special sort of healer, who got a direct look at my brain. Frankly I didn't understand a word she was sayin'. Ain't my area of expertise." Usually Booker took people apart instead of put them together.
"Far enough."
With a heavy sigh, she moved him to a bench and smoothed back her bangs from her face. “I’m sure I could direct you to a few people who could help you. But I think getting you home for the night is the biggest priority at this time. I’ll share a cab with you as long as we’re going in the same direction.”
She felt as though she may regret this…
Booker smirked at her. But it was a little bit of a leer, too, like his mind had gone to a few places he'd like to take Morrigan go. "That's awfully nice of you, but it ain't somethin' I really deserve." He wasn't the best person or the best company a lot of the time, and he knew it. Sometimes he wondered if he needed to just disappear out of everyone's lives.
“Never said you deserved it.” Morrigan smirked right back at him. She really was having a hard time putting a finger on it, but there was something about him when he wasn’t being all wishy washy. “And trust me, I’m not nice.”
Turning, Morrigan flagged down a cab and turned back to him, leaning against the back of the vehicle, “You gonna get in or am I taking this one by myself?”
He sighed, and then shrugged his shoulder. "The worse that could happen is you steal my kidney, and I know where you work."
The tequila she drank a few minutes earlier was obviously impairing her judgement because she laughed. Outright laughed, and meant every hearty chuckle of it. “You have a point there. What did you say your name was again? Or, wait, you haven’t yet, have you?”
It was a nice laugh, he had to admit. “Booker. Booker Dewitt.” The way he said it made it seem like he’d stepped out of another time all together. When men had names like Booker and women were dames.”
“Morrigan Shaw.” Booker wasn’t an all too used name, so there was a bit of attraction there to the unknown. But despite her slight lack of inhibitions, she did keep an eye on every limb and digit of his. That is if he in fact did try anything. Then again, would it really be so terrible to have a quickie? Or would that be frowned upon since the man was seemingly dying? She never really understood social norms, nor did she care very much for them or how she was perceived. And why was she even concerned about any of this. As far as she knew, she would be dumping off the half dying man before she reached her own place...unless they reached his first.
Booker didn't think he was dying. He didn't feel like it. Part of him wanted to. It would make everything better for everyone who knew him. He had no illusions he'd go to heaven, so there was no way he'd ever see his Annabelle again. Not that he could have looked her in the eye after losing their daughter.
He grunted, and patted Morrigan's leg.
The pat brought a rather apparent look of amusement to her lips and she trailed a finger over his hand, inspecting it from above. “You’re a man that’s seen quite a bit of action, aren’t you? At least from what I can see from the scars on your fingers and the back of your hands.”
“Then again, that could be from all the women who’ve tried to cut your fingers off while you felt them up in a cab.” She was teasing, and her facial expressions showed it. Though it turned toward the scar there on the back of his hand that was painfully obvious. Her fingers trailed over the A D slowly, her brows knitted together, “Momento or something else?”
“If I was feelin’ you up, you’d know it,” he joked, but he sobered up as she touched the scars. “Somethin’ I lost a long time ago, that’s all.
“Obviously close to you if you scarred your skin over it.” Her fingers traced once more before looking up at him, an eyebrow raised, putting on a lighter tone. “And I would hope so, considering I’m not that drunk.”
Booker’s hand moved to Morrigan’s thigh, as if to prove a point that he knew how to grope when he wanted to. “That was twenty years ago, ain’t nothin’ to cry over now.”
Not that she was ever one to not be in control of a situation, Morrigan’s hand moved his higher on her thigh, but kept it there firmly, not letting it move anymore just for the moment as she carried on the conversation like nothing was happening. “Twenty years is quite a long time. Still doesn’t mean it isn’t something important to you..”
He didn’t really mind. It was a good spot. “I’d have done something about it if….It doesn’t matter.” He didn’t want to talk about dead wives and missing children with a virtual stranger, no matter how hot she was.
Noting the apprehension, Morrigan did her best to break the mood, raising a brow quizzically. “Could do something about it in a spot a little more secluded than here. Considering you said your place was a distance away.”
Picking up patrons. This is what she’d lowered herself to. Then again, he was damn handsome for a man his age, and wasn’t something to complain about. She had been chasten for far too long in her mind so getting a bit of sexual tension out wouldn’t be beyond her.
“Lady’s choice,” Booker said, his smile a little lopsided. Man can’t turn down a woman like her, even if he’d figured that wasn’t going to happen.
Thinking on it for a moment, Morrigan nodded and waved down a cab again. “Your place. Unless you start to bleed again. In that case it’ll have to be your hospital bed at the ER.” Smirking back at him she got in, leaving the door open.
