Temporary, Rick is reminded again. So why were they even out for drinks, and how many drinks had Morgan had before he arrived?
He can’t read the smile on the other man’s face as it becomes something honest and it unsettles him. What unsettles him more is the suddenly prickling pressure in his chest and the sharp feeling that travels up his spine, leaving a nerves numbed in it’s path. It doesn’t come without the mental clutter, images that confuse him more than anything, but he knows they all point at Morgan in some vague way.
Distracted until Morgan is standing, his blue eyes drawn to him and then something catches his eye, there and gone quicker than he can blink. It’s so fast that he can’t comprehend what it might have been, if it was anything at all. It certainly had to be, because he’s not the only one who notices and he can barely contains the wince as he gets to his feet.
Alright, I’m going, Rick silently agrees with the chaotic being hellbent on making a ruckus in his mind. He’ll find out more if only because he isn’t quite sure he has an actual choice. His own glass clenched between his fingers at the rim, he follows the older man and takes the bench opposite of him.
“Gonna be honest,” Rick’s eyes flicker up, guarded but honest. He still hasn’t so much as sipped his drink and sets it down on, “This is startin’ to feel like y’re settin’ me up for some shady deal. The accent ain’t helpin’ at all.” He cracks a small smile, cocking his head slightly, “What’s goin’ on?”
Morgan sat down with a grunt, adjusted his bad leg to try to sit somewhat comfortably. His eyes rested on Rick, fingers drumming lightly against the table. He looked at the man this time, not whatever he carried with him. He saw a kind man who didn’t need to be dragged into Morgan’s world, but loyalty to the foundation weighed heavier.
Rick’s comment about the accent made Morgan chuckle. “Ah thought ye americans were supposed tae find it charmin’.” The accent together with his scarred face didn’t really make him look like a stand-up guy. “Na shady deals, lad. Tell me, are ye a religious man? Ah was raised catholic, ne’er believed in it masel. Thought it was jist stories.” It didn’t really matter, but he also didn’t know how to approach this thing without calling it in or sounding like a complete maniac.
He paused, briefly wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. Only a single finger tapped the table. His eyebrows knit together. “But... things change, aye? Ye see shite tha’ makes ye think well.. maybe they wasnae wrong?” He leaned forward and put his arms on the table, looking directly into Rick’s eyes. He tilted his head to the side lightly, eyes narrowed. “Sae wha’ th’ fuck are ye? Donae even think about leavin’ this table.” His voice was firm, demanding, maybe even vaguely threatening. He didn’t have time or energy for bullshit.
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