Jimmy actually feels a sob bunch in the back of his throat, winding everything up so tight that he's pretty sure he'd have no voice if he tried to talk. He looks at Morgan for only a few heavy seconds when the man offers up a condolence. Jesus, it's been a while since someone looked at him like he was a meaningful human being, and this guy's just fucking met him.
Jimmy's just about got himself composed by the time a different bartender is shuffling his empty glass out for a fresh water. He thumbs away the lone, silent tear, just in time to avoid this woman needing to look at him with concern. "Thanks, man."
But yeah, what's Morgan up to? Jimmy watches him with surprise but no suspicion, because he's seen enough weird rituals and habits and superstitions to write a few books. It's probably harmless, whatever it is. Maybe he's gotta count the sticks before putting 'em back, who knows.
"Magia, huh?" Jimmy looks amused but continues feeling surprised. Listen, he's not some sort of gifted polyglot - or even bilingual, for that matter - but when you're scraping the bottom of America's social barrel, you end up sharing a lot of spaces with people who don't speak a lot of English. What's this gal going on about 'his' magic tricks for, then?
--Oh. That.
Jimmy just stares at Morgan for a few seconds. He slowly turns in his seat to watch him up and down as he nails his profession with the vague-but-accurate guesses of some sort of stage psychic, and then his found family.
That feeling of violation is too much, too soon, on top of too many other reasons to be suspicious of people suddenly knowing about him. Jimmy is off his stool before he's made the conscious decision. "What the hell is going on here?" He doesn't trust this, not one bit, because the only way this guy would know all that about him is: "Did you do this to me? Who're you even working for? What the hell do you people want from me?"
Jimmy is in Morgan's face in an instant, looming over him while the other man's still seated. "I don't have money, not even if you hadn't dragged me across the country, or didn't you get that part from your 'sticks'? Why are you doing this?" There's clear aggression in his voice, but there's sparks of fear in his eyes. He doesn't understand what's going on, why he was kidnapped, what the point could possibly be to trick him into making him think he's sixty years in the future - is it all a trick? Is that what this means?
His breathing is irregular, and he looks hesitant to actually throw a punch, but there's no denying that Jimmy is mad as hell. "Is it that cop? Is it him? Did he put you up to this?"
Behind the bar top, the new bartender is facing them and frozen, drinks forgotten in her hands. Evidently, this isn't a bar that sees a lot of fights. Jimmy doesn't notice, too focused on Morgan's face.
no subject
Jimmy's just about got himself composed by the time a different bartender is shuffling his empty glass out for a fresh water. He thumbs away the lone, silent tear, just in time to avoid this woman needing to look at him with concern. "Thanks, man."
But yeah, what's Morgan up to? Jimmy watches him with surprise but no suspicion, because he's seen enough weird rituals and habits and superstitions to write a few books. It's probably harmless, whatever it is. Maybe he's gotta count the sticks before putting 'em back, who knows.
"Magia, huh?" Jimmy looks amused but continues feeling surprised. Listen, he's not some sort of gifted polyglot - or even bilingual, for that matter - but when you're scraping the bottom of America's social barrel, you end up sharing a lot of spaces with people who don't speak a lot of English. What's this gal going on about 'his' magic tricks for, then?
--Oh. That.
Jimmy just stares at Morgan for a few seconds. He slowly turns in his seat to watch him up and down as he nails his profession with the vague-but-accurate guesses of some sort of stage psychic, and then his found family.
That feeling of violation is too much, too soon, on top of too many other reasons to be suspicious of people suddenly knowing about him. Jimmy is off his stool before he's made the conscious decision. "What the hell is going on here?" He doesn't trust this, not one bit, because the only way this guy would know all that about him is: "Did you do this to me? Who're you even working for? What the hell do you people want from me?"
Jimmy is in Morgan's face in an instant, looming over him while the other man's still seated. "I don't have money, not even if you hadn't dragged me across the country, or didn't you get that part from your 'sticks'? Why are you doing this?" There's clear aggression in his voice, but there's sparks of fear in his eyes. He doesn't understand what's going on, why he was kidnapped, what the point could possibly be to trick him into making him think he's sixty years in the future - is it all a trick? Is that what this means?
His breathing is irregular, and he looks hesitant to actually throw a punch, but there's no denying that Jimmy is mad as hell. "Is it that cop? Is it him? Did he put you up to this?"
Behind the bar top, the new bartender is facing them and frozen, drinks forgotten in her hands. Evidently, this isn't a bar that sees a lot of fights. Jimmy doesn't notice, too focused on Morgan's face.