M . “ i can’t walk … you’re gonna have to carry me . ” / @wolfehunt
for a second he hadn't thought to move , a fight breaking out at THIS particular bar wasn't an oddity. the bar in question a ways out of charming where NOMADS liked to gather , always looking for work. jackson nurses a whiskey - straight up with no ice.
if his men were going to pick a fight then THAT was on them , usually spearheaded by TIG who found something offensive about every damn person. this time it was a QUARREL over the JUKEBOX. tig wanted to hear more cash as others championed elvis. hell , it's no mans land ... to jackson it mattered little.
the other patrons looked on as a full on fight broke out , and jackson remained calm , nursing a beer as bodies were laid out upon sticky flooring. the place really IS a shit hole , and jackson reminds himself that they can't come back.
' you want what now ? ' he yells over the crowd who has SLOWLY inched their way towards the pair , glass shattering as his eyes widen and a wide SHIT EATING GRIN adorns handsome features , ' sorry repeat that !? ' though she points down and he looks to see that some glass along side men who have fallen to the wayside blocks her path. ' oh shit , well excuse these ill mannered bastards ' HUMOR rounds wording continuing , ' they're shit heads miss ... ' SOUTHERN accent blossoming as he then goes to push his drink towards bartender , and looks right into her eyes , ' climb on up '














