milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

It’s early in the morning when the door opens and someone on the other side whistles sharply. Buster trots over to see who it is, wags his tail happily, and disappears through to the other side.

On the other side of the universe, in a house in the Vinewood Hills, there’s a brief power struggle over home-ownership.

Later in the evening, the door opens, and Buster races back into the bar with his ears down and his tail tucked firmly between his legs. Not far behind him is Wilford, in his pyjamas and holding a wooden spoon and a giant wok, looking equally rattled. It takes them both a few seconds to realise where they are, at which point they head straight for the fire to form a new plan of attack. Because the first one went so well.

[ooc: Wilford is just a few months out from the point where he originally entered the bar. This is the ‘older’ version of Wilford, for anybody who may still be under the impression that there were two versions of him.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hoi, Asshole," Baze says, approaching a little while after Wilford has settled in. "May the Force of others be with you! What's eatin' ya?"

"Huh?" Wilford realises he's still holding onto the wok, and puts it down onto the table with a loud clunk. Huddled on the floor between his feet is Buster, making sad little noises.

"Thought it was a passing spirit, but now I'm not sure," Wilford says, tapping the spoon against his hand.

That sort of thing usually works on ghostly assholes who just want to pop in for a chat.

Oh, no, poor Buster. Baze offers the dog a sympathetic look. Then the Guardian settles his armored bulk in a plush armchair by Asshole. Baze puts his feet up on the table.

"Thought what was a passing spirit?"

Buster takes this as an invitation to wiggle over and try to lick Baze's hands.

"The..." Wilford waves his hand vaguely, "thing. Whatever it was haunting my fucking house."

When he's feeling a little less rattled, he's going to be having some serious Words with someone over this.

Eww, dog spittle. Gross.

"Something is haunting your house?" Bsze says, raising his brows.

"Do you know what the spirit wants?"

"If I had to guess, probably for me to not be there."

Wilford glances down at his spoon and tosses it into the wok. The noise makes Buster jump.

Wilford sighs and rubs his eyes behind his glasses.

"But who the fuck knows?"

"Oh," Baze says, his brow creased.

"Well. That's an impasse. What do you usually do with spirits that haunt houses?"

Wilford points at his wok. "That," he says. "You bang on it and tell it to get the fuck out."

But it does not work on every kind of spirit. As evidenced by Wilford and Buster being here.

"You... bang on a saucepot?" Baze says, squinting at the wok.

"What will you do now that that hasn't worked?"

Wilford shrugs. "Crucify the bastard that sold me the house?"

That... is a good idea, actually. That's exactly what he'll do. Metaphorically.

"I'm getting the impression that this is a new house," Baze says, cocking his head to the side.

"If so, congratulations, but I'm sorry it's haunted. That sucks."

Sucks is such a funny word. Barry uses it all the time, so of course Baze picked it up eventually.

"Just moved in this week."

It does suck. It sucks big time.

"Do you have any of this kind of shit where you're from?" Maybe Baze knows a trick Wilford doesn't.

"Nope," Baze says, making sure to keep his hands clear of Buster's reach.

"All we have is Force ghosts, and I don't even know if those exist. They're generally bound to where they lived, and don't tend to hurt people."

Buster whines quietly, and starts licking Baze's shoe instead.

"What's a Force ghost?" Wilford asks.

It's not a term he's come across before.

Eww, gross. Baze doesn't kick Buster in the head. The Guardian isn't even tempted. But he does draw his shoe back.

"Shoo," Baze tells the dog, waving his hand.

"A Force ghost is someone--usually a Jedi, I haven't heard of anyone else doing this--that denies being part of the Force after death. They can interact with the living, but not physically."

Wilford finally notices that his dog is being an irritating brat and pulls him away from Baze. He settles the dog under his feet again, and isn't even a little surprised when Buster starts immediately licking his ankle. Annoyed, sure, but not surprised.

"That's your religion's magic, isn't it?" Wilford asks, ignoring Buster for now.

"Not magic," Baze says, sighing. He rests his elbows on his knees, and leans forward.

"The Force is an energy field. It's potentially benevolent, though I used to struggle with that a lot. All is as the Force wills, or so they say."

Wilford considers this for a moment. It still doesn't sound right to his ears for some reason.

"What kind of energy?"

Baze blinks at him.

"What do you mean, what kind of energy? The energies of all living things. Some people call the Force the spirit of the universe."

It's Wilford's turn to sigh. "Electrical, cosmic, kinetic, spiritual?"

Come on, Baze. This is grade school stuff.

Well, maybe high school stuff.

"I'd say it's cosmic and spiritual, and possibly kinetic, but not electrical," Baze says, pursing his lips.

"Though Ibani can summon Force lightning, so maybe it's electrical, too."

Well, fuck. What is that even supposed to mean? Wilford has to take a moment to make sure he heard that correctly.

"I want to see that," he says finally.

"You'd have to ask her, but I wouldn't recommend it," Baze says, looking shifty-eyed.

"She wants to kill you for killing me."

"She—what?"

Rude.

"I don't even know this person."

"She doesn't know who you are, either," Baze says, holding his hands up.

"I asked her not to sully her hands for me, so I doubt she'll hurt you if she finds out."