Well, I work the evenings, and I think Sansa could sew in her sleep.
[though he makes a mental note to ask if she's tired. they're still at the safehouse, so there's plenty of stolen coffee to go around. perhaps he could let her have a little of his beans in the morning.]
[prompto sends a message that confirms he'll be there at one point within the next two hours--if only to give himself the opportunity to really take his time getting ready and presentable as a human being, but taking away any meandering idea of bailing altogether. a time limit is essential, thus.]
[when he arrives at the tulip bar (he's never been here before), he squeezes through a crowd at the front door and looks around, looking a little lost. he's dressed in casual attire, hoping that it blends in just fine with a bar of this sort.]
[it takes him a few minutes to recognize jon snow, but he forces a smile despite himself and heads on over to the counter, sitting on a stool and leaning heavy on his elbow.]
[jon keeps busy with work. it's a surprisingly crowded night--he hasn't quite picked up the rhythm of the weeks yet, being busy learning the tricks of the trade. he wears a cowl from sansa over a worn black tank top and artfully tattered jeans (there's a white wolf peeking out on the back of the cowl's neck, and a few discreet dragonflies delicately arranged among the folds). when he sees prompto (he stands out, a little young and trendy for this crowd) he grins.]
Prompto Argentum.
[he nods up at the list of beers above his head, aware that prompto probably won't recognize most of them. it took him a while to learn which was which.]
What can I get you?
[he sets down what he was working on (a whiskey that is probably closer to barrel-aged vodka with a twist of lemon), nods at the gruff older-looking man who accepts it, and picks up his dispenser gun.]
Something dark, or light?
[best to keep it simple. prompto looks a little frayed around the edges, but he'd mentioned he'd been tired lately.]
[he looks up at the menu after jon points at it, tapping his foot while reading through it. he really has no clue what any of these are, and he's never quite been someone to venture much into bars in the first place.]
[he gets the impression that dark means stronger taste whereas the light ones are softer.]
[still looking up, he leans forward a bit more to be heard over the crowd.]
Something... light, maybe? [his eyes frame towards jon's face, questioning] Just something that isn't too strong!
[he brings up the beer menu, scanning for the lowest alcohol content. he's been annotating it with his own tasting notes, remembering the aggressively hoppy beers from his arrival. he picks something mellow and malty with a low percentage, that he might serve to sansa, and fills a glass.]
Glad to be back in New Amsterdam?
[jon's not particularly. his tone is a little dry.]
[he takes the glass from jon, bringing it close to his mouth but apparently not convinced about tasting it just yet. the question comes as a distraction from the fact, but not from what he's trying to run away from.]
[he makes a face.]
I didn't mind the snow in New Tokyo too much. It-- could be better circumstances, I guess?
[it's a little vague, but for as much as prompto is trying to keep it cool, a heavy sigh escapes him, and it looks like there's something bothering him.]
[it's hard enough accepting the money when people at the safehouse pay him back for picking up their takeout. charging his friends goes against all of his instincts as a stark relative. he fishes out a lemon wedge from a small jar, offers it to prompto.]
Try this.
[he frowns briefly, hesitating. he's not one to pry, but prompto seems to want to talk about something?]
[eyebrow raised, he takes the lemon wedge and gives it a bit of a squeeze... before dumping it into his beer? is he supposed to do that? he isn't too particular about the customs and traditions of beer drinking.]
[the taste is only a bit brighter, if anything, but it's not something he would complain about.]
[he shakes his head at first, but then his mouth twists, changing his mind. the glass is set down, leaning back on his arms, hands on opposing elbows.]
My friends from home aren't here anymore. [there's a crease of his brows, like he's trying to not be upset about it.] Found out when I got back.
[it's not okay, but prompto has to keep telling himself that so that he doesn't go to a bad place of self-deprecation and loathing his own set of circumstances.]
[his eyes settle on his hands as his head lowers.]
Like you said, there's people here who care about me. I just gotta remember that.
[obviously, it's not so easy to put into practice.]
[there's— some of that feeling which pushes through the empathy bond, journeying from his hand to his chest, alight in the blue glow. the sadness that comes from harboring those one holds close even if they're gone.]
