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Whiskey (for the_iscariot)
9:34:00, August 11th, 2007
John sits at the table with his cards, practicing by playing Patience, as is his want. It is a corner table, so they both might sit with their backs to the wall. There are two glasses this time, and three whiskey bottles in a precise row. He still says whiskey, but really it is the fine scotch now available in this new century: Aberlour, Laphroaig and Scapa - all very different. His hands shake slightly, but his shuffles and deals are deft, and his memory is perfect.
It is not exactly a saloon, but a pub with the atmosphere of a men's club. The wood is rich, the seating is comfortable leather, the floor is a tiled mosaic with a patterned carpt, and the fittings are brass. The atmosphere is quiet and gives the establishment a sense of darkness without actually being dark. The servers are respectful and unobtrusive. John is pleased.
He keeps an eye on the entrance, anticipating Severus' arrival.
Severus walked slowly to the establishment, following the directions John had given him with a slight sense of trepidation. He wasn't use to non-Magical places, to mingling and pretending to be their brand of normal.
But this was John, and he was sure to get more information from the man where he was comfortable. Snape smiled softly to himself, as he looked for his friend, at the image of John in a pub next to a man selling Dragon eggs catty corner to a Banshee.
He saw John and walked forward, bowing a little. "...I apologize for my tardiness..." His smile again, deeper and geninue. "It's good to see you."
John does not look exactly normal either in his silk and high-buttoned nineteenth century suit, displaced into another world himself. He stands politely as Severus approaches, and mirrors his bow and smile. His manners are not less pronounced than usual, but the respect and pleasure are felt rather than being form only, and it shows. He cleans up his cards with a flourish sweep of one finger.
"You are welcome, Severus, and I am happy to wait and watch and learn." He smiles, inclined to beam, near-quoting an old song. "I accept the apology though there is no need. Thank you for coming, I am glad to see you as well. It is my birthday - I am 156 today, so I am thus celebrating, perhaps."
He gestures towards the quantity of fine and varying scotch, thus far untouched, and to his friend.
Description: cartoon
Snape glanced at the cards, arching a brow. "Am I interrupting a game? Who was winning?" He teased lightly. He ventured a hand out, touching Holliday's elbow as they took their seats across from one another, his black eyes scanning at once his friend, then place, then back to the cards.
"156?" He cooed, surprised and teasing. "You don't look a day over 150."
"Of course you are not interrupting, I was waiting for you! And, of course it is not really a game. This is my work - keeping up with myself. Cards demand dedication as potions do. I do this to practice - there is no sense letting any time lie empty." John is utterly honest. To most it would look idle, and he is habitually careful to keep it that way. He is surprised himself at Severus' tone and touch, but slides his hand to grasp the other man's in greeting.
"I missed the intervening 120 years. I am still thirty-six. Believe it or not." He sits with a laugh, knowing disease has rendered him older than his years.
He smiled. A low, easy thing reserved for friends, or those rare moments were Severus was not completely on guard. He took his seat, running a hand across the wood table. "When I was younger, I was a very nervous child. Always moving. Now people complain I act like a stature."
Childhood was safe, unobtrusive topic. John could pursue or redirect as he saw fit.
Then, to keep it comfortable. "...maybe I should take up cards."
John is surprised again at the quality of the smile, at the words. He rests his own wrists on the table so Severus can see they are shaking slightly. "I am nervous. I will admit it. It is not lack of self-confidence - I have that in abundance. It is something else - possibly literal nerves keyed to a higher frequency; possibly restlessness when time is not defined. I am not nervous with cards or dentistry or, well, guns. As a child I was perhaps less nervous, at least until the war. I am not surprised you are so still and precise if you were otherwise as a child. Will is heavier than it seems when we exercise it."
John is not interested in conversational safety, though he is interested in not being too startling. "I would show you cards if you wish, which is not something I would say to just anyone, but it is not the casual pursuit it appears. Which shall I pour for you first?" He presents the bottles now forming an awkward barrier between them. He had expected Severus to take the other wall seat.
"I had a warm father. He made sure I remained quiet and still. Later on, during the wars. I learned more being still and unmoved then I would have shouting belligerently from the rooftops.
