I am not a church-going man, taggggg: Morgan

Of course it was raining. In all the movies, in the most awful, depressing scene where the boyfriend leaves or the father dies or the kid goes missing, the sky is gray and the downpour of water reflects the dark sadness in the souls of the whole cast. It was a very good dramatic tactic produced by Hollywood and copied in most novels, but Zeppelin wasn't buying it. Practically every other day, the skies of London were filled with threatening clouds, and it was hard to go a couple days without a few drops of rain, and at least once a month there was always this ridiculous rainfall. With the amount of sad days he had, it was no surprise that rain just happened to fall on one of them. Though, it was curious that it was quite this bad - then again... winter. Christmas. Supposedly snow, but there was never much snow. Just rain.

Ha. What a way to spend the holidays.

He was not well-dressed for the rain. His ripped, fading pants (which were not ripped necessarily because he liked that look, but because he couldn't afford new pants) and his Beatles shirt (nothing new there) were soaked. Zeppelin didn't have a jacket. But there was no store or restaurant he was willing to duck into, though, with his hands shoved in his pocket, he guiltily felt the cash in his front pocket that he'd made off selling some things here and there. Half of his brain willed him to spend it on a jacket he saw in a window, or an album as he passed the record store, or maybe even a puppy. Just anything. Just anything to stop himself. But he couldn't. There was a darkness brewing in him and he couldn't stop it.

Zeppelin, by some will other than his own, found himself next to a bar that he had seen often, though had rarely ever been inside. The alleyway next to it was fairly dry - cold and dreary, but warmer than a couple feet outside of it - so he stood just inside the alley, leaning against the wall. With folded arms, he stared down at the ground and the trash and puke stains. He shivered, watching drops of water fall from his hair. Why don't I just spend the money on a haircut? But he knew that wasn't happening. He couldn't get his body to move from that spot. Zepp remembered this, this darkness taking over him, and he knew there was no way to control it.

Where had everything gone wrong? Zepp could have sworn his life was fantastic, but even when he was 'happy', he could remember having days where he just couldn't get himself to smile, and he would wonder why he couldn't enjoy life. And now? Well, things had only gotten worse, as they always did. Every single time something nice in his life happened, it had to all get destroyed.

He looked about him. He didn't have a watch, but Zepp guessed he was a bit early - the man he was waiting for didn't usually get to this spot until pretty late, when the police were too busy worrying about bar fights, and taking care of drunks and drunk-drivers a block down to really check the alley. Unless this was the right time, and the guy no longer worked there, or had been caught. That was possible - it had been a few months. But Zeppelin was stubborn, and he stayed in his spot, trying to convince himself he wasn't cold.

walking in the rain
dark alley, late at night

probably not the smartest of things
but then again, i am LAW ENFORCEMENT

Morgan yawned as he tumbled from the back of the bar. A few drinks and he was buzzed, but it was just enough to take the edge off from his day. Working with UNIT had not driven him to drink. No, he had a few drinks here and there on occasion long before he took the job. In fact, he loved the job. Working at his desk, taking care of things, it was nice. Working with aliens on a daily basis ... not bad. Mostly because he was part-alien. But, that was alright, he decided. Rubbing his face as he shrugged on his trench coat, Morgan realized he was in a dark, dank alleyway. There was nothing wrong with that. Only, his fingers tumbled down his side to his holster. There was sometihng amiss about this place. Other than it being dark as night and raining too - a prime time for criminals to be walking the streets. Walking the alleys. Yawning again as he walked, Morgan wondered how he ended up here. Not here as in ... where was he again? Oh yes, London. So, not here as in London, but rather here as in this particular alley. Sure, he remembered going in the front door of the bar, but why was he back here now? In the back alley behind the bar? It really did not make any sort of sense to him. None at all, really. Honestly. Leaning against a wall to catch his breath, he felt the weight of his gun in his hand now. There was no sense to it, a buzzed UNIT officer wandering down a dark alleyway in the middle of a stormy night in London? Then again, when was it not a stormy night in London? True. That was a very good point.

