(no subject)

[almosthonorable]

The Ben Wade who enters the bar cuts a slightly leaner figure than he used to. Blame old-fashioned manual labor, and frugal living.

He's sweating and sunburnt beneath the brim of his beat-up brown hat, and he's counting himself damn lucky to've walked in. Here, he can pour iced water down his sawdust-dry throat.

At the counter, he's greeted with a napkin from Bar; his mouth quirks in a half-smile.

"Awful good to see you, too."

Another napkin appears.

"Thank you for holdin' on to 'em for me. I appreciate your safe-keepin'. Might be a while, yet, before I'll need 'em."

A third napkin.

"That so? Well, happy Mother's Day, Miss Bar. If you celebrate it."

Ben can't rightly say where his own mother might be. Or if she's above ground, now.

Still.

Even bad men love their mamas.

Which is why, as Ben pours himself a glass of ice water from the pitcher Bar graciously provides, he wonders, briefly, if that Bible she left his eight-year-old self with at the train station is still intact, somewhere — its spine and cover creased and cracked, maybe laying open on somebody's dinner table, or sitting shut and silent on a dusty shelf.




[ ooc: well, hel-lo — it's been a hot one and a half, y'all. open indefinitely! ]

[ tiny tag: cassian andor ]

Comments

[witchfinder_general]

There is a vaguely priestly-looking man who looks at Ben Wade with astonishment and curiosity.

"Did you emigrate to America?"

[almosthonorable]

Ben swallows a mouthful of blessedly cold water, and shakes his head.

"From there."

A beat.

"Father."

(The latter might be half a question.)

[witchfinder_general]

"I am sorry," the priest says. "I took you for somebody else, but you're probably not Inspector Javert."

Pause.

"I'm Father Pearse Harman, of the Jesuit order."

He stands and offers his hand.

[almosthonorable]

"No need for the apology," Ben says. "Cases of mistaken identity tend to crop up here. Name's Ben Wade."

He gives the proffered hand a firm shake.

"Thought you looked tad evangelical."

[witchfinder_general]

The priest smiles, and shakes his head. "Strictly Catholic, I'm afraid, Mr. Wade."

[childofrebellion]

(OOC: *twirls you* Let me know if you'd prefer someone else, he's loud.)

Cassian's in his black leather jacket with his blaster under his jacket when he enters, his nerves taut as this isn't the building he meant to enter.

At least he can get some proper caf and goes to the counter where he sees the gun appear, perhaps its from Earth. This man must be a regular to have such a conversation, "What's Mother's Day?"

[almosthonorable]

Ben glances up from the counter, and offers a one-shouldered shrug.

"My best guess is it's a day to appreciate the woman you came from. It's not a holiday I'm familiar with, myself."



[ ooc: *twirls* oh, cassian's perfect! I may be running out to grab dinner here in just a few, but I'll be back soon, and then around and about all evening. <333 ]

[childofrebellion]

(OOC: Enjoy your dinner and also a note, he does sound Mexican, space Mexican but wanted to be sure you knew. Sorry for all the edits.)

"That's a nice idea. I wonder if its from Earth. Thank you,"

He says when his caf appears and as he drinks relaxes slightly, the schedule will be kept.

[almosthonorable]

Let it never be said that Bar doesn't help out her customers.

A handful of Mother's Day cards appear on the counter; the assortment is mostly in pink and white, replete with floral designs and sentimental messages in decorative script.

"Oh," Ben says, and tips his head toward the wooden surface in thanks. "Can't speak for the planet, necessarily, but it seems cards are customary."



[ ooc: oh, no prob at all! never apologize for editing; my own edits create inbox floods, bwah. ]

[scurlock]

"I started off with bourbon," says the voice over Ben's left shoulder. "But you know just as well as anyone I wouldn't complain if you decided t'share some of that pitcher with an old friend."

Doc is standing just far enough back as to not invade Wade's personal space - there are some habits that one keeps, even in pleasant company.

[almosthonorable]

Good habits make good friends even better ones.

Ben turns his head to the left, and chuckles under his breath.

Cheerful: "Goddamn shame to water down bourbon."

Nonetheless, Ben requests a clean glass.

[scurlock]

"Keepin' myself hydrated."

Doc takes a seat on the barstool beside Ben, pulling the bar-provided napkin (apparently even sentient furniture dislikes water-rings on the wood) closer.

The tantalizing -clink- of the ice against the glass turns his lips into a grin. It's been awhile.

[almosthonorable]

"You and me both, friend."

El Paso is hot, and only the unpleasant certainty of regurgitation has kept Ben from gulping the whole damn pitcher.

[have_no_mercy]

A tall redhead looks him up and down from along the bar, an eyebrow raised in mild curiosity.

"It's Mother's Day?"

[almosthonorable]

"Seems to be, miss," Ben says, easy and amicable.

He quirks an eyebrow, mirroring her expression.

"Is it a holiday you're familiar with?"

[have_no_mercy]

"Yes. Vaguely."

She knows what it is, at any rate.

"I didn't realize it was today."

[almosthonorable]

"Well," and Ben offers half a smile, "if you're lookin' to remedy that, at least you're somewhere time's on your side."

[nerves_of_ice]

He's sitting over to the side, near the wall (but not in immediate reach of it), watching the room.

His glance lands on this guy and holds.

Huh.

[almosthonorable]

Truth be told, Ben's doing nothing of particular note. He adjusts the revolver at his hip — an old tried-and-true Colt, pockmarked and plain, nowhere near as recognizable as the Hand of God in Bar's care — to settle on a stool. He breathes the blessedly conditioned air, and admires the ice cubes in his glass.

But his tired, dusty state doesn't mean he's oblivious.

As his eyes skim the room for familiar faces, he doesn't fail to notice he's being noticed.

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't try to hide the fact.

As the other man's gaze catches his, he nods a greeting.

[almosthonorable]

Ben inclines his head in response, touching two fingers to the brim of his hat as he does so.

This may not be a fellow he knows, but the man's watchfulness — well, that's something Ben certainly recognizes.

[man_without_fear]

Matt has never been to the desert, but that's the impression he gets when the front door opens. A dry heat comes in with a dust cloud and it's exactly the image every western he saw as a kid gave him.

The smell of sweat, dirt and leather hits his nose, but it's the way the man carries himself that has most of his attention. That and the conversation with Bar.

Matt is parked on a stool at the counter, his cane resting beside him. He's in slacks and a dress shirt without the tie or jacket, and for once he isn't ignoring the lunch that came with the cup of coffee he ordered.

As the man takes a thirsty drink of water Matt comments, "Hot out there?"

[almosthonorable]

Ben glances over, noting the glasses and the cane.

"As blazes," he says, the grit in his voice balanced by his good-natured tone. He places his nearly empty glass on the counter, the sound accompanied by the tinny clink of ice cubes settling against one another. "Feels like Beelzebub's own sweat lodge."

[man_without_fear]

The description and impression of that heat almost have Matt adjusting his shirt collar as if he can feel it.

"Where you in from?" he asks, head tilted.

[almosthonorable]

"El Paso, at this juncture."

A beat.

"Texas."

Beat.

"If that even means anything to you, out in your neck of the woods."