The bartender is, of course, not fully human, and Jon tries and fails not to stare as Tim leads them to a table. He looks hungry and tired by turns, and only snaps out of it when Tim gives him an order.
"Right."
He does, at least, take a napkin to the blood on his face with what little remaining dignity he can scrape together. It... helps: he's left with only a pinkish smudge and a still-ruined shirtsleeve. Then he goes to fetch Tim's drink.
It's at this point Jon remembers that he does not generally drink when he can avoid it, could not care less what is put in front of him, and continues to be an utter lightweight despite now being a near-unkillable monstrosity, which genuinely seems a bit unfair. But this is Tim, and he wants to do it right, and he has the creeping suspicion that drinking together is a step in the direction of right. So.
He survives an interaction with the bartender, only a little stiff and wrong-footed as he tries to ignore the Statement below the surface, and returns with two of the same.
no subject
"Right."
He does, at least, take a napkin to the blood on his face with what little remaining dignity he can scrape together. It... helps: he's left with only a pinkish smudge and a still-ruined shirtsleeve. Then he goes to fetch Tim's drink.
It's at this point Jon remembers that he does not generally drink when he can avoid it, could not care less what is put in front of him, and continues to be an utter lightweight despite now being a near-unkillable monstrosity, which genuinely seems a bit unfair. But this is Tim, and he wants to do it right, and he has the creeping suspicion that drinking together is a step in the direction of right. So.
He survives an interaction with the bartender, only a little stiff and wrong-footed as he tries to ignore the Statement below the surface, and returns with two of the same.