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.

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"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.

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