first entrance

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

When the door opens, a shadow walks into the bar.

He lifts his head when he realizes that he's not where he was intending to be. The look that crosses his scarred face isn't a very pleased one, to say the least.

His clothes are an obvious indication of the time he's stepped in from (a dirty, bloodied Civil War uniform with Confederate insignia identifying him as a First Lieutenant of the Cavalry) and the twin holstered pistols on his gunbelt should tell people that he's not to be messed with.

Dark eyes survey the room from beneath the brim of his hat, and his grip on the (bloodstained?) burlap sack in his left hand tightens a fraction.

"Hrm."

This may be problematic.



Tinytag with a big scar: Jonah Hex

Comments

[not_his_pa]

"Right, sir. Want me to show you to a more quiet place?"

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

Hex considers this for a moment.

"Suppose I should git a bowl to set 'im in."

[not_his_pa]

"How much of him is there, sir?"

He doesn't want to think about this, but there's no polite way out yet. Hard to get blood out of things and there's a horrible weight to a dead body.

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"Just his head. Rest of 'im was too heavy for my horse t'carry."

[not_his_pa]

He's gone from pale to sort of green and moves quickly to the Bar where he asks for a container from Bar.

An old fashioned wash basin appears and William nods, "Will this work, sir?"

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"That'll do just fine."

The bag drops into the basin with a wet sound; Hex ignores it in favor of looking for a bartender.

[not_his_pa]

At the moment, there isn't one,

"You need anythin' else, sir?"

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"Weston don't come here, do he?"

[not_his_pa]

"Don't believe so, sir."

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"Hrm."

He contemplates another moment.

"Whiskey."

[not_his_pa]

Two glasses appear and William takes a long drink of one of them.

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

Hex just blinks at that.

"...neat trick."

He reaches for the glass, then takes a slug off the glass. A thin dribble of liquor slides down his right cheek, but he doesn't even hesitate to wipe it with the back of his hand.

[not_his_pa]

"Milliways is magic, sir. Just ask and she'll give you what you need, sir."

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"Guess that keeps it simple."

Whiskey drained, he settles down on the barstool, looking over at the boy.

"So what's your name, son?"

[not_his_pa]

His face hasn't fully healed and he takes another sip before saying,

"William Evans, sir."

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"William Evans."

It's a strong name. A strong name will tell you a lot about the man who wears it.

"S'a nice cut you got there on your face, William Evans."

[not_his_pa]

"Got in a fight at school, sir, ain't that bad. Where you fightin', sir?"

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"Not fightin'," he smiles a bit. "Just workin'."

[not_his_pa]

William nods and looks down to take another drink,

"Just wonderin', sir."

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking.

(Feeling.)

"You weren't kiddin' when you said this place was magic, were you."

[not_his_pa]

"No, sir, I wasn't. Don't understand how it works but it is,"

The whiskey helping him not think about what's in that bag and what his father's dead body felt like.

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

"It's easier not t'think 'bout the particulars."

The rasp of a chair scraping against the hardwood behind him startles him (as much as he is ever startled, which isn't much) back into awareness.

[not_his_pa]

"You know about magic, sir?"

He hasn't met anyone from here and his time who has yet.

[cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com]

His grin isn't quite settling, not in the slightest.

"Lil bit."

[not_his_pa]

Its just as worrying as that big and scar so William looks down again,

"A.are you dead, sir?"