milliways_bar | Equinox

Entry tags:

Equinox

Willow Creek, Montana Territory - Spring 1897

Tonight, when the Front Door opens, patrons who are sitting close enough to catch a glimpse through the opening might be able to hear the quiet sounds of a river running in the distance, or smell the crisp air that comes with the late-afternoon breeze over a mountain meadow, blades of fresh sweetgrass and clover just coming back to life after a long winter's sleep beneath the earth.

The man who walks through the Door may be a familiar face to some. Although, his physical appearance has aged some - nearly eleven years - since he was here last. His hair is shorter, with flecks of grey peppering his temples and the scruff of a two-day beard covering his chin. There are creases around the corners of his eyes that weren't there eleven years ago, and he walks with a confidence and an experience that only comes after a decade of hard work and honest living. He's dressed similarly as one might remember or expect. His duster hangs off his frame - he's stronger than he was a decade ago, built better - and there's damp soil sticking to the soles of his boots. A pistol rests on his hip beneath his coat, and his hat is worn and dusty from an afternoon riding back from town.

Doc makes it two steps into the Bar before he realizes just exactly where he is.

(For a brief moment, he wonders if he's dead. He's not, but the thought crosses his mind.)

To his credit, he maintains only a mildly shell-shocked expression on his face as he takes a few more steps out of the entryway.

The Door clicks shut behind him.

He doesn't look back over his shoulder at it. Right now he doesn't give a damn if it's there or not.

He's here.
He's in the Bar.

He doesn't recall crossing through the room and approaching the counter, when he reaches it, a glass of bourbon - top shelf, the good stuff materializes. Along with a note: It's been quite some time, Josiah.

"...yes, Darlin'. Yes it has been."

OOC: So, with the Equinox, and spring arriving once again, and the mun behind the pup getting her life back in some semblance of order - it has been a LONG decade, y'all - I think maybe, just maybe, I might have my brain back enough to try this again. I figured that the easiest way to do that would be to jump Doc forward roughly the same amount of time. (He's roughly pushing 40, but he's been doing well out on "his side" of the Door.) He may need refreshers on his relationship with your pup, if they've met before - because I honestly probably need a refresher, too. I'm SYNCHRONICITY2 - Ali (she/her)#8844 on Discord/Crackchat. Ping me or message the journal if you've got any questions.

Open to all takers. I'm slower than I used to be and I'll probably need to take some breaks. But I'm glad to be here. I've missed you folks.

Open to new tags until it scrolls.

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There's a pause and turtle on its back wiggling and then he sits up. "Yes! Good!"

And a noise that could be laughing followed. "Is good hat!"

The creature is not injured - this is good, because he's a doctor, not a space veterinarian. Though he supposes he could muddle through if he had to, or at least find help.

"It is a good hat, though it might be a little bit big for a fella like you. Maybe we can git one more your size from Bar. You want help back up?"

He extends his hands, if the creature needs/wants a lift back up to the counter.

At the offer of hands, Puffy waddles on them, puffing up his feathers. He's a hefty bird, but not as heavy as he looks. There's fat to keep him warm and the feathers, but he still needs to be able to fly. Then, because he can, he continues up onto Doc's arm and then to perch on his shoulder.

"Yes! Hat! Want hat!"

He smells of fish and the ocean.

"We'll go on and git you one, then. C'mon--"

Before he can finish his sentence and fully rise to his feet, the critter is perched up on his shoulder. Doc places his hat safely on the counter and smiles.

"--Bar, Darlin'? My friend here is gonna need a hat that's a bit more appropriately sized, if you could be so kind?"

He hasn't truly smelled the ocean in years - not since leaving Oregon and heading for Montana. It's a familiar smell, and comforting in a sense.

Shortly after the request is made, a Puffy-sized cowboy hat appears on the surface of the bar, along with a orange neckerchief to match the coloring of the porg's feathers.

Excitedly, Puffy trills at the sight of the hat and neckerchief. He leans over far enough that he almost tumbles off the shoulder. "Yes! Good! I like!"

"Easy now, don't go tippin' too far --"

Doc reaches up with one hand to steady Puffy and keep him from falling over.

"If you come on down here, I'll help y'get them situated for you."

He's very soft and when he catches his balance again, gives a short hop onto the bar.

Once there he puffs up and nudges the hat a bit trying to put it on his head. Unfortunately it's too small for him to nudge up like he did Doc's hat.

"Here," Doc lifts the hat - it really is a stunning replica of his own, just in miniature - and places it on Puffy's head, trying to settle it as best he can to sit properly. "That alright?"

They'll move on to the neckerchief once the hat is situated.

Through the magic of Milliways, the hat fits and stays. When the neckerchief is put on, he tries to watch it getting put on, but it's a bit hard. So he ends up turning around in circles a few times, rather like a dog trying to bite its own tail.

