milliways_bar | (no subject)

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William hasn't found any more doors to Milliways for about a week and he hasn't quite been looking, it was too confusing with good food, nice people and then Wade.

This morning he's only thinking up about saddling up Les and checking the fences now that Mark's off to school. The little healing vial is tucked away in his hiding place alongside the drawing of his Pa that Wade did since he's not sure what to do with it.

When the door to the tack room opens onto the Bar, he stares at it for a while before walking up to the counter and asking for some coffee. He's not quite sure how he feels about being here, but he's here now.

Tiny tag who needs to wake up: William Evans

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"That is my work," Urquhart says, "not my passion! I just happen to be good at it. My passion is for learning and discussion, books and knowledge, in addition to good food and drink, and lovely women to serve it to."

"Oh, that sot of makes more sense,"

Not a lot more to William but some more.

"You're not all about cattle, either, aren't you?" Urquhart says. "I saw how you touched that book."

"Its what keeps us fed, but told you I like reading. Can't afford more than dime novels though.

"From here, you can," Urquhart says. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen,"

He hasn't been for very long, but he is now.

"And how old do you have to be to come of age?" Urquhart asks.

"Don't know, round my age maybe a little older. Why?"

"There is a fund for the under-age patrons of the bar," Urquhart says. "It automatically pays your tab. You can probably afford books here."

"Oh, that's nice of them."

"You can get some sort of an education here, at least," Urquhart says.

He'll see to it. Definitely.

"Wouldn't mind doing that, could be useful. With time stopping, I wouldn't have to worry about falling behind on the stuff that needs to get done,"

He smiles, its not a huge smile but its something as he looks down at the books again.

"And there are people here who can show and tell you things," Urquhart adds.

"Seems so. Have you been here for a while?"

"I came last January," Urquhart says. "It's November now. Almost a year."

"That must be sort of strange. So do you live in Scotland when you're not here?"

"No, I'm always here, unless I'm visiting somebody's world," Urquhart says. "I'm dead."

"Dead? There other dead folks here?"

That doesn't seem right.

"Yes," Urquhart says. "Are you hoping to see your father?"

"I don't know,"

His Pa's always on his mind, but seeing him doesn't seem possible.

"I haven't met anybody from my world, dead or alive, in here," Urquhart says. "But there are a few dead people here. We can go to other people's worlds for a few days, but otherwise, this is our afterlife."

"Its not a bad place to be dead?"

"No," Urquhart says. "I may have deserved hell according to conventional belief, but I didn't get it. This is a very good afterlife. I have met good friends, interesting enemies, and the loveliest red-headed woman ever."

"Hope my Pa made it to Heaven," He should have.

"Then you'll probably not see him here, will you?" Urquhart says.

Despite Saffron and Moist and everything -- heaven, this is not.