It's been my understanding that Wars were not won- or started-by soldiers. But by silent men." He growled a little, and caught himself. "This is unfit conversation for such a blessed day." He looked at the bottles, smiling. "Surprise me, birthday boy."
John listens very seriously. A warm father and wars in his childhood. He wants to tell Severus how it was for him. The war never ended. He had learned not to shout from the rooftops, but also that shouting was cover for quieter deeds. He had also switched sides, somewhere. His family had not been warm exactly, even his beloved mother. Gentle and firm, with feeling feeling a concept, albeit a high and beautiful one. Tell me, he wants to say.
But Severus calls him a nickname. His face lights brightly after a heartbeat of concentrated thought. He takes the first bottle - the Aberlour. "This one is probably my favourite, though all three have fine and unique qualities. It is high proof, with a rich but quickly melting flavour. It is like snow on the tongue - a subtle but pleasant sensation."
He pours Severus three fingers, and the same for himself. It is light gold in colour and catches the light through the glass. He is not quite ready for a toast, the tone of which is important to him. He passes his friend his glass and reaches out to touch them in salute. "I am not sure yet how much you would like, for a first drink. I would be happy to pour more if you wish it."
Perhaps my hands shake when I am unsure, he thinks.
Severus picked up the glass and smiled, briefly watching the liquid swirl before he sipped it. The warmth traveled and settled, and he nodding in approval.
"I'll give this for you." He mused, finishing the rest and chuckling. "The alcohol is better."
Wonderful. John beams, pleased, and also drains his glass, as he would have done on his own. No need to hold back, then. He opens the Scapa and poures them each another drink. This one was a richer red - it almost gives a sense that it is creamy, it is so smooth.
"It is much better than in my time also, but praise is high, coming from you. These are the whiskeys which have impressed me most." He raises his newly filled glass again to touch it to Severus', looking at him keenly, smiling quietly and naturally.
So much to talk about - innocence, war, nerves, early loss, sacrifice, fear, strength, patient courage, stern courage, high courage, eventually beauty. Yes, he admires Severus. John lets him lead.
He will take his friend's words in his hand, turn them over, consider them, smooth them, and return them, mingled with his own for Severus' scrutiny. He tries to stop thinking to himself - this is companionship not dream.
sorry. ahem (polyjuice). *hurriedly deletes* starting book 6 now.)
Severus watches the man as he sits: feeling so freely and smiling serenely. He can feel the joy catching. He wonders idly if it's the Muggle Whiskey that is giving him this pleasant feeling in his stomach, or just the idea of company so far removed from...everything, both war and peace.
He isn't use to the idea of being without a mask, barriers or hidden agendas. The sensation is new, addictive.
He takes the drinks John offers and talks to fill the silence. About useless things: how he teaches, and tries to explain Quidditch. He talks about Diagon Alley, and Potions. Idle chatter, more then he's probably spoken in years because he doesn't want the familiarity of the situation to break.
Then he catches John's gaze and stumbles, words failing. He shrugs a little, his humble beginnings betraying the cultured persona he's adopted. "You tell me something now..."
Description: Laughing
ip: 209.30.51.33
John is rapt, not idly listening, but avidly learning. He encourages Severus to tell him, especially about his teaching, which John has always secretly longed to do himself, and especially his potions, which he wants to hear about because it is his friend's vocation. He is fascinated by Diagon Alley. It is meaningful - a glimpse into the panorama that forms the backdrop of Severus' world. He smiles easily, intrigued. This is unusual for John as well, except with a handful of highly-valued people - to be open and interested beyond his usual not-even facade of civil formality, caustic wit and verbal offence. He feels warm and leans toward his friend as he listens, indeed serene. Severus' smile is the more beautiful for its rarity. Incision is not important.
But then John, alert and attuned, notes the sudden lack of surety in the other man's voice. He searches back quickly, scanning the conversation. Why... he muses. he cannot find the reason. His eyes look back into Severus', telling him he heard the change, nothing in John's gaze at all but gentle curiosity.
