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Nov. 14th, 2017 09:01 pmIf Chuck is honest, he hasn't really felt right since Newt and Kate disappeared, leaving him their condo and their dog and all the neat little fixings of their neat little life. He's never been particularly affectionate, nor has he ever let himself get close to many people, but Newt was the one person here he had from home, and that means something. Hell, he'd gotten a lot more fond of that little weirdo than he would ever have anticipated.
Addressing such things is not one of his skills, though, and it isn't as if it makes much difference anyway. He's always grumpy, always wanting to hit things, always in the mood for a drink. If nothing else, it makes it easy not to deviate from his usual routine — walking the dogs, letting some tension out at the gym, then holding up at some bad until he feels about ready to stagger home. Once, he could just as easily have drank in his own apartment, but he still doesn't quite feel right in Newt and Kate's condo. It's bigger and nicer than anywhere he's lived in his life, and it sure as hell doesn't feel like his yet. He just also doesn't think he could bring himself to get rid of it. They wanted him to have it for a reason. Foisting it off on some stranger would be out of the question. He'll learn to live with it. He didn't mind it so much when it was theirs, after all.
But in the meantime, going out and trying not to get thrown out is his best bet. At least he's stopped throwing punches when he hears someone near him order some sort of drink called a Jägerbomb. There are already a few places in Darrow where he knows he's not welcome anymore; he really isn't looking to add to that list.
So, tonight, he's sitting at the bar nursing what definitely isn't his first drink and not paying much attention to anyone else nearby. That is, not until the sound of a distinctly familiar, albeit a little hazy, laugh gets his attention. He sits up a little straighter then, already feeling a bit more sober as he turns to see Laura, her eyes looking a little glazed and distant, hanging on the arm of some guy he doesn't know but doesn't like just from the look of him.
Maybe starting a fight tonight isn't out of the question after all. He doesn't take a swing, his hands curled into fists but stilled at his sides, but he hasn't ruled it out, either. After all, he isn't going to be that overprotective asshole who won't let her make her own choices. He just also won't stand by and watch some creep take advantage of a girl who's barely eighteen and doesn't seem quite in her right mind.
"Laura, hey," he says to get her attention, voice a little hushed, as the guy she's practically draped on orders a round of drinks for the two of them. "Are you alright?"
Addressing such things is not one of his skills, though, and it isn't as if it makes much difference anyway. He's always grumpy, always wanting to hit things, always in the mood for a drink. If nothing else, it makes it easy not to deviate from his usual routine — walking the dogs, letting some tension out at the gym, then holding up at some bad until he feels about ready to stagger home. Once, he could just as easily have drank in his own apartment, but he still doesn't quite feel right in Newt and Kate's condo. It's bigger and nicer than anywhere he's lived in his life, and it sure as hell doesn't feel like his yet. He just also doesn't think he could bring himself to get rid of it. They wanted him to have it for a reason. Foisting it off on some stranger would be out of the question. He'll learn to live with it. He didn't mind it so much when it was theirs, after all.
But in the meantime, going out and trying not to get thrown out is his best bet. At least he's stopped throwing punches when he hears someone near him order some sort of drink called a Jägerbomb. There are already a few places in Darrow where he knows he's not welcome anymore; he really isn't looking to add to that list.
So, tonight, he's sitting at the bar nursing what definitely isn't his first drink and not paying much attention to anyone else nearby. That is, not until the sound of a distinctly familiar, albeit a little hazy, laugh gets his attention. He sits up a little straighter then, already feeling a bit more sober as he turns to see Laura, her eyes looking a little glazed and distant, hanging on the arm of some guy he doesn't know but doesn't like just from the look of him.
Maybe starting a fight tonight isn't out of the question after all. He doesn't take a swing, his hands curled into fists but stilled at his sides, but he hasn't ruled it out, either. After all, he isn't going to be that overprotective asshole who won't let her make her own choices. He just also won't stand by and watch some creep take advantage of a girl who's barely eighteen and doesn't seem quite in her right mind.
"Laura, hey," he says to get her attention, voice a little hushed, as the guy she's practically draped on orders a round of drinks for the two of them. "Are you alright?"
