milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[ timed to the day after this entrance ]

This bug gore is nasty.

A scraped and bruised deputy U.S. marshal has been scrubbing at his borrowed armor for the past hour, to little avail, in a booth along one wall.

He's determined to restore the suit to its previous condition before he turns it back over to Ellen, so he approaches the counter with grimy hands and a half-hopeful heart.

"Bar," he says, "there has got to be something that can get this stuff off."

A bottle, a fresh rag, and a clean bowl of water appear.

He lifts an eyebrow.

"Goo Gone?" He shifts his weight, still obviously favoring one side, thanks to yesterday's battle. "No shit?"

A napkin appears next to the bottle.

"I'm sorry. That was unbecoming."

A jar appears next, partially filled with an assortment of coins and bills from all ends of the multiverse.

"A swear jar," Raylan says, his voice flat. "Nice."

He doesn't push his luck too much, though, lest the Goo Gone disappear; he digs into his pocket, wincing at the pull of scraped skin along the back of his hand.

He deposits a smattering of loose change, and the jar winks out of existence, soon replaced by a steaming cup of coffee.

Raylan smiles, despite his split lower lip.

"Thank you."

[ ooc: open forever! or, y'know, till his next ep. ]

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The soreness in Raylan's ribs curbs his under-the-breath chuckle, but doesn't stop him from giving a little extra attention to the spot just behind Dogmeat's left ear.

"Good boy," he says, his voice low and kind. "I promise, this is much better than what this suit's got going on for itself."

Yeah, okay, Dogmeat's going to go along with that, tail waving like mad; far be it from him to argue when stuff's going this well. Even if he does kinda catch what sounds like Ellen coming in this general direction. She'll understand. She usually does.

Raylan's fingers move to the top of Dogmeat's head, and Dogmeat gets several pats before Raylan takes back his hand.

"Treats all right by you?"

As if Dogmeat could actually answer.

Shaking his head slightly at himself, Raylan turns to the bar, just in time to see a bone-shaped dog biscuit appear.

"You're on top of it today," he says to the counter, "you know that?"

There are lots of strange things and mutant animals in the world Dogmeat comes from, but talking dogs are not on the list. Just dogs who're entirely too happy to hop up on their hind legs and look intently at the biscuit as soon as the smell hits their nostrils. Because grabbing something and eating it without permission is Bad, obviously.

"Well, hey, there," Raylan says, with a short chortle, once he turns back to Dogmeat.

He slides over the biscuit.

"Knock yourself out."

It's probably even healthy, knowing Bar.

OM NOM NOM SNARF CHORFLE CRUNCH.

You know how normal dogs gobble down all their food in a hurry just in case someone comes and takes it away? Wasteland dogs are twice as hyper about it.

Which is why there's a resigned sigh and a, "I hope he isn't making a mess all over you- I'm so sorry," as Ellen approaches.

Raylan looks up, and shakes his head, half-smiling.

"Nah, he's a good ol' guy," Raylan says, giving Dogmeat's head one more quick scritch. "And besides, I don't think he could do any more damage over here than I already have."

He gestures to Ellen's half-cleaned armor, his expression turning toward wry.

"He usually means well," Ellen concedes, and steps past the dog. She knows better than to interrupt Dogmeat when he's eating. "Ooh. You're having trouble cleaning it up too, huh? What're you using to get that stuff off?"

Pause.

"And how have you been, anyway? I didn't get to check up on people much...."

Raylan holds up the Goo Gone with some measure of triumph. To tell the truth, he's amazed this stuff is taking off the grime in a timely fashion.

He passes over the bottle, and picks up the cleaning rag once more.

"Oh, I'm all right — especially considering what we saw out there. What about you?"

"I have some Abraxo cleaner upstairs. It's what I usually use to get tongue monster spittle off," Ellen says as she accepts the Goo Gone. "It's always good to have an alternative, though."

"I'm all right, I guess. There were a lot of those things, and they were kind of horrifying, but they weren't human." She shrugs. "And they were all trying to kill us, which makes it a lot easier to deal with."

That's what makes the most difference, honestly. At least for her. If it's actively trying to kill you, or someone else, then it's probably not worth losing sleep over.

... survival in the Wasteland necessitates certain accommodations to one's point of view.

Raylan's mouth quirks in a brief half-smile.

"I have no qualms about that whole mess," he says. "It was most definitely justified."

He dips the rag in the bowl of water, and squeezes the excess from the cloth.

"I'm concerned about Val, though. I'll be keeping an eye out, see if there's anything she might need."

"Me too," Ellen says. "I saw how she was wobbling afterwards. That looked way too familiar. I'll do what I can for her while I'm here- I remember being in the infirmary for weeks, last year. If there's anything you think she needs... I mean, the doctors can take care of the medical stuff, but people brought me comic books and a ball to throw against the wall and stuff like that, you know?"

He glances up from the chest plate he's working on, his hand stilling altogether.

"Weeks? You mind telling me what happened? Not that you have to, of course."

"It's okay," Ellen says. "It was a case of radiation poisoning. Back... back home, there was trouble- my father's water purifier for the Potomac tidal basin, the one he'd died protecting? It started malfunctioning, badly, and the only way to prevent it from exploding and destroying twenty years of work and making a lot of people very sick was for someone to go into the control room and switch it on directly. It was so irradiated in there that I don't think they make a Geiger counter with a big enough scale, and I only got out of there because I have a friend who's a mutant who was able to drag me out for decontamination. But I spent two weeks at home unconscious, and then I wandered in here by mistake, and one of the doctors here confined me to the infirmary until I'd had a very thorough course of treatment."

By the bar calendar it was around a year ago. On her side of the door it was a few months. Either way, she's a little surprised she can talk about it without stammering, but time will do that sooner or later.

Raylan appears to absorb this in remarkable stride.

For a given value of "remarkable," anyway.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving Ellen's as she speaks.

"Holy shit," he says, so low it's almost under his breath.

A beat, and the swear jar reappears.

He pulls a slight face, but ponies up, nonetheless.

"Sorry," Ellen says a little sheepishly. "It's just- it's something that happened, back home. It's not even the worst thing that ever happened, it just put me in the infirmary for a long time."

"Oh, that's nothing you have to apologize for," he says, glancing at the jar with a dismissive shake of his head. "Bar's been having some fun with my choice of words today, is all."

He returns his full attention to Ellen.

"Even if it wasn't the worst, that sounds ... "

A pause.

"Well, I'd say 'rough,' but that doesn't do it justice."

"It's not something I'd want to repeat," Ellen admits. "I was unbelievably lucky to have survived it at all, and if it weren't for this place, I'd probably still be recovering at the Citadel. Or at least assigned to duty in one place instead of out in the field."

He nods.

"Glad you had this infirmary on your side," he says, in what's one of the biggest understatements at the end of the universe.

"How's the purifier now? Still holding up?"

Ellen nods. "The Brotherhood of Steel is running it these days," she says, "and working with Rivet City security to get water caravans safely around the Wasteland. People are really turning to our water supply in earnest now. It's going to be a while before the difference is visible, but I think you can get some hints of it already..."

"Sounds like those are some serious delivery drivers," he says, with a ghost of a wry smile.

"Is depletion going to be a problem pretty soon?"

"I don't think so," Ellen says. "We've got the whole Tidal Basin to work with, and any water that comes in from upriver. And it's the rainy season, which is painful to get caught out in but at least tends to fill up the river itself from what people tell me. So we should be okay there, I think."

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