Stopovers (for whiskywolf)

[mrkillershades]

Guy had been intending to go back to London, or Berlin, or maybe, hell, even Lisbon if he had to on this little European vacation, but things just hadn't worked out that way. His previous employers were still keeping much too tight a watch on his old connections and, having been warned away from his old haunts, that left only his smaller stashes to hit. Which was the reason why he was in a little pub in a small town in Scotland rather than a plush city hotel room right now.

Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em sideways. He fully intended to get old enough to retire, no matter how many assassins they sent after him, but it was getting just a little on the tedious side dodging deathtraps and double-crosses. His next trip overseas was definitely going to be a real vacation involving sun, beach, booze, and preferably no awkward customs questions or inconvenient body disposal.

Though okay, at least the whiskey was decent, even if the atmosphere was a little lacking. And it was mostly quiet enough that he could just keep his head down, have his drink, and kill a little time before he moved on. Guy might stand out a bit, the laconic American with the scar-nicked face, spiky blond hair, and the expensive aviator shades tucked neatly in the pocket of his dress shirt, but he kept to himself and tipped well, and in all his travels, he found that was the key to people leaving you the hell alone in the politest possible way.

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[whiskywolf]

Although he tips well enough for the local pub in rural Scotland, it is that. They don't get many visitors. The atmosphere would deaden the second he walked in, in that stereotypical way one only really sees in movies. But this happens all the time, the patrons of the public house simply looking for a workmate, or neighbor.

The general hubbub of rough voices, accented thickly, soon resumes, and the stranger is left alone.

The next lull in conversation comes when the door opens to admit a tall, broad man in a police uniform. He fits his size quite well, not looking too skinny or too muscular, but still powerful enough to be impressive.

The way he holds himself, the way he walks, even as he heads to the bar and jovially talks with some of the people already present, screams military. There's a cautiousness to his steps that only those with a keen eye would notice. His grey eyes flit to the corner where Guy is sat, and, for the briefest moment, a frown crosses his face... and then it's gone.

The copper takes a seat at the bar, motioning the tender over. "A double of whisky, Michael. And the good stuff, aye? I feel like celebrating."

[mrkillershades]

Faint amusement at the reaction passes over Guy, but he's done the whole 'cowboy at the saloon' thing before, and if you let people be, then there's seldom a problem. And anyone who wants to try out the out-of-towner, well, they generally get a cool stare that indicates it's not a good idea. He's not an impressively large man, maybe six foot even in his boots, but all wiry muscle under his jeans, shirt and brown leather jacket, and moves with the liquid ease and self-awareness of someone used to watching his surroundings for threats.

Picks a corner, sits with his drink, and stays out of trouble. Which is why the cop coming through the door doesn't particularly rile him. It's an amateur mistake to start getting cranked up at the first sight of law enforcement: Nothing draws suspicion quite like 'nervous', but Guy's just here for a drink and has nothing to hide. At least, not on him.

It's still automatic to size up any potential complication, though, no matter what the situation, which is why Guy looks the cop over idly as he sips his whiskey. Big, solid, confident. Trained. Clearly, this is his home ground, and he's got more than just his size as an advantage. Guy files that all away behind honey-brown eyes, but the glance and frown? Gets nothing more but the briefest flicker of a polite smile and half-nod. Evening, officer. Just passing through, no trouble here.

[whiskywolf]

The copper gets his drink, sits and relaxes, setting his cap on the bar next to him, running his hand through his hair.

His grey eyes dart right back to the stranger, catching that nod, and he gets a one in return, an aknowledgement more than anything. He takes a sip of his whisky, his ears perking.

He shifts slightly, casting his eyes over a group with slightly raised voices... yammering in Scottish Gaelic. Leon frowns, listening, taking another sip.

[mrkillershades]

Guy hooks the heel of his boot on his chair rung, returning to minding his own business once that brief exchange is over. Mutual recognition, maybe, and it doesn't bother him in the least...just something to be aware of, and he settles back into his relaxed, quietly watchful demeanor.

The Gaelic means nothing to him, not being one of the handful of languages he speaks, but the tone gets a sideways look. Bars are bars no matter where you go, and it never fails that someone eventually gets rowdy about something. Just a signal to keep his drink close, though, because Guy avoids scrapes when he can. Too much attention is better avoided, and he prefers to avoid messes anyway, even small ones.

Guy is a dangerous man, and it's in the rules that you don't start swinging unless you mean it.

[whiskywolf]

Luckily, Leon speaks the language of his country fluently. It helps in these towns, remote, traditional. He listens in before sighing as it sounds like they're coming to blows.

He pushes himself slowly up from his stool and walks over lazily, interrupting their conversation with his own Gaelic.

[mrkillershades]

Oh, hey. A little bit of local theater. Guy watches, picking up the tone of the conversation if not the actual content. Bar-room arguments are the same no matter where you go- a few beers and a few hot tempers, and things spill over, no matter what the topic might be. It just takes one thrown punch to get it started, then you're hauling your buddy off before the cops show up and you're all in on disciplinary actions the next morning.

Except, well, the cops are already here. Though they might be dumb enough/drunk enough to get something started anyway. He leans back in amusement, waiting to see if someone actually does start swinging, and just how the cop carries himself if he needs to start busting heads to get the rowdies to settle down...maybe places a few mental bets as he sits forward just enough to keep a good eye on things.