[ Jim laughs, the sound low, like he's keeping it contained somewhere in his mouth instead of letting it fly out free. Or like he's making an attempt to not draw the attention of anyone else who might be loitering in the bar at the same time. Both, in a way, are true. It's less that he doesn't want to be seen enjoying himself, and more that he's never been a flashy kind of guy— just the one that keeps his nose to the ground and his work at the forefront. Just the one that somehow always ends up in the middle of a messy situation because he'll never choose to turn the other cheek. ]
I was a "whatever's in the liquor cabinet and I won't get my ass beat for it" kind of guy.
[ Not that he thinks his father or his mother ever would have done that. He was an only child, and for as fiery as his temper could be, hadn't really stepped out of line. Where other kids might have railed against the sort of structure that came from a parent wrapped up in the rules of the law, Jim had only ever taken comfort in it.
Things are a little different, these days. Probably because he's lost his rose coloured glasses.
They're close enough that they don't have to shout, but not near enough that Jim doesn't have to actively lean over the stool next to him to reach across and offer her his hand. ]
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I was a "whatever's in the liquor cabinet and I won't get my ass beat for it" kind of guy.
[ Not that he thinks his father or his mother ever would have done that. He was an only child, and for as fiery as his temper could be, hadn't really stepped out of line. Where other kids might have railed against the sort of structure that came from a parent wrapped up in the rules of the law, Jim had only ever taken comfort in it.
Things are a little different, these days. Probably because he's lost his rose coloured glasses.
They're close enough that they don't have to shout, but not near enough that Jim doesn't have to actively lean over the stool next to him to reach across and offer her his hand. ]
Jim Gordon.
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