Come on Down to Jack's Place
Jan. 18th, 2012 02:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
averydifferentsortTitle: Come on Down to Jack's Place
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, Hope, Tuesday
Word Count: 781
Summary: A girl walks into a bar...
Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
origfic_bingo, prompt "next best thing". Don't ask how that prompt made this fic, because I'm not sure. Also, none of them have surnames yet, sorry.
"Rum and coke," the tall girl says as she slides onto a bar stool. Jack sees Hope raise an eyebrow from the little sink where she's washing glasses behind the bar. He gives the girl a casual inspection out of the corner of his eye. Tall, probably near six foot, brown hair cut short enough to not provide anything to grab on to. Jeans, tank top, flannel shirt, work boots that are probably steel-toed, going by the shape of them. Faded military duffel bag with what looks like the butt of a shotgun peeking out. Both the girl and the duffel are lightly coated in dust and mud, and while she seems perfectly capable, there's something young about her face - hardly looks old enough to be out of school, much less buying alcohol.
"You got ID on you, honey?" Hope asks casually, and the girl glares at her a little. Jack thinks she might try to start a fight over it, and scoots his stool back so he can react quickly if she does. Her fists clench briefly at her side, but then she sighs and looks down at the bar.
"No," she mutters. "Just a coke."
Jack relaxes, leans back a little and finishes off his beer, motioning to Hope for a refill, and turns to face the girl straight on. "You new 'round here," he says, rather than asks. "We don't get much in the way of visitors, usually."
"Just passing through," the girl says vaguely - a stock answer if ever he's heard one.
"Figured," Jack agrees. "You drivin'?" He doesn't think so - the mud and the bag brought in with her and the tan line he can see peeking out from the neckline of her shirt says hitchhiker to him. It's not rare, though they haven't had a hitcher in for a couple months, at least.
"Yeah," she lies, badly. Hope sets her soda on the counter, and the girl takes a sip, trying not to look disappointed at the non-alcoholicness of it.
"Well, might not want to stay too long," Jack says. "Ain't got a motel in town anymore, it's a bit of a drive to the next town. Be gettin' dark soon."
"I can drive in the dark," the girl says, but... there, the twist of her lips, the crease between her eyebrows. He's seen enough lost kids come through here - sometimes they stay for a while, sometimes they're gone almost before he gets a chance to see them. He's never much minded, it's part of what he does.
"Well, if you stay later than you should, we've got a building out back you can sleep in," he says. "Ain't much, but there's a mattress, and it keeps the cold out well enough."
"I'm fine," she says, a little too defensively. Jack just smiles.
"Your choice. Wouldn't be the first time we put someone up, though. You're welcome to it if you like."
"Yeah, fine, whatever." She hunches her shoulders and attempts to ignore him, which is fine. He's gotten a bit more out of her, a few lines, nothing too verbose, but enough to piece together that she's from up north, maybe near Boston. She's still young enough to be defensive about being seen as incapable of taking care of herself, probably 17, 19 at the most. She's got a temper on her. And she's not just any hitchhiking teenager.
Jack pushes himself to his feet and heads to the back door, catching Hope's eye as he does. She comes over and leans against the door frame, drying her hands on a towel.
"What's up?" she asks.
"She's gonna stay," Jack says, confidently. "She's puttin' up a fight, but if she drove, then I'm a talking goat."
"You mean you're not a talking goat?" Hope teases. Jack just shakes his head with a smile.
"Trust me. Her sort always stays. I'm thinkin' a few days at least. Give her somethin' to do outside - splittin' wood or cleanin' the gutters. Physical and useful, or at least something you can pass off as useful."
Hope raises her eyebrows and glances back at the girl quickly. "She another one of yours?"
"Yep," Jack says with a nod. "She's a fighter, too. She gets brought through, we're gonna have trouble, so don't work her too hard. Just enough so she doesn't feel like she's getting charity."
"Proud, for a kid," Hope comments, trying to hide the worry Jack knows is there.
"Probably all she's got left worth holding on to," Jack says with a shrug, and turns to go upstairs. "Oh, and Hope?" he adds before he goes. "Give her a proper drink before she goes."
