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Jeremy sits in his corner and absently taps his fingers on his glass as he watches the groups form. Corbyn and Harold. Rick and Geoffrey. Jimmy and Marlene. Each pair that could be the coppers, each with a different angle to stay under the radar. He adds his fuel to the fire: "It's strange how the two of us who are seemingly the least coherent are both trying to pin the blame on the only person who could possibly take the heat off of them.
Harold nods along to Geoffrey's r sponsee and then speaks upI say we stick a gun in Harold's face until he tells us something real. Ain't no way I can trust a man who hides behind words like that. You don't get that poetic without real trauma, but if you ain't gonna talk I can't take that risk. I'm sorry.
Jeremy raises his seemingly bottomless glass of scotch and adds "To hypocrisy."
Jeremy notices Harold's nervousness and his eyes narrow in suspicion for a second, before he schools his face and returns to his drink.
Mikes ranting snaps Jeremy out of his drunken moping and he muses "Piano wire... it's a strange choice, probably means they don't have much to work with and they want to keep things quiet. We know they got cop training but they aren't showing us what they can do in a fight. I hope we can get the the bottom of this: these guys know their stuff." after saying his piece he stares into his glass of scotch, admiring how the light reflects and refracts, seemingly deep in thought.
Jeremy looks at Mike and says with a hallow laugh "Speical jobs... I suppose you could call it that. Listen, the less you know the better, I just wanna get out of this mess less sober than I went into it. And alive, that would be nice too. Look, you don't have to trust me and you don't have to like it. Hell, for all I care you can just cuff my legs together and leave me in a corner with a bottle of whiskey. But I ain't killing nobody tonight and I ain't dying either."
Exasperated by the general freaking out of everyone at the bar, Jeremy asks: "Can someone grab me another drink? Now way am I sober enough for a witch-hunt."
Jeremy turns to Rick with a sigh, before realization dawns on his face and he starts explaining in a dead monotone, words clipped and procedural "Left arm. Knife. Half inch deep, maybe more. Hit major veins, but no arteries, hence it bleeding through my dressing. The bleeding is bad, it might need stitches. We got clean needles here?" unseen to most he slips several cloth bundles into the pockets of Rick's coat, whispering:
whisper: "Take these, I'm more likely to use them on myself in this state, just give them back when it's time to leave." he pauses a second for that to sink in before continuing "Thank you inspector."
Jeremy nods to Jimmy and accepts the towel with mumbled thanks.
Jeremy turns around to face them, looking genuinely puzzled and croaks out feebly: "The rune on your door, it said you needed a thief?" seeing their shocked and furious expressions he continues quickly in a softer tone, his voice somehow sounding stronger for its earnestness though still broken and hallow "It faded when I got here. I was... Shadowing poor Osric hoping he would lead me to somewhere safe to rest, maybe score me some change in the process. But I'm intrigued now, you'll have no trouble from me if you stay out of mine." he starts to turn back to his drink when he seems to realize something and says "Jeremy, my name is Jeremy."
A bedraggled individual stumbles through the door, clutching his arm tightly to his side, fresh bandages red with blood. It's obvious he was in a fight. It's obvious he lost. He keeps his eyes on the floor, not even acknowledging the other patrons as he enters. After haltingly making his way to the bar, he lifts his eyes, bloodshot from recent tears and and obvious lack of sleep, and whispers "Something strong?" before collapsing into a barstool and holding his head with his one good hand.
Alas up and running. This is the heartbroken thief Jeremy. |
