Lacking any particular plans for the day, Indy's big concern was staying out of the snow. Lunch wouldn't kill him either. The morning's encounter with Luke Skywalker and the subsequent exchanges on the bulletin board at Callahan's had put him slightly out of sorts. As always, Pilgrim and Peter had good intentions, but in this case he thought those intentions were misplaced. If they were bent on helping Luke, they'd be better off making friends with him so he'd have something to talk to when the blows inevitably came, rather than scrambling to keep him insulated as if he were a kid who still believed in Santa
( ... )
At this point in his life, the only kind of alcohol that Harvey was interested in was shots. It got the job done quickly and also took the edge off, which was exactly what he was looking for. It also seemed that these days, he was drawn to things that were painful, and that stuff sure did burn on the way down
( ... )
Painkillers, Indy thought, and then, ah, hell with it. He hadn't seen an actual nurse all morning, and whatever they'd had him on was wearing painfully off. Failing medical treatment, a drink was the next best thing. Maybe better.
"Sure," he agreed. He bellied up to the bar and studied the offerings behind it. They were extensive, particularly to someone for whom Prohibition hadn't ended all that long ago; some of the brands he knew and some he didn't. He didn't particularly care which one he drank. There'd probably come a time when being in a bar didn't remind him of Marion, but if so, he hadn't hit it yet.
She wouldn't be impressed by this little place. Indy shrugged the thought off, unfurrowed his brow, and ordered a shot of whiskey, sliding his card across the bar as he did. "How're you holding up today?" he asked Dent while he waited for the bartender to look at it.
So Jones was up for drinking at this early hour and he was getting whiskey. Good man. The unburnt side of Harvey's mouth curled up into something that might have been a smile as he also slid the bartender his card. "What he's having," he said with a tilt of his head to the other man.
And seeing how he didn't want to be bothered (and the bartender didn't look like the chatty type), he ended up seating himself at one of the stools. It was no surprise that there was no television in here, even though they were more or less a staple at any bar these days. Even if it had only been a game that was on, it would have given them some sort of information and it would have gotten rid of this bothersome silence that was lingering in the place.
At least a few other people were filtering in.
At the question, Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "Everything still hurts, but I can still walk on my own, so that's something." Ending up in a wheelchair would more or less be torture for him. "How's the hand?" he asked in return.
Evidently deciding whether to give two screwballs from the asylum alcohol and then getting it was going to take the bartender a while. Indy joined Dent in making himself comfortable on one of the bar stools, crunching what turned out to be peanut shells underfoot as he did. Presumably you got the peanuts at the bar, but he wasn't going to ask until he had the drink in hand. Bad idea to slow the process down any more
( ... )
Well, of course it hurt. Then again, maybe it had been stupid of him to ask. Harvey knew full well what it was like, but it also hadn't felt right to just ignore the other man's injury. Still, Jones wasn't making a big deal out of it, and so he dropped it just as quickly. He didn't quite understand the comment about snapping to attention, but it hardly mattered when he was then informed that Sangamon had had an idea similar to his
( ... )
"It wouldn't surprise me if they weren't, but they're not going down there in that shape," Indy pronounced flatly. What was that he'd just been thinking about not being their dad? Well, he wasn't, he quickly asserted to himself. Someone had to be the voice of reason on the important things.
Chances were fair that Pilgrim and Peter had other plans anyway. Indy had a brief mental image of the two of them tiptoeing down the hall twenty feet behind Luke Skywalker all night, glaring daggers at anyone who tried to talk to him.
"I just hope getting through it actually gets us somewhere," he said after a beat. "Nothing else we've done seems to have had much effect. When this is over, I want some answers."
That was that, then. Harvey sent a glance at the other man, almost smirking because well -- it was funny. Jones was basically putting his foot down on this, which was completely reasonable, and he could because if Harvey was remembering correctly, the archaeologist was the one who had his hands on both the sword and the shield. Someone else had a duplicate of the sword, but they would need both, so
( ... )
Indy nodded. "Not much else I can do short of hunting them all down." That would require a lot of effort and a lot of luck, and truth be told, what he really wanted to do was hunker down and avoid aggravating his wounds. And find something useful to do with the cash he'd have left if they ever got those drinks and their cards back. A sturdy satchel might be a good investment, since the closest thing he had had just been roasted.
"It wouldn't surprise me," he replied as Dent agreed with him. "Doesn't sound like it did much good for the last people who did it; they won't even talk about it. Remember those cryptic posts on the bulletin board?"
Actually, he'd barely even considered the possibility of there not being something worthwhile at the end of the trials. He knew the feeling well enough; even when you knew--you knew--that a tomb was long empty or a site had been lost to sand and wind centuries ago, it was impossible to suppress the flicker of hope before you saw for sure or the disappointment after. It would be all the worse if
( ... )
"Well, if they miss the message then I'm sure they'll figure it out when they go to the meeting spot and no one shows," Harvey shot back without a hint of pity in his tone. This was the smart, adult choice for how to handle this. They could wait at least one night. The basement would still be down there and he was sure that Jones had both the sword and shield secured.
