(no subject)

[scurlock]

When Doc makes his way into the bar, he's tracking mud and snowslush off his boots onto the floorboards but he doesn't care. The door swings shut on Deadwood and he makes his way carefully towards a darkened corner, waving at a waitrat to bring him another whiskey.

(He might as well finish the night off in the bar, he figures.)

He leans back on the bench once he's settled in the booth, closing his eyes and exhaling. He's feeling good -- really good, thanks to the drink he had with dinner and the small bottle of laudanum he got from the dentist after he'd stopped in to see the man about a toothache that had cropped up.

(His tooth didn't really hurt, but if the man knew it, he didn't seem to care. He was getting paid regardless.)

The rat brings his whiskey and Doc downs half the glass before lighting up a cigarette, watching the crowd through a hazy blur of smoke and motion.



[Open for days! He's botherable, even if a little out of it, LOL.]

Comments

[trigger_man]

Jack sees Doc come in from the other side of the room and makes his way over. He's still moving pretty carefully, as his ribs are still sore. At least the swelling on his eye has gone down, though it's still pretty colourful, as are the other bruises he's been sporting.

"Hey, Doc. How're you?"

[scurlock]

It takes a half-second longer than it should for Doc to notice Jack approaching his table, but once he does, his face lights up with a smile.

"Jack! Hey," he ashes the cigarette into an ashtray that he's pretty sure wasn't there ten seconds ago. "I'm good. How're...you look like you've had a long day."

[trigger_man]

"Yeah, you could say that," Jack says, eyeing Doc a little suspiciously through the smoke haze. The air of lassitude around him seems a little unusual for Doc.

[scurlock]

To his credit, he's only smoking tobacco.

At the moment anyway.

"Buy you a drink? We'll have t'git that little furry fella back here, though."

[trigger_man]

"Another one'll be along in a minute. What have you been up to?" Jack asks, watching Doc carefully. There's definitely something off, but he can't quite put his finger on it yet.

[scurlock]

"Tryin' to keep my head down, for the most part. Not gettin' shot at."

[wheelsy_sheriff]

It isn't too long after Doc is settled that Bill comes striding in.

He's out of uniform and dead on his feet, ready to head home from the station. Scrubbing his face with one hand, keys in the other, Bill doesn't realize he's walked into Milliways.

He also doesn't see the leftover slush-puddle until he steps in it.

There's the squeal of rubber sliding on wet floor, and Bill only has time to pinwheel his arms once before he's down on his backside.

"Son of a bitch."

[scurlock]

Doc's close enough to see Bill's ballet solo and he drops his face into his palm at about the same time his friend's ass hits the ground.

"Aww, piss."

He shoves himself up from the bench, dropping his still-burning cigarette into the ashtray.

"Bill, you gotta watch where yer goin'," he says, walking over (carefully avoiding the slushpuddle) to lend him a hand up.

[wheelsy_sheriff]

Bill reaches for the proffered hand, muttering.

"I was watchin' wh-- "

It's then the voice registers and Bill looks up.

Seeing Doc's face, a quick glance around tells Bill he's ended up in Milliways, and the scowl turns into a smile.

"Doc, hey."

Bill winces while getting up, and hangs onto Doc's hand to give it a good pump.

"How y'been?"

[scurlock]

"I been alright," he replies, clapping Bill on the shoulder with his free hand. "Can't complain for not bein' shot at recently. How 'bout you?"

He's already steering Bill towards his table -- clearly this reunion calls for a drink!

Or several.

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"Not being shot is a good thing," Bill replies, letting Doc lead the way.

"I'm doin' alright. Been busy back home."

[scurlock]

"Yeah?" He eyes Bill. "No more aliens, right?"

He drops into the booth, grateful for the stationary seat and the return to his whiskey and cigarette.

[sidhe_king]

There are some things smoke can do--like form uncanny designs in midair--that never cease to be entertaining, especially to the kind of creature who can control it. And that would be one Irish fae sitting maybe seven feet from Doc, chair propped back on two legs as he exhales, smirking at his new creation.

The smoke might just be turning a few vibrant and definitely not natural rainbow colors as it snakes up from his mouth.

[scurlock]

Doc's lips curl into a appreciative smirk around the end of his own lit cigarette.

Now that is some talent right there, yes sir.

Once he's exhaled -- just a steady stream, no dancing woman here -- he nods his head.

"Good show y'got there."

[sidhe_king]

He smiles, black boots resting on the table stretched out in front of him, as he nods his head to Doc. Finn knows he has talents; he doesn't bother to be modest about it.

"Aye, t'is," he murmurs, tongue flicking over the space on his bottom lip where the pipe stem rests, tasting the faintly fruity residue. "Can do ye one better, though," he half-whispers, and with a twist of his fingers the smoke woman--now in virulent red--undulates in a turn, just this side of completely indecent.

"So easy to manipulate."

[scurlock]

Wry and quick, he breaths a laugh.

"Most of 'em are, I'm comin' to notice."

[sidhe_king]

When Finn laughs this time, it's fuller, and with a toothy, sharp grin that he turns on Doc, improbably sprawled in the chair as he watches the cowboy with unconcealed amusement.

"Aye? I've had few troubles with 'em myself," says the sidhe, in a tone that very clearly implies his definition of trouble does not cover most of what humans think it ought to.

[katyafeline.livejournal.com]

And now there's someone sitting next to him, a lit cigarette between her fingers as she contemplates his glass.

She'd apologize appearing from the Gloom, but she gets the impression he'd probably not notice.

At least she's not giggling at him?

[scurlock]

Doc turns his head when there is suddenly a chill at his side, and instead of a draft, he spots Katya.

To his credit, he doesn't jump out of his skin. He simply smiles.

"Well, if it ain't a sight for sore eyes. How're you, darlin'?"

He waves at a waitrat to order another drink, and he'll order her vodka if that's what she'd prefer.

[katyafeline.livejournal.com]

"Very well, cowboy." She drawls back at him in the world's worst impression of an American cowboy, her Muscovite accent too strong to form the proper vowels. She tips an imaginary hat, before taking another pull from her cigarette.

[scurlock]

"M'very glad to hear that," he says, laughing a bit at her impression. (Of him?) He doesn't have a hat on at the moment, otherwise he'd tip it to her. "I know with your world bein' crazy as a batshit coondog on the scent, it's gotta be a rarity t'git a lick of peace'n quiet."

His accent is thicker, hazed over by the alcohol and the opiates running through his veins, but he doesn't notice or attempt to check it.

[katyafeline.livejournal.com]

She can only hope that those selfsame alcohol and opiate hazes keep him from seeing her flinch. There was once upon a time, not so long ago, that a moment of quiet was treasured. Right now? It is driving her mad.

"The Watches certainly aren't known for peaceful nights." She agrees, brightly.

[howling_laugh]

"Snow?" Coyote says, eyeing his tracks. "Where are you getting snow from?"

Unless it's a different time of year for him, she supposes. Then snow is slightly less intolerable.

[scurlock]

"Deadwood," Doc lazily replies, leaning back in the booth. "Streets are full'a the shit this mornin'."

And full of shit, but that's a given.

He smiles.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, darlin'. You want a drink?"

[howling_laugh]

"With you? Any time." Coyote claims the other side of the booth, sliding in and nudging his feet with one of her own. "What are you doing all the way in North Dakota? I thought you liked it a little close to me."

And a little warmer, too.

Heh. So many double entendres, so little time.