Running off with some strange man wasn’t something new to her, she’d done it on occasion. But not without protection. Morrigan always carried a blade on her and she knew quite well how to wield it if need be.
“Done it worse places,” Booker admitted, telling the cabbie the address. It was an apartment above the pawn shop and he was glad he’d cleaned it and dumped out all the bottles. He hadn’t restocked yet for his next binge. He almost asked how old she was. He’d gotten burned with a girl with a fake ID before. He decided not to.
Morrigan laughed and stepped out of the cab, taking note of where they were and where the closest main street was just in case something did happen. She wasn’t one to walk into a situation blindly. “I can promise you I might just be able to beat your worst place on record. Well...then again...it depends on your definition of worst.”
“Yeah, I think everyone’s definition is different, but I like to think my apartment ain’t shit.” Booker followed her out of the cab, darting his eyes down ward, then back up. He fished some money out to pay for the cab, like a gentleman or something.
“It’s clean. Mostly.”
"At least you're honest. Not many would admit what you just have." Then again, Morrigan's place wasn't the most spotless.
Noting he paid for the cab, she fished a twenty out from her tips and slipped it into his back pocket. He didn't need to pay for her.
“Lucky for you I just did my yearly cleaning,” Booker joked. There was a stairs up one side of the building and that’s where he led Morrigan to, bypassing the shop. He let her in. The apartment was pretty barren. Booker didn’t have much reason to keep things, nor did he have much in the way of pictures on the wall. Just some basic furniture and electronics, half of which looked like he’d raided a salvation army for.
“Yearly cleaning, eh?” Morrigan chuckled as she walked into the bare bones apartment. She took a look around, taking note of the doors and windows. Escape routes. She really was a nut when it came to things like this but she always found it safer to be paranoid than ignorant.
Tossing her sweater on the old couch, Morrigan looked around, examining what little he had around the area, “I think it may be time to invest in some kind of interior decorating.” She chuckled a little as she looked back over at him, but it was a more sincere look then anything. Booker obviously had very little, and from what he said, he was having trouble with his business off and on. The free market was a tough, dog-eat-dog place, she had to hand it to the guy for at least fighting for it.
Booker watched her look around, raising his eyebrows. He was used to that sort of thing from Neena, who’s paranoia was fairly legendary, so it was odd to see it from another person.
“Never really cared for it.” He shrugged a shoulder. They were going to close the pawn shop sooner or later to concentrate on the bounty hunting they did, so there was no point in getting attached to the place.
“Something else in mind then?” When she’d finished mapping his living space in her head, she moved over to him, finally taking a moment to examine his features. He looked tired, but good enough to cause some trouble if he really wanted to.
“Or is that too personal a question for this situation.” Her lips curled up in a small smirk. The smell of whiskey was prevalent enough on his breath that she was certain she’d most likely get drunk just off of kissing him.
"A little too personal," He said, rolling his shoulders. It wasn't important. None of that was important. "And no one else that matters." Which was a bald faced lie, but if he said it enough times maybe it would become true.
Noting his expression as he addressed his own personal issue with deflection, Morrigan simply took that as an invitation to press on to other things. More literally, she pushed Booker back against a bare wall. If anything, there was plenty of space not to knock anything off them. “You sure? Not that it really matters at this point considering our position, and I believe we’re both aware of that.”
Her hands laid on his chest at the base of his ribcage, not moving just yet. She’d drive for as long as he wanted her to…
Booker smirked at her, and rested a hand on Morrigan's hip. "Yeah, you've got a point there." He slipped his fingers into the waistband of her pants. His other hand? Started taking liberties inside the back of her shirt. He had no problems with a lady taking the lead, and he liked to take the lead too. He just didn't know how rough Morrigan liked it.
She had to admit, the strong contrast of her smoother skin being touched by his well used hands was a nice sensation. Her fingers slid up the material of his shirt, only to start coming down with each button that she freed. “Positions could be moved back to the bedroom. Unless you had something else in mind?”
Sliding his arms around Morrigan's waist, Booker lifted her up, and started walking them towards his bedroom. The bed was fairly nice, comfy looking, and one of his only luxuries.
He dropped Morrigan onto the bed and grinned at her. "Lets start here and see where we end up."
Well wasn’t this gentlemanly? Picking her up and taking her to bed. For a one nighter, and the surroundings she’d found herself in, this was far more then was expected.
“Not a bad idea, if I do say so myself..” Her voice trailed off as she tugged him down, kissing him, tasting that distinct mix of Knob Creek and what was most definitely him.