(no subject)

[panspermia]

[When shadows are living forces and your city is under attack, it's no surprise that some people are driven to drink. Those newly brought into the city have been dragged into an unfamiliar place away from their homes, pushed into a fight they know nothing about, and saddled with abilities they likely never asked for. It's a lot to take in.

The go-to method for Greg is to avoid making waves and just try to get along with other, normal people, while someone else can handle the issue. Unfortunately, none of the normal people seem to be willing to get along. For all his efforts, he can barely get one-word responses out of the best of them, and general disdainful looks from all. Not to say it's an unfamiliar circumstance, but with everything else it's all too much to deal with right now.

Greg hasn't drunk a whole lot since the birth of his kid, but his kid's not here, which is a conflicting matter all its own. He's nursing a beer alone at a table, tuning his guitar softly. The rest of the barflies don't seem happy to have him there, since, well, they're presumably here to drink and forget about all these foreigners. Still, they accepted the few crumpled bills from his wallet without too much complaint.

They may have to get used to sharing the space, should anyone else feel like coming for some pressure release.]

Comments

[unrecovered]

[ Wash has had about enough. The coping techniques he'd developed in the Realm of Dreams weren't applicable, as they namely relied on friends he'd made who weren't here, and the coping mechanisms he'd developed during Freelancer were hard to slip back into, given how far he'd come since then. He'd thought about heading down into the underground to be alone and try to clear his head; the roiling mass of shadows that had met him when he'd headed down there had convinced him very quickly that that was not a good idea.]

[So he'd found a bar. It wasn't the best solution - he could take the edge off, sure, but he couldn't ever really forget, even when he was drunk - but it was a solution nonetheless. Of course, nobody in the bar looked too happy to see him - surprise, surprise - so he took a seat next to the one guy who hadn't immediately expressed his displeasure when Wash had walked into the room. The beer was cheap and terrible, but Wash was beyond giving a fuck.]

[panspermia]

[Even without the usual irritation most people give him, it's not hard to tell this new guy isn't a local. He carries himself different, somehow--with a similar sort of exhaustion to Greg's own.

Well, all the more reason to sit together. He's only been able to make connections so far through voices over the eye thing. The company's more than welcome.]

Important to keep hydrated, after all.

[Greg offered the guy a weak grin as he gave his strings a couple experimental plunks.]

Been here long?

[unrecovered]

[Two words in, Wash nearly chokes on his beer. That's about how long it take him to recognize that voice. This is the guy he yelled at over the communicators, for complaining, for not taking some course of action-]

[And here Wash is, sitting next to him in a bar. Of course.]

[That's about when Wash realizes he's still holding on to a mouthful of beer and the hops are starting to pop against his tongue. He chokes it down; so much for subtlety.]

A day or two. Too long already.

[Now to see if the guy recognizes his voice.]

[panspermia]

[There's a small tangle of of strings twanging as Greg jumps in his seat. Yeah, it's a little hard to miss the voice that's been echoing in the back of his head all day. It just about figures, after getting told off for not stepping up to handle things, now he's caught in the bar like a total bum.]

Yeah... no kidding.

[He clears his throat and tries to just focus on his guitar. Should he just leave? He doesn't want to pester this guy any more than he already has. It just doesn't feel right--barely even arrived, and he's already making adversaries.]

It's crazy how fast things go downhill...

[unrecovered]

[Evidently this guy isn't much for subtlety either. Great. Fantastic.]

You're telling me.

[He sets his beer down on the bar. It's measured, controlled, not at all a betrayal of just how fucked up his emotions are right now. He should probably leave before he makes things worse, but- but fuck it, he has a beer and he is not giving up that beer. Plus, he's good at picking up the pieces; he has to be by now.]

Look. I've been dealing with a lot of shit lately, and coming here just...made everything worse. [So. Much. Understatement.] I shouldn't have taken it out on you.

[It's as close to an out-and-out apology as he can get at this point, and he hasn't taken his eyes off the beer this entire time. There's a finite limit to what he can handle, and he knows he's pushing it right now. Still, this guy really didn't deserve all that, and he knows it, and, well, he can't ignore guilt over innocent people like he used to.]

