manofmyword | (no subject)

(no subject)

There is a man in the bar, sitting alone at a table for four with the Observation Window directly on his left, close enough to touch. He has an enormous glass jar of jelly beans and he is methodically sorting them by colour into a number of smaller bowls laid out in front of him.

Other things about him that might come off as odd include: the fact that he is wearing a ferociously lilac button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows under a muted green vest; the fact that he is not wearing any shoes, and his socks don't match, one of them yellow with a black pattern of bats and the other black with little yellow smiley faces; and, finally, the scars on his face, extending the sides of his mouth into a permanent crooked smile.

He might welcome company. Or he might not. It's not always easy to tell.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What, you want details?"

He shrugs.

"I want whatever you wanna tell me," he says, truthfully enough. "You wanna leave it at you were faster, fine, whatever."

He laughs.

"I took his gun away from him and shot him with it."

"See, was that so hard?"

Grinning: "Nnnot really."

Tony has the sneaking suspicion they're talking about different things.

Aren't they just.

Oh look, it's his room! He unlocks the door and shoves it open, against the resistance of a pile of loose clothing.

It's kind of a mess in there.

Yeah.

Messy with guns.

Tony stops dead in the doorway.

"Don't like it?" he asks—still in the hall, but off to one side, not blocking Tony's exit.

Tony gives him a wary look.

"It's . . . pretty cluttered."

He shrugs.

"We can go somewhere else if you want."

"Yeah. Let's."

"'Kay."

Serenely, he shuts the door.

Tony is still kind of side-eying him as he turns and leads the way towards the stairs. One more flight up takes them to his room, which is practically unused.

Also noticeably free of deadly weapons.

"Didn't like the shotgun under the bed? I don't blame ya," he says cheerfully. "Tell you the truth, I mostly forget it's there."

"Yeah, guns kinda kill my boner."

"Mm," and he licks his lips, "they don't kill mine."

. . . So did we mention Tony's wary look?

Yes. Yes you did.

"Sorry, hon, am I frrreakin' you out?"

"Nah, man, it's cool."

YES, YES YOU ARE.

He snorts.

Your lying is not up to scratch, Tony.

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Look, I just want a nice fuck with no trouble, okay?"

"Sure," he says cheerfully. "No problem. If you're not into guns, we won't talk about guns."

"Okay," cautiously. "Cool."

"So, what are you into?"