knock ‘em back
“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.
Axton adjusts to the way Jack owns the space around him. He’s like a great jungle cat, sprawling, looking over Axton as if he’s dinner. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, to be looked at like that. The slow tingle of satisfaction it brings, gives Axton enough confidence to return the favor. A thorough glance, lithe, sharp features, long legs, attention to detail with both hair and wardrobe. Axton could smell is cologne. He smiles broadly, chest puffing out.
“Me?” he’s surprised that Jack doesn’t know already. It seems as though he should, all things considered, but he’ll answer, “Well, I was scheduled for execution by firing squad. Some people didn’t like the decisions I made to get the job done, so... I said screw this noise, and came to where I knew they wouldn’t find me, and where I could make a decent amount of scratch doing what I do best.”
Axton’s fingers curl around his glass, eyeing his drink before taking a sip. When the bottom connects with the bar, a soft clunk, he exhales and laughs.
“Which, as you’ve noticed, noticed is socializing with all the friendly neighbors.”
Tit for tat, he figures it’s fair enough now to ask something in return.
“What brings on the sudden curiosity? My rugged good looks, aside,” he inquires, lifting one scarred brow in challenge.
