[ happy hour ]

[almosthonorable]

Ben Wade is greeted with a handful of surprises when he enters the bar.

One is delicious.

Another is unexpected, to say the least.

And the last, well. He never minds this particular request so much.

"Happy to," he tells the counter, while he withdraws what's sure to be a spectacular cherry tart from the basket at his elbow. "As long as you don't mind me askin' a favor of you."

A napkin appears.

"Now that's just lewd," he says, smirking. "Flattered as I am, I'll have to say no, ma'am. What I need is for you to hold on to a couple things for me -- if you'd be so kind, of course."

Moments later, Ben's signature black hat and his infamous gun are in Bar's care, where they'll remain for the next few weeks, if not months.

He gives the bartop an affectionate half-smile before rounding the counter, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he goes.

Not long afterward, the specials board bears his uniform scrawl.

specials:
milk punch
bourbon
coffee
bourbon coffee
While he waits for customers, he helps himself to that tart -- which is, predictably, delectable -- and a glass of milk punch.

[ ooc: open for business all day and most of the evening, y'all. have at! and we're closed for the night, as of 11:03 p.m. EST — thanks for tagging, everybody! I'll pick up slows asap tomorrow for all who want 'em. ]

Comments

[almosthonorable]

Ben is torn.

"Now that would be somethin'," he says. "But I don't know if I'd be the best at care-takin' for a pup, out on my side of the door. I'm about to start workin' a job with some long days, and I'm not so sure how kindly my boarding house would take to an alien meatball."

[hecu_marine]

"Fair 'nough," says Shephard. "I dunno how fast these pups'll go from wrigglers to football size, which is about how big Mrs. Wilson here was when I first brought her home. Might as well wait and see. Young pups're a lot of work'n time'n all."

[almosthonorable]

He cants his head slightly.

"How long've you been workin' with Mrs. Wilson?"

[hecu_marine]

"Nigh onto a year now," says Shephard. "This's her first litter. Had to take her out'n tie her up near a wild pack when she went into heat."

[almosthonorable]

Ben studies Mrs. Wilson with two critical eyes, attempting to judge her current state.

"How many you think she'll pop out?"

[hecu_marine]

"Dunno. There were four or five pups the same age in the pack when I found her, though," says Shephard. "So might just be around that many."

[almosthonorable]

"Well, I'd love to meet the little meatballs when they get sprung." Ben lifts the nearby coffee pot, and offers to top off Shephard's mug. "Gotta be a sight to behold, I'd think."

[hecu_marine]

Shephard nods and holds his mug out for the refill. "I'll let you know soon as I have 'em to show," he says. "I dunno if they even have the sealed eyes like dogs do, seein' how their entire front end is eyes."

[almosthonorable]

Ben absorbs this with a slow nod.

A pause, then: "Any relation to ... bullsquids, did you say?"

[hecu_marine]

"Naw, no relation," says Shephards. "Bullsquids're about the size of a pony. Two legs, though. Tentacles on one end, big, nasty tail on the other with a bone hook that'll rip off a man's leg with one good strike. Fuckers spit acid and attack or hump fuckin' near anything that moves."

He digs into one of his pockets and comes out with a strip of thin but tough yellow-green skin with a few grayish spots the size of nickels.

"This is hide from one I killed a while back."

[almosthonorable]

Ben studies the skin with interest, putting it to a beast of approximation in his mind's eye, courtesy of Shephard's description.

"Sounds like runnin' across a real ray of sunshine," he says. "I'd say those things make crossin' a diamondback out in the desert seem like a piece of cobbler."