ididwhatwithwho | (no subject)

(no subject)

Another trip through the Crossroads, another visit to this strange place. Again, the area nearest the door is where her skin most prickles with something sharp, something electric. In her visits here she has never seen anyone use magic as she does, but the act of entering seems significant enough.

There is no sign of the man she talked to the last time she found herself here, but she has no intention of letting that take away from the experience. This time she receives a glass of wine from the man behind the bar, and as she sits she observes the people around her.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The bottom of her glass touches the bar, but she does not quite set it down. Her eyes follow the gesture Jax makes with his finger.

"And how did she earn so proud a scar?"

"Genetic," he tells her, his fingertips splayed on the bar's surface. "Runs in the family. She had open heart surgery a long time ago. Same problem my kid was born with, just a couple days ago."

Yeah, Abel's in NICU, and he's here making time with some scantily-clad girl. Business as usual.

He shakes his head. "Had a brother who died from it a long fucking time ago."

Open heart surgery? She does not know precisely what is done during such a surgery, of course, but she feels compelled to imagine it as a most delicate procedure.

Her eyebrows slowly rise. "You are a new father? You have my congratulations." She pauses for a moment, eyes taking his measure. "Must your child have the same procedure done?"

"Yeah." He nods and draws the word out slowly. "Thanks. His name's Abel. He already had it done. That, and had a hole in his stomach fixed too. They give him a twenty percent chance of survival."

If Tellers know anything, it's how to fight.

"Preemie. Born ten weeks early. His ma's..." Does he really want to talk about Wendy with some stranger? It doesn't much matter, he guesses, 'cause him and Wendy, they're through. "...she was using, the whole time she was pregnant. Kid doesn't have the best odds, but he's in good hands with the docs and the nurses over at St. Thomas."

Fucking Wendy and her fucking crank, and the fucking asshole who dealt to her. She was pregnant, for God's sake.

The mother was using what?

A dangerous substance, to be sure, but she cannot guess what. Jax is from somewhere far more advanced if they are able to identify holes in the stomach and flaws in the hearts of newborns.

"Then you are in the unenviable situation of waiting around to see if he continues to heal."

Perhaps it is foolish sentiment, but she is not unsympathetic. Reaching into a pocket hidden in her skirt, she removes a very small charm, flat and square-shaped, the deep red color of a rose petal. It originally bore a protective glyph, though that has been worn nearly as smooth as the opposing side. Once set in a necklace she was fond of wearing, it only recently fell out when she was packing to leave for Skyhold. Its benefit to resistances is minor and she has access to far better charms now, but she likes the color and had thought to have it crafted into something else.

There is no need, though.

"I can offer you this. I have no use for it, but it has always made me stronger. If placed by your son, perhaps it will do the same for him."

It may not even work if he leaves with it, but there is certainly a chance.

The unenviable situation of waiting around to see if he continues to heal.

Damn straight, that's where he is, and he doesn't like it. But there ain't much he can do except wait. If he thought there was a chance in hell that positive thinking would work, he'd be on his knees praying, but he knows what a crock of shit that is.

Still, he takes the stone or whatever it is from Morrigan, resting it in the palm of one hand. He traces it with his right index finger, feels a tiny bit of bumpiness, and looks over at her.

"This your lucky charm or something? I don't want to take it from you if it is. I mean, he's got the docs looking out for him and all that." It's more help than a lot of kids get.

Besides, he has about as much belief that a piece of rock can do any good as... well, as anything. Maybe a little less, but Morrigan's acting like it could do something. She's not making any promises, though, and he likes that about her. He always likes the straight shooters.

It's how come he's always liked Tara.

"No, it was freely given," she admits with a rise and fall of her shoulders. "And I would not call it a lucky charm."

Reaching for her wine again, she has another drink. The vague skepticism in Jax's expression does not bother her, not under these circumstances. If she were to guide him through Thedas there would be no question of that small token providing a benefit. On Jax's 580 or at his St. Thomas, 'tis a mystery.

In that case... He pops the charm into the chest pocket of his kutte, right under the patch that reads V PRESIDENT, and snaps it shut.

"I feel stronger already." It's bullshit, but at least it's well-meant bullshit and the smile he gives her is a genuine one. "Thanks. Anything to give the kid a fighting chance, right?"

Unbuttoning the cuffs of his flannel and rolling his sleeves halfway up his forearms, he runs his hands through his hair. She's been nice to him, this Morrigan girl, and she hasn't asked for anything in return. That ain't something he's used to, people being generous for no good reason. He nods to the bartender for a cold brew, figuring he's got time for one more before he's gotta hit the road.

If he's late to dinner, Ma's gonna kill him.

"Anything I can do for you? You know, one good deed deserves another and all that?"

