milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When life gives you watermelons, you might also get lemons

There's a black rain cloud hanging over Wilford today, as he absently picks at his lunch at the bar. The nerve of some people, just showing up uninvited like that and ruining what was shaping up to be a perfectly good day.

Wilford's got the TV tuned to some garbage, where a zombie is being made to run obscene obstacle courses, but he's not really watching it. It's just noise to keep his mind from running too far away from him.

Seriously why now?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jim had no plans to hang around the bar today. He's aware his younger self is off having adventures and will need the place clear to come back. But he has to come in every couple of hours to see if Sherlock's come back, and he has to bring the stupid dog with him because he doesn't trust time not to move on the other side. It wouldn't be good to lose a month, and return home to find it clawed to pieces by a ravenous mutt.

Annnnd of course the dog sees Wilford and immediately nearly chokes itself to death trying to run to him, while attached to his leash. Jim rolls hs eyes and tries to drag him away so he can go home, but nope. Dog wants his daddy, so Jim lets him off the lead and wanders over after him.

Wilford gives Buster a passing glance, before turning his attention to Jim.

"If you fed him more often, he'd listen to you better," Wilford reminds him, still assuming Sherlock does most of the dog care. Maybe Buster just doesn't respect Jim as an authority figure.

He's not showing much respect to Wilford right now either, the way he's trying to climb up into his lap.

'Sherlock's away. I'm feeding him all the time.'

He takes a seat, looking calm, tanned, and far more together than he has been recently. It's a facade, and will be until Sherlock's back, but it's a good one.

'What makes you think he doesn't listen to me?'

"You're still keeping him on a leash, for one." Wilford was able to ditch that thing after two weeks.

"I saw him in here the other day. He looked like hell." Wilford could relate.

Jim blinks, and murmurs something to Bar. She produces a thick slice of watermelon, which he picks up and bites the end off thoughtfully.

'He's still on the leash, because it never occured to me to take him off. Why would I want to let him run loose?'

Get further away from the puke maybe. He shrugs at the mention of Sherlock, and looks over towards the Observation Window.

'Mm. Well. I should hope he looks a bit better by now.'

The watermelon means nothing to Wilford. Walter hadn't stuck around long enough for their conversation to swing toward what he's been up to over the last few years.

"Because if he knows you're in charge, he won't run off?" It's slowly starting to occur to him that there is not a single thing about how things work on his world that has transferred over to other worlds. Including the way dogs work.

He's already getting sick of Buster trying to find room that isn't there. Buster gets a little scratch behind the ears before he's pushed back down to the floor.

"Knock it off," he says.

Buster grumbles, but doesn't try to get up again.

"Might look better, but he probably doesn't feel it." Again, Wilford can relate.

Being near so many watermelons reminded Jim of how tasty they are, especially when it's hot. Also, he wanted to see if there was a reaction, and the fact there isn't is just as telling as anything else.

'Dogs run off all the time if they get it in their heads.'

It hasn't occured to Jim that video game dynamics apply to the dog as well, because he's never played a game with a dog in it.

'And yes, well-' he sounds eeeeever so slightly testy, '-there's nothing I can do about how he feels.'

"Sure, but they come back." Wilford wouldn't let Buster run around in the forest if he were afraid the dog wouldn't come back. Not as possessive as he is over the creature.

Watermelon's all right. Not Wilford's favourite, mostly because it's a big, sticky mess by the end of it.

"So what'd he do? I didn't think he was in the business of pissing people off."

Jim snorts a laugh that's genuinely amused, but it turns derisive within seconds.

'You don't think Sherlock pisses people off?'

Omg.

'It's practically his raison d'être. But this time-' his jaw clenches slightly, '-he was just doing his job.'

And she fucking shot him, and Jim is going to fucking kill her.

Edited 2017-07-08 20:16 (UTC)

Wilford shrugs. "He seems pretty agreeable to me." Then again, this is Wilford talking.

He pokes at the beef on his plate with his chopsticks. When he finally picks up a piece, he tosses it to the dog instead of eating it.

"I didn't think private eyes actually got shot at that often. I thought they were too busy trying to track down deadbeat dads and exes that aren't paying child support."

'Don't feed him unless you're taking him home with you.'

He almost laughs again, though there wouldn't be much humour in it if he did.

'Does your world really not have a Sherlock Holmes? He's not that sort of detective. Do you think I'd be interested in him if he were?'

"He's my dog. I'll feed him if I want."

A little morsel off his plate here and there won't upset his stomach enough to start making messes everywhere.

"And I don't know what goes through your head. Nor do I want to. It sounds awful in there."

He actually eats some of the rice off his plate. He should be glad to be eating real food again, but his morning completely soured his mood toward literally everything.

'Of course you don't. And of course it is, if you're not me.'

He quite enjoys it, most of the time.

But fine, feed the dog. One hint of barf, and Jim will leave him running around the place again. He's got bigger things to occupy his mind at the moment.

'Sherlock doesn't do deadbeat dads or child support payments. He does...people like me, if there were anyone else like me. Interesting things.'

Jim chucks the rind of melon over the bar, and wipes juice off his fingers.

All Buster sees is something being thrown, and he immediately leaps over the bar to go fetch it.

"That one's on you," Wilford says absently, over the sound of a glass bottle shattering on the floor. He shakes his head, already not liking where this is going.

"Get back over here," he says sharply.

Buster leaps back over the bar with Jim's watermelon rind in his mouth. He doesn't seem to know what to do with it.

"They actually have interesting things on your world?"

Wilford wouldn't know. Jim's world sounds very boring, from what he's heard so far.

'Yes. Me.'

Didn't he just say?

The dog is largely ignored, as is Wilford.

'What's up with you?'

Annoying is not interesting, Jim. Everyone knows that.

"Nothing. I'm just peachy." He flicks some rice around his plate, and then picks out a piece of carrot and eats it.

It is the way he does it. Everyone knows that.

'If you're going to lie, at least be interesting about it.'

Jim sounds bored to even be asking. He wants to be invested in having fun about Walter - because everything about that remains hilarious - butnow he's thinking about Sherlock again instead.

Wilford shakes his head. It's not even worth talking about, because pointless family drama never is.

"Just my son of a bitch brother. Nothing interesting about it."

But Walter got under his skin, when he thought he was over all this stupid bullshit, and it's not fair.

Jim does not smile. But he wants to.

'I didn't know you had a brother.'

Lalala.

'What did he do?'

"Yeah, he's a couple years older. He's either on meth, or having a psychotic break."

Either way, he was talking complete nonsense.

'Why?'

The idea of Walter on meth is hilarious. Psychotic break - - Jim will wear that's already happened, and it was probably Wilford's fault.

"I don't know why. I haven't seen him in twenty years."

No, not twenty. He keeps forgetting that. "Or, whatever. I don't know."

'No, I mean why do you think there's something wrong with him?'

Watermelons aside, though it doesn't seem like Wilford's aware of them anyway.

Nope. He didn't pay any attention to Walter when they were living under the same roof. Why would he know anything about him now?

Wilford shakes his head. "Just a bunch of bullshit."

He hates personal drama. Even his own. Especially his own.

"The kind that fucks your morning up."

'Nothing fucks my morning up,' he murmurs.

'And you must care, or you wouldn't let it either.'