Merrily wiping away the counters, Jack had just received a short visit from Roda. Just for her to return the glass she borrowed, but one other thing was putting a spring in his step. She'd nicknamed him. Just, on a whim, before she left, 'Til next time, Jackrabbit.'
The White Rabbit was closed, dim, and practically empty save for Toothless Bob, the man who was so much part of the background scenery he'd accidentally been brought along from Legion without anyone noticing until this morning. That was something to tell Braxiatel about. But it was hardly too quiet- slow, sad love songs drowned out the silence.
Ignoring the closed sign, evidently, somebody had forgotten to lock up, as a tall, unfamiliar man fell into the pub, idly glancing down at a communicator and up again as if trying to work out whether he was in the right place. The White Rabbit was what he was hunting for, indeed. But he looked tired and scarred, frayed at the edges, and was dressed in a mostly-open loose button-up, with dressy trousers, and a leather-bound vortex manipulator strapped to one forearm. All those details added up was also ignoring the glaringly obvious short bow and quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He stuck out like a sore thumb.
Spotting the bar, he took a shuddering breath and wandered over, slumping onto a stool in front of it, and dropped his head to the counter with a quiet thud. He sat there, one foot tapping repeatedly since he couldn't sit still, just waiting to be noticed.
Jack's ears pricked up at the noise as he wiped down a glass and his eyes shifted in the low light. The move, despite his reluctance, had put him in a good mood, springing around on his feet. "Jackrabbit jackrabbit..." he murmured. People were nice here, plus, he'd gotten a lot more tips lately.
He stared the man down, confused about his presence in the closed bar. He didn't recognize the face at all, but something else about him gave a warm feeling. Someone to both trust and be cautious of. Perhaps of himself in those darker periods? No, that couldn't be it. He eyed the man and flicked on some of the neon lights for a better view.
"Are you alright? I do like the getup, it's so... old-fashioned. But you don't seem the type to be here." Jack muttered something else under his breath about locking the doors. He almost forgot what he was supposed to be talking about, intrigued by the customer in spite of the early hour.
"-What could I get you...?"
"What could you get me? Not sure, really. Looked up the closest good bar opening in space-time and this... is where I ended up." The fact that he wasn't meant to be there didn't occur to him in the slightest. "Serving alcohol this time of day? Whatever time of day it is wherever we are. Point is... alcohol."
"You missed the reopening by about eighteen hours, my friend. But we're a bar. And technically closed..." Jack stopped and winked. "But, you seem a fine gent. We serve alcohol, of course. But any specifics?"
Then he thought about it again, what it meant that a stranger so obviously not from around was here. Jack took a break from wiping the glass and went out back again to speak with Diego. Murmurs were audible through the wall, cheap and thin from its original construction. The stranger made an effort not to eavesdrop and piece together what they were saying, but the wait was over before it had begun.
Jack strode back out, slightly less confident than before, but that didn't stop him from leaning over and answering the questions. "Irving would be angry at me. But you'd need a special key to go into the rest of the buildings, so I guess if you don't stir up trouble you can stay." A devilish smirk played across his face, eyes and ears only emphasizing the 'devil' part.
The stranger sat up from resting his cheek on the bar and tracing lines in the scratched grain of the bar counter, managing a half-hearted smirk to mirror Jack's. "Just here to drink. If I'm going to get ya in trouble, I can drink somewhere else. But I don't really wanna leave this counter until my credits run out or I forget this disaster. Whichever comes first." Realizing he didn't order though, he added, "Whiskey? Wine? Scotch? Make it strong."
Tossing around the best strong drinks in his head, he made a choice and started searching through the shelf to find the perfect liquor for the job. "Something strong, you say? Then you want Draconian brandy. Short hangover, can black you out for days and gives the best buzz the galaxy has to offer, fine fellow.
-You may want... escape plans though. I'm sure if Irving comes back in here today for... certain reasons, he won't be amused to find another bloke loitering." He reconsidered, looking for every option that allowed the attractive stranger to stay. "...But then again he did go off with Benny. Suspect, he'll be occupied for a long while yet."
"Draconian brandy." The man held out a hand for the glass as it slid over, then placed a pile of credits on the counter that could pay for a couple of drinks, a tip, and then some. He laughed awkwardly. "Hit me. Sounds exactly like what I need."
With the name mentioned a second time, he tipped his head over again curiously. "Found myself somewhere I shouldn't again? Figures. Don't worry 'bout me, I can make myself scarce quick. Take it he's boss?"
Humming merrily, Jack deposited most of the money in a jar behind him and pocketed the rest, chuckling at the notion. This time he didn't seem to pay any mind. A good tipper could keep him quiet. A handsome tipper could keep him quiet. "No, you're probably not supposed to be here, certainly not now. But I won't tell on a well-paying customer. Irving is the boss, yes. I've run this place myself for a while though. He's rich and has other business, much more important than our bar, it seems." Those words were put bitterly, but Jack's appreciative gaze of the tanned and rugged stranger was hardly disrupted during a long silence.
