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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"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."

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