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WHO: Jack Harkness and Marian Hawke
WHAT: Meeting for drinks
WHEN: Friday night
WHERE: The Nancing Phony

Jack was excited to meet this new person he'd found over the Network. She was spunky and seemed to definitely have his sense of humour, which was a nice change of pace. It wasn't often that Jack found someone who could fire back and keep up with him, and he was very much looking forward to meeting her in person. He'd already found himself a seat at the bar and ordered himself a scotch, keeping a cautious eye out for his guest. With any luck, this night could end very, very well for him.

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An ending that might also be very, very welcomed for Marian. If she had nothing pressing she needed to do, then it wasn't being actively irresponsible to take a weekend off, really. Probably.

She'd think more on that later. For the moment, much as she appreciated the decor putting her in distinct reminders of just about any tavern in Kirkwall, it was almost surreal. Anders mentioned Varric had stayed around just long enough to hobble together a tavern of his own. Considering the name and distinctly cleaner atmosphere than the Hanged Man, she had a good feeling this was the place he'd been talking about.

Just like the good old days, before Kirkwall went up in flames. Again. (Details.)

She caught sight of who she was meeting over at the bar, putting her back on the train of thought that began with gather information, and ended with... ah, something. She'd get around to figuring that part out later. Not having to figure out what to do in regards to Kirkwall was a welcome enough load off her mind -- for now.

"I must say I love the decor. Puts me right back in the life I apparently haven't lived." She made an expansive gesture to the room, smiling.

Jack looked up when he heard the lovely female voice and smiled warmly. He scooted off his stool to greet her properly. "Well I wouldn't say that. You still have a lifetime of memories, haven't you? I think that's worth something right there."

He swept into an overly dramatic bow and took her hand, placing a kiss delicately against her knuckles. "Captain Jack Harkness. It's wonderful to meet you in person. Have a seat, won't you?" Jack pulled a stool out for her and took a moment to look her over and admire her.

"So where did you come from, Miss Hawke? I've heard a lot of interesting tales, but I have a very distinct feeling that yours will be one of the more interesting ones I've heard." He seated himself back down and tended to his glass of alcohol already set down on the bar. Yes, tonight was going to be a very good night, he could feel it.

"A lifetime's worth of memories to conveniently forget or frame as the good old days." The thought amused her, if it was a true enough sentiment.

At his overdramatic just about everything, Hawke quirked up an eyebrow. She had the distinct feeling that he was compellingly familiar. It clicked a little later that not only would Isabela probably be appropriately appreciative of this Jack, but he was perhaps, in his own ways, much like her good friend.

A seat was a seat, and it didn't harm anyone to take what was offered. Nor was it much harm to take her own time looking Jack over in turn, far less obviously than Isabela would have. Granted, most everyone was less obvious than Isabela.

"With a greeting like that, I'm wondering much the same about you, serrah." She rested one arm on the bar, shifting toward Jack as she considered what story would best suit her needs. Varric would have had far more interesting options than she did; she stuck primarily to the truth, peppered with what humor she could find in the situation. "Not as interesting as you might think. Once a refugee from a place called Ferelden, running away from a minor, deadly little problem called the Blight. Ended up in Kirkwall, and been there ever since." She shrugged. "And now I'm on an island."

"Oh, don't you worry. We'll get to my story soon enough. It's kind of a long one and A don't wanna bore you with too many details." Jack smiled at Marian pleasantly and turned toward her, leaning on the bar to listen to her story. Jack had lived through many, many diseases and plagues in his time upon the Earth and understood completely the fear of being swept up in the disease like so many others. "I'm sure there are worse places you could be than an island. I mean, there's food, you get a place to live, and interesting company, if I do say so myself." Jack raised his glass to her and flagged down the bartender to let Marian put in her order.

"Wish I could say it's safe, though." He shrugged and took a sip from his glass. "But if you find yourself in good company and with some strong resources, you'll find that you can survive just about anything." Jack had to admit that she was so far interesting, and he was looking forward to getting to know her much better than this. "If you brought weapons, you'll probably be needing them in the future. Seems like something dangerous wants to happen every month or so, so you'll definitely put them to good use," he said with a definite nod.

"So tell me about Kirkwall. Nice place? Did you grow up there or arrive when you were older? Did you leave a boyfriend or husband behind?"