[That's probably a good thing.]

[panspermia]

[The last thing he wants is a repeat of last time, but it's hard to know what to say. The best he can do, for a moment, is buy himself some time with a sigh and a gulp of beer.]

It's not a problem. I really get it, man. I mean, I know I don't look it, but... I've spent a lot of time around soldiers, of a sort. Fighting for a place that isn't even yours... it messes with you something bad. It's isolating.

[He doesn't know this guy's story, but by the look of him, it's a long, unpleasant one. All Greg knows about this stuff comes from a distinctly outsider perspective, and the two of them side by side must make an impressive display of opposites. It's not hard to see where he could rub this guy wrong.]

All that's to say... I'd like to avoid burning any bridges too quickly, you know?

[Greg is tired. He's frustrated. He's scared. And most of all, he's lonely. This guy next to him is obviously not the place to go looking for comfort, but all Greg needs right now is human contact that doesn't make him feel like complete garbage.]

[unrecovered]

[That's a depth of wisdom Wash isn't expecting, especially from this guy. There was something here about appearances being deceiving, and, well, he isn't expecting the guy who looks like an older version of Grif and sounds like a petulant Doc to have something of a brain, let alone that level of understanding.]

[Shows what he knows.]

Yeah. I get it.

[And because he hasn't fucked this up beyond repair - yet, there's still time for that - he keeps going. They sound like they're polar opposites, true, but Wash has dealt with a hell of a lot worse and, well, he can't help but try. He didn't survive this long by giving up.]

My name is Agent Washington. [Beat.] Or...just Wash.

[Just don't fucking disappear on him. He's had more than enough of that.]

[panspermia]

[That, at least, is a little load off, and with as heavy as things gotten, Greg will take any relief. His wary grin comes back.]

Greg. Greg Universe.

[Giving his guitar an experimental strum, it almost sounds right.]

What say we throw out last time and count this for first impressions, huh?

[unrecovered]

[Yeah, no, Wash doesn't have it in him to smile just yet. He does give Greg a nod of acknowledgement.]

Sounds good.

[Denial and repression? Sure! He's good at that. He nods at the guitar.]

You play?

[jonesiseverywhere]

[Casey can't seem to wind down. It's become pretty clear to him that he's going to have to fight about three times as hard to get any respect from anyone and it's put a serious bug up his butt. But after a few hours of running around the city, trying and failing to find a way to burn off his energy, he's ready for a drink and a sit-down.

But there just isn't a whole lot around here, except this bar, which, whatever, Casey's spent enough of his time in bars to know they'll sell him a soda or something, if begrudgingly. And nobody seems to want to give him a seat -though he walked in like he'd been here before, apparently you couldn't fool them- except for the old bald dude apparently preparing for the mother of all combovers.]

[panspermia]

[Why is there a teenager in here? Sure, okay, he didn't order any alcohol, which is a plus, but this seems like a situation people shouldn't just gloss over. With how little anyone seemed to care, he had to be another outsider, and if Greg's experience was anything to go by, they could care less what underage kids are doing where.

Well, someone's got to keep an eye out. He gives as disarming a grin as an overweight, balding, middle-aged man can possibly give a teenager in a bar. Yeah, this is weird.]

Yo! You here by yourself, guy?

[jonesiseverywhere]

[Casey's gonna take that as an invite to sit down.]

Pfft, yeah. Didn't seem like there was anywhere else to get something to drink around here, and I'm achin' for it.

[Wait, this guy's voice is familiar.]

Wait, we met before, huh? Name's Casey.

[panspermia]

Hey, yeah! We chatted on the thing. [He waves a hand vaguely over his eye.] I'm Greg.

I feel you on needing a drink. Haven't even done anything yet, and I'm a wreck. Still, only been a day. Bet we can find someplace a little more age appropriate if we look around.

[jonesiseverywhere]

[Dismissive wave] Nah, it's cool. I've been in bars before with my dad. Nobody'll bug us long as they think I'm with you.