Bidden, he takes his turn to tell Severus the geographic features of his life. He weaves dentistry into a wonder of science and care. He recounts the trains and great railway hotels of the west with the wide skies and seemingly endless open prairie. He shows Severus his guns, not as a weapon or instrument of death, but as a clockwork marvel of levers, pivots and springs. John shows him the cards he would teach Severus if he wished, demonstrating the deft miracle of perfect card control. He explains Faro.
Sharing is good for itself certainly, but also so that they will have objects in common for metaphor when they will need them to describe and demonstrate ideas. For developing language. And John, on occasion, loves to talk, convincing himself there is richness in the world as he recreates it for another.
He opens the Laphroaig, being more careful with the... scotch, so they remain lucid.
alright. we finished all the books - John and I. are we writing too much per post? we tend to do that, also to write over a long time.
"Severus." John looks at the black eyes, the black hair, the fine black clothes. He feels shy - not exactly self-conscious, but more conscious of his friend. He feels close, wanting to be open, but is suddenly not sure what to say to bridge this. "Thank you for the pleasure of using your name."
A toast is more appropriate now, when the scotch has worked into their blood. John raises his glass. "To darkness become light." He smile is quiet and sincere, intent on the other man.
Severus and I enjoy the company and are willing to drink as long as the whiskey's good.
Severus smiles. He's unaccustomed to thanks, and even less to it being heartfelt and sincere. Which is how John seems. Sincere. He wonders idly if he's been duped. If the Spy has someone been taken for a fool. He decides a moment later, he doesn't care.
"It's yours to use for as long as you see fit." He teases, drinking the toast in turn. Then, because it's good-natured and he likes the way John's eyes shine with the smile, he adds his own toast. "L'chaim"
Description: Laughing
John winks at the teasing tone, but he really does appreciate it - he has been granted use of his friend's name, and it pleases him that he had asked and not assumed familiarity. It pleases him that it had been given and not stolen, as was so often the case in these times. Stolen familiarity had once been an insult. He can give also. "You may use my given name in turn, if and as long as you see fit." His eyes smile, serious and teasing.
He raises his cup to Severus. "L'chaim." To Life he remembers Wyatt telling him, excited that with joining a new culture. John had been cold with jealousy. But for this friend he says it warmly in answer. He thinks about life for a second, trying to separate it from death, for the sake of the other man's smile, the more beautiful for what John knows is its rarity.
"Life. What do you hope will be the best of your life, Severus?" He asks with a smile, curious but shy for he realises the intrusiveness of the question. He looks down into his whiskey as he drinks slowly, savouring it. This one has the strongest flavour, but all three bottles are fine and nearly full.
Severus is caught off guard by the question but recovers. He smiles and downs the drink. "That's a very load question you ask." He says simply, staring at the empty glass. "The quick answer...atonement and explanation for all the things I did wrong."
He looks up then, watching John. "You?"
"It has no ulterior motive," John says at once, though not defensively. "But I will admit it is personal." He fills Severus' glass, this time with the Scapa - the richest and warmest. Perhaps this is how to do it - gentle nudges and then warmth, all with utter honesty. With this in mind he does not pursue the man's answer yet. But he has a purpose now. Thank you for answering, he thinks, again sincerely.
He considers seriously, looking back into Severus' gaze. "I wish redemption from an evil reputation. I wish to have been a good example of diligence, will and judgement. Despite my humanity."
"Worthwhile goals." Severus responds, thankful that John didn't press for details. There's still much that lingers with Severus from those days, if not haunt.
That's the strange part, he thinks as he takes a softer, slower sip. He doesn't regret the actions, just the outcomes. Does that make it better or worst, though?
"Mine are a little more selfish." He laughs then, embarrassed. "For a woman."
John is not completely sure what this means. "You wish to explain your motives to a woman so that, despite the outcome of your intentions you will be redeemed in her eyes?"
He pours himself some of the Scapa as well.
"A woman had faith enough in me to know that I always meant well, even when no one else could see. That is not something that I need, but if I did not have it, I surely would."
He is far from critical, but is more interested in other half of his answer. It is innocence Severus said he wished above all, and it is this that John wants to give him. "Tell me," he says. It is always this that he wants. Tell me. "What you mean by atonement."
