(Untitled)

[jackdriscoll]

[ Memory of things past. ]

He needed to talk, and someone to talk to, so he went to the bar and picked up Mary Anne. If he were taking her home to 1933, he would have been speaking to her in a diner. As it stands, the Volsted Act having been revoked decades ago, they're in another bar.

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[song_tra_bong]

"So, how's New York treating you?"

Mary Anne takes a swig of her beer, then turns her attention to the fried onion pull-apart on the table. She's trying to figure out how to break off a piece without decimating the entire thing. It will not defeat her, dammit.

[jackdriscoll]

He shrugs. "Haven't gone out that much." He brushes a hand against his cheek. There is stubble.

[song_tra_bong]

The stubble is noted.

"Working?"

She tilts her head, gesturing with a piece of fried onion. "Or just enjoying the quiet?"

As quiet as New York gets, anyway. Though still probably quieter than the bar.

[jackdriscoll]

"A little bit of both." He plucks off an onion and chews on it thoughtfully. "I've been thinking."