[Casey's trying to solve a mystery here. Greg doesn't look like combatant, and Casey was pretty sure they were all brought here to fight. Is Greg one of those ninja masters who look all doughy and then bust out serious moves when they need to? Of course, if that is the case, then Casey will probably need to ask a pretty clever question to get it out of him.]

So, what's your deal, anyway?

[Casey is a goddamn superspy.]

[panspermia]

With your dad, huh.

[As someone who lets his son fight monsters who spit acid and shoot lasers on a regular basis, Greg finds this parenting method highly questionable.]

My deal? Well, there's the wash and wax option, during the summer.

[Don't be a smartass Greg]

[jonesiseverywhere]

Uh...Yeah? Not all that much.

[There's some judgement evident. Casey didn't assume that was what every dad did, but he doesn't see the big deal. Besides, as far as Casey is concerned, that makes Greg the BEST DAD IN THE UNIVERSE.]

So, the mystic junk around here just grabbed a guy with a car wash to fight a buncha shadow monsters? You scrub cars with unicorn tails or somethin'?

[It's OK, he is in the company of another total smartass.]

[panspermia]

Sure, sure. It's important to get quality time with your son. I've got a kid of my own, just a little younger than you, I hang with him every chance I get. Usually better to bond over what he wants to do, but that's just my take on it, y'know.

[He barely knows this kid and doesn't know his dad, so he's trying not to judge. Except he's totally judging. Whether or not he's the best dad in the universe, he's definitely the best Universe's dad.]

Actually, I'm pretty sure whoever's in charge meant to grab him instead. He's got this whole sort of... magical destiny thing going on. Whatever's going on here seems right up his alley.

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

[ So. Magic is a thing. Shadow creatures are a thing. His medical tech is and isn't as advanced as it could be considering that healing magic is, apparently, a thing.

After settling in as best he could finding that bar? Seemed like the best option. He's not all that surprised to find Greg there, but the guitar is new. ]

Tell me you know some Johnny Cash.

[panspermia]

[There's something to be said for jumping right into the music. Greg can appreciate it well enough as a hello.]

Good to know classics still have their place in a couple centuries.

[He shakes out his arm, before plucking his way into the right rhythm. It's not the quite same without a horn section, but he loves himself some Ring of Fire just the same.]

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

Got me through the worst of my divorce.

[ It's grounding- familiar. Helps him think of home in a way that doesn't leave him embittered or upset, helps the bourbon go down smooth. A few lines in and he's settled back in his chair, humming a low, rough harmony. ]

[panspermia]

[For a little while, it's just two tired men crooning their way through their exhaustion. It's nice, Greg thinks, to have a moment that can pass for normal.

After the song's done, Greg can't help but give a nervous peek around. Everything seems normal, and he sighs into a gulp of beer.]

It's Leonard, right?

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

Mhmm. Or Bones but- Don't think anyone here's gonna call me that. S'gonna be weird.

[ Probably better not to have the reminder of home. It'll just make being stuck here worse and the last thing he needs to do is worry about what the hell is going on while he's not there to keep the crew alive. ]

You play well, Greg. S'the first normal thing in this whole damn city.

[panspermia]

Hey, if you're introducing yourself to everyone, you get to pick what they call you. Bones, Doc, Lenny, go wild!

[Coming from the guy whose name is Universe, he knows what's up.]

Hah, well. I'm a little out of practice, but, good enough for open mic night. Figure this place could do with a little up-tempo.

[oldfashionedfutureboy]

Anything but Lenny. My Ex called me that- hated it but she liked say'n it so I let her.

[Not the first or last thing he did to keep Joyce happy when he probably should've spoke up. Not that they talked enough when it mattered.

He is not drunk enough to get this maudlin, he'd rather settle in with Greg's good humor and just- forget about whatever's got them all here for a little while. ]

Speak'n of up tempo- know any Journey?

[panspermia]

[Ah yes, thoughts of exes are hardly a step up from everything else going on. There's no choice; he's going to have to pull out the big guns for this one.

Greg leans in, conspiratorial.]

That depends, Mac; do you know any?

[He waggles his eyebrows and gives a strum. No fun belting alone, man.]