"If you will." He softens the request.
9:34:00, August 11th, 2007
John sits at the table with his cards, practicing by playing Patience, as is his want. It is a corner table, so they both might sit with their backs to the wall. There are two glasses this time, and three whiskey bottles in a precise row. He still says whiskey, but really it is the fine scotch now available in this new century: Aberlour, Laphroaig and Scapa - all very different. His hands shake slightly, but his shuffles and deals are deft, and his memory is perfect.
It is not exactly a saloon, but a pub with the atmosphere of a men's club. The wood is rich, the seating is comfortable leather, the floor is a tiled mosaic with a patterned carpt, and the fittings are brass. The atmosphere is quiet and gives the establishment a sense of darkness without actually being dark. The servers are respectful and unobtrusive. John is pleased.
He keeps an eye on the entrance, anticipating Severus' arrival.
Severus walked slowly to the establishment, following the directions John had given him with a slight sense of trepidation. He wasn't use to non-Magical places, to mingling and pretending to be their brand of normal.
But this was John, and he was sure to get more information from the man where he was comfortable. Snape smiled softly to himself, as he looked for his friend, at the image of John in a pub next to a man selling Dragon eggs catty corner to a Banshee.
He saw John and walked forward, bowing a little. "...I apologize for my tardiness..." His smile again, deeper and geninue. "It's good to see you."
John does not look exactly normal either in his silk and high-buttoned nineteenth century suit, displaced into another world himself. He stands politely as Severus approaches, and mirrors his bow and smile. His manners are not less pronounced than usual, but the respect and pleasure are felt rather than being form only, and it shows. He cleans up his cards with a flourish sweep of one finger.
"You are welcome, Severus, and I am happy to wait and watch and learn." He smiles, inclined to beam, near-quoting an old song. "I accept the apology though there is no need. Thank you for coming, I am glad to see you as well. It is my birthday - I am 156 today, so I am thus celebrating, perhaps."
He gestures towards the quantity of fine and varying scotch, thus far untouched, and to his friend.
Description: cartoon
Snape glanced at the cards, arching a brow. "Am I interrupting a game? Who was winning?" He teased lightly. He ventured a hand out, touching Holliday's elbow as they took their seats across from one another, his black eyes scanning at once his friend, then place, then back to the cards.
"156?" He cooed, surprised and teasing. "You don't look a day over 150."
"Of course you are not interrupting, I was waiting for you! And, of course it is not really a game. This is my work - keeping up with myself. Cards demand dedication as potions do. I do this to practice - there is no sense letting any time lie empty." John is utterly honest. To most it would look idle, and he is habitually careful to keep it that way. He is surprised himself at Severus' tone and touch, but slides his hand to grasp the other man's in greeting.
"I missed the intervening 120 years. I am still thirty-six. Believe it or not." He sits with a laugh, knowing disease has rendered him older than his years.
He smiled. A low, easy thing reserved for friends, or those rare moments were Severus was not completely on guard. He took his seat, running a hand across the wood table. "When I was younger, I was a very nervous child. Always moving. Now people complain I act like a stature."
Childhood was safe, unobtrusive topic. John could pursue or redirect as he saw fit.
Then, to keep it comfortable. "...maybe I should take up cards."
John is surprised again at the quality of the smile, at the words. He rests his own wrists on the table so Severus can see they are shaking slightly. "I am nervous. I will admit it. It is not lack of self-confidence - I have that in abundance. It is something else - possibly literal nerves keyed to a higher frequency; possibly restlessness when time is not defined. I am not nervous with cards or dentistry or, well, guns. As a child I was perhaps less nervous, at least until the war. I am not surprised you are so still and precise if you were otherwise as a child. Will is heavier than it seems when we exercise it."
John is not interested in conversational safety, though he is interested in not being too startling. "I would show you cards if you wish, which is not something I would say to just anyone, but it is not the casual pursuit it appears. Which shall I pour for you first?" He presents the bottles now forming an awkward barrier between them. He had expected Severus to take the other wall seat.
"I had a warm father. He made sure I remained quiet and still. Later on, during the wars. I learned more being still and unmoved then I would have shouting belligerently from the rooftops.
