(no subject)

[scurlock]

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.]

Comments

[scurlock]

"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.

[wheelsy_sheriff]

"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?"