Josiah 'Doc' Scurlock (
scurlock) wrote in
milliways_bar2013-01-27 08:42 pm
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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.]
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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"If he causes you any problems, let me know," is all he says - he won't push it.
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As Doc looks in the kit, he finishes sewing up the quiver, knotting the leather cord.
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"That's good t'hear, at least he knows what's good for him."
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