Morgan might as well have asked 'who died?' It stops him mid-sip from his beer, a grinding halt that originates in Jimmy. Morgan doesn't know it, but 'who died' is what he just asked, whether he meant to or not. His expression drops when he hears it. Shit, that's heavy -- and it's almost too devastating for Morgan to notice something crucial that Jimmy lets slip.
But he's reluctant to play entrapment; Jimmy looks like he's fighting back tears. Morgan sighs quietly under the music and a wave of laughter down near the billiard tables, eyes flicking down to rest on the bar top. His arm, resting on the surface, bends at the elbow in a straight angle, hand slack except for fingertips idly performing a tick while he thinks.
"Jesus, man...I'm sorry." He means it, and he sounds it too. Morgan will pretty much be ruined the day his mother passes away, so that sympathy runs almost painfully deep, enough to make him not want to think about it very long. So, not only deposited in unfamiliar territory, but effectively abandoned as well.
Jimmy's up a shit creek with no paddle, that's for sure -- but he's awfully reluctant to tell Morgan anything. Something's up... The oracle's free hand bends over to his face, thumb distractedly grazing his bottom lip while he thinks. He would really hate to invade someone's privacy, especially Jim's here, but he is just giving him nothing to work with, and Morgan swears there is something bigger at play here -- not just with Jimmy, but...something else.
Morgan lets his free hand come back down to his pint glass, one eye on Jimmy to ensure he isn't following his movements. With the back of his hand, he swipes at a small cylindrical cup full of toothpicks some inches away, with a quick but unnatural arc toward and to the outer side of him, away from Jimmy. The small sticks spill out, but almost silently under the wall of sound surrounding them.
He almost had a delayed reaction to his 'accident,' and uses it as an excuse to glance at the pale wooden slivers on the counter. Suspiciously fluid, his movements are slow as he regards the pile, clearly in no rush to clean them up. In fact, he isn't scooping them up at all.
A different bartender, younger and dark, approaches Jimmy with a fresh glass of water, simultaneously taking the empty cup, and seems mildly concerned about Morgan. Before she can even try, he regards her and holds a hand up. "My bad, I got it."
She seems nonplussed, but amused as she glances at Jimmy.
"Reproducción de sus trucos de magia de nuevo?" She asks softly, smiling, and walks away.
Morgan looks the closest to unbalanced that he's been all night, and even then, it looks more like mildly hassled than fully upset. He looks over at Jimmy, gaze heavy with intent, and leans in a few degrees. "You said something about explanations I wouldn't believe?" He begins, pausing for another gulp of beer.
He looks at the sticks again, craning his neck to see them. "You're a performer? Entertainment, live, on a stage." Watching the surprise fill a person's face for the first time is like a sunset in the desert; Morgan never actually delights in it, but it's still nice to see sometimes, and he thinks Jimmy's going to have a more significant reaction than some. "You've travelled a lot, with a large group, often changing. But you see them all as family, but they're not by blood." He sees their lives in the patterns, lines much too divided to be of blood relation, but many spiral in together despite originating in many different directions.
no subject
But he's reluctant to play entrapment; Jimmy looks like he's fighting back tears. Morgan sighs quietly under the music and a wave of laughter down near the billiard tables, eyes flicking down to rest on the bar top. His arm, resting on the surface, bends at the elbow in a straight angle, hand slack except for fingertips idly performing a tick while he thinks.
"Jesus, man...I'm sorry." He means it, and he sounds it too. Morgan will pretty much be ruined the day his mother passes away, so that sympathy runs almost painfully deep, enough to make him not want to think about it very long. So, not only deposited in unfamiliar territory, but effectively abandoned as well.
Jimmy's up a shit creek with no paddle, that's for sure -- but he's awfully reluctant to tell Morgan anything. Something's up... The oracle's free hand bends over to his face, thumb distractedly grazing his bottom lip while he thinks. He would really hate to invade someone's privacy, especially Jim's here, but he is just giving him nothing to work with, and Morgan swears there is something bigger at play here -- not just with Jimmy, but...something else.
Morgan lets his free hand come back down to his pint glass, one eye on Jimmy to ensure he isn't following his movements. With the back of his hand, he swipes at a small cylindrical cup full of toothpicks some inches away, with a quick but unnatural arc toward and to the outer side of him, away from Jimmy. The small sticks spill out, but almost silently under the wall of sound surrounding them.
He almost had a delayed reaction to his 'accident,' and uses it as an excuse to glance at the pale wooden slivers on the counter. Suspiciously fluid, his movements are slow as he regards the pile, clearly in no rush to clean them up. In fact, he isn't scooping them up at all.
A different bartender, younger and dark, approaches Jimmy with a fresh glass of water, simultaneously taking the empty cup, and seems mildly concerned about Morgan. Before she can even try, he regards her and holds a hand up. "My bad, I got it."
She seems nonplussed, but amused as she glances at Jimmy.
"Reproducción de sus trucos de magia de nuevo?" She asks softly, smiling, and walks away.
Morgan looks the closest to unbalanced that he's been all night, and even then, it looks more like mildly hassled than fully upset. He looks over at Jimmy, gaze heavy with intent, and leans in a few degrees. "You said something about explanations I wouldn't believe?" He begins, pausing for another gulp of beer.
He looks at the sticks again, craning his neck to see them. "You're a performer? Entertainment, live, on a stage." Watching the surprise fill a person's face for the first time is like a sunset in the desert; Morgan never actually delights in it, but it's still nice to see sometimes, and he thinks Jimmy's going to have a more significant reaction than some. "You've travelled a lot, with a large group, often changing. But you see them all as family, but they're not by blood." He sees their lives in the patterns, lines much too divided to be of blood relation, but many spiral in together despite originating in many different directions.
Wanna talk about the unbelievable now, Jimmy?