Richard turns slightly at the sound of Jimmy's voice, then stands and turns to face him. He spends a couple of seconds looking him over, trying to gauge just how drunk he is, and if that meant that he's gotten himself hurt at all.
Beyond the scrapes on his hand from where his knuckles met the guy's face, he's fine. Pretty drunk. Not incoherent yet, and not falling over. His smile's a little off, though.
"Why wouldn't it be? Everything's fuckin' great."
He was hoping for some reminder of why they were here. He didn't think it was likely that they were here to have fun. Richard didn't seem like the party type, really, and Jimmy tended to get into fights at parties. It must have been business, then, but there was no way in hell he was gonna let Richard know he'd completely forgotten what he was doing about halfway through his walk over here.
Richard doesn't respond to that, but looks down briefly at Jimmy's knuckles, getting a clearer picture in his mind. He doesn't bat an eyelid though, isn't the type to lecture, even if he is a little worried about his friend. He's a soldier, he knows what he's getting himself into, and the other guy probably came off a lot worse with the way Jimmy is at the moment anyway.
"Doyle cancelled. I couldn't reach you at your father's house... waited here instead."
It's mostly a hypothetical question. He's pretty sure Richard isn't a mindreader,unless Doyle explained himself, which he very rarely did, and even if it had, it probably would have involved that infuriating giggle of his, which made Jimmy tune out everything he said.
"'cause we didn't have enough problems, without that son of a bitch backin' out at the last minute."
Probably didn't feel comfortable talking to Richard, few people did. He'd just relayed enough information so that Richard knew, then hung up very quickly. It did mean that they didn't have any more reason to be here, though. Richard thought Jimmy might want to stay for another drink - although he'd certainly had enough already - and while he'd prefer to leave and go some place a little quieter, he leaves it up to Jimmy to decide, looking away with some discomfort as a very drunk woman nearly barrels straight into him.
Normally, he'd want to stay, but the noise of the place is making him unusually jittery, and he can get a drink somewhere else if he really needs one. Besides, he was still thinking straight enough to realize that Richard probably didn't want to stay somewhere like this.
He manages to stumble over his own feet as he turns to leave, bumps into some guy in a cheap suit, and spills the guy's drink. As far as Jimmy's concerned, this is the other guy's fault, and he immediately reacts, yelling, "Watch where the fuck you're going!" as he moves towards the exit, just expecting Richard to follow him.
Richard nods once, briskly, inwardly feeling very relieved, and begins to follow Jimmy out of the place. He hangs back a little as he sees Jimmy bump into the man, hesitating for a moment before producing a fresh linen handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to the guy to clean up the drink Jimmy had spilled on him, trying to acknowledge that his friend was in the wrong here. But the man just looks at him in complete disgust, deliberately shoving him out of the way as he heads towards the bar, muttering loudly about them letting "any kinds of freak" in here. Richard quickly pockets the handkerchief, keeping his head down as he follows swiftly after Jimmy; the sooner they leave, the better.
It's probably for the best that it was too damned loud for Jimmy to overhear what that guy had just said. If he was sensitive to comments about himself, he was even more sensitive to comments about the few people he considered friends, and he would have smashed that guy's face into the bar hard enough to break his teeth if he'd properly witnessed the exchange.
Once outside, he seems a little steadier on his feet. "So. Where're we goin'?"
The boardwalk's hardly quiet, but compared to the claustrophobic din of the place they'd just exited, it feels like stepping out into something very serene, and Richard feels himself relax a little, even if he doesn't seem any different looking at him.
"Anywhere," he replies. Just as long as it was some place a little quieter, where they were less likely to cause trouble, he had no opinion on the matter.
Getting Jimmy away from anywhere he's likely to cause trouble is probably a wise idea. Richard is about the one person he's not likely to pick a fight with right now -- or ever -- and he should probably stick close to him until he sobers up.
He seems to be wandering towards the beach, away from the crowds on the boardwalk, and as he does so, he pulls out his cigarettes. His intention had simply been to light one, maybe to offer one to Richard, but his reflexes are slowed by what he's had to drink, and he drops the entire cigarette case to the ground, then stares at it like he doesn't know what to do about it.
A few seconds later, almost as though his reaction was delayed, he mutters, "Fuck."
Richard stops a pace or two behind him, observing Jimmy's reaction, and when he notices that he still hasn't bent to pick up the cigarette case, he does so himself, brushing a little sand off before silently holding it out to him.
He's not completely devoid of the ability to be polite, and even though the simple act of bending down and picking up the cigarette case had evaded him, he has to appreciate Richard for doing what he should have done. Perhaps that has something to do with why he appreciates Richard in general.
He keeps moving towards the beach; sand irritates him on the best of days, but the beach is quieter, and he needs quiet. This time, he successfully lights a cigarette and then holds one out to Richard in offering.
