milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Wilford hasn't really involved himself in the party scene since moving to Los Santos, but this weekend he made an exception. And oh, what an exception it was.

Before he limps back to Billy to pick up his puppy, Wilford stops at the bar to just... try not to die. He's been beaten, stabbed, and his body can't tell if it's time to be hungover, or time to continue partying. The last thing he wants to do is continue partying, so he collapses on the sofa.

Only now does he realise that at some point in the night, he lost his dentures. Well, that's just peachy.

[ooc: Lots of violence and drugs in the link]

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Next time he goes to the bar, he'll receive five thousand dollars in coins. You're welcome, Wilford.

Eventually, a rat brings Wilford a note from the bar, informing him of what's waiting for him. He... has no idea why he's got so many coins waiting for him. He doesn't want them, and sorting through them all seems like a hassle. After a bleary moment of searching for a pen in his inventory, he gives the rat a note in return, instructing the bar to bank the coins, along with what's still left from Buster's money.

Just because it's coins doesn't mean he's going to turn down free cash.

You know what's great for hangovers? Loud, repetitive music of the 8-bit variety.

It's been awhile, but Barry's Gameboy is making a reappearance and he's sprawled on another chair near Wilford, long legs hanging over the arm as he kicks back engrossed in a game of super-speed Tetris.

Some things, Wilford can ignore. He's used to ignoring noise. He even manages to ignore this noise for a while, but it doesn't seem to be stopping at all.

He looks around blearily, finding the source of the awful noise.

"You wanna turn that down for the rest of us?" he says.

He pulls out his phone since he's clearly not going to be getting any sleep and tries to take a picture of the inside of his mouth. For science, or something.

Caught up in the game, the request is slow to register. When it finally does, Barry gives a distracted nod.

"Oh yeah, sorry. Just a sec."

Right... after... he tops out... nope, he got the long piece he needed, nice!

It's gonna be just another minute.

Why do people suck?

Wilford inspects the photo he took of his mouth. It seems wherever his teeth went, they did so without a fight. He's not sure what to do with that information, but it's nice information to have.

The 'music' is still playing.

"You've had your second, pal. Turn it down."

Wilford's going to have to find a new quiet place to hide if people are going to keep bringing robots and loud noises here all the time.

"Yeah, sorry-- " he replies, thumbs working in a blurred motion on the buttons. "Let me just-- "

Trying not to comply, Barry does reach for the volume switch while trying to continue his streak. Alas, it does not work and he groans as he finally hits the end.

Head thumping back on the chair arm he's resting on, Barry sighs and flicks the game off.

"Sorry about that, new high score. I-- " finally looking over, Barry realizes who's been talking and a sharp frown turns down his features.

"Oh. It's you." Suddenly Barry doesn't feel so bad about being rude.

Wilford hates it when people say that to him. He never knows if there's some silliness afoot, or if his memory is just going to hell.

At least the noise as stopped.

"Do I know you?"

He tries to figure out if this guy looks familiar, but... nope. Nothing's coming to mind. He is very hungover, though.

Barry swings his legs around to sit upright in the chair. He studies the man, and the guy doesn't look too good.

"Not really," he admits. "We spoke when your dog was in after eating bees." But the conversation was brief, and they never got to introductions.

"But you pulled a gun on my friend the last time he was in here. After asking him to shoot you the time before that." Not Happy is a good way to describe Barry's tone of voice and expression.

Wilford is not doing very good at all. He spent all night last night getting blackout wasted and then getting into fights he can't remember. (He'd never been so glad to be missing a kidney before, or being stabbed would have probably been even less comfortable than it is).

"Dave?" Wilford guesses. It's probably wrong, but who cares?

Barry eyes Wilford and huffs, the sound equal parts unamused snort and disbelief.

"I can't tell if you're pretending to not know his name to be a jerk, or if you really threaten to shoot people often enough that you can't keep track of them."

Wait, what.

"Was his name Dave too?"

No, that doesn't sound right.

"No, it was..... Calvin?"

No, that's also wrong. Oh well.

"His name is Cisco," Barry replies, annoyance creeping on towards angry. "He had a small robot that you actually did shoot."