Jack put a finger to his lips, rolling eyes that twinkled mischievously. "But I doubt Irving will notice if you come back, my swashbuckling friend."
"Ah. That kind o' boss. Luckily, I- don't work for anyone anymore. Not so luckily I'm also... on my own." He glanced down in melancholy, before winking. "But I'm not here to think about that, handsome. So I appreciate turning a blind eye."
Jack smirked at the compliment, dancing on his feet a bit. Compared to Legion, even with weighted shoes, he felt lighter than air. "You flatter me so. You aren't so bad yourself in the looks department. Fine fellow, you're already not alone. You have me, you know. I may just be a barkeep, but if you return to this humble establishment, I'll always be here. -And, well. I'm always up for more than just my job when somebody calls me handsome," he flirted.
"Even with the scars, huh? Charmed." the man chuckled half-heartedly, running his fingers over the symmetrical scars that followed six lines above and below his lips, giving them a sort of skeletal appearance. What they were from, he wouldn't tell. They were starting to fade, at least. The physical pain had long passed.
Coming back from his thoughts, he shook his head and forced a warm smile. He was already fond of the company, yes- but it was still on his mind. "Keep the brandy coming and don't ask too many questions, and I'll keep coming back I'm sure," he winked. "I... appreciate the sentiment."
As soon as one glass went down, Jack sent out another. "I don't mind scars. You're dashing, is what you are. And what sort of dashing bloke doesn't have something?" He showed off his hand.
"Useful looking hand. Double as a bottle opener?" The stranger joked as he tried not to drink the second glass as quickly as the first. The brandy was hot and burning, sweet but numbing, and he suspected the kind of drink either meant to be thrown back before it touched one's palette or appreciated and savoured. In the mood, mostly, for the former- but also in no mood to make sobering up happen any faster, he took time to enjoy this one, looking at the barkeep over the rim.
Jack softly laughed at the joke. "Sometimes I do use it as one, yes. But I've got to be careful, there are electricals in here.
Won't ask too many questions, dashing rogue. A little mystery maintains intrigue. But will you at least spoil me with a name?" Jack pouted, however his red eyes stared deep into the stranger's. He could sense the turmoil, but said nothing. It wasn't his business. The man remembered something about names, then smiled and bowed. "I forgot to give you mine, didn't I? Jack McSpringheel at your service, sir."
"Jack." He repeated, looking the Kadeptian over. He hadn't intended to come here to flirt with the barkeep, but he was a good-looking man. Tall, sharp, a little unnerving. In a good way. "Got a spring in your step, do ya? Asked for the scars. Or, rather- askin' for what I got." Shrugging, he took another sip of the brandy, before answering. "It's the Exile. Probably. S'what I am, old name's no good, can't use it anymore." He introduced himself in the least specific way possible.
Jack kept ruminating on the name the stranger gave him, only more curious now. "Exile, hmm? I like it. I've known a fair few types such as that in my line of work, but few are so brave as to wear it on their sleeve." He paused, putting everything down. "And, yes. Do have quite the spring in my step, if I say so-"
Never saying no to a chance to show off, Jack clicked his heels, then effortlessly leapt over the bar and hit the ceiling with one hand, clearing the Exile easily and landing on a faraway table. Not so much as a spoon was knocked out of place.
The man had a number of things he was about to comment on what Jack had said- especially about wearing things on his sleeve. But as soon as Jack clicked those heels and jumped over him, he was briefly lost for words. He blinked, then decided to down the second brandy after all and whistled appreciatively. "Alright," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Say you've earned your name, too. That's impressive."
Jack shrugged, making his way back behind the bar. "Why, thank you again. I do come from a place of high gravity, Kadept. But usually we can't hop like that. Suppose you could say I'm special, but it's just because I'm not a lawyer anymore." As was his order, Jack slid another Draconian brandy down the bar, and it was caught by the Exile. He liked what he was seeing in this man. Might even go over his tip if it meant he'd come back.
For a second everything about Jack seemed stiff and awkward, like there was something in his throat. And there was. A quick burst of blue fire. "Do excuse me."
The Exile jumped a little at the flame. "Kadeptians? Not heard of them, m'fraid. Sure you're the best lookin' of the bunch." He paused. "Say you're not a lawyer anymore though, right? Can't say I fancy needing an alibi to drink here." He raised an eyebrow in a silent question, sipping the drink.
Jack snorted. "Oh, we're mostly lawyers. Natural charm makes winning cases an easy moneymaker. Wasn't a fan of the ethics, though. And handsomest of the lot? Well, I'd hate to boast..." The last part was an obvious lie.
