In dreams you're mine; all of the time we're together.

[the_marshal]

Who| Wyatt and Open
What| Wallowing
Where| The Speakeasy
When| Shortly after this.
Notes/Warnings| Manly, manly whinging. Possible purple prose. Lots and lots of drinking. It's open to anyone, but he won't open up to anyone he wouldn't call a friend.



He should have stayed. Should have had courage enough to wait and meet Max and free him himself.... It would have meant more. It was the right thing to do. But just thinking the words had his throat closing up, tightening around a painful lump that refused to loosen.

So instead, he ran. Like a coward. Leaving Max to realize the truth for himself.

There was no obligation.

He didn't owe Wyatt anything.

It was still early when Wyatt arrived at the Speakeasy. The bar was nearly empty and Wyatt had his choice of seats. He went as far back as he could, as close to the liquor as he could.

He was still there when the night crowd began to filter in.

Comments

[polyturtle]

Don had been walking the streets of the Capitol, his own thoughts wandering. There was something beneath--ah. Wyatt?

It had been some time since Don had seen him, and from the looks of it, he didn't look too great. Quietly, he followed, until he found Wyatt sitting where he was.

"...Hey."

[the_marshal]

The signs were all there. The seat as far away from the other daylight drinkers as he could manage, his back turned to block as much from view as possible, shoulders hunched over the bar, the glass square in front of his face...

All he was missing was the canary.

The turtle was either very blind or very brave. Fortunately for Don, Wyatt didn't have the heart to test which.

Instead, he shifted on his stool, muttering lowly into his drink.

"Don."

[polyturtle]

He could feel the tension. The darkness. Exactly why, he didn't know and couldn't know. He was no fool. But at the very least, he knew Wyatt was alone. And just maybe, Wyatt needed an ear.

"Mind if I sit here too?"

At the very least, he was fine with sitting in silence if need be.

[the_marshal]

There was a pause, an awkward beat where Wyatt seemed to be considering it, then his shoulders rolled.

"Used to be a free country," he muttered. "Help yerself."

He wanted to snap and snarl - he wanted to fight, if only to feel anything other than the pit in his chest, but he knew it wasn't fair to take it out on Don.

[polyturtle]

"Thank you."

Quietly, Don sat himself down next to Wyatt, hands folded quietly. Without batting an eye he ordered a drink.

"So--" No, no, that would be a dumb question. How have you been. The answer would be obvious. Don adjusted his question accordingly. "--what's your poison today?"

[the_marshal]

Wyatt looked over at him, a long, weighted stare.

It was the knowledge that Don wasn't trying to upset him that curbed his tongue.

"Whiskey ain't never done me wrong, so I ain't got any reason to go changin'."

[polyturtle]

"Yeah." He looked down at his own drink as he spoke. "Makes sense."

What could he say to Wyatt? What can he say to ease whatever tension Wyatt was feeling, for whatever reason? He didn't know.

After some time, he finally spoke again.

"So...what brings you here?"

[the_marshal]

"What brings any man to a bar, son?" Wyatt muttered, glass tipping back, ice clinking noisily. "Unless yer here 'cause it's sunshine an' rainbows out there."