Jackson had been keeping to his game of poker in the corner, fixing his cards in the company of three of those pip-pip jerkoffs, when Trevor and his American accent come crashing through the pub's casual carousing. He's like a flashing beacon of "White Trash Here!!," and even Jackson, Yankee king of Talking Too Much, is getting second-hand embarrassment.
But he feels you, man. Homesickness. It kicks you right in the teeth, and keeps on kicking, until you suddenly find yourself kicking somebody else in the teeth.However, this pub doesn't need another loud-mouth Yank, 'cause that's Jackson's role. So he decides to give a brother a hand and help rectify this situation.
Getting out of his seat, Jackson saunters right up to Trevor, close as friends. "Hey, brother." Jackson slinks an arm over his shoulder. "After centuries of them drinkin' swill, you think you're gonna change their mind?"
Jackson slips out a bottle of bourbon from his coat, presenting it to Trevor like Jason's Gold Fleece. Good stuff. Imported stuff. "How 'bout we find ourselves a space in the corner over there. Leave the limeys to their lager, hm?"
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But he feels you, man. Homesickness. It kicks you right in the teeth, and keeps on kicking, until you suddenly find yourself kicking somebody else in the teeth.However, this pub doesn't need another loud-mouth Yank, 'cause that's Jackson's role. So he decides to give a brother a hand and help rectify this situation.
Getting out of his seat, Jackson saunters right up to Trevor, close as friends. "Hey, brother." Jackson slinks an arm over his shoulder. "After centuries of them drinkin' swill, you think you're gonna change their mind?"
Jackson slips out a bottle of bourbon from his coat, presenting it to Trevor like Jason's Gold Fleece. Good stuff. Imported stuff. "How 'bout we find ourselves a space in the corner over there. Leave the limeys to their lager, hm?"