Jay (Jay Harriman)Jay is middling-tall and dark-haired. Somewhere in his late twenties, perhaps. His current sartorial style consists of body armour over a warm fuzzy blue sweater, blue jeans, and short black winter boots. He speaks with a Brooklyn accent somewhat smoothed over with a hint of a British one.
(Left July 15, 2003.)
Entrance
Something thumps into outside wall. The door rattles as someone fumbles at the latch.
The door flies open and gasping two men stumble in. Smoke rises from their heavy winter jackets, smelling vaguely of metal, and gasoline, and spilled coffee. Behind them is a dark, wintery alleyway. Gunfire echoes in the night.
The man in the lead turns and quickly slams the door shut, his movements somewhat hampered by his efforts to support his swaying companion. Turning quickly round again, he warily scans the room, and his jaw drops.
"My God, it's the Pub!"
It's Jay. He's wearing a short blue down jacket, a black cap, jeans, and a surprised expression.
"It's okay," he breathes. "We're safe - I think we're safe."
Carefully he eases his companion over to a chair. The other man, wearing a long coat, multicolored scarf and floppy hat, settles wearily into the seat. The floppy hat falls off, and a crown of curly brown hair is exposed. Curly hair, big blue eyes, and angelic face comprise oddly familiar features ... it's ... Frodo?!
The collasped stranger has the face of Frodo from the movies "The Lord of the Rings."
Why Frodo should be carrying a shotgun and an oversized PDA is not apparent.
-Jay and Friend
Mind if we smoke?
Jay (Jay Harriman)The door opens again and a man walks through.
He's middling-tall, with thinning dark hair. Somewhere in his mid to late twenties, perhaps. He wears khaki slacks and a white long-sleeved polo shirt under a navy windbreaker zipped about half-way up.
Some here might recognize the newcomer as Jay, who first stumbled in here drunkenly looking for a bar with a tv set to watch a baseball game on. And returned later, taut with fear, in an attempt to find out whether he really was crazy. He looks a few years older than he did then, and holds himself with more confidence.
He looks around with the air of one becoming reacquainted with a place they haven't seen for a time. His eyes pause briefly when he notices The Cake, and his lips quirk in a smile. "A wedding party in a pub? I hope I'm not, um, interrupting something."
The Brooklyn accent is still strongly evident but it's been smoothed over with a hint of a - British? - accent.
From the look of things, apparently not, so he turns and makes his way toward the bar. As he gets closer, he notices something in the mirror behind Julia which makes him blink. He looks at the mirror, looks at Julia, shrugs, and continues on.
Slides onto a seat. "I'll have a pint of whatever you've got on tap."
He glances around again.
Jay (Jay Harriman)The door opens and a young man hesitantly walks in. He's wearing jeans and work shoes, a warm-looking blue corderoy jacket, and a baseball cap on top of his dark hair. In his left hand, he's clutching a firey-bright feather.
He looks around the room nervously, as if expecting something to leap out and yell "boo!" at any moment.Anyone who was paying any attention to the pair of drunken sportsfans who were here a while ago can easily recognize this man as the taller of the two, the one who spent most of his time speaking with Dumont. (And didn't get in a fight with either Dusky or Leigh.) He looks a little different now, having washed the paint off and being sober. And he's not refusing to look at anyone this time, though his eyes are wide and he looks _very uneasy. One could even say... scared.