Hello, Cruel World!

The Savior appeared to have been genuinely surprised by Nemo’s admitting to his possession of a Jarvey. And yet, Jack had pulled along his bloodied body throughout the hallways without so much as a inquisitive glance. What was it about a Jarvey that struck her interest so? Nemo had been prepared to take his own spin at a few personal questions, as she so insistently had the moment prior, when Jack provided him with the answer that he hadn’t been able to deduce on his own. She owned one of the creatures as well. At this truth, Nemo smirked. How strange was the nature of coincidence that evening, as it repeatedly aligned several points throughout the pair’s lives where uncanny resemblances met. “Kickass. We’ll have to throw ourselves a Jarvey slumber party. Granted, the swearing and sarcastic remarks would defeat the purpose by keeping everyone within twenty square miles awake,” was Nemo’s mocking invitation.

He frowned deeply in response to Jack’s introduction of an overly carbonated and tin-flavored drink to that with which he had previously been content. It was typical of an authority figure to assume the position of a protective pack leader when in Nemo’s presence. He had witnessed the effect several times under various other circumstances, but the result was always the same: the alcohol would gradually become more difficult to pry from the hands of his supplier, until eventually, the drinks were cut off entirely. “I drank every bottle in my office in order to achieve that amount of damage, you know. Two bottles of vodka, one bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and two more of whiskey. That is what happens when those healers put you back together one too many times.”

He paused to gesture at stomach, as though he expected Jack to find something other than his loosely fitted shirt there; proof that something had been changed. “You don’t get all of the feeling back. Your organs build up a resistance to medication, alcohol – everything.” He shrugged, before continuing with a truth which should have been positioned at the head of his ramblings, “Though, I’ve had at it thirteen times. There must have been some warning somewhere that stated: 'Do not attempt to bring a man back to live any more than three times' – or something along those lines”

He drank it, despite his bitterness towards the prospect of being sent off on his way with nothing left to pass the time or quench his ever-present thirst. There was no need to waste what had only been partially destroyed.

“You better enjoy it. I have a knack for nicknames. Alright, how do you feel about Ronald McDonald?” He hadn’t reached the end of his sentence before his throaty chuckling had taken over his speech, yet again rendering him incapable of speaking in at a volume any quieter than that of a blender. “Splendid! Then we have a deal. You wouldn’t happen to be any good at Ten Fingers, would you?”

She laughed at his proposal for the Jarvey slumber party and said, “It would be fun for us, I’m sure, but hell on everyone. And Fred never was keen on new animals- he’s a suspicious little buggar. He’s convinced the world revolves around him.” Every time Jack’s work followed her home in the form of an injured animal that needed special care of a baby still in need of mothering, Fred moped for days and his nasty vocabulary increased tenfold. He was louder, nastier, and more vulgar. Jack had never brought home a Jarvey. She wondered which pole he would gravitate towards- intolerable due to his irritability, or intolerable because he was overjoyed to have a partner in crime? She just knew that, either way, she would have had created a monster.

He seemed displeased with her attempt to slow his drinking and she noted it, listening to his explanation of just how much alcohol he had consumed to reach his previous state. He continued on, explaining the toll his body had been through with all of the abuse he had put it through. Three years ago, Jack would have found him foolish and chided him, but she had her own addictions. Mainly, she was addicted to dire situations she could not improve or fix. And she knew, in her core, that this was true- that she could not improve any of them. Yet, she had this innate, foolish need to try. Once she had realized her own self destructive nature, she was less prone to judge people for their own.

However, the number he offered her was one she had never heard in terms of this particular situation. Her eyebrows went up and her lips parted in surprise, concern and genuine car flashing in her eyes before she could carefully bring her face back to his unperturbed state. She glanced down and lifted her drink to her lips, drinking more deeply this time- she needed it. At his words, she set her mug down and looked up, saying, “I’ve never thought any of us have the right to put a limit on second chances.” And it was true- she had given those she felt deserved it second chances time and time again. And, using what little she knew of him, she felt this man belonged in that number of infinite grace.

They were in gentler waters now, though, and his newest nickname brought her to barking laughter. “It works,” she said. He mentioned the game ten fingers and her eyes narrowed in recollection. “I recall playing that in my fourth year. I was not invited to do so ever again- I don’t remember if it was because I embarrassed them with my mad skills, or because I just don’t get along with people. You’d have to refresh me of the rules.”

"How merciful of you. You should be the woman playing God; you would be far more forgiving of me than whatever force is in charge - who completely hates me, by the way," Nemo replied in a manner which made it quite crystal that he had no intention of responding in a serious matter from that point onward in the conversation. It appeared as though no deeper thought than that of how it was that his glass had run dry so very quickly would occupy his thoughts any longer; as was the design of his expression and tone of voice. Nemo held no desire to further discuss his psychological troubles with a woman he knew very little of - or anyone, for that matter.

