milliways_bar | (no subject)

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So, Bernard is wearing his left arm in a rather ridiculous plaster cast tonight, sticking straight out from his body and held up by a pole. He told his friends it was the outcome of a faux pas he made while drunk, rather than explaining that it was from falling over an animated porcelain doll in this place that was trying to stab him with a spoon.

Perhaps this is why he seems to have been let off being resized. But at the moment, he is enjoying a bit of chain smoking, solely because he's about the only person in here today who's able to buy cigarettes.

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Wilford is hiding under a table downstairs, wrapped up in a blanket because he couldn't manage to get up the stairs after last night. Buster is wrapped up somewhere in that mess with him, sleeping contently.

And then Wilford sees a familiar face. Even better, it's a familiar face that hasn't been turned into a child. He shakily gets to his feet, and checks around the bar for anybody who might want to try to stop him, and heads over to Bernard.

"I need a cigarette," he says, completely unrecognisable as himself in every way.

Bernard looks the kid up and down.

"You don't beat around the bush, do you? Do I know you?"

Cassidy has been ensconced in a booth, stuffing his face with all manner of American junk food possible. He hasn't gotten sick yet. Yet.

But roughly around the same moment that he sees Wilford emerge from under the table, he also sees Bernard at the bar.

Several things click in his head.

He runs up and stands alongside Wilford.

"We both need cigarettes. And beer."

He isn't admitting that they know Bernard.

Here, Bernard, have an Asian kid and an Irish kid soliciting you for cigarettes and beer. Aren't they cute?

So cute. And so sad. Look at how sad and pathetic Wilford looks right now.

"Here. I'll buy an entire pack off you," Wilford says, digging out his very adult-looking wallet and pulling out $10. "Whatever you've got. I don't care."

He's desperate. In fact, he makes it $20.

"Him too."

Bernard digs in his pocket with his good hand to see what he's got on his packet.

"I've got eight. You got any proper British money?"

Edited 2017-11-07 21:44 (UTC)

Is this working? It's really working?

"I've not got any on me, but the Bar can exchange currencies," he says helpfully.

Wilford thought he'd get lucky with Bernard.

He nods at Cassidy, to confirm what he said, and continues to hold out the cash as a little red and white head pops up from inside Wilford's blanket and licks him on the face.

"I'm dying here, man. Come on."

"Go get it changed then, before I smoke them." Bernard says to Cassidy.

He looks at Wilford closely.

"And I want your names first; I won't tell on you, I just want to know who to come and find if you get caught and I get harangued by your appropriate adults."

Change it yourself, wanker, Cassidy does not say to Bernard's face. Because he doesn't want to blow this.

So he takes Wilford's $20 to the Bar and politely asks her to exchange it for British pounds and in no way indicates what it'll be used for, and anyway, she knows. She gives Cassidy the money in any case.

Which he presents to Bernard.

"Here you go, mister."

Because they don't know him at all, nope.

"Walter," Wilford says. "That's Calvin."

Ain't that right, Calvin?

"Nobody's gonna rag on you. It's not even against the rules here. They don't care."

He vaguely realises that if there were ever a time for them to magically add a fourth rule, now would be it.

"Fine, 'Walter'." Bernard hands the fags over to Cassidy.

"If you're going to make up a name, you should generally go for something cool." he says, going to get himself another packet of fags from the bar.

Cassidy quickly divides them up between himself and Wilford. He looks like he needs them more than he does.

"We can't help it if our parents were unimaginative," Cassidy retorts, glancing at Wilford. Walter and Calvin? Really?

"And how about the beer? That's more than enough money for a couple of beers."

Edited 2017-11-07 22:17 (UTC)

Hey, he's sick, and for some reason the first name that sprung to mind was his brother's.

Seriously. He can't help it that his parents were unimaginative.

"Yeah, and what's your name?" Wilford asks, knowing it's no more hip or cool than the ones he gave.

"Bernard Black, but I didn't make it up." Bernard says.

He rolls his eyes. "Let's see, Mrs Bar, can I buy beer after these two geniuses asked me right in front of you? Oh, what a surprise. Glass of cheap wine and two coca colas please."

He carries the drinks back to a table well away from the bar. It might be worthwhile to follow.

Edited 2017-11-08 15:20 (UTC)

"...Okay, that's kind of a cool name."

Doesn't make the person attached to it any cooler, though.

"Jaysus, why is everything so fuckin' puritanical around here?" he gripes as he follows Bernard, wondering what he's up to.

Bernard is the opposite of cool. Especially with his arm in that contraption.

"Because they're a bunch of fucking puritans," Wilford answers obviously as he follows after as well, sorting out his share of the cigarettes. He pulls out his chrome Zippo to light up, and offers it to Cassidy.

Bernard waits until they're out of earshot of Bar, as it were, then takes his hip flask out of his inside pocket.

"You want alcohol, you can tell me the truth about what's going on in here. Why is this bar full of kids and why do you want alcohol? How old are you anyway?"

They really are making this terribly difficult for themselves. If they'd told Bernard they were two of his mates and what had happened, he'd have given them the alcohol and cigarettes without hesitation.