She smiles, a small huff of laughter escaping when she exhales. "You can do your good deed after your son is better."

His right forearm is a distraction. With his sleeves rolled she is able to see part of an elaborate tattoo, and she is not used to seeing markings so detailed on human men.

"In the meantime you can explain that to me."

She lifts one finger to point at his arm. There are words there, she knows, but she cannot read them.

"The tat?"

That's an easy request. He pushes up his sleeve to show off what's marked on his skin. One finger traces the tombstone, resting on the name at its top. "It's my dad's gravestone. My own tribute to him, he died about fifteen years ago." The whole Fallen Brothers part he leaves be, 'cause he doesn't feel like going into the history of SAMCRO now. It'd take forever.

Besides, if she's that curious, she can ask.

She takes in the full picture, eyes following the path his finger takes around it as he speaks. Barring the parts she cannot read, it is more straightforward art than she is used to seeing on skin.

"'Tis a tall stone," she points out. She assumes it is indeed his father's name at the top. "Are other names to be added?"

"Shit." With a shake of his head, he lets out a low laugh. "I hope not." A bottle of Pyramid Ale lands in front of him, and he takes a long, glad sip.

The only other ink he's got is the reaper on his back, and that's not something to show off, especially to a stranger. Even to a pretty stranger like her. Taking a moment, he drinks his beer before moving the comfort of the bottle's mouth away from his lips.

"Like I said, my dad went about fifteen years ago. I haven't had the ink all that time, but I've had it long enough. Trust me, no one I knows wants to be the next one to have their name on that stone."

Even if the brothers have a tendency to be short-lived, or at least the brothers from other crews. Guys like Otto are relatively safe in lockup. It's the ones in outlying areas they have to wonder about.

It strikes her as an answer that is not quite an answer, but the impression she comes away with is that while it is nothing so planned he might add another name, presumably if someone of significance dies.

"Want is one thing and what life presents is often another."

'Tis one of many lessons she has learned.

"But let us hope," she adds after swallowing the last of her wine, "you have no cause to add further names."

Yeah, there's always hope... he guesses. Sometimes that's in short supply. He hopes Abel makes it. He hopes Wendy takes his advice and goes back to rehab. He hopes Tara stays at St. Thomas. He hopes Ope figures out all his shit with Donna.

Hope, hope, hope.

"Here's to it." He raises his beer bottle to her wine glass, takes a final sip, and sets it down. She's cool. Weird, but cool.

"I gotta get to Ma's before she kills me." She won't, not unless he's too late, but she'll be pissed. Dragon, right? Just like Morrigan's ma, or so she said? "You can come along if you want. There's always room for someone else at the table, and Ma's a good cook."

Wouldn't be the first time he brought a girl home. Won't be the last, 'cause some things never change.

The offer is startling, both for how abrupt it is and for how seemingly genuine. Is he so moved by her interest in his son's well-being?

Is he simply lonely? 'Tis difficult to say, but she has seen little guile on him in the time he has been beside her.

"That is a very kind offer." The corners of her mouth curve. "But I will spare you the difficulty of explaining me to your mother."

Or anyone else. She... does not even have reason to believe she can leave this place with someone, although the idea is intriguing.

"I wish you good fortune, Jax."

Now that's funny. "More like sparing me the difficulty of explaining Ma to you."

But it's okay. He doesn't have to push, and he's got plenty to occupy his thoughts. With a grin, he pats his chest pocket.

"Got the good luck stone right here. I must be charmed."

And that's also funny, considering where he's from. Pushing back from the bar, he stands and tugs on the bottom of his kutte, reaches in his pocket for his keys. For a brief moment he thinks about leaning forward and giving her a kiss on the cheek, but she's not one of the girls from Charming and he's not looking to pick anyone up. He's got enough shit on his plate.

"Hope I see you again sometime." He does, too. There's something about her that's... well, shit, she reminds him a little of Tara, he guesses, with the dark hair and eyes and the no-bullshit attitude, and he wouldn't mind seeing Tara in a get-up like the one Morrigan's wearing, maybe, some day. "You sure you don't need a ride someplace?"

She can even wear his helmet.

Unbidden, laughter creeps out of her as she watches him push away from the bar.

His mother is apparently quite a woman.

"I am quite sure," she maintains, despite her nebulous interest in seeing what would happen if she tried. One of these times she should attempt it, but now is most certainly not the time. "I found my way here and I am certain to find the way back. Perhaps next time."

"All right. See you next time, Morrigan." He gives her a tiny salute, flips his keys around his palm a couple times, and heads for the door.

No one better be fucking with his Harley, that's all he has to say about it. Luckily for everyone at the place, his bike's right where he left it.

He makes note of where the place is before leaving it behind in the dust, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of a great fucking meal on the horizon. Hopefully, Ma won't kill him for being late.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only