1stmacleod: (fight-day)
For some reason, Connor never expected the holidays to be this hard. Thanksgiving passed by without much notice, he's never really celebrated that, but Christmas has had him on a private roller coaster. One minute he's blissfully happy to have a home and a woman he's in love with who loves him back, even knowing the truth of what he is, the next minute he's remembering holidays with John and Rachel and even Brenda and he just wants to go bury himself in a dark corner with a bottle of whiskey. All the scotch he's been given as gifts is going at a distressing rate. It's not even New Year's yet, and then it'll be his birthday soon after that, which he just hopes nobody will notice at all...

Just a few days after, and he's pacing, resisting the urge to crack open the next bottle. He needs a distraction. He needs to get out. He needs something to do.

The message that comes on Nick's pinpoint is typical Connor, brief and brusque and to the point.
Want to spar?
There's coordinates attached, and he's got the sense to have picked somewhere it's night. Connor's waiting in a grassy field on a quiet world he ran across in a Nexus guidebook. There's an almost full moon that gives him enough light to see by, and it's not the dead of winter, here, so he can stand around in t-shirt and jeans and sneakers without freezing his ass off. He swings the katana slowly, working his way through kata. There's a couple of rapiers and a western broadsword on the ground nearby... and a bottle of scotch, because his willpower gave out already.

March 2015

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