"What are you doing here?" He asked to the guy shivering in the cold. He looked ragged, like the world had chewed him up and spat him back out. Morgan cocked his head towards him, wondering what he was doing here. Why he was in the alley himself. Was he looking for a drug deal? They did tend to happen at night and everything. In dark alleys. Not that he would know anything about that, really. "Looking for drugs? I think I'll have to stop you right there," he sighed, not believing he was going to get himself mixed up into this sort of thing. Walking closer to the figure in the dark, light off of a street light hit the other man and Morgan stopped. He was surprised to say the least, seeing someone he recognized here like this. He should have known that guy was no good. Getting into his car and everything. Morgan smirked, wondering how he was going to help the poor lad here. "Ah, it's you. The nameless, spineless little thing that ran away like a little girl when I tried to question you about your ass being in my car! So, what brings you here this dark night?"

Zeppelin turned away slightly as he heard the footsteps, though he glanced back slightly at the question. "What does it look like? Taking a shower," he snapped back with some sarcastic malice in his voice - not necessarily directed to the man talking to him, but just to life and people in general. He was well aware that he looked awful and that it wouldn't take a genius to figure out what he was doing, but that wouldn't stop Zeppelin from being sardonic and snarky the whole way there. Though, he had to admit, he probably needed a shower, so he supposed this was just as good. At least he no longer smelled like he'd been doing nothing but sitting on his arse and drinking for the past couple weeks. Then again, he still looked it, and he also looked like he hadn't eaten in a while, nor gotten a good night's sleep. Or much sleep it all.

"You're quick to jump to conclusions," he bit back after Morgan's question (which Zeppelin saw as more of a statement) about looking for drugs. But he didn't dispute it or make much more conversation about it. He didn't want to incriminate himself further, though he was making a pretty good case for himself - in a dark alley, dressed like a punk, with bloodshot eyes and a pretty defensive attitude. Not to mention he was starting to think he'd met this guy once before, and it was now frustrating him that he couldn't figure out where or when. Why am I so bloody awful with names? Or even just recognizing a face that didn't have a name. Then again, Zeppelin has a bad memory in general, and though it was frustrating, he just approached it with a sad acceptance, as he did with most things.

Zeppelin's eyes narrowed at this insults, but then he remembered. Mostly he remembered the car, but now that he was putting it all together, his face matched up. He just sort of nodded - spineless, little girl, little thing... they weren't anything new. Not in the least. Actually, they were a poor imitation of names he'd been hearing for a good two-thirds or more of his life. One couldn't expect him to get too upset over it - rather, he just nodded, as if he decided they were the truth. Because that's what he felt like, sinking further and further into that little dark place inside his head.

What brings you here? Ah, what a nice little way to phrase a question that the man probably already knew the answer to. Zepp knew that he just had to be honest. "Oh, you know. Just enjoying the scenic part of town. It's just beautiful this time of day and the sky is just so clear." By the end, Zeppelin was practically growling that Zeppelin-way that he did when he was particularly tired and sarcastic. Just as he was done, though, he felt a spasm of pain in his arm and turned away, holding his upper arm as he closed his eyes and felt rather ashamed of himself and his slightly malfunctioning arm (which would be back to normal in a few seconds). Even in the 51st century, cyborg technology wasn't perfect, and his unhealthy life wasn't helping much.

(( Morgan's distracted so I distracted myself, so sorry if it seems weird. ))

Taking a shower? Was that even relevant to this situation at hand? This place back here was not a place to take a shower. No, it was more a place where sleez-bags would hang out and attain illegal drugs. That was not particularly appetizing to him at the moment. Why was he out here, anyway? Morgan shrugged off the question to himself, not really knowing what made him come back here in the first place. Running into someone he had seen before was not really something he had exactly expected, though. He hated rain. Maybe he should just turn around and go into a bar. Get drunk. Although, he was sort of law enforcement, and getting drunk and then driving was just asking for trouble in the first place. Not that he was on duty, but still. Secondly, well, there was no secondly. Why was he here in the rain? This other guy, the kid he had seen before. Not really a kid, but that was almost beside the point. Why was he here, then? Alright, so he had to admit he was buzzed, but getting good and drunk would be good, right? Nah, he preferred just a bit of a light buzz. That was good for him. Okay, now he was starting to confuse himself.

Waving the gun for a moment at the kid, not liking the attitude, Morgan realized that he was probably not going to get anywhere with him anyway. Especially not with the gun. Also, if it came to him using the weapon, he was pretty sure he would not be able to, anyway. Well, he would be able to point and shoot – as the safety came off without a blink when he pulled it from his holster – but he was certain he would not be able to hit anything decently, anyway. He flipped the safety back on and sighed. ”Alright, so we’re clearly both taking some sort of shower,” he admitted, not wanting to know what was in the rain water that always fell on London. Not that he could not easily find out, it was just a matter of being buzzed and in the middle of a dark, dank alley was not the best thing for him to be doing when he was … well, armed. Sliding the gun back into his holster, Morgan shrugged at the kid. He hated the attitude, but he could easily ignore that for the time being.

