milliways_bar | (no subject)

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He's sitting at a table with a good view of the bar, taking time to look through a pair of leather saddlebags that sit on the tabletop; anything that he intends to take with him when he heads out tomorrow morning needs to be checked over. His knife needs to be sharpened; the boxes of ammunition need to be inspected; his foodstuffs need to be packed away so that they won't spoil; maps need to be examined and a route plotted.

At the moment, he's got a pair of his corduroy trousers spread out, and is working on stitching a patch into the side of the right thigh, mending a good-sized tear.

There's a bourbon on the rocks sweating at his elbow as he works; he's finished half of it so far, but give him time. He'll get through it.

[Open until I say it's not; I'll be putting Doc out for some OOMery soon and this is your chance to catch him before he heads out.]

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Will sits down at Doc's table and continues mending the rip in his quiver,

"Where are ye 'eadin' to?"

Edited 2013-01-28 02:28 (UTC)

Doc glances up and offers Will a hint of a smile.

"I'm goin' out for awhile, lookin' to find a place where I can come across some livestock," he says.

"Oh, 'ow far out do ye think ye'll 'ave to go an will ye be in need o'any aid?" He knows the distances in America can be great.

"I'm looking for some sheep," he says. "As far as havin' to travel, I'll just need t'git a couple week's ride towards maybe Missoura or Nebraska," he explains, though he doubts Will has any idea what that means in terms of things. "Where I'm at now ain't good for grazin' sheep, so they'll be harder to come across."

"An what will ye do with the sheep once ye've found 'em?"

It sounds like he means to set up a farm, but land's harder to steal than livestock.

"Aimin' to bring 'em back here, gonna give 'em to Ellen park so she can take 'em out to her world and try t'git a flock started for some'a the communities they got together. They're pretty simple t'care for, you just gotta make sure they don't git attacked by nothin', really."

He ties off the thread with the patch finished, and then reaches for the bourbon.

"We were discussin' her world and the animals in it, there ain't much by way of food sources that ain't tainted by all the chemicals that killed the land all those years ago."

"Oh aye, they're sturdy beasts. I dinna think I know 'er but once ye find 'em, I'll be glad to 'elp move 'em."

"I'll likely need the assistance," he nods. "So I'll take you up on that when the time comes t'git 'em back here. S'a lot easier with a few hands to keep them all in line."

He's not certain just how he'll get himself a good-sized flock of sheep anyway, part of him would like to try and avoid outright theft, but livestock can be expensive, and he's not exactly made of money.

"I'm going t'try and take a few jobs on the way out, t'help with expenses," he says. "Maybe somethin' in security, or somethin' of the sort."

"I 'ope ye can find somethin', know it isna a simple thing."

"I ain't afraid t'git work that most folk don't care for," Doc replies. "I'd like t'keep it on the legal side if I can, but I'm not adverse to other avenues of opportunity either, you know?"

"Aye, I do. Been thinkin' on that o'late as met the son o'an earl from na too far from me time. 'e corrected me manners to 'im, na used to that 'appenin' 'ere,"

It reminded him that Milliways changes some things but not who and what he is.

Doc raises an eyebrow. "Corrected your manners? He ain't got the right, in this place. Shouldn't have the right in any, but I know how it can git."

"'e's the son o'the earl o'Northumbria. 'e was fair 'bout it, gotten worse in me time,"

All it did was show him that his time is far from Milliways.

"Still," he protests. "You've got just as much standin' as the next man who walks through the door, in this place. I don't want you to think any less of yourself just 'cause some asshole's got a fancy string of titles after his name."

"I know, doc, tis just what I've always known."

"Which I understand...I just hate seein' folk get put down on for where they're from or who they call their parents, s'all," he says, finishing off the bourbon and signaling for another from a passing waitrat.

"Aye," Will doesn't know how to fully explain it as its his world.

He folds the trousers up neatly and they get set aside; next he unrolls what looks to be a rudimentary first-aid kit, and starts looking through the tools.

"If he causes you any problems, let me know," is all he says - he won't push it.

"I will but I dinna suspect 'e will. 'e 'minds me o'Robin, a man who respects a fine fighter,"

As Doc looks in the kit, he finishes sewing up the quiver, knotting the leather cord.

There's a scalpel among the mix, and he removes it (and a whetstone) and carefully sets to work on honing the blade's edge.

"That's good t'hear, at least he knows what's good for him."

"Aye, think 'e does. I've finished me mendin', can I be o'aid?"

Doc looks over the things on the table, and shakes his head. "I ain't got much t'finish, really. Gettin' the hole patched up was my main concern - could've gotten a new pair of pants from the bar, but those are still just fine. How're things goin' for you in Sherwood?"

"Oh aye, na need to get rid o''em if ye can still mend 'em. Quiet an cold, but the winter's na bein' too 'ungry yet."

"Didn't get shot in the ass, did you?"

Bill's voice comes from Doc's left, and Bill pulls out chair at the table, nodding at Doc's sewing as he sits. His beer gets set down in a spot clear of Doc's stuff.

"No I didn't get shot in the ass, my holster's just worn a spot thin here on the side," Doc replies, grinning at the sight of his friend. "S'good to see you, Bill."

"Good. Bullet in the keister can't be fun when on a horse," Bill replies, and returns the smile.

"S'nice t'see you too, Doc. How you been?"

"I've been all right," Doc says. "Gettin' ready to head out here in a bit, figured I'd get things in order 'fore tomorrow. How about yourself?"

Bill glances at the saddlebags and asks, "Got a destination, or just hittin' the trail?"

Lifting his beer, he takes a drink and shrugs.

"Been fine. Busy, but that's how it's been since I got back to work. Haven't seen this place for a bit, nice to take a break for awhile."

"I'm lookin' to get someplace where I can manage to find some sheep at a good price," he explains. "So that'll likely mean headin' to either Missoura or maybe Nebraska, depends on where they're at this time of season. I'll probably take work on the way, so I can manage t'support my travelin'."

He speaks while still working on the patch - it's certainly not the most beautiful bit of sewing ever to grace the earth, but it'll hold strong and that's all that he really cares about.

"Things all right in Wheelsy?"

"Sheep?" Bill tilts his head curiously. "You lookin' t'start a shepherdin' gig, Doc?"

Bill won't comment on the sewing job, it's a lot better than anything he'd manage. Luckily, Bill has the benefit of his mom living nearby, and a girlfriend.

He doesn't frown, but his smile thins when he answers Doc's question.

"Mostly. Still workin' out the problems with the drugs."

"No, I'm lookin' to acquire a decent-sized flock of 'em for a woman I know from in here. You ever met Ellen Park?"

He ties off the knot and uses his knife to cut the tail of thread, and tugs on the patch. Satisfied, he folds up the pants and sets them aside for the moment.

"Ellen? Yeah, bitty thing from one of those screwed up futures, right?"

Lifting his beer, he leans back in his chair with it.

"From what she's told me that place is pretty nuts. Think a flock'll take there?"

"Mmm, high-rise short-shorts, interesting trail choice." She purrs in his ear, belatedly stepping fully out of the Gloom a half-second later to the jangle of silver jewelry.

One day, he'll learn to equate the brief flash of bone-chilling cold with her voice coming out of nowhere - today is not that day. He jumps slightly, but doesn't turn, only making eye contact when she perches across from him at the table.

"This is why I don't let you make the choices for what I take out, I'd look a fool," Doc comments fondly. "I'd never get any respect."

"You command respect only through a suitable length of denim?" She asks archly, plucking one of the bullets free from its box and spinning it along her fingers.

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