#nat01

Aiden usually wasn't too picky with his food, but the past few days he had been craving something specific, refusing to give in and just going to his usual stake or if Mik had something ordered. But finishing up at the ranch on Saturday afternoon, he changed his jeans by his truck, throwing the ranch ones in the back so the inside wouldn't smell of animals and shit. He hopped in and drove down, deciding that if he ordered takeout it was a good compromise.

Stopping in front of Hida, he took off his hat and threw on a jean jacket, going in and waving at the familiar faces, standing by the bar so he could wait, though it did seem that at the hour most of the people were already finished with their lunches and weren't hungry yet for a dinner. "Hey, good to see you," he said as he heard steps and turned around to smile at the woman.

Sassa was sitting with Nat in one of the windows of the coffee shop, the two having claimed the best spot - not only a table, but two comfy armchairs, and prime people watching. Absentmindedly sipping from the coffee in front of her, Sassa watched the various people going to and fro in front of the window, her work forgotten on the table in front of her, until one of the officers who was back - because of Greer - wandered by the window. She frowned, turning back towards Nat. “Have you heard anything?” she asked, her head tilting to one side. “About why they’re back?” she added, chin motioning towards the retreating cop. 

There’s something strange about it: Lovell was supposed to be his escape from his father’s kingdom, a place ruled by guns and violence and death. That death has followed him to Lovell would almost feel like his fault, somehow, if only for the fact that he knows as little about what happened to Marcus Abernathy as anyone else.

There’s something almost unsettling about it: Jack had learned a long time ago to stop crying about the terrible things in the world he couldn’t control, but surrounded by mourning, he almost wishes he could feel more. What he does feel, however, is something that has long since become familiar, almost compulsive: he can’t look at a sea of serious faces without wanting to lighten the mood. He doesn’t know how to let tragedies like this—(if this even counts as one)—touch him anymore.  

When he’s reached his limit, he knows exactly who he’s looking for. Jack is a creature of big laughs and good times, and he’s learned to gravitate towards the people who reflect that same energy right back at him, don’t force him to create it wholesale himself the way he always used to have to, laughing like he didn’t care if anyone laughed with him. 

Nat is one of those people, and so he doesn’t give much care to the last few people he has to shoulder out of the way to make it to her side. After the reveal of Marcus’ portrait, they’re all milling around like gaping fish, anyway. “There you are—thank god. You about ready to get the fuck out of here? I need a drink.”