"Close. Readin' em. Before I got my memories back, I wrote down all the shit that happened in breaches after. Kept it from gettin' all mixed up in my head."
He closes it when they join him. "Whatcha make?" he asks, pointing to their drink.
"It's called a grasshopper, apparently," Trouble says. It involves creme de
menthe and creme de cacao, and comes out looking a very familiar pale shade
of green.
"Does it help?" they wonder, taking a seat next to Jake and nodding at the
book.
"Well, if you're going to make a habit of misplacing your memories it'll
be useful to have a backup. Cheers," they add, and raise their glass before
taking a sip.
"What could possibly be better about it? All the same faces from day to
day. I'm not exactly thrilled by the possibility of gathering an audience
by sheer force of tedium."
He shrugs. "Ain't never been a performer, so I don't know." He shrugs. "Why don't you just pretend to be someone new for a day?" He's not actually serious, so he continues on. "I don't know, Trouble. You're bored, but it's good that you're bored. It's because you don't need to be here." He taps the table for emphasis. "You're too good to be here."
"You're sweet. And don't think I haven't thought about it," they sigh.
"But it's neither not particularly rewarding or particularly challenging
to take on a new character, here. New people wash in and out of this place
all the time."
"I'm not givin' you somethin' to do," he tells them with a bright laugh, taking another small drink. "Like I said, if you're bored, then maybe you'll start listenin' to me."
Another laugh. "Trouble, you know what you gotta do. You gotta trust people. You gotta open up. You gotta learn to do things just because it needs to be done. Not because it benefits you."
He takes another drink. "I know giving a shit about other people is hard, Trouble. They go and do stupid stuff. They don't take care of themselves or they die or they run off or they hurt you. But it's worth it. There are people who are worth it."
Oh, they understand. It's the admission that's tricky. It's falling out
of character for long enough to be articulate.
"...I'm reasonably sure that the heroes all emerged intact and
triumphant, of course. But actual certainty would have needed me to get
clear of the remaining Horde troops."
"...when we escaped the speakeasy, Scorpia stayed behind to cover us.
Undoubtedly she was chipped like the other patrons and fell under Horde
control. And that was the last I saw of her."
"One of the Princesses. She'd been raised in the Horde when I first met
her, but she defected a little while after. Didn't surprise me in the
least. She was far too soft for them."
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He closes it when they join him. "Whatcha make?" he asks, pointing to their drink.
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"It's called a grasshopper, apparently," Trouble says. It involves creme de menthe and creme de cacao, and comes out looking a very familiar pale shade of green.
"Does it help?" they wonder, taking a seat next to Jake and nodding at the book.
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"Oh. Yeah. It did. A lot, actually. Think I'll keep doin' it, even though I remember everything now."
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"Well, if you're going to make a habit of misplacing your memories it'll be useful to have a backup. Cheers," they add, and raise their glass before taking a sip.
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He pauses. "How you been?"
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"Bored," they sigh. "I've thought about opportunities for performance, but what's the point? A captive audience makes everything so dull."
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They grimace.
"What could possibly be better about it? All the same faces from day to day. I'm not exactly thrilled by the possibility of gathering an audience by sheer force of tedium."
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"You're sweet. And don't think I haven't thought about it," they sigh. "But it's neither not particularly rewarding or particularly challenging to take on a new character, here. New people wash in and out of this place all the time."
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They groan and sip at their own drink.
"Fine. I'm all ears. Share your cowboy wisdom."
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"But now that I'm offering you my undivided attention, you don't have anything to say to me?" They roll their eyes. "Ugh."
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"Why."
They know it's entirely possible that Jake has already explained this at great length but they don't...care.
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Trouble, for a moment, looks viscerally uncomfortable. Then they take a gulp of their cocktail which practically empties the glass.
"...It would have been nice," they concede, "to have lasted a few hours longer."
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But then, because he needs this to be something they understand, he presses. "Why?"
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Oh, they understand. It's the admission that's tricky. It's falling out of character for long enough to be articulate.
"...I'm reasonably sure that the heroes all emerged intact and triumphant, of course. But actual certainty would have needed me to get clear of the remaining Horde troops."
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"...when we escaped the speakeasy, Scorpia stayed behind to cover us. Undoubtedly she was chipped like the other patrons and fell under Horde control. And that was the last I saw of her."
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They shrug.
"One of the Princesses. She'd been raised in the Horde when I first met her, but she defected a little while after. Didn't surprise me in the least. She was far too soft for them."
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