The drunk Snatcher burbled out a laugh. “Y’haven’t been here, eh?” he pointed out, the grin back on his face. He gave a little mumble to the bartender as well, taking another sip once the two rum bucks arrived. In truth, had she come across him sober, after his initial disbelief he might have been a bit sour about her leaving in the dead of night (even though he might’ve well done the same). Didn’t she realize how worried he’d been?
But the blow was softened by about five or six quite strong mules, so for the time being, he was amiable. “Me? How much time you got?” he giggled, rubbing the left side of his neck, covered by a scarf. “Wen’…. wen’ back to ‘Merica, for a lil’ bit, then came back… stayed with relatives a bit… I dunno, hun, basically anywhere you can think of, I’ve been. How long’s it been?”
Dorea nodded in agreement; this was not one of the places she'd passed through over the past few years. It was much too loud and busy for someone looking for a quiet way to keep a low profile. Today, for whatever reason, Dorea had thrown a little of her meticulous, practiced caution to the wind and popped in. If she believed in it, perhaps Dorea would chalk their chance meeting up to fate.
Truth be told, she hadn’t expected to run into anyone from her past here, nor had she meant to. Dorea was content with leaving every last bit of that time in her life firmly behind her, and yet here Jerome was when she hadn’t expected him. She was truly happy to see him, but hadn’t expected it would be this hard. Dorea had missed her friend, and while she hadn’t been actively tracking him during this trip, she always kept an ear open for any news of his whereabouts for the chance she might find him.
Based in her own personal experience, Dorea wasn’t so surprised to find Jerome here, like this. She could smell the stale beer hanging in the air, her hand curling around the cool of the glass with a familiarity that made her uneasy. The more time she spent here, the more she could feel the walls crumbling, memories and flashes of emotions spilling through cracks as her Snatcher life came flooding back. Dorea’s grasp on her glass tightened as she took another long drink. It helped, but just barely.
“America, is that right? I’ve never been. Don’t think I want to go, either,” she said absently, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself down. “Almost two years, I think,” she said faintly.
Dorea pushed the glass back and forth across the bar, catching it as it slid between her hands. Almost two years to the day, actually. Or night. Seeing as she’d stolen off after Jerome and Luka fell asleep. She grimaced and caught the glass firmly to take another sip. Dorea should have at least left a note.
“I’m sorry!” she blurted out, grip tightening on the glass until her knuckles turned white.