It's been my understanding that Wars were not won- or started-by soldiers. But by silent men." He growled a little, and caught himself. "This is unfit conversation for such a blessed day." He looked at the bottles, smiling. "Surprise me, birthday boy."
John listens very seriously. A warm father and wars in his childhood. He wants to tell Severus how it was for him. The war never ended. He had learned not to shout from the rooftops, but also that shouting was cover for quieter deeds. He had also switched sides, somewhere. His family had not been warm exactly, even his beloved mother. Gentle and firm, with feeling feeling a concept, albeit a high and beautiful one. Tell me, he wants to say.
But Severus calls him a nickname. His face lights brightly after a heartbeat of concentrated thought. He takes the first bottle - the Aberlour. "This one is probably my favourite, though all three have fine and unique qualities. It is high proof, with a rich but quickly melting flavour. It is like snow on the tongue - a subtle but pleasant sensation."
He pours Severus three fingers, and the same for himself. It is light gold in colour and catches the light through the glass. He is not quite ready for a toast, the tone of which is important to him. He passes his friend his glass and reaches out to touch them in salute. "I am not sure yet how much you would like, for a first drink. I would be happy to pour more if you wish it."
Perhaps my hands shake when I am unsure, he thinks.
Severus picked up the glass and smiled, briefly watching the liquid swirl before he sipped it. The warmth traveled and settled, and he nodding in approval.
"I'll give this for you." He mused, finishing the rest and chuckling. "The alcohol is better."
Wonderful. John beams, pleased, and also drains his glass, as he would have done on his own. No need to hold back, then. He opens the Scapa and poures them each another drink. This one was a richer red - it almost gives a sense that it is creamy, it is so smooth.
"It is much better than in my time also, but praise is high, coming from you. These are the whiskeys which have impressed me most." He raises his newly filled glass again to touch it to Severus', looking at him keenly, smiling quietly and naturally.
So much to talk about - innocence, war, nerves, early loss, sacrifice, fear, strength, patient courage, stern courage, high courage, eventually beauty. Yes, he admires Severus. John lets him lead.
He will take his friend's words in his hand, turn them over, consider them, smooth them, and return them, mingled with his own for Severus' scrutiny. He tries to stop thinking to himself - this is companionship not dream.
sorry. ahem (polyjuice). *hurriedly deletes* starting book 6 now.)
Severus watches the man as he sits: feeling so freely and smiling serenely. He can feel the joy catching. He wonders idly if it's the Muggle Whiskey that is giving him this pleasant feeling in his stomach, or just the idea of company so far removed from...everything, both war and peace.
He isn't use to the idea of being without a mask, barriers or hidden agendas. The sensation is new, addictive.
He takes the drinks John offers and talks to fill the silence. About useless things: how he teaches, and tries to explain Quidditch. He talks about Diagon Alley, and Potions. Idle chatter, more then he's probably spoken in years because he doesn't want the familiarity of the situation to break.
Then he catches John's gaze and stumbles, words failing. He shrugs a little, his humble beginnings betraying the cultured persona he's adopted. "You tell me something now..."
Description: Laughing
ip: 209.30.51.33
John is rapt, not idly listening, but avidly learning. He encourages Severus to tell him, especially about his teaching, which John has always secretly longed to do himself, and especially his potions, which he wants to hear about because it is his friend's vocation. He is fascinated by Diagon Alley. It is meaningful - a glimpse into the panorama that forms the backdrop of Severus' world. He smiles easily, intrigued. This is unusual for John as well, except with a handful of highly-valued people - to be open and interested beyond his usual not-even facade of civil formality, caustic wit and verbal offence. He feels warm and leans toward his friend as he listens, indeed serene. Severus' smile is the more beautiful for its rarity. Incision is not important.
But then John, alert and attuned, notes the sudden lack of surety in the other man's voice. He searches back quickly, scanning the conversation. Why... he muses. he cannot find the reason. His eyes look back into Severus', telling him he heard the change, nothing in John's gaze at all but gentle curiosity.