”Have you eaten anything lately?” He asked at random. It really did seem like something random to be asking this guy, but he looked like he needed to eat something. So, why not ask him, right? ”And yes, I’m always quick to jump to conclusions when I’ve had a little to drink. Not really sure why that it, probably something about my brain chemistry.” Now he was rambling. Ah well, rambling happened too. He really needed a name for this kid now. It was starting to get irritating. Not having a name for the guy who had his sorry little ass in his car the other day. That was more than irritating – almost worse than the very shameful fact that they painted his car red. Who on Earth would paint his Corvette red? It was just … wrong … on so many levels. Red? Ugh. Well, there was no use dwelling on a painful topic. Not anymore than he had before, anyway.

Then he felt like maybe he was actually hurting the kid’s feelings. Was that possible? If he was human, there was the very real possibility that he actually had feelings. What was he talking about now? Morgan was just going to confuse himself. Scenic part of town? Right. ”Well, that’s nice. Scenic part of town. You look like you need a drink, a bath, and some food,” he commented, crossing his arms stiffly. Morgan sighed as the guy turned away from him, something bothering him, clearly. ”I’m sorry if I sort of jumped all over your case, man. Are you alright?”

At the moment, Zeppelin was not a fan of this situation. He'd had some pretty clear cut plans for the night, but they were starting to get thrown away with each passing second. Zeppelin was also fairly certain that if the drug dealer was coming (which he was starting to doubt), he would most likely turn away as soon as seeing this... other guy that Zepp didn't have a name for. Mister Annoying Orange Hair Man, Zeppelin had decided to call him for now. In his head, of course. Orange, for short. It was Orange's own fault, of course - he had failed to properly introduce himself, and so would now be unknowingly subject to Zeppelin's weird naming system. Not that it would ever matter, really... Zepp didn't know what he was going on about in his head anymore. And he could sort of tell that neither did Orange - they both suffered from some sort of case of ADD or a similar debilitating disorder. At least, Zeppelin did. Maybe Orange was just having an off night... Tipsy, probably. That seemed likely, considering they were right next to a bar. Which sort of scared Zepp when he saw the gun, but he only eyed it, as if he didn't care much - though he breathed a bit easier when it was holstered.

Eaten. Have I eaten? Zepp looked sort of surprised at the question - he had forgotten that his body didn't look too good when he went through his not-eating periods... which were far too frequent - and had to take a moment to think. Even then, he didn't have much of an answer. "Well... I... think I had a bit of peanut butter.... yesterday?" he offered, questioning himself the whole way to the end of the sentence. He honestly couldn't remember - all the days were just running together, and either Zeppelin would forget to eat or he would, somehow in a twisted manner, convince himself that eating was losing control and he didn't need it. Which... he recognized was very unhealthy and a sign of a mental illness that he did really not want to have, but there wasn't much he could do. The sick part of him was just too much louder than the quiet, healthy, smart part of him.

So, he has had something to drink. That wasn't terribly surprising. "Yeah? How 'bout when you're not drinking? Are you less annoying?" Zepp thought he had a right to be annoying - actually, he pretty much always thought he had. And annoying had just sort of become part of his personality - he couldn't help but bite back horrible comments in a rather obnoxious manner. But heaven forbid if anyone else was annoying... such as Orange. Who Zepp had considered strangling more than once by then, but was too tired to do it himself.

Zeppelin picked himself up from leaning on the wall once the pain in his arm started to ease. A drink, a bath, and some food. There was a short, sharp laugh at that. "Man, I've had enough to drink the past few weeks, and this is a bath enough," he said with a semi-humorous smile, but it was hard to disguise the darkness in what he said. He had been drinking quite a lot, and was sort of tired of throwing up and waking up with a headache. Zepp sighed, scratched at his hair, shivered a bit, and looked up at Orange. For once, he wasn't about to get extremely angry and go off just because the guy had apologized - he was just tired, and he couldn't muster much more yelling. "No, I'm not," he finally admitted, leaning back against the other wall and wrapping his cold arms around his equally cold and wet torso. He slid down the wall, staring at the ground. Had he just admitted he really needed help?

No. Never. He'd just admitted he was not all right. Very different.