http://cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com/ (
cutmyselfshavin.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2010-12-10 10:51 pm
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first entrance
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
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
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"Just wonderin', sir."
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(Feeling.)
"You weren't kiddin' when you said this place was magic, were you."
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The whiskey helping him not think about what's in that bag and what his father's dead body felt like.
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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.
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He hasn't met anyone from here and his time who has yet.
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"Lil bit."
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"A.are you dead, sir?"
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One foot in the grave and one foot out.
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"Let's just say I'm familiar with things havin' to do with dead folk."
Present company (the slowly-rotting skull in the burlap sack) included.
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"Upright and walkin'?"
That's different, even for him.
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"You one of 'em?"
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Hex's gaze is disconcerting but William's scanning the Bar for his father.
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"No such thing as a good death. It's just death."
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He takes another drink and tries not to do something foolish.
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"Do you really want to know?"
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A beat.
"For the dead. It don't bother me none."
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"Don't need to bother, sir."
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A wet washrag pops up on the counter; Bar intends it for Hex's bloodstained hands, but Hex has other ideas.
Mainly, cleaning off his tomahawk.
(It's not bloody, but it could use to be wiped off. Wouldn't want it to rust, after all.)
"So what do you do, William?"
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He tries not to look at that blood but its hard to avoid.
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