[it might be a little too much for prompto, who— slightly abruptly —takes his hand back. he uses it to rub at his eyes, a helplessly loud sniffle as he picks up his slouch and straightens his back.]
It's suspicious if our chest are all glow-y and stuff.
[he frowns; he's not used to physical touch nor comfort, and he's obviously very paranoid about the whole being displaced situation. sure has been here for a couple of months.]
Sorry. [is what's muttered, instead, biting down the inside of his cheek.] It's not like they're dead. I need to get a grip.
[it was the combined efforts of prompto's own pain and the one jon projected through his touch, pain which he seems to keep bottled up for himself alone, which caused the grief to rise further up. he simply shakes his head and shrugs, deciding to press face to his palm, taking on a stance despite the circumstances.]
It's no big.
[jon's only trying his best to help.]
It kinda makes sense to be upset at a bar, right? Great chance to drink it all away, as they say.
[this is where he attempts for a smile and a more relaxed posture.]
Don't think I'll actually drink myself to the point of getting really messed up. Maybe you guys got orange juice? [he is not joking] Hey, does this place got one of those VR dart target boards?
[he's turning around on the stool, looking around to see if he can find his current whim and desire.]
[aw, bummer. he watches the darts longingly before turning back around on the stool to face jon, seemingly a little more enthused—maybe he just knows how to play it like a fool easy enough.]
Seriously! Alright, gimme a minute to brace myself. I'm a big fan of lemonade, you know!
[the wholesomest boy to ever wholesome]
But, when you get a break, we gotta do the darts stuff. Just one game!
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[he preferred the snow to the hot daytime weather in new amsterdam. fortunately he works nights.]
Are you?
[jon's pretty sure he saw prompto at the train station, but it could have been another cute blonde.]
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yeah, made it back before the last train
been kinda hard to work on the time difference tired
so just been taking the past two days off from work
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Well, I work the evenings, and I think Sansa could sew in her sleep.
[though he makes a mental note to ask if she's tired. they're still at the safehouse, so there's plenty of stolen coffee to go around. perhaps he could let her have a little of his beans in the morning.]
Do you feel better now?
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[that's fake]
trying to keep busy in my free time
which is kinda lame
i should just go back to work
but meh
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Come down to the bar and I'll get you that beer.
[is that a good idea in the face of jet lag? jon has no way of knowing. besides, he barely considers beer alcoholic anymore.]
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[he's joking... but this implies effort of showering and putting on fresh clothes and slapping a smile on his face.]
where's the bar? until when do you work anyway?
gotta get outta bed and can't promise how long that'll take lol
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They call it Tulip Bar.
[a link to pin on a map or something.]
I'll be here all night.
[until 4 in the morning, so.]
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[when he arrives at the tulip bar (he's never been here before), he squeezes through a crowd at the front door and looks around, looking a little lost. he's dressed in casual attire, hoping that it blends in just fine with a bar of this sort.]
[it takes him a few minutes to recognize jon snow, but he forces a smile despite himself and heads on over to the counter, sitting on a stool and leaning heavy on his elbow.]
Hey, Jon Snow!
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Prompto Argentum.
[he nods up at the list of beers above his head, aware that prompto probably won't recognize most of them. it took him a while to learn which was which.]
What can I get you?
[he sets down what he was working on (a whiskey that is probably closer to barrel-aged vodka with a twist of lemon), nods at the gruff older-looking man who accepts it, and picks up his dispenser gun.]
Something dark, or light?
[best to keep it simple. prompto looks a little frayed around the edges, but he'd mentioned he'd been tired lately.]
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[he gets the impression that dark means stronger taste whereas the light ones are softer.]
[still looking up, he leans forward a bit more to be heard over the crowd.]
Something... light, maybe? [his eyes frame towards jon's face, questioning] Just something that isn't too strong!
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It's not strong, it's ale.
[he brings up the beer menu, scanning for the lowest alcohol content. he's been annotating it with his own tasting notes, remembering the aggressively hoppy beers from his arrival. he picks something mellow and malty with a low percentage, that he might serve to sansa, and fills a glass.]