"Well, yes. Did you see that thing? Fucking up everything in its path; trying to kill my dog. Of course I shot it!"

He'll do it again, too.

"I paid him for the damages. What's the big deal?"

Edited 2018-08-14 03:59 (UTC)

"It wasn't-- " Barry starts, then cuts himself off. Property damage he knows happened, but he also knows Cisco would never have let the robot hurt anyone or their dog.

What happened isn't something he's going to argue, though. There's a bigger point to be made.

"The big deal is you threatened to shoot my friend," he replies hotly, then shakes his head. "It doesn't even matter that he's my friend, you aimed a gun at a person here, and then fired it in the middle of a crowded bar. You could have killed somebody."

"I did kill someone. A fucking robot."

Arguing hurts. Why is this happening?

Barry's mouth forms a thin line hearing Wilford's indifferent reply.

"Yeah well, lucky for you it was just a machine and not one of the sentient robots around here," he says. "The rules are pretty clear about violence."

"Nobody else was doing anything about it. Someone had to step up."

But oh, no. Wilford puts a stop to the mayhem, and he's the bad guy.

"You didn't step up," Barry snorts. "You threatened an unarmed man and blew away what was basically a toy."

Nope. Wilford tries to sit up, but oh Christ that hurts. He barely manages it without sounding like an old man, but it's really hard to have an argument when you're lying flat on your back.

"Do you know what it feels like to be torn apart at the seams by something like that?" Wilford demands. "I do. You're still alive when it happens. You don't die when it tears your arm off. You still feel it when it starts tearing your ribs out. If you're lucky, it'll be clumsy enough to break your neck, but if you're not, you get to see what your own insides look like. He brought that fucking thing in here, and before it attacked me and my dog, it attacked my friend. If I'd known about that before, he wouldn't have got the warnings he did. He chose to sit there and hurl insults, and not turn it off, so I did it for him."

This... is kind of a touchy subject for Wilford, as it happens.

Barry's expression shifts, sympathy and even concern crossing his features, but he still holds his line.

"And yet you're still here," he counters. "Look, that sounds awful, and I'm sorry, really, but there's no way that little robot could have done anything like that."

Just, none.

"Cisco should've had more control over it than he did, I'm not gonna deny that, but what you did was an overreaction and had the potential to hurt people way more than a tiny two foot robot."

Wilford's entire body tenses up, if only to keep himself from picking a fight he knows he can't win right now.

"Don't you fucking talk about shit you don't know a goddamn thing about. I've seen things that would make your eyes bleed. I've been killed by things you can't even imagine. Go home and teach your friend some manners."

"How about you do the same?" he retorts. "You don't know my life or what I've been through, either, and you could sure as hell use some manners."

That angry tension doesn't scare Barry, neither does the knowledge that the guy is armed, or that he's possibly crazy.

"What I think you don't get is, for all that you've been through, and been killed by, you're still here. That doesn't happen to people from my world, or from most of the other worlds represented here. If you shoot someone here you murder them and they don't come back, not to their world, anyways."

And Barry still thinks Baze was damn lucky to at least have returned to Milliways after dying again.

"From what I've heard that's not a big deal on your world, but it means a lot to people here, including myself and the ones in charge of this place."

Wilford is less of one than the other today. He spent all his ammo last night, and can't remember the circumstances.

"I didn't shoot anybody that mattered. I didn't try to shoot anybody that mattered. I get that. But your friend was given several warnings to turn off his 'toy,' and ignored every single one of them."

He shifts, trying to find a comfortable way to sit. Even against the dark fabric, his t-shirt has very obviously spent some recent time soaking up blood.

"Everyone talks about consequences. You bring something like that in here, and you got your own consequences to face."

"You tried to shoot Cisco," he replies, incredulous and gesturing back over his shoulder to indicate wherever it was this whole mess occurred.

"How is threatening to shoot somebody in the face a justified consequence for ignoring you?" he asks, then to further point out the insanity adds, "Were you about to shoot me, just now for the noise?"

Barry isn't accusing Wilford, he's trying to make the man see how nuts his argument and actions the other day were.

As aggravated as he is with the man, though, Barry can't ignore the state he's in and finally asks, "Are you alright?"