Richard follows him out onto the sand, enjoying the feel of it underfoot. He'd always been fond of natural places like this - beaches and forests and rivers and mountains and things. Even before the war, growing up in rural Wisconsin impressed all of that upon him, and it hadn't gone away like so much of what he'd held important back then had. It had only amplified, really; when you lay in one position for three days waiting to be able to take a shot, you noticed all the tiny details the world had to offer, whether it was the way that the grass moved in the wind, or studying every single little detail about the insect that landed on the barrel of his M1917 Enfield, as moving even so much as to brush it off would have given away his position. The beach was about the only natural place in Atlantic City, and it was far easier to find a quiet spot here, away from the masses, with the reassuring, regular sound of the waves crashing on the shore like the beat of a drum.
He accepts a cigarette from Jimmy, nodding in thanks. This, at least, was one pleasure he could partake in without feeling self-conscious.
Jimmy doesn't notice tiny details in the same way Richard does, and maybe if he'd been forced to come up with a reason why, he'd have tied it back to their military experiences. A sniper saw the world in a way that a machine gunner didn't. To Jimmy, everything was a moving target, and it didn't matter how the sand felt, or how the waves looked, or what the fucking seagulls sounded like. It was all background noise -- who cared if it was natural?
"You think Doyle really couldn't make it? What d'you think he's up to?"
He's not letting that go, even as he plops down into the sand inelegantly, already getting irritated at the way it seems to creep into the creases in his clothes after only touching it for a second.
Richard smooths out an area of sand next to Jimmy into a neat, flat circle before sitting next to him, knees hunched up into his chest, the position looking a little inelegant because of his height. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, looking out to the sea, the horizon drawing ever closer as the sun set behind them.
"Could be anything. ... Don't trust him."
Meaning that he didn't trust him, not trying warning Jimmy not to, although the double meaning worked just as well. It pained Richard to speak for long periods at a time, so short clipped sentences suited his purposes most of the time. When he did speak at length, he tried to make every word count.
"Yeah, well, nobody fuckin' trusts him. He doesn't even use his real goddamned name."
There are a million other, better reasons for Jimmy not to trust him -- not to trust most people, in fact -- but he's not sober enough to formulate them right now. Besides, he's inclined to think Richard is probably a pretty good judge of character, although he's not sure why he thinks that. If Richard didn't trust the guy, chances were good nobody should.
"Fuckin' sand..." He brushes some off of his sleeve and sprawls out even more, his position a stark contrast to Richard's hunched up one. "Why do we gotta live somewhere with so much fuckin' sand?"
He just always seemed very glib to Richard, a quality that he really didn't admire in people at all. That and he didn't really trust easily at all. Jimmy and Angela were probably the only people he did trust completely.
He glances over at Jimmy thoughtfully at his question. "We don't have to."
He said it like it was a ridiculous concept, but he'd thought about it before. Hell, he'd been halfway to doing it before, had gotten out of Atlantic City, but that had been an attempt at escaping, more than anything, and of course he'd come back. Maybe he'd been stupid to.
Privately, he thought that a new town could help with Jimmy's family situation, too. He'd never thought highly of either of his parents, and their influence over Jimmy seemed to be growing by the day. And he thought that Angela could do with the change, as well. As for Richard himself, he wasn't attached to Atlantic City or any other place. He saw it very much in the same terms that he viewed people: nothing had a connection with anything else. Even if Jimmy was proving him wrong there, but even so, those connections were ones that people had to forge themselves, they weren't something inherent in the world.
It's not an out and out protest. The idea appeals to him. He wonders what Angela would think. Shaking his head again, he sprawls out even more, sighing. "I don't think it's that easy to start over. I think shit would just follow me around, y'know?"
He knows deep down that Jimmy isn't going to seriously consider moving away. He'll finish what he's started, and Richard respects that. It's what he'd do himself in that position, finish the battle that they'd marched into. But the offer is genuine, and will remain open.
"I know you could, but I ain't just gonna walk away from my problems."
Leaving Richard to deal with the messes Jimmy had made himself would be cowardly and wrong. He may not have been thinking very clearly lately, but he was clear enough to know that much.
He's not even sure what he means by that. It's a big statement. Maybe he's just referencing their problems at the moment, maybe he means life in general. He doesn't seem inclined to elaborate.
It was a pretty bleak picture as far as Richard was concerned. If he thought about it too much, it made him tempted to take his shotgun back out to those woods.
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"Is everything all right?"
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"Why wouldn't it be? Everything's fuckin' great."
He was hoping for some reminder of why they were here. He didn't think it was likely that they were here to have fun. Richard didn't seem like the party type, really, and Jimmy tended to get into fights at parties. It must have been business, then, but there was no way in hell he was gonna let Richard know he'd completely forgotten what he was doing about halfway through his walk over here.
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"Doyle cancelled. I couldn't reach you at your father's house... waited here instead."
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It's mostly a hypothetical question. He's pretty sure Richard isn't a mindreader,unless Doyle explained himself, which he very rarely did, and even if it had, it probably would have involved that infuriating giggle of his, which made Jimmy tune out everything he said.