To be fair, this is Doc's first attempt at putting any form of fashion accessories on a bird-creature from outer space. They're both doing the best they can.

Doc does keep a hand poised near the edge of the bar, in case Puffy gets a little dizzy and tries to wobble off the edge again.

"--there."

If it makes it better, putting fashion on any sort of bird - space or Terran - would be difficult. Birds aren't the smartest of creatures. Puffy might be smarter than most birds, but he's still a bird.

Fortunately he's not dizzy. He's used to spinning.

Once attired he puffed himself up and strutted across the bar chirruping happily. "Is good! Is good!" he burbles. On his strut back he stops. "Am Puffy? Who you?"

"My name's Doc."

It's probably easier that he keeps it simple for the little fella. It's also good practice, after so long of not using his nickname in the casual sense that he used to when he was here in the Bar. Back home, it's different - especially since he's actually practicing.

"Pleased to meet you, Puffy. Can I get you somethin' else - you need a snack or anything?"

Edited 2022-03-24 03:50 (UTC)

Puffy's attention immediately focuses on Doc. "Food! Yes! Snack! Fish! Puff cubes!" There is a bit of excited bouncing.

"Bar, can you git him some of what he's lookin' for, and a refill for myself, please?"

Certainly, coming right up.

A decent snack-sized tray of delightfully fishy-smelling items appears in front of Puffy. It doesn't bother Doc (he spent a few years working the docks in New Orleans to pay for his first attempt at medical school) but other patrons might feel the urge to move over a seat or two.

A plate of sushi (acceptable for human consumption) also appears, closer to Doc's elbow, along with another glass of bourbon.

Puffy's already large eyes somehow manage to widen even more. He gasps a little. This is a feast for the little porg. Doc has made a friend forever. He may live to regret this.

With a delighted trill he shoves his face into the tray grabbing a herring head and chomping messily on it.

Doc picks up his bourbon glass and "toasts" in the direction of the feast that Puffy has found himself in the midst of, before taking a drink.

"Enjoy, friend."

He then picks up one of his own pieces of sushi - something basic, rice with vegetable and tuna slices - and pops it into his mouth. Slightly less messy than the herring head that is being devoured next to him.

After a few pieces of herring and some salmon he wanders over to sniff the bourbon that Doc is drinking. He gives a cute little birdy sneeze before declaring, "BAD! NO DRINK!"

Doc arches an eyebrow at Puffy's comment towards the bourbon. Now, them's fightin' words right there.

"I doubt your species should be havin' alcohol regardless, but I promise...I'll be fine."

He's drank much worse.

A few others in the bar have been the victim of Puffy's food bossiness. He can be very bossy.

"NO! BAD!" He nudges the glass with his face. There's a bit more force in the shoving than one would think a bird his size should have. Because he is using the Force. It's not a huge shove. Just enough to push the glass an inche if it were on the bar top. Just the amount that would be advantageous for a bird living on a cold rocky island in the middle of nowhere.

Luckily, the glass is not very full when it is "pushed" his direction. Doc briefly surprised by the amount of force behind the shove, taken off-guard for a split second. His reaction time is quick, though.

"Alright."

He drains the remaining amount (a healthy swallow, but he's had practice and even though shooting bourbon this smooth is tantamount to a sin in his mind, he'll make up for it later) and places the empty glass on the counter.

"Done. No more."

Puffy eyeballs Doc. Sadly he cannot see the future. He will have to take the man's word on his honor, though he dislikes the fact that the drink was finished first. Still, Doc gets a pat on the hand with a flippered foot like he's a good boy.

"Good. Good. Bad for Doc. Stinky." His attention gets distracted by the sushi and he grabs one.

"Swear in my timeline, s'better than the water you can find 'round town most days."

This is not a lie. Indoor plumbing and water quality standards aren't up to snuff just yet on the frontier. As if on command, glass of icewater appears on the bartop to replace the now-empty bourbon tumbler.

He's willing to share the sushi.

Timelines go over Puffy's little head. He's not that smart. Smart, but the mysteries of the multiverse are way beyond him. Water being good or bad on the other hand, he can understand.

It does make him think a little bit and he stares at Doc intently. With big porg eyes as if trying to discern if he's telling the truth or not. Finally he gives a puff of his feathers and shakes himself. "Still stinky."

"Fair 'nough."

Doc will settle for icewater to go with his sushi - he'd prefer sake, but he has a feeling that Puffy will reject that idea as well, given the alcohol content - and he grabs another piece. This one is deep-fried around the outside, because as much as you can take the boy out of the South, taking the South out of the boy is just, well, damn near impossible.

A few more pieces of sushi and some calamari get gobbled up before Puffy burps. Blinking sleepily he looks around and once again spots the hat. Waddling over to it, he grabs it in his teeth. This time not to put it on... but to flip it over.

It seems like the perfect place for a nap!

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