Bidden, he takes his turn to tell Severus the geographic features of his life. He weaves dentistry into a wonder of science and care. He recounts the trains and great railway hotels of the west with the wide skies and seemingly endless open prairie. He shows Severus his guns, not as a weapon or instrument of death, but as a clockwork marvel of levers, pivots and springs. John shows him the cards he would teach Severus if he wished, demonstrating the deft miracle of perfect card control. He explains Faro.
Sharing is good for itself certainly, but also so that they will have objects in common for metaphor when they will need them to describe and demonstrate ideas. For developing language. And John, on occasion, loves to talk, convincing himself there is richness in the world as he recreates it for another.
He opens the Laphroaig, being more careful with the... scotch, so they remain lucid.
alright. we finished all the books - John and I. are we writing too much per post? we tend to do that, also to write over a long time.
"Severus." John looks at the black eyes, the black hair, the fine black clothes. He feels shy - not exactly self-conscious, but more conscious of his friend. He feels close, wanting to be open, but is suddenly not sure what to say to bridge this. "Thank you for the pleasure of using your name."
A toast is more appropriate now, when the scotch has worked into their blood. John raises his glass. "To darkness become light." He smile is quiet and sincere, intent on the other man.
Severus and I enjoy the company and are willing to drink as long as the whiskey's good.
Severus smiles. He's unaccustomed to thanks, and even less to it being heartfelt and sincere. Which is how John seems. Sincere. He wonders idly if he's been duped. If the Spy has someone been taken for a fool. He decides a moment later, he doesn't care.
"It's yours to use for as long as you see fit." He teases, drinking the toast in turn. Then, because it's good-natured and he likes the way John's eyes shine with the smile, he adds his own toast. "L'chaim"
Description: Laughing
John winks at the teasing tone, but he really does appreciate it - he has been granted use of his friend's name, and it pleases him that he had asked and not assumed familiarity. It pleases him that it had been given and not stolen, as was so often the case in these times. Stolen familiarity had once been an insult. He can give also. "You may use my given name in turn, if and as long as you see fit." His eyes smile, serious and teasing.
He raises his cup to Severus. "L'chaim." To Life he remembers Wyatt telling him, excited that with joining a new culture. John had been cold with jealousy. But for this friend he says it warmly in answer. He thinks about life for a second, trying to separate it from death, for the sake of the other man's smile, the more beautiful for what John knows is its rarity.
"Life. What do you hope will be the best of your life, Severus?" He asks with a smile, curious but shy for he realises the intrusiveness of the question. He looks down into his whiskey as he drinks slowly, savouring it. This one has the strongest flavour, but all three bottles are fine and nearly full.
Severus is caught off guard by the question but recovers. He smiles and downs the drink. "That's a very load question you ask." He says simply, staring at the empty glass. "The quick answer...atonement and explanation for all the things I did wrong."
He looks up then, watching John. "You?"
"It has no ulterior motive," John says at once, though not defensively. "But I will admit it is personal." He fills Severus' glass, this time with the Scapa - the richest and warmest. Perhaps this is how to do it - gentle nudges and then warmth, all with utter honesty. With this in mind he does not pursue the man's answer yet. But he has a purpose now. Thank you for answering, he thinks, again sincerely.
He considers seriously, looking back into Severus' gaze. "I wish redemption from an evil reputation. I wish to have been a good example of diligence, will and judgement. Despite my humanity."
"Worthwhile goals." Severus responds, thankful that John didn't press for details. There's still much that lingers with Severus from those days, if not haunt.
That's the strange part, he thinks as he takes a softer, slower sip. He doesn't regret the actions, just the outcomes. Does that make it better or worst, though?
"Mine are a little more selfish." He laughs then, embarrassed. "For a woman."
John is not completely sure what this means. "You wish to explain your motives to a woman so that, despite the outcome of your intentions you will be redeemed in her eyes?"
He pours himself some of the Scapa as well.
"A woman had faith enough in me to know that I always meant well, even when no one else could see. That is not something that I need, but if I did not have it, I surely would."
He is far from critical, but is more interested in other half of his answer. It is innocence Severus said he wished above all, and it is this that John wants to give him. "Tell me," he says. It is always this that he wants. Tell me. "What you mean by atonement."
"If you will." He softens the request.
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