Jack's laughter sounded almost animalistic in the way that it was fierce in loud. But it elicited a proud grin from Nemo nonetheless, for it was not often that his humor was appreciated whilst in the presence of Ministry officials. They often reprimanded him for his foolishness, but never reciprocated his amusement. Much like Alladin, an acquaintance and coworker of Nemo's, Jack seemed an exception to those guidelines.

“I'll be putting those mad skills of yours to the test, then,” he informed Jack ever-so a-matter-o-factly as he further reclined in his seat, and absentmindedly swirled his emptied glass in his loose grip, as though some transparent liquid remained within it. He could picture clearly with his mind’s eye the scene of the pair and several strangers playing a few rounds of his favorite drinking game, and it appeared quite the entertaining event.

ENTER Nemo, The Savior, and The Regulars

All hell breaks loose.

END SCENE.

Jack smirked at his words about whoever it was that was in charge hating him. "Yeah, that would be nice. Whoever is moving all of the pawns seems to like to throw me around the board quite a bit, myself. We'll have to enter some paperwork to the complaints department, I think." She shifted in her seat to get more comfortable, thinking that even a heavenly complaints department would not have enough paperwork nor filing nor workers to process all that she could bring forth.

Nemo smiled at her laguh and Jack realized this was the first conversation she had had in months that had contained any laughter or smiling. If Jack was not arguing, she was delivering orders, or someone was ordering her around, or it was a terribly dull meeting, or it was with people she did not even like, or she was being thrown around or- Agh. Even her conversation with Amelia had been sort of heavy. Jack found that it was nice to have a normal social conversation with someone who had a sense of humor. Even if that 'normal' conversation was with a stranger she had just met that had attempted suicide and happened to be a Seer. A strange, suicidal Seer. Ah, the joys of alliteration.

He was swirling his glass and she reached forward, topping it off with the Firewhiskey before sliding the entire bottle over to Nemo. "Here, take it when you leave. I have more." She glanced over at the minibar area as proof. At his words, she said, "We'll be sure to work that into our drinking routine, eh? Me whooping your arse at Ten Fingers." She smirked and drank from her own glass. It seemed Jack bonded with people better over a bottle of alcohol. And to think, she used to have morals.

The sight of the bottle that had been passed across Jack's desk in his direction brought to life the widest grin that Nemo had yet to display that evening. Immediately, he stretched every ligament in his right arm as he reached for the thing, nearly causing himself to fall forward from his chair as a result. Deciding that he would take with him the glass that he had been poured when he departed from The Savior's office, rather than the bottle - which he found to be a far more effective delivery system of the alcohol it contained - he curled his nimble fingers around its neck and drew it to his lips. Without so much as a pause, Nemo shared a relieving kiss with the bottle's rim.

He had great difficulty pulling his arm away, as though it pained him to cease his gluttonous drinking for even a moment's time. But he found it critically important to reply to Jack's trash talk; as though to allow her statement to remain uncorrected would bring an end to all things fun and enjoyable. "Don't you mean my ass?" he replied in a sing-song tone, one which was infuriatingly patronizing. "And let's just get one thing out of the way, McDonald: I have been playing the game since my third year at Hogwarts. I may as well have invented it. I'm the f*ckin boss of drinking games."

He drew his bottle nearer to himself as he chucked, making it appear that he believed it would vanish at any given moment if he were to loosen his hold. But the laughter that rumbled deeply within his chest betrayed just how content he was with the situation; with their pointless banter and his comfortable chair - which he had practically become a part of.

Jack knew she should, as head of the department, not be encouraging an alcoholic to drink more, especially one who had almost overdosed in a hallway on her floor. However, Jack knew that the life was, well, a b!tch and sometimes the best thing to do was to find comfort where you could, and since few things in this world were really worth all of the crap the other people and institutions dumped on you, that these things may not always seem to be what most people might call, "good". All Jack knew for sure was that the smile that graced Nemo's face when she gave him the gift of longer-lasting comfort in the form of the bottle of Firewhiskey was enough for Jack to feel confident in her decision to minorly-enable this stranger.

He teased her about her vocabulary and she put on her American accent, saying, "Don't think you're special- I spent my time in America too." She shook her head, returning to her usual voice. "Oi, that's weird. I'm a little rusty, huh?" She wasn't too bad though, having spent her time in America. Besides, her uncle Chip was very American, almost cliche so. All those summers spent with him in his various homes had given her something to go off of. Nemo continued the trash talk and she raised an eyebrow, pointing at him. "You, my friend, are on."

((sorry, musefail))