milliways_bar | (no subject)

The change in the weather and the trees should have been the first thing he noticed, but it wasn't. Half-asleep in the saddle, it's not until Cortez picks up the pace at the sight of the barn that Doc realizes that he's no longer riding through Washington Territory.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," he mutters. "About damn time."

He shakes a layer of snow from his hat and coat after dismounting from the horse; once he's made certain that Cortez is situated with fresh water and feed in a dry stall, Doc shoulders his bags and heads for the bar. He's not bathed in some time, his hair is shaggy and his beard hasn't been tended to lately either.

Lighting up a cigarette as he drops into a booth near the fireplace, he motions for a waitrat.

"I want dinner," he tells the rat. "Real dinner, none of that shit I've been eatin' the last six months. And a pot of coffee -- good coffee, if you please."

Doc drops a worn banknote on the rat's tray as it scurries off. He figures it won't hurt to tip from the get-go, after how long it's been since he's haunted these parts.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's useful that way," Ellen agrees. "Where are you in from this time?"

"Washington Territory," he says. "I'm headed up to the Yukon/"

"... wow," says Ellen after a moment, sounding a little stunned. "That's... I seem to remember learning about that in history class. That's a long way. Are you going after gold?"

She vaguely remembers a gold rush all the way up north in the history texts. It was either in the Yukon or Alaska. Something like that.

"That's the plan, least at the moment," Doc says. "I ain't lookin' to stay 'round the parts where folk might git the wrong idea about my intentions, and I figure...it'll be a fresh start. Chance t'make a decent livin' without havin' to break the law, for once."

Ellen nods. "Good luck," she says. "I'd love to hear how it goes. It seems like the kind of thing that could get you really rich if you were lucky and didn't mind the cold."

"I'm used to the dry cold y'git in the desert - I know that the snow and ice'll be an entirely different set of challenges, but I'm willin' to try it. At least for a little while. I'll let you know," he says. "How about you? What've you been up to?"

"A couple of missions," Ellen says, "and a transfer to a new posting, where they really needed a chaplain. But probably the biggest thing is that in between two of the missions, Jerald and I got married."

She's going to have to put an announcement in Bar's care for the people she hasn't seen lately, she realizes. Otherwise she's going to forget they don't know by the next time she sees them.

That little tidbit certainly gets Doc's attention.

"Hey now, that's great!" Doc smiles broadly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Ellen says. "I was hoping to have it done somewhere I could theoretically sneak some people from the Bar in to see it, but I mean it when I said it was between two missions- my superior had to send me out on something both time-sensitive and dangerous and he basically apologized for it by having the ceremony done early, in the Citadel, before I left."

"What matters is that y'had it done," Doc says. "There will be time for celebratin' proper eventually, and we could even throw ya'll a party of sorts here maybe, if you can ever find a way t'git Jerald through a door."

"If I can I'll be more than happy to keep him here until we can get a proper celebration going," Ellen says. "I haven't had much luck getting the door to open around anyone from my world except Fawkes, but you never know. It could change."

"Milliways is in a constant state of change, it seems. Even when it's looking calm."

Doc glances around while drinking some more coffee.

"So what sort've assignment have they got you posted to now?"

"Remember those sheep you got for me, for the people who were being thawed out from the alien ship?" Ellen says. "That community's got a small Brotherhood garrison keeping an eye on them. I've been sent up there to work with them for the next few months, possibly longer. Apparently pretty much everybody involved is overwhelmed, and they wanted a chaplain or at least some kind of counselor to try and help them deal with it, so..."

"How long were they kept on the ship for," he asks, unable to recall if she's told him that detail before.

"It varies," says Ellen. "A lot of them are from before the Great War, though. So more than two hundred years."