milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Fry slams the door behind him when he comes into the bar tonight, clutching a small black object. He looks around quickly, hoping to spot Gene, and then goes over to the bar.

"Bar, have you seen Gene? I need police advice or I might have to go on the run." he says.

This is the last time he takes advice from anyone with a pink moustache.

[ooc: Not plotlocked, but all threads millitimed to before Gene's]

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"What for?" Fry asks.

Wilford shrugs. "I don't know. Throwing rocks or something? It was a long time ago."

Or does Fry mean the one when he was eleven?

Who cares? There's still steak on his plate that needs to be eaten.

"Was it worth it?"

Wilford shrugs. "Got me out of school for the rest of the year."

The one when he was eleven, that is.

"That's stupid." Fry says.

"I thought it was great."

He shrugs again. "The therapy sucked, but what are you gonna do?"

"I have a good psychologist, he's called Max."

Wilford snorts. "There's two words you never hear together."

"Max is okay." Fry says. "He helps me with stuff."

"If you say so."

Wilford has his own opinions about people like this Max. None of them are favourable.

"How do you know otherwise if you haven't met him?"

Wilford rolls his eyes. "Jesus, not you too."

He does not need to explain himself on this. Especially not to a child.

"So you did meet him?" Fry asks, because Confusing.

"What?"

Wilford finishes off his whiskey, and immediately orders another.

"The hell are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, it's very difficult to understand what you mean when you're drunk."

Wilford stares at Fry for a second. "You're the one who hasn't been making sense all night."

"Because you're drunk."

He shrugs again. Can't argue with that.

"So, if you're really going on the run, you'll need at least three grand. Plus a fake ID. You know where to get one of those?"

"I can go on the run in here." Fry says.

"Where your folks come? And your old man's on payroll? All right, sure."

"Well I can't go on the run in my own garden, the police will look there."

"No, you leave the country."

Duh, Fry.

"I don't think I'd be allowed to fly on my own."

Wilford sighs. "What, exactly, do you think is involved with 'going on the run'?"

"You hide in a tree until it blows over."