"Old enough," Cassidy says flatly as he borrows Wilford's Zippo to light his own cigarette. "The bar's full of kids 'cause a school bus broke down outside the door. This's Milliways, man, why d'you think?"

Wilford tried telling a friend what the deal was. The friend laughed and treated it like a joke, which is is obviously not.

"What, you mean you weren't on the broken down school bus?" Wilford asks, full of surprise.

"Where's your teacher?" Bernard asks, waggling the hip flask.

"Gone to get help, obviously!"

Duh, Bernard.

"Come on, man. I already paid you. This is theft," Wilford says, trying a different route.

$20 for some cigarettes and a couple of beers. It's a good deal.

"If you think I'm giving children hard spirits without asking questions, you can fuck off." Bernard says, putting his hip flask away. "I'm not spending time in the prison here."

Cassidy has been eyeing that flask and sizing up the possibilities, but when Bernard puts it away, it spurs him into action. With one of Bernard's arms in a ridiculous cast, his mobility is hampered just enough...

"I dunno why everyone's so hung up about doing jail time, I hear it builds character--"

He grabs one of Bernard's Cokes and dumps the ice cold beverage in his lap.

"Get the flask!"

Wilford sees the way Cassidy is looking at Bernard, and manages to put his puppy down onto the floor along with his blanket seconds before everything starts happening.

He throws his entire body into a sudden tackle, on Bernard's injured side and reaches into the pocket where the flask was.

"Ha! Got it!" he crows as he reels back to put some distance between himself and Bernard. The stairs are closer, but they are stairs, so he runs for the back door instead. There are fewer places to get cornered out there.

Bernard doesn't chase them. The tackle knocks him flying and he lands straight on the injured arm, the stupid pole holding the cast up shoving him hard in the side. When he hits the floor, it's with a genuine yell of pain.

Little shits. All they had to do was tell him the truth, and he'd have given it to them.

He clutches at his cast, and goes white as a sheet.

Without thinking, Cassidy runs after Wilford, following him through the back door.

It's daytime.

And the moment he steps off the porch, he lets out a shout of pain as his skin immediately starts to sizzle and smoke.

He scrambles back into the shade, shaking his arms out.

When he looks back through the doorway, he sees Bernard still on the floor.

"Fuck."

Wilford doesn't stop. He runs off somewhere to hide, before someone comes to grab him.

His puppy is still in the bar though, yapping at all of the chaos. He wants to get up the stairs, but his legs are tiny and he can't quite seem to figure it out now.

The scream draws Alana's attention, and she alights by Bernard's side, kneeling by him.

"Bernard! You'll be okay!" Alana says, her eyes wide. "Let's take you to the infirmary to scan your arm."

For a moment, the pain is bad enough that Bernard thinks he might pass out. But just as his vision clears, Alana appears, and his relief is visible.

"Give me a moment." He says. "Pole just went in my side. The little shit jumped me full force."

Cassidy sneaks back into the bar, keeping a low profile, and heads for the stairs. He grabs the barking puppy to shut him up and darts up to Wilford's room.

Fortunately there's a doggie door, and after shoving the puppy through, he crawls in after him. It's a bit of a squeeze, but he gets in just fine.

Breathless and still running on adrenaline, he sits on the floor with his back to the door, and waits for everything to die down.

He hopes Bernard isn't too badly hurt.

Alana lets Bernard recover his breath, making sure to keep her hands off of him. "Let me know when you need help up."

He's just winded, and after a minute he sits up cautiously.

"They got my hip flask. I need that back." he says.

It's not the fact that they're drinking it. They might see the inscription. They might ask questions.

'To Bernard, all my love, Emma'

"Right now, we need to worry about whether your broken arm has been unaligned," Alana says, nervousness threading through her voice. "I can't do anything if it has been, but I can scan your cast to check."

Bernard gets up, grimacing as he moves.

"Thank you. Did you see where they went? Know their real names?"

Alana stands with him. "Unfortunately, no, I didn't see where they went, and I don't know their real names. Do you need help to the infirmary?"

Edited 2017-11-08 23:47 (UTC)

"No, my legs are fine." Bernard says, following her.

Bernard and Alana wend their way through the bar to the infirmary, where Alana encourages Bernard to sit on one of the beds. She finds the scanner and runs it over his cast.

"Your arm isn't misaligned," she says, sighing.

Edited 2017-11-09 20:59 (UTC)

"Thank you." Bernard says, looking at the bizarre-looking scanner.

"I think it just winded me."

"I'm so sorry you were attacked by those boys," Alana says, frowning. "Maybe Bar can give you their names."

"Good point." Bernard says. "Or I can leave a note to the 'brats' and it'll probably get there."

"Are you going to tell Security?" Alana says, raising her brows.

"No." Bernard says. "I just want the hip flask back."

He can't do time for giving the kids cigarettes. He can't go that long without a drink.

"I hope you get the hip flask back, then," Alana says, shaking her head. "Bar can give you some painkillers."

He nods, slightly relieved that she didn't press it.

"Thanks Alana."

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