Glad to be back in New Amsterdam?
[jon's not particularly. his tone is a little dry.]
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[he takes the glass from jon, bringing it close to his mouth but apparently not convinced about tasting it just yet. the question comes as a distraction from the fact, but not from what he's trying to run away from.]
[he makes a face.]
I didn't mind the snow in New Tokyo too much. It-- could be better circumstances, I guess?
[it's a little vague, but for as much as prompto is trying to keep it cool, a heavy sigh escapes him, and it looks like there's something bothering him.]
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Don't worry about it.
[it's hard enough accepting the money when people at the safehouse pay him back for picking up their takeout. charging his friends goes against all of his instincts as a stark relative. he fishes out a lemon wedge from a small jar, offers it to prompto.]
Try this.
[he frowns briefly, hesitating. he's not one to pry, but prompto seems to want to talk about something?]
Is--something the matter?
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[the taste is only a bit brighter, if anything, but it's not something he would complain about.]
[he shakes his head at first, but then his mouth twists, changing his mind. the glass is set down, leaning back on his arms, hands on opposing elbows.]
My friends from home aren't here anymore. [there's a crease of his brows, like he's trying to not be upset about it.] Found out when I got back.
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I'm sorry to hear that.
[the possibility of continuing on without sansa is one he's faced before, but arya had been there then. he'd had to hold on for her sake.
anyway loss is loss. there's nothing jon could say to make it better.]
You still have people here who care about you.
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[it's not okay, but prompto has to keep telling himself that so that he doesn't go to a bad place of self-deprecation and loathing his own set of circumstances.]
[his eyes settle on his hands as his head lowers.]
Like you said, there's people here who care about me. I just gotta remember that.
[obviously, it's not so easy to put into practice.]
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Aye.
[he reaches out and covers one of prompto's hands with his own.
it's impossible not to think about those he lost, both those left behind (arya, the wolves, bran and rickon, his mother--), and the dead.]
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[it might be a little too much for prompto, who— slightly abruptly —takes his hand back. he uses it to rub at his eyes, a helplessly loud sniffle as he picks up his slouch and straightens his back.]
It's suspicious if our chest are all glow-y and stuff.
[he frowns; he's not used to physical touch nor comfort, and he's obviously very paranoid about the whole being displaced situation. sure has been here for a couple of months.]
Sorry. [is what's muttered, instead, biting down the inside of his cheek.] It's not like they're dead. I need to get a grip.
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Sorry--I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to--you have every right to mourn.
[it doesn't help that he's used to thicker clothing than this. he has exhausted all his usual avenues of comfort and now he doesn't know what to do.]
Arya was safe enough at home, but I miss her still. I know Sansa does as well.
[it doesn't help how unhappy she seemed to be with the faceless men.]
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It's no big.
[jon's only trying his best to help.]
It kinda makes sense to be upset at a bar, right? Great chance to drink it all away, as they say.
[not that he's going to.]
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I don't think it works. But I'll fill your cup. I won't let you drink yourself sick, though.
[he'll just...be here. he wishes there was more he could do.]
And I'll see you home safely, I promise.
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[this is where he attempts for a smile and a more relaxed posture.]
Don't think I'll actually drink myself to the point of getting really messed up. Maybe you guys got orange juice? [he is not joking] Hey, does this place got one of those VR dart target boards?
[he's turning around on the stool, looking around to see if he can find his current whim and desire.]
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Aye, orange juice, lemonsweet, cranberry...for the vodka and gin.
[is prompto trying to order another drink? there are darts, but some old men are having a contest]
Finish your beer and I'll make you a juice drink.
[honestly prompto that is probably coming out of his paycheck.]
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Seriously! Alright, gimme a minute to brace myself. I'm a big fan of lemonade, you know!
[the wholesomest boy to ever wholesome]
But, when you get a break, we gotta do the darts stuff. Just one game!
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So is Sansa. I made up a drink for her of lemonsweet and arbor--gold wine.
[if he looks at the menu he'll see a very small list of specialty cocktails, including 'the sansa: lemonsweet and house gold.']
There's darts on line, you know. We could play at the--house, if you wanted. Anytime.
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