knock ‘em back
Making it across Pandora to Opportunity in one piece was easy enough. Axton knew this dustball well enough now, that even under new (forced?) employment, he could jump around without breaking a sweat. Well. Much of one. He hit a snag on the way, and hoped Jack wouldn’t turn up his nose at the spatter of blood on his boots and the smear of it on his cheek when he they met at the bar. Axton ditched his gear, at a fast travel station, punching the coordinates for Helios and unzipped his jacket so he could breathe easier. He didn’t look unpresentable, but after wiping down his face and fixing his hair with a few quick combs from his fingers, he was ready as he needed to be.
The bar was in a well lit part of town, people were coming and going, and the smell of food wafted from inside. Not a bad spot, for being in the center of a city built on lies, if you asked Axton. It was not the sort of place he was used to frequenting here on Pandora, but in a way, it reminded him of home. He could have pictured himself here as a younger man, chatting up some young thing while he was still in basic training. It was a refreshing change of pace from the rest of Pandora. It didn’t smell of grease and sweat and stale beer. It was clean, but not so upscale that you couldn’t slide in wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
What didn’t surprise Axton, was that Jack ran late. Leave it to the man who didn’t encounter a group of psychos on the road here to show up late. Fashionably late, the commando’s mind supplied, when Jack did finally Waltz through the door as if he owned the place.
And he did.
He grimaces and glances behind the bar, catching his reflection. Yeah. He could have tried harder to clean himself up.
“I almost thought you stood me up, chief,” Axton announced in lieu of a hello.
“Woulda’ been a lot worse if it were the other way around, huh?” his tone is teasing, but there’s still an air of warning behind it. Standing up Pandora’s hero wouldn’t have been a wise decision, even if the commando did have a turret outfitted with all the bells and whistles DAHL could afford. Jack’s grin is easy but polished, eyebrow quirked just enough to insinuate charming nonchalance. At first it’s directed singularly at Axton, yet it finds its’ true path, working down the ex-solder in a slow, gratuitous fashion.
Short, stocky, mildly rugged, blonde and handsome. The grin spreads a bit wider, turning hungrier in an instant. Jack pulls his eyes away as he settles himself comfortably on the stool next to the commando. He waves two fingers at the barman and nods curtly, turning his attention back towards the man on his right.
“So, Axton,” the name rolls neatly off of Jack’s cocky tongue, “What brought you to this shit heap of a planet?” He leisurely swivels himself on the seat to better face Axton, propping his left elbow up onto the glass bar top. Jack’s foot finds a home on one of the rungs of his bar stool and spreads his legs, looking comfortable and confident within the space of his seat. Jack is positively charisma incarnate.
“Lemme guess, the usual. Solid climate, great place to settle down-- start a family, and sheezus, don’t forget to mention the friendly neighbors, am I right?” He motions to the blood splatter on Axton’s neck, grinning dimly at his own sarcasm.
