Alright, second chapter! Sebastian's drunken himself into quite a state and he meets a stranger!
Nothing belongs to me. You know the drill.
Sebastian was broken.
He was a soldier with no commanding officer. A dishonored war hero. He had saved countless lives and what did he get in return? Accusations of murder. Here he was, sitting at a bar, hunched over and staring at the letter.
His discharge papers. Colonel Sebastian Moran discharged on two counts of suspected murder of fellow soldiers and one count of wounding an army doctor. The same army doctor who ratted him out after he killed the lieutenant. They had gotten in his way, refused to obey his orders. As far as Sebastian was concerned, there was no room for weakness in his unit.
He finished off his glass and signaled for the bartender to come over. The grey haired man walked over, a glass of Irish whiskey in hand. He set it down in front of Sebastian and wiped his hands on a small towel.
"Compliments of the young man down the bar."
Sebastian's tired eyes narrowed slightly, confused. The bartender nodded towards a small man sitting alone at the end of the bar. Sebastian's eyes scanned over him, taking in as much information as his hazy mind could. Expensive looking suit, short cut hair, overall he looked relatively professional. Probably a high paying job somewhere in the city. He took the glass of whiskey in his hand and swished the liquid around a bit, his jaw set in a tight positon.
"He say anything?"
Sebastian's head swam as he tried to form the words. He'd been there for two, no three...four hours? God, he couldn't even remember how many drinks he'd had. The bartender, what had his name been? Steve? No. John. No, no, no, Liam. Fuck. Now he was getting names confused. Steve and Liam, the men he killed, and John, the squealing army doctor. He needed a break. He needed to sober up. He needed a job. Most important, he needed to go back to war.
"Just said to send you another drink."
Sebastian rose from his seat, trying to focus on keeping his feet firmly planted on the wooden floor. He took a small step and felt like he was flying.
"Dear God.."
He sat down on another high chair, unable to make it farther than two feet away from his place at the bar. The bartender, Michael! Michael, right. That was his name. Bartender Michael gave a small sigh and shook his head, walking to another customer that had been waiting patiently at a table across the pub. Sebastian rested his elbows on the bar, burying his face in his hands.
"I'm a mess."
Sebastian wasn't even sure if he had spoke coherently, not that it mattered. Not like anybody gave a fuck about what he had to say anymore. He heard the scraping of a chair against the floor and he cringed, the sound seeming like a high pitched screech. A few footsteps later, he heard the seat next to him creak slightly.
"Jim Moriarty."
The man held out a hand, his Irish toned speech lulling Sebastian into a calm. He grunted softly, turning to face the strange man. After a few blinks to get rid of the slight spinning feeling that came over him, he nodded.
"Seb-Sebastian Moran."
A slight hiccup plagued his speech as he tried to form his own name. Fuck. He was a mess. A drunken mess. He needed to pick himself up. What a wonderful first impression. He noticed the man's hand, held out a waiting for a reciprocating act. His hand went out quickly, missing the man's by a few inches. Fuck. With a slightly shaking hand, he grabbed the man's and gave it a weak shake.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Moriarty. Thank you for the drink."
Sebastian's voice faded out as he looked for the glass of whiskey that he had just had in front of him. He turned towards his old seat and saw the glass, abandoned, then reached over to pull it in front of him. An attractive smirk spread over the small man's lips and he shook his head, moving his hands to cradle the small drink in front of him. "The pleasure is all mine, Sebastian."