Her lips tugged up into an amused sort of grin, forestalling on answering until she'd placed her order with the bartender. "I've taken refuge in worse places," she said with a shrug, not taking what she said all that seriously. "The lack of shouts to go back where we came from and the lack of garbage in the streets is refreshing." She even bet the waters were somewhat approaching clean off the shore. Such amazing standards of cleansliness!

Marian quirked up and eyebrow, figuring she best ensure her daggers (short swords, really, but who wanted to get into technical details) were in their usual place at ready on her back. Or figure out a means of keeping them at her hips, if that was far more awkward for movement. "Now this is sounding more and more like home. You're sure this place is called New Moore, and not New Kirkwall?"

She kept in mind the necessity of speaking to both Fenris and Anders as soon as she could, partly to put her mind at ease as to how they both were, and partly to wonder at how neither one of them had ended up killing the other. Wonders never ceased, if that thought was brushed aside as she registered all of what Jack was asking. Ha!

"Kirkwall has its good points, and its distinctly not so good points. One way or another, it was my home for the last ten years." Answering his other question without going through the effort of directly answering his other question. "Alas, I have not had the pleasure of rustling up a few sheafs of wheat and several goats as a betrothal gift." Her drink arrived, and she picked it up, amused at the glassware (where were good old fashioned mugs?). Tipping it toward Jack, she finished with, "Yet."

"Well you're still young. There will be plenty of time for that. And hopefully better engagement gifts than livestock." Jack shot her a playful wink and lifted his glass to her. "It's a big world, or so I'm told. If it's anything like where I come from, there's still a lot more to see yet for the people here." He took a drink and sighed, looking thoughtful, and perhaps a little nostalgic as he considered his old world. "So very much. Here, though, who's to say what's beyond the ocean? Beyond the sky? Same rules might not apply." He was thankful that some of them did, naturally, because even with as old as he was, he wasn't ready to die just yet.

Jack pulled himself out of his reverie with a shake of his head and smiled politely at the woman beside him, leaning his cheek against his hand, "So what do you think of our humble little island so far? I know you haven't been here long, but you must have some kind of opinion, right?" His brow was knit in curiosity, despite his underlying intentions, it seemed as though he was genuinely interested in what she had to say and how she thought of things. He might not have spent much time in New Moore, but Jack was easily beginning to see it like his home, and as such, was taking some pride in the spit of land out in the middle of the ocean. Demons and all. "It's not that big, but it isn't lacking in excitement, that's for sure."

By the Maker, she was still glad they'd been able to head off Aveline's brilliant plan to ply Donnic's family with livestock. The woman was amazing in her own way, but utterly ridiculous when it came to matters close to the heart.

Then again, she supposed everyone had their areas of strength, and those less so.

She took a swallow, savoring the flavor of something far more refined than the near-piss quality ale that passed for drink at the Hanged Man. It was part of the local flavor, if sometimes, a little too hard to swallow. "If you're inclined to even follow the rules to their letter from the start." Smiling, she refrained from saying she wasn't the sort. Marian didn't actively set out to break anything, that was far too messy, but bend? And if the situation warranted, buck off?

One did many things for the ones most important to you, and the things most important to them.

"It's delightful," she said lightly. "Never met a cleaner city, not without a good rain coming through beforehand." Which was a nice surprise, if she had the distinctly crazy thought there would be a point where she'd nostalgically miss the stench of Kirkwall. She think she might have anyway, if they've gotten out alive. Some basic feeling told her they'd never have been able to stay, not with the decision she'd made, the one her friends (poor sods) had backed her up on. "Size is hardly everything. Between good company," she nodded her head to him, lifting her glass just enough, "Danger lurking behind a monthly corner, and no lack of excitement, I can't imagine I'll find life dull here. Tell me, is much of this excitement provided by those of us taking our grand new adventures through New Moore?"

Jack had to laugh and shook his head. "Don't worry, when it comes to size, I don't think you have anything to worry about." Too crude? He hoped not, and simply plowed on ahead, not missing a beat between his joke and the topic of conversation, "well, as for the excitement, the locals don't exactly... help calm things down and sometimes help exacerbate the situations, really. Just last month one of the trolls who lives here went on a rampage during one of these 'events' and hurt a lot of people. Killed some of them, too." Jack paused, remembering waking up to find Jenny dead and seeing the destruction through the town. It wasn't a pleasant sight and he hoped he wouldn't have to relive finding his friends killed while he was out of commission. It happened far too often for him, and he'd hoped it would stop happening someday. Jack knocked back the rest of his drink and ordered another.

