@xokazuhira
It didn’t take long for Mantis to find the dingiest bar he could, one practically empty save for himself and the bartender, who seemed too creeped out by his look to really strike up conversation-- just the way he liked it. Dull tunes from the 80′s crackled out of an old speaker in the corner, and Mantis sat in silence, slouched at the counter with an untouched martini in his hands. The bartender was kind enough to put a straw in the drink, presumably on account of his mask, but Mantis had yet to make any move to adjust it accordingly.
Probably for the best. He did not move or look when the quiet chime of the bell signalled a new customer, or when the bartender greeted them kindly. Only when he felt a warm body slide up next to him at the counter did Mantis turn to acknowledge them-- and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight.
Miller. It was him, unmistakably so, though he looked younger, healthier, and happier; this was not the Miller he hazily recalled from 1984. Had all of his limbs too. Mantis shifted uncomfortably in his seat and ultimately decided to look away without a word, banking on the off-chance Miller wouldn’t want to chat with the leatherbound gas mask-wearing freak. Why did this always seem to happen?
