milliways_bar | (no subject)

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When Wilford comes into the bar today, holding onto an old printer paper box, he pauses like this isn't where he meant to be. After a moment, he decides that maybe this is the best place to be, and heads straight for the bar, putting the box on top of it.

He tries talking to the bar, asking her if she can get him something from a database, though she seems unwilling to help no matter how nicely (or rudely) he asks.

Every now and then, the lid on the box tries to pop up a bit, causing Wilford to have to slam it back down in a hurry.

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Bernard, down the bar with wine, gives the box a side glance.

"The hell is that?"

"I don't know," Wilford says stiffly.

He doesn't like not knowing. Especially with stuff like this.

"And your response to that is to bring it into a room full of people? Christ, make a little hole in the box and get a torch or something?"

"Not like I meant to," Wilford says.

The lid tries to pop up again, and Wilford slams it down. This time, it seems like he used enough force to scare the thing inside into knocking it the hell off.

"I don't have the means at home to get into a system that might know what it is, and this piece of driftwood isn't being helpful either."

Bernard comes over.

"Well just open it, what's the worst it could be?"

Wilford will not open it.

"I don't know."

And it's maddening. He's supposed to be some sort of armchair expert on these things, and yet he has no idea what it is.

Edited 2017-07-15 22:52 (UTC)

Bernard reaches towards the box.

And then over it, grabs a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar, and stuffs them in his mouth.

"Probably a baby."

Wilford glares at him as Bernard reaches over. Good. Just peanuts. That's fine.

"It's not a goddamn baby."

It's so not.

"Toddler then. Some unrequited lovechild."

"Jesus, no. I said I don't know what it is; not that it's a mystery what's in the box. I put the goddamn thing in the box." Wilford glares at the box as it gives a little wiggle.

It's not a baby, whatever it is.

It takes Bernard a moment to process this. He should really drink less before he has conversations with Wilford, but where would the fun be in that.

"Are we talking intoxicated and don't remember, or sober and just don't know what it is?"

"I don't know what it is."

He gives the box a little sideways punch when it starts wiggling again, and then turns back to the bar.

"You made me bring it here. Come on. I know you can get the documents."

The bar remains stubbornly silent.

"Are you trying to post it?" Bernard asks.

"I'm trying to find out what the fuck it is."

He doesn't know if it's dangerous, or if it can be safely let loose and not slowly take over the entire world. And he hates not knowing more than anything.

"Well what does it look like?"

"Fucking weird. Like something that crawled out of your nightmares."

The thing in the box makes a high-pitched noise, like someone talking gibberish after sucking on helium.

Okay that is quite disturbing.

Bernard orders another round of drinks.

"Take it to the zoo?"

Wilford sighs.

"Do you know what happens, where I'm from, when you don't know what something is?" he asks.

"You look it up in a book?"

"Nine times out of ten, you don't live long enough to grab the book."

Which is why the Thing is in a box.

"Then why not put it in a safe?"

That earns a sideways glare from Wilford.

"If you want to reach your hand in there, go ahead," he says, full of sarcasm and annoyance.

Bernard isn't helping. The bar isn't helping. Everything is awful.

"Put the box in a safe." Bernard says. "Jesus."

"You got a safe on hand?" he asks.

Then he looks at the bar. "Do you?"

Nothing. It earns her a thump on the surface, which Wilford can't help but feel like he's going to regret later.

"Got one at home, actually, if you're prepared to pay to replace it."