milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Last week, Wilford got some confirmation on something he's been suspecting for a while. He wasn't even a little bit surprised to hear it, but now that it's there, he has to either face it, or find a new way to ignore it. Like the champ he is, he's going to continue to ignore it.

Today, he comes into the bar with his new puppy. She's wearing one of his old t-shirts, and drooling significantly more than usual. Stoned out of her mind is probably an appropriate description for this dog. But at least between that and the t-shirt, she doesn't seem to have even noticed the stitches in her belly. Which is good, because that's the last thing Wilford needs right now.

He takes Bailey over to the fireplace and lets her lounge on the sofa next to him. Between them, they take up the entire thing. Which is probably a nice change of pace from Wilford taking up the entire sofa by himself. While his dog soaks the sofa in drool, Wilford orders a drink and pulls his laptop out of his inventory. He's got one hell of a script to write if he wants to come back with a bang.

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Maybe rambling off more drugs than Wilford can count was not the best idea? Especially when he hasn't even heard of some of them.

"Leave her alone. She's sick."

He's...touchy about his pets.

Cecil moves off the couch arm to settle in an armchair instead, his expression still wounded, still bewildered. The dog is not sick, she's drugged, so... he'd complain about the lying (why the ridiculous, useless lying?) but there's bigger problems.

Cecil's sure got a strict idea of lying if that counts. But whatever. At least he listens, unlike some people.

Feeling like the situation has calmed down enough, Wilford takes his laptop back out of his inventory and calls up his script again. He needs to finish it before he goes back to work. Of course, this is right when Bailey decides to start whining.

Cecil makes a quick, abortive movement to reach out and calm the poor thing, but... no. He subsides back into the chair, still eyeing Wilford like a bear trap that had unexpectedly closed over his hand.

"What's wrong with you?" Wilford asks, ostensibly to the dog, but it could go either way.

Bailey is clearly becoming more and more unhappy about something. When an ear scratch doesn't do it, Wilford checks his watch. It's a little early, but she is just a puppy. He pulls another item from his inventory. This time, a plastic pill bottle, full of pills hidden inside dog food. It smells disgusting, but Wilford manages to not gag as he tries to get his dog to eat it.

"Come on. You'll feel better."

He can't really blame her for not wanting it. He didn't take his either when he was in a similar situation.

Cecil makes a mental bet with himself over how many times that pill is going to end up on the floor, increasingly more slobbery and fractioned. He'd offer to help, but... Wilford is being suddenly and inexplicably weird. It's really not a good idea to go blundering in to sudden and inexplicable weirdness except on express occasions. This is not one of them.

Both sides of the bet will earn him a ice cream sundae from bar, so... there's that.

Wilford can feel Cecil watching him, but there's a crying dog to deal with first. The pill winds up on the ground three times, covered in slobber and all sorts of grime before he's able to convince Bailey to finally swallow it. His hand is also disgusting now, but his jeans are cheap and can afford to have dog slobber and grime wiped on them.

The pill does not stop the whining, but Bailey gets another scratch all the same.

"You got any experience with teaching a dog English? Some jackass bought me a foreign dog."

Wilford is convinced that this would have been easier to deal with if Bailey knew English like a proper dog.

"I don't think you'll get much training done at the moment." Cecil points out, wryly. "Things being as they are."

"I don't think she knows she exists at the moment."

He tongue falls out again. She likes it there apparently.

Cecil makes a complicated gesture, which probably stands in for 'well, that'd be the ketamine I was suggesting', but...

Cecil is still entirely too wary to blunder back in like that.

"So what's this beef you've got with Nick?" Wilford asks.

She usually goes out of her way to avoid causing problems with people, Wilford thought.

Cecil eyes Wilford, now a bit more worried than wary. Definitely wary, but... with neighborly worry thrown in there. Has he hit his head on something? Or had his head hit by something?

If there's bleeding, it's not where Cecil can see it.

"... That would be the inaccurate journalism." He says slowly, trying to gauge from his seat in the armchair if Wilford's pupils are the same size and staying within the bounds of his irises.

They... probably are? The daily slap-fights around the studio shouldn't have hurt him that much, but these things get out of hand sometimes.

"Well, one. She doesn't touch the scripts. And it's not inaccurate if every word of it is the truth. How could it be?"

"I judge her reporting in real time - starting with the report she gave me about Milliways. Which was inaccurate at best." Straight-up lying for entertainment at worst, but Cecil tries not to judge over-harshly.

Most times.

Oh, here we go. This is what Wilford wanted to know.

"What'd she say?"

Cecil gives Wilford an incredibly bland look.

"If you want to know, you can ask her yourself." His only intent is to put Nichola on notice (and perhaps that entire world, if they're all so loose with the truth).

"No, I want to know. What'd she tell you?"

He's getting a feeling that whatever happened with her, there's some sort of weird language barrier happening.

"You can't just dangle something like that and take it away."

Cecil pulls a face at the demand, scoffing.

"Yes, because we're all here to do what you want. You work with her, ask her then." He retorts.

Wilford give Cecil a look, and follows it up by throwing his hands into the air. "Does anybody here know how to have a conversation?"

It can't possibly be him, right?

"Yes." Cecil is unfazed by Wilford's look, and returns it with one of his own.

"But you're not going to tell me what you're so hurt over?"

Cecil is the worst kind of gossip. It's just rude.

"My argument isn't with you, you know that." Cecil corrects. "Well, that hurt, anyway. As for you... did you really think I would hurt a dog? Really?" Yes, he's truly hurt by that. Maybe even more than about the poor journalism.

"You argue with her, you argue with me."

Cecil will learn that one way or another.

Wilford shrugs. "You'd be surprised what people around here have done to my dogs."

Cecil hums, eyeing Wilford critically.

"You don't look like half of a multi-bodied being." He appraises, "Nice try, though. And I, unlike what you're trying to claim, am nobody but myself."

"I didn't say I was anybody else. I said that if you argue with my woman, then you argue with me."

He didn't think it was that difficult of a concept to grasp.

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