Rating: PG
Characters: Jack, Hope, Tuesday
Word Count: 781
Summary: A girl walks into a bar...
Notes: Written for
origfic_bingo, prompt "next best thing". Don't ask how that prompt made this fic, because I'm not sure. Also, none of them have surnames yet, sorry."Rum and coke," the tall girl says as she slides onto a bar stool. Jack sees Hope raise an eyebrow from the little sink where she's washing glasses behind the bar. He gives the girl a casual inspection out of the corner of his eye. Tall, probably near six foot, brown hair cut short enough to not provide anything to grab on to. Jeans, tank top, flannel shirt, work boots that are probably steel-toed, going by the shape of them. Faded military duffel bag with what looks like the butt of a shotgun peeking out. Both the girl and the duffel are lightly coated in dust and mud, and while she seems perfectly capable, there's something young about her face - hardly looks old enough to be out of school, much less buying alcohol.
"You got ID on you, honey?" Hope asks casually, and the girl glares at her a little. Jack thinks she might try to start a fight over it, and scoots his stool back so he can react quickly if she does. Her fists clench briefly at her side, but then she sighs and looks down at the bar.
"No," she mutters. "Just a coke."
Jack relaxes, leans back a little and finishes off his beer, motioning to Hope for a refill, and turns to face the girl straight on. "You new 'round here," he says, rather than asks. "We don't get much in the way of visitors, usually."
"Just passing through," the girl says vaguely - a stock answer if ever he's heard one.
"Figured," Jack agrees. "You drivin'?" He doesn't think so - the mud and the bag brought in with her and the tan line he can see peeking out from the neckline of her shirt says hitchhiker to him. It's not rare, though they haven't had a hitcher in for a couple months, at least.
"Yeah," she lies, badly. Hope sets her soda on the counter, and the girl takes a sip, trying not to look disappointed at the non-alcoholicness of it.
"Well, might not want to stay too long," Jack says. "Ain't got a motel in town anymore, it's a bit of a drive to the next town. Be gettin' dark soon."
"I can drive in the dark," the girl says, but... there, the twist of her lips, the crease between her eyebrows. He's seen enough lost kids come through here - sometimes they stay for a while, sometimes they're gone almost before he gets a chance to see them. He's never much minded, it's part of what he does.
"Well, if you stay later than you should, we've got a building out back you can sleep in," he says. "Ain't much, but there's a mattress, and it keeps the cold out well enough."
"I'm fine," she says, a little too defensively. Jack just smiles.
"Your choice. Wouldn't be the first time we put someone up, though. You're welcome to it if you like."
"Yeah, fine, whatever." She hunches her shoulders and attempts to ignore him, which is fine. He's gotten a bit more out of her, a few lines, nothing too verbose, but enough to piece together that she's from up north, maybe near Boston. She's still young enough to be defensive about being seen as incapable of taking care of herself, probably 17, 19 at the most. She's got a temper on her. And she's not just any hitchhiking teenager.
Jack pushes himself to his feet and heads to the back door, catching Hope's eye as he does. She comes over and leans against the door frame, drying her hands on a towel.
"What's up?" she asks.
"She's gonna stay," Jack says, confidently. "She's puttin' up a fight, but if she drove, then I'm a talking goat."
"You mean you're not a talking goat?" Hope teases. Jack just shakes his head with a smile.
"Trust me. Her sort always stays. I'm thinkin' a few days at least. Give her somethin' to do outside - splittin' wood or cleanin' the gutters. Physical and useful, or at least something you can pass off as useful."
Hope raises her eyebrows and glances back at the girl quickly. "She another one of yours?"
"Yep," Jack says with a nod. "She's a fighter, too. She gets brought through, we're gonna have trouble, so don't work her too hard. Just enough so she doesn't feel like she's getting charity."
"Proud, for a kid," Hope comments, trying to hide the worry Jack knows is there.
"Probably all she's got left worth holding on to," Jack says with a shrug, and turns to go upstairs. "Oh, and Hope?" he adds before he goes. "Give her a proper drink before she goes."
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Date: 2012-01-19 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-19 04:20 am (UTC)