"But fun stuff happens too. Sometimes there's big wild parties and holidays and such. Oh, maybe you didn't have Christmas where you came from... but there's a ton of holidays coming up. So if you play your cards right, in a couple months' time, you might find yourself weighed down with a ton of presents from your friends." Jack hadn't even begun to think about Christmas before this point. He had made so many friends on this island since he arrived, and it would be nice to show them his appreciation for them... and certainly even his new recruits at Torchwood as well. Sure he couldn't pay them, but, something would be better than nothing, wouldn't it? He would have to start thinking about what to do for that in the coming weeks.

"But anyway, if you're looking for adventure and heroism, you probably can't do any better than right here in New Moore. I think a lot of us are kind of cut from that cloth, and if you don't mind me saying, I think I can tell that you are too." His smile warmed to something kinder, "I've met a lot of people in my time... and you don't strike me as a bad person. Forgive me for being forward."

She'd been listening well enough, up to the point where he was making (accurate) statements on being cut from cloth approaching anything close to heroic. Then? Then she's laughing, not unkindly, because it's so dry and absurd. It's not for long, and it's not even so much for Jack's sake as it is for her own.

"I have a bad habit of falling backward into things politely called adventures. You'd think I'd learn to watch where I step, but I never quite seem to." She shook her head, "lamenting" her own terrible inability to learn. "If this is the first time anyone's apologized for saying I don't strike them as a bad person."

It's the rest that took her longer to process. "You mean to tell me people actually plan out regular times to gift each other with things other than their presence? Wonders will never cease." She kept his words in mind, figuring she may as well find out a bit more and see if there weren't some way to indirectly apologize by semi-appropriate gift to those of hers who had been stranded here for so long.

... Or perhaps not. Her eyebrow quirked back up, imagining ogre when he said troll, and not so certain the mental equivalency actually applied. Then again, it might. She at least had a semi-decent ogre death count back home, especially after... "When you say trolls, what exactly are we talking about?"

Sweet, sweet alcohol burned its way down down her throat, renewing the spread of warmth through her stomach. At least "reality" had booze.

Jack smiled at Marian, pleased that she wasn't off-put by anything he'd said. She looked confused, but for the most part, that was to be expected with the mixing of cultures and all. He felt good about the conversation so far. It didn't seem as though he was stepping on any feet or crossing any boundaries just yet. So far, so good.

"I understand completely falling into the 'adventure' type of crowd. It's so weird that I should see myself become one of those someday." He chuckled to himself, thinking back on all the poor hapless people he'd seen come and go from Torchwood in his time. Poor sods.

"The trolls... I'm sure you'll see them. They're kind of hard to miss, really. They're little gray children with horns and nasty little mouths." Jack shrugged and shook his head. "I don't really know a lot about them, but I plan on it very, very soon. Some of them are kinda nice, but... I really only know one of them. I should talk to him about what happened. It was a mess. But with some luck, it'll be a while before we have a repeat." He smiled over at her and nodded. "But back to your question, they're not like.. the kind that eat goats and live under bridges and stuff. They're mostly intelligent. Just rude. If they bother you, just tell them off. It's like... saying 'hello' in their culture or something. I don't know. That's more The Doctor's territory."

Jack watched her with her drink with a great deal of interest. He smiled and took a moment to admire her hands and mouth. After a moment, he spoke in a lower tone. "How are you feeling so far?"

Much as he watched her, she found herself taking continual stock of him. Nothing hit her warning bells so far. Granted, her warning bells could use a few tune-ups and possibly a recasting, but she'd had far worse two-second conversations in the process of leaving the white behemoth that passed for a welcoming building.

The trolls sounded more like Qunari youth than anything else, with the grand exception of not sounding like anything following any concept of the Gun in any way, shape, or recognizable form (to Hawke). "Funny, I think I met a few of that sort back in Kirkwall."

Gamlen had to count as a predecessor to something other than his daughter, right?

