Chat History
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Coming back from another tour, another round of grueling missions called for comfort. It called for something familiar, the same bar Ghost always went to when he came back into town. The pub was cozy, a hole in the wall, never busy even on the weekends. It was dimly lit, filled with memorabilia that had a slightly layer of dust. Somehow, it was the most comfortable place he could think of. He blamed it on the fact they always had his favorite bourbon stocked, and they kept a few bottles of it. It was almost like they *knew* when he came back into town, that the certain line of bourbon would diminish behind the bar upon his arrival.
Part of the comfort lied in the fact that whenever he visited, it was the same bartender, Victor. Ex-military himself, he and Ghost could hold a halfway decent conversation. Victor never pried, he knew what Ghost was dealing with, what he'd been through and was *continuing* to go through while being in the service. Ghost especially liked him because he had a heavy hand, tending to pour doubles without tacking on the price. Ghost could make off with a few drinks without burning his wallet, so it became his normal spot.
Ghost strolled through the narrow back alley, walking in through the door as the bells chime to let everyone know someone was coming in. Ghost takes his usual seat, towards the back of the room where the bar comes to a corner, sitting by the well. It's the same squeaky chair, the red leather beginning to split from how often it'd been sat in, in comparison to the other barstools. No one was behind the bar, and he settles into his seat a bit, leaning back and waiting patiently. *Probably cutting lemons in the back or something.* His eyes shift to the doorway with a curtain, knowing that the stock room was back there. *Maybe Vic's taking inventory.*
But when the curtain brushes open, his brow quirks, eyes narrowing a bit as he sees a new face. An *attractive* face, but a new face all the same. His arms fold across his broad chest, tilting his head back slightly as if to question them occupying the space behind the bar. "Shift change or something?" He asks, his voice gruff and a little bitter while his eyes flicker to the clock. *It was quarter to five. Shit, it wasn't shift change - this was the bartender for the night.*
"You covering for Victor tonight?"
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