Jack. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mightyfallen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2012-10-29 11:52 pm
mightyfallen) wrote in multiversallogs2012-10-29 11:52 pm
Entry tags:
i wanna slay my demons, but i've got lots of them
Who: Jack and Rachel
What: Talkin' about things
When: After hours
Where: Jack's office in Syriac Well
Warnings: Mild alcoholism
It wouldn't be fair to say Jack doesn't normally drink at work — he keeps a decanter in his office, and while that is ostensibly for guests, in truth it's as much for himself when he needs it, and that's been happening more than usual since the riots. (He tells himself it's for his nerves, as if nerves are all he's been dealing with lately, but he's been stalling the campaign announcement, he knows; he's almost ready to start something worthwhile, for once in his life, and he's stalling, and he doesn't want to think about why.) But he's good at this, he's had enough practice holding his liquor and keeping his composure that it's difficult to tell how much he's had at any given time, and even with his recent increase in consumption, he hasn't been drinking enough to compromise himself.
Not on the job, anyway. But it's getting late now, the lights dimming and most of his employees heading home for the evening with waves by his office door and distantly-called goodbyes. If he hadn't started before they'd left he'd have kept better track of who was still in the building, but he didn't, and so he's not really sure that the office is empty when he pours a second, and somewhere after the start of the third he wonders how the sunset looks from the far side of the building and decides it's a good idea to wander over and check.
The trash can in his path convinces him otherwise. A muffled thump sounds from somewhere out on the floor, followed by a curse and a distinct noise of dismay.
What: Talkin' about things
When: After hours
Where: Jack's office in Syriac Well
Warnings: Mild alcoholism
It wouldn't be fair to say Jack doesn't normally drink at work — he keeps a decanter in his office, and while that is ostensibly for guests, in truth it's as much for himself when he needs it, and that's been happening more than usual since the riots. (He tells himself it's for his nerves, as if nerves are all he's been dealing with lately, but he's been stalling the campaign announcement, he knows; he's almost ready to start something worthwhile, for once in his life, and he's stalling, and he doesn't want to think about why.) But he's good at this, he's had enough practice holding his liquor and keeping his composure that it's difficult to tell how much he's had at any given time, and even with his recent increase in consumption, he hasn't been drinking enough to compromise himself.
Not on the job, anyway. But it's getting late now, the lights dimming and most of his employees heading home for the evening with waves by his office door and distantly-called goodbyes. If he hadn't started before they'd left he'd have kept better track of who was still in the building, but he didn't, and so he's not really sure that the office is empty when he pours a second, and somewhere after the start of the third he wonders how the sunset looks from the far side of the building and decides it's a good idea to wander over and check.
The trash can in his path convinces him otherwise. A muffled thump sounds from somewhere out on the floor, followed by a curse and a distinct noise of dismay.