It seemed that both of them were at least willing to entertain the idea that there might be no reward for all of these trials that they were going through, and yet even Harvey had to hope that they would get some answers if nothing else. He didn't need a new gun or a even a trip home; that was probably expecting too much. But so long as it was some sort of progress, he could accept that. He understood the concept of a slow battle, and this was definitely one
( ... )
One mid-priced meal, for fifteen dollars. Indy was going to need that shot.
He gulped it down, replaced the card in his pants pocket, and set the glass on the table--deliberately right side up, not the way Marion would've done it. The alcohol had little effect on the pain of the burn wounds, but it felt good nonetheless. For all that Indy wasn't a particularly heavy drinker, having a drink in a bar was an experience he didn't associate with being a prisoner. Even a false sense of freedom was welcome after the last few weeks.
"How times have changed," he commented dryly. "Guess it's been long enough." Maybe those were city prices, Indy thought with a faint twinge of hope. "You mentioned Gotham last night--you're a New Yorker, then?"
The alcohol burned down his chest and numbed his mouth in a way that provided more relief than he could have imagined. Harvey forced out a breath and closed his good eye for a moment, handing the card back over so that the the bartender could get him another. He wondered how much he could get away with drinking at this hour, and also had to consider if he really wanted to waste all of his funds on booze.
It was pretty tempting, though.
He realized that the prices would blindside Jones, and it was both novel and disturbing to see the signs of the man's time period laid out so clearly. Harvey shook his head. "It's all relative. Things cost more, but people are paid more, too."
Though when he was asked about his home, Harvey frowned for a minute. Just what did Jones know about Gotham in the first place? "No, it's not... Gotham isn't in New York," he stated plainly. It was near there and parts of the city were similar to New York in certain ways, but they weren't the same thing.
Reply
Reply
"Sure," he agreed. He bellied up to the bar and studied the offerings behind it. They were extensive, particularly to someone for whom Prohibition hadn't ended all that long ago; some of the brands he knew and some he didn't. He didn't particularly care which one he drank. There'd probably come a time when being in a bar didn't remind him of Marion, but if so, he hadn't hit it yet.
She wouldn't be impressed by this little place. Indy shrugged the thought off, unfurrowed his brow, and ordered a shot of whiskey, sliding his card across the bar as he did. "How're you holding up today?" he asked Dent while he waited for the bartender to look at it.
Reply
And seeing how he didn't want to be bothered (and the bartender didn't look like the chatty type), he ended up seating himself at one of the stools. It was no surprise that there was no television in here, even though they were more or less a staple at any bar these days. Even if it had only been a game that was on, it would have given them some sort of information and it would have gotten rid of this bothersome silence that was lingering in the place.
At least a few other people were filtering in.
At the question, Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "Everything still hurts, but I can still walk on my own, so that's something." Ending up in a wheelchair would more or less be torture for him. "How's the hand?" he asked in return.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Chances were fair that Pilgrim and Peter had other plans anyway. Indy had a brief mental image of the two of them tiptoeing down the hall twenty feet behind Luke Skywalker all night, glaring daggers at anyone who tried to talk to him.
"I just hope getting through it actually gets us somewhere," he said after a beat. "Nothing else we've done seems to have had much effect. When this is over, I want some answers."
Reply
Reply
"It wouldn't surprise me," he replied as Dent agreed with him. "Doesn't sound like it did much good for the last people who did it; they won't even talk about it. Remember those cryptic posts on the bulletin board?"
Actually, he'd barely even considered the possibility of there not being something worthwhile at the end of the trials. He knew the feeling well enough; even when you knew--you knew--that a tomb was long empty or a site had been lost to sand and wind centuries ago, it was impossible to suppress the flicker of hope before you saw for sure or the disappointment after. It would be all the worse if ( ... )
Reply
It seemed that both of them were at least willing to entertain the idea that there might be no reward for all of these trials that they were going through, and yet even Harvey had to hope that they would get some answers if nothing else. He didn't need a new gun or a even a trip home; that was probably expecting too much. But so long as it was some sort of progress, he could accept that. He understood the concept of a slow battle, and this was definitely one ( ... )
Reply
He gulped it down, replaced the card in his pants pocket, and set the glass on the table--deliberately right side up, not the way Marion would've done it. The alcohol had little effect on the pain of the burn wounds, but it felt good nonetheless. For all that Indy wasn't a particularly heavy drinker, having a drink in a bar was an experience he didn't associate with being a prisoner. Even a false sense of freedom was welcome after the last few weeks.
"How times have changed," he commented dryly. "Guess it's been long enough." Maybe those were city prices, Indy thought with a faint twinge of hope. "You mentioned Gotham last night--you're a New Yorker, then?"
Reply
It was pretty tempting, though.
He realized that the prices would blindside Jones, and it was both novel and disturbing to see the signs of the man's time period laid out so clearly. Harvey shook his head. "It's all relative. Things cost more, but people are paid more, too."
Though when he was asked about his home, Harvey frowned for a minute. Just what did Jones know about Gotham in the first place? "No, it's not... Gotham isn't in New York," he stated plainly. It was near there and parts of the city were similar to New York in certain ways, but they weren't the same thing.
Reply
Leave a comment