The Exile just laughed. "Well, boast away if you want. I'm not hating it." He leant back in his chair and held the rich, deep gold liquid to the light. Starting to feel the buzz, but still thinking- which meant he had to have more.
Wondering how much Jack expected him to be able to take before blacking out, he reached into a pocket and dropped more on the table in case he was going over. This wasn't his own money. Just snatched from somebody corrupt while victims got the rest. Jack could have some. "You're certainly a charmer, though. Almost makes me forget why I came."
"I'm surely doing well for you to stay so long, and to say that. It always has been my job to make wayward souls forget why they came- unless to party, that is." The Exile's flattery was kicking Jack into high gear. He stared down at the heap of credits and whistled a bit, counting the cash and nodding in approval. "I'm sure that'll cover quite a few more, and Draconian brandy doesn't come cheap. I don't doubt your constitution, however. I wonder what your other talents are."
"Just don't ask where it came from," he winked. "But I like paying my tabs. There's folks you don't swindle, and one's your handsome barkeep who can jump feet in the air." He tipped the drink back, face a little more rosy as he started to feel it more, his smile a little more loose and free. The drink wasn't quite drowning his thoughts, but he found himself willing to chat more. "Skills? This n' that. Some of it's in the name. 'M Told I dress like a pirate. Better with a bow and arrow or pistol than a sword, though. I swashbuckle, buckle swashes. Rob from the rich, give to the poor, make life hell for bastards."
There was still cleaning that had to be done, so Jack took a mop and bucket, dancing around the tables with it, but continuing the conversation. "-I can get behind that, and I learned to not ask too many questions about money ages ago. Don't tell Irving I said anything- at least nowadays, he probably deserves a good swindling. But I don't mind being in a thief's good books, when I can help it. Especially if they're as wonderful as yourself."
Jack was supposed to be cleaning more, but stopped mopping and came back to the bar, helping himself to a small glass of the brandy. He sighed longingly, "Ahhh- Haven't seen archery up close before. Maybe I could watch you practice some time, if you need to practice at all, that is," he offered.
"I told you," the Exile frowned, deciding that maybe it was starting to have a proper effect at last. The bar seemed more wobbly, anyway. "No interest in robbing the hand that feeds me brandy." At the mention of archery, a little more of his mood fizzled away. He downed the drink and pushed the glass back over, then rested his head on his hands. "Oh, don't need practice. Could shoot an apple off your handsome head at thirty paces. But if you want to watch me play with wood, you're welcome to."
Jack shook his head jokingly. "I'm sure you could." Just a second and he got what innuendo was put down by the handsome man, then turned pink. "Oh, I wouldn't mind that sometime."
"Won't shoot it off your head now." The Exile frowned at the cup again, then grinned at Jack and winked. He was definitely feeling the brandy. "Haven't got an apple. Have to show ya next time, Jack. "
There was a pause as Jack retrieved something from behind the counter. A pen and paper. He scribbled on it and slipped it into the Exile's hand. A contact number. "Here's my number if that's okay with you, dear chap."
A beat, and then the Exile chuckled to himself, running his thumb over the number with a thoughtful expression on his face. He stowed the precious slip of paper into a breast pocket that was concealed by his empty bandolier, then lounged across the bar more. "Can I have another? If you're not gonna..." he shot a pair of finger guns. "Jack up the prices. 'Cause I'm pretty. And I'm pretty dumb. And this brandy's pretty good at making me pretty dumber."
Jack absolutely cackled, and didn't even hesitate to slide down another. "Oh darling, god no. Even if you didn't have enough credits you're far too funny to pass up." He wasn't going to jack up the prices, but was considering going up again. One more hop couldn't hurt? But he was getting pretty drunk himself. Could he land on his feet? Probably not this time.
"I like you. New favourite barkeep." He was on four or five now, even with a steely metabolism and high tolerance, really getting hit hard. Trying to charm the barkeep back, the Exile twirled his latest glass a little, then let his arms slide so he was more over the bar than leaning on it, and tipped his head to one side, batting long, blond eyelashes. "Does it come with a straw? Oh! Or one a' those lil umbrella things?"
Jack cheekily rolled his eyes and got those things with some effort, plopping them into the customer's glass, then in his own for good measure. He always loved a dramatic flair, and couldn't help but feel his ears flushing as he took another sip. "Come an' see me anytime. Shh... I won't tell if you won't..." He winked.
The Exile laughed, quite thrilled by the umbrella, and sipped through the straw while he looked up at Jack through lidded eyes. A good angle. And he liked the invitation, too. And the blush. And the barkeep. "Well," he patted his chest and sipped his drink, voice low. "Got your number. And I'd give ya a five-star review. Maybe I'll... mmm... visit again." He raised the glass as high as he could. "New friend?"
Jack raised his own in turn. "New friend."
One scarlet eye winked, as to suggest quite a bit more than that. But Jack wouldn't say it out loud. Not yet. Not when they were drunk.