"'cause we didn't have enough problems, without that son of a bitch backin' out at the last minute."
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Probably didn't feel comfortable talking to Richard, few people did. He'd just relayed enough information so that Richard knew, then hung up very quickly. It did mean that they didn't have any more reason to be here, though. Richard thought Jimmy might want to stay for another drink - although he'd certainly had enough already - and while he'd prefer to leave and go some place a little quieter, he leaves it up to Jimmy to decide, looking away with some discomfort as a very drunk woman nearly barrels straight into him.
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Normally, he'd want to stay, but the noise of the place is making him unusually jittery, and he can get a drink somewhere else if he really needs one. Besides, he was still thinking straight enough to realize that Richard probably didn't want to stay somewhere like this.
He manages to stumble over his own feet as he turns to leave, bumps into some guy in a cheap suit, and spills the guy's drink. As far as Jimmy's concerned, this is the other guy's fault, and he immediately reacts, yelling, "Watch where the fuck you're going!" as he moves towards the exit, just expecting Richard to follow him.
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Once outside, he seems a little steadier on his feet. "So. Where're we goin'?"
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"Anywhere," he replies. Just as long as it was some place a little quieter, where they were less likely to cause trouble, he had no opinion on the matter.
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He seems to be wandering towards the beach, away from the crowds on the boardwalk, and as he does so, he pulls out his cigarettes. His intention had simply been to light one, maybe to offer one to Richard, but his reflexes are slowed by what he's had to drink, and he drops the entire cigarette case to the ground, then stares at it like he doesn't know what to do about it.
A few seconds later, almost as though his reaction was delayed, he mutters, "Fuck."
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He's not completely devoid of the ability to be polite, and even though the simple act of bending down and picking up the cigarette case had evaded him, he has to appreciate Richard for doing what he should have done. Perhaps that has something to do with why he appreciates Richard in general.
He keeps moving towards the beach; sand irritates him on the best of days, but the beach is quieter, and he needs quiet. This time, he successfully lights a cigarette and then holds one out to Richard in offering.
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He accepts a cigarette from Jimmy, nodding in thanks. This, at least, was one pleasure he could partake in without feeling self-conscious.
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"You think Doyle really couldn't make it? What d'you think he's up to?"
He's not letting that go, even as he plops down into the sand inelegantly, already getting irritated at the way it seems to creep into the creases in his clothes after only touching it for a second.
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"Could be anything. ... Don't trust him."
Meaning that he didn't trust him, not trying warning Jimmy not to, although the double meaning worked just as well. It pained Richard to speak for long periods at a time, so short clipped sentences suited his purposes most of the time. When he did speak at length, he tried to make every word count.
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There are a million other, better reasons for Jimmy not to trust him -- not to trust most people, in fact -- but he's not sober enough to formulate them right now. Besides, he's inclined to think Richard is probably a pretty good judge of character, although he's not sure why he thinks that. If Richard didn't trust the guy, chances were good nobody should.
"Fuckin' sand..." He brushes some off of his sleeve and sprawls out even more, his position a stark contrast to Richard's hunched up one. "Why do we gotta live somewhere with so much fuckin' sand?"
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He glances over at Jimmy thoughtfully at his question. "We don't have to."
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He said it like it was a ridiculous concept, but he'd thought about it before. Hell, he'd been halfway to doing it before, had gotten out of Atlantic City, but that had been an attempt at escaping, more than anything, and of course he'd come back. Maybe he'd been stupid to.
"Where the fuck would we go?"
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Privately, he thought that a new town could help with Jimmy's family situation, too. He'd never thought highly of either of his parents, and their influence over Jimmy seemed to be growing by the day. And he thought that Angela could do with the change, as well. As for Richard himself, he wasn't attached to Atlantic City or any other place. He saw it very much in the same terms that he viewed people: nothing had a connection with anything else. Even if Jimmy was proving him wrong there, but even so, those connections were ones that people had to forge themselves, they weren't something inherent in the world.
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It's not an out and out protest. The idea appeals to him. He wonders what Angela would think. Shaking his head again, he sprawls out even more, sighing. "I don't think it's that easy to start over. I think shit would just follow me around, y'know?"
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He knows deep down that Jimmy isn't going to seriously consider moving away. He'll finish what he's started, and Richard respects that. It's what he'd do himself in that position, finish the battle that they'd marched into. But the offer is genuine, and will remain open.
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Leaving Richard to deal with the messes Jimmy had made himself would be cowardly and wrong. He may not have been thinking very clearly lately, but he was clear enough to know that much.
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He's not even sure what he means by that. It's a big statement. Maybe he's just referencing their problems at the moment, maybe he means life in general. He doesn't seem inclined to elaborate.
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It was a pretty bleak picture as far as Richard was concerned. If he thought about it too much, it made him tempted to take his shotgun back out to those woods.
"I take things one day at a time."
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