The place even smelt the same. Scott stepped surely through the swinging doors, back straight, hat dipped over an eye, suit the color of melted butterscotch and tailored to a T. His eyes crawled over The Sun with intent eyes, memories sweeping over him like a hard wave. The bar still open at noon, the drunkards still drowning their sorrows just as early, and of course, crawling with more beautiful women than a man had a right to know. His gut wrenched at the sight.
He pretended not to look for a particular beauty.
Instead, he made his way to the bar in confident stride, so much the different man than he was six years ago- impressionable, aspiring, complete with ambition to change the world. Things change. Dreams change. Just the same, he was considerably happy, not to mention wealthy, a distinguished real estate agent, catering to the needs of men and women alike on this side of the Mississippi, thank you very much.
"Bourbon, please."
"Yes suh," said the tall black man behind the bar, handsome with a strong jaw and eyes that had seen too much in his day. Too many fellas left choking on their own broken hearts by these women.
Scott stood, elbow at the bar and sipping his drink. While inclining his head to comb the room was when he saw Remy passed out drunk, flopped over a table, bottle of whiskey in his fist and an empty one not far. Scott shook his head and proceeded to approach his old friend.
"Alright now, up you go." Scott encouraged as he hoisted Remy to sit up, patting his back firm and swift. "There you go."
Remy squinted his eyes as he swam back to consciousness. "Wha... Scott?" He mumbled, groggy and head throbbing. "Is dat you?"
The businessman nodded. "Yeah, Remy. It's me. How the hell are you, kid?" He pulled up a seat at the table, shoving bottles out of his way.
Remy scoffed bitterly. "Honestly? I feel like I could die right now."
Scott's eyes shifted about while he spoke. "You been here all this time?"
"No, man. Not at all." Remy shook his head with great effort. "Just came back yesterday." The Cajun squinted again as if he was seeing Scott for the first time. "Woah, brot'er. You just comin' in, too?" He waved a hand at the ceiling when Scott nodded. "Fate, must be."
Scott chose to ignore him. A man said a lot of things when he was drunk, or hung over. "What's got you like this then? You look like hell!"
Remy surprised Scott when he sank his head in his hands and made an agonized sound, muffled but wounded like a tortured animal. Or heart.
"Jesus Christ, what is it, Remy?" Scott asked suddenly. "What's the matter?" He laid a consoling hand on his friend's shoulder. "Tell me."
Remy stared up at him blankly, his face etched in raw desperation. "I came back for Rogue," his voice was thick with emotion. "She's dead."
He pretended not to look for a particular beauty.
Instead, he made his way to the bar in confident stride, so much the different man than he was six years ago- impressionable, aspiring, complete with ambition to change the world. Things change. Dreams change. Just the same, he was considerably happy, not to mention wealthy, a distinguished real estate agent, catering to the needs of men and women alike on this side of the Mississippi, thank you very much.
"Bourbon, please."
"Yes suh," said the tall black man behind the bar, handsome with a strong jaw and eyes that had seen too much in his day. Too many fellas left choking on their own broken hearts by these women.
Scott stood, elbow at the bar and sipping his drink. While inclining his head to comb the room was when he saw Remy passed out drunk, flopped over a table, bottle of whiskey in his fist and an empty one not far. Scott shook his head and proceeded to approach his old friend.
"Alright now, up you go." Scott encouraged as he hoisted Remy to sit up, patting his back firm and swift. "There you go."
Remy squinted his eyes as he swam back to consciousness. "Wha... Scott?" He mumbled, groggy and head throbbing. "Is dat you?"
The businessman nodded. "Yeah, Remy. It's me. How the hell are you, kid?" He pulled up a seat at the table, shoving bottles out of his way.
Remy scoffed bitterly. "Honestly? I feel like I could die right now."
Scott's eyes shifted about while he spoke. "You been here all this time?"
"No, man. Not at all." Remy shook his head with great effort. "Just came back yesterday." The Cajun squinted again as if he was seeing Scott for the first time. "Woah, brot'er. You just comin' in, too?" He waved a hand at the ceiling when Scott nodded. "Fate, must be."
Scott chose to ignore him. A man said a lot of things when he was drunk, or hung over. "What's got you like this then? You look like hell!"
Remy surprised Scott when he sank his head in his hands and made an agonized sound, muffled but wounded like a tortured animal. Or heart.
"Jesus Christ, what is it, Remy?" Scott asked suddenly. "What's the matter?" He laid a consoling hand on his friend's shoulder. "Tell me."
Remy stared up at him blankly, his face etched in raw desperation. "I came back for Rogue," his voice was thick with emotion. "She's dead."