Lowering the glass from her mouth, she ran her tongue over her lips, considering. Marian's smile was still in place, small and partly amused at circumstance, a buffer between the last few hours and the unrest churning at the back of her mind. "Warm." She shifted, leaning forward just a bit as she set her near-empty glass on the bar with a muffled clink. Her own voice lowered, thoughts partly elsewhere. "Very warm."

An escape from the shifted, new reality would be welcome for a bit. It was looking more and more like the good old fashioned walk and ingratiate with the locals was going to serve her well. A refugee population from their own respective realities -- or fictions. The concepts weren't all that far removed from each other, for all the one tended to better dress the other up for general consumption.

"Remarkably confused on... a few points here and there, but they'll get sorted. It's supposed to be what I'm good at." A flash of something like humor in her eyes. Hopefully it wasn't the only thing.

Jack gave her somewhat of a knowing grin and set his own glass down, and innocuously placed his hand over hers. His own thoughts had been wandering into that 'warm' category as well and wondering how nice it would be to be even moreso.

"I'm sure you're good at lots of things, Marian," Jack said softly, "and I'm sure that you'll be able to pick up on things easily. You're pretty clever. But if you'd like, you can ask me anything you've got questions about and I'll try my best to answer or point you in the right direction." He gingerly removed his hand, letting his fingertips linger over the top of her hand. "We could stay here and slowly forget our reason and reservations in the bottom of a glass, or we can just skip all that and continue this conversation somewhere a little more..." Jack dropped his voice down to a whisper, "Private."

Marian reviewed her options. She could spend part of the evening wandering around in the increasingly vain hope that there was at least one person stupid enough to try and jump a seemingly innocuous, single female wandering on her own so that she might work out some very particular series of frustrations in a happy, constructive, albeit often bloody fashion.

She could go back to her apartment and proceed to poke around at everything new to her, which quite probably fell into a category of "near everything" while taking stock of exits, entrances, vantage points, and then considering a review of what she's heard as far as the situation of this place.

She could go impose herself on Fenris, since she had a feeling seeing Anders right now might end with her punching him in the face for no exactly coherent reason, which also probably meant it wouldn't happen, but having just come face to face with the magnitude of what he'd done and deciding to not kill him left her rather sour on being anything close to affable with him right now. Thus, impose herself on Fenris, get a better read on how he was doing after time spent here, and then un-impose herself sometime thereafter in the sense of fairness.

Which sounded less like a sounding board she wanted to use, and more like something she needed to figure out before she got to that point.

Jack was offering her another option, far more along positive release lines than the almost equally attractive idea of trolling New Moore for a fight. (She had a feeling that might also be slightly problematic, without fully understanding how the law ruled here.)

Within the scant seconds these thoughts passed through her mind, she smiled, "That sounds like an invitation." One which interested her, if the amusement never really left her voice. "I might just have to take you up on your offer. Both of them," she adds, close to musing, "If possibly not at the same time."

At Marian's response, Jack nodded slowly, quickly taking inventory in his mind over what they had at the flat that could lead to an exciting evening in. After all, Marian was new, and she certainly deserved having the best time possible shown to her. And Jack was always up to the challenge. "It sounds like an invitation, because it is an invitation," he said. "We've got some drinks back at my place that we can share. And it's warm and there's of course plenty of room in the bed if you find that you've had too much and can't make it home." He smiled at her and reached for his wallet to pull out some money to cover the tab.

"We can have drinks, and just.. continue enjoying one another's company. I'd love to hear more about where you came from and answer any questions you have about this place."

The entirely irrational urge to see this bed just so she could make a pointless comparison to her bed (forever forsaken, she had the feeling, even if New Moore weren't its own sort of obstacle) back in the mansion. Ancestral mansion. Aah, those Amells.

"Beats the awkward drunken stumble home that usually ends up with you finding you've lost your pants in the morning." She paused. "And your money. It's always been the pants I've missed most. Finding good ones is harder than you think."

"And someone to share your hangover with." Jack laughed and put his wallet away. He got off his stool and held out a hand to help her down off of her own, "but that's why we invented coffee. Can't say it'll do much for finding your pants, though." Jack shot Marian a wink and started toward the door.

"So tell me more about the world you came from. A pretty lady doesn't get to wearing so much armor in a safe place. Do you travel a lot?" It was nice to be able to see her outfit more in full now that they were walking, and he had to marvel at the craftsmanship. He would have loved to have a tailor make him something out of all of that. It would have done well back in the 40's.

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