If previous attempts to talk to Jude have taught Near anything, it’s that he absolutely should not agree to go outside. Venturing outside in Jude’s company will end with him trapped in the masonry and Jude vanished with his wallet or some such bullshit. Fuck that. Staying in the bar, in the presence of people who do not know what Jude is (not that Near knows what Jude is), grants the sense of a safety net hanging underneath the ugly belly flop that is any Jude interaction. Last time he had waited until Guthrie was gone to transition from lies to violence, anyway.
But people are a problem, too. As much as he doesn’t want to hand Jude an opportunity to finish whatever it was he started in the apartment, he doesn’t want to be proven wrong – doesn’t want Jude to decide the audience doesn’t matter and get into his whole self-mutilation holes in the floor shitshow here, either. That’s probably worse.
It’s snark guy that breaks the tie.
Near doesn’t know snark guy’s name. Snark guy isn’t a regular; hasn’t offered any identifying information; and Near had no reason, petty or statutory, to demand to see his license. He was, at first, just that guy, but after a few unprompted comments disparaging various people, places, concepts, he became snark guy, and Near has developed a sort of grudging appreciation for him over the hour he’s been perched at the bar slowly draining pints of light beer, the same as one might have, for instance, for one’s irascible neighbor who shouts at kids to get off his damn lawn. Hah, yeah, that’s just snark guy, he sure hates kids. And the Vikings.
Snark guy is doing nothing to disguise his interest in Near and Jude’s exchange, and in the end it is this and not any fear of sorcery that clenches the decision. There is something extremely private about Near’s association with Jude, about the absurdity of anything they have to talk about, and he suddenly intensely hates the idea of snark guy hearing anything else they have to say to each other, or hearing snark guy’s thoughts on the matter.
“Kovich, I’m going on break!” he bellows toward the employees-only door.
A few seconds later, Kovich peers out of his office like a burrowing rodent and gives Near the kind of nasty look that he might be worried about if he hadn’t already announced that he’s leaving. Kovich is lucky that he’s here at all. There’s Crystal in a corner with a couple of work friends, tracking his progress to the side door, which leads to the dumpster and unofficial smoking lounge.
Outside, the air is warm and damp and smells faintly of a nearby restaurant grill.
“What do you want?” Some of the discomfort he was left with the last time has crept back in, and the question comes out more enervated, more apprehensive, than he wanted it to.
But people are a problem, too. As much as he doesn’t want to hand Jude an opportunity to finish whatever it was he started in the apartment, he doesn’t want to be proven wrong – doesn’t want Jude to decide the audience doesn’t matter and get into his whole self-mutilation holes in the floor shitshow here, either. That’s probably worse.
It’s snark guy that breaks the tie.
Near doesn’t know snark guy’s name. Snark guy isn’t a regular; hasn’t offered any identifying information; and Near had no reason, petty or statutory, to demand to see his license. He was, at first, just that guy, but after a few unprompted comments disparaging various people, places, concepts, he became snark guy, and Near has developed a sort of grudging appreciation for him over the hour he’s been perched at the bar slowly draining pints of light beer, the same as one might have, for instance, for one’s irascible neighbor who shouts at kids to get off his damn lawn. Hah, yeah, that’s just snark guy, he sure hates kids. And the Vikings.
Snark guy is doing nothing to disguise his interest in Near and Jude’s exchange, and in the end it is this and not any fear of sorcery that clenches the decision. There is something extremely private about Near’s association with Jude, about the absurdity of anything they have to talk about, and he suddenly intensely hates the idea of snark guy hearing anything else they have to say to each other, or hearing snark guy’s thoughts on the matter.
“Kovich, I’m going on break!” he bellows toward the employees-only door.
A few seconds later, Kovich peers out of his office like a burrowing rodent and gives Near the kind of nasty look that he might be worried about if he hadn’t already announced that he’s leaving. Kovich is lucky that he’s here at all. There’s Crystal in a corner with a couple of work friends, tracking his progress to the side door, which leads to the dumpster and unofficial smoking lounge.
Outside, the air is warm and damp and smells faintly of a nearby restaurant grill.
“What do you want?” Some of the discomfort he was left with the last time has crept back in, and the question comes out more enervated, more apprehensive, than he wanted it to.