Josiah 'Doc' Scurlock (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scurlock) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
milliways_bar2022-03-20 09:18 pm
scurlock) wrote in milliways_bar2022-03-20 09:18 pm
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.
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.
no subject
There's a quiet ding! from a timer in the kitchen, catching Sunshine's attention.
"But," she continues, chuckling, "the real question here is whether you'd like a slice of pie. The cherry-berry crumble should've cooled down enough not to be outright lava, by now."
no subject
"If you're offerin' a slice, I'd be more than willin' to partake."
He'll even make an attempt at being a paying customer!
"I know a couple friends of mine who used t'come around this place that might even be jealous at the thought of a fresh-baked fruit crumble fresh out of the oven."
no subject
Her grin is a toothy one, but it is too bright to be truly nefarious. She enjoys seeing people take pleasure in the things she makes. It is better than any monetary payment.
"I'll be right back with your pie."
no subject
The Window is still in the same location. The Universe is still on the eternal loop it was when he left all those years ago. The Back Door is still in the same spot - he wonders about the outdoors, about the lake, the inlet, the horses and the stables. Wonders about his room in the staff hallway, and if it's still even his.
Mostly, though, he's looking for familiar faces of people he might know.
no subject
Bourbon-pecan pie in the oven and timer set, Sunshine soon backs through the kitchen door, carrying two slices of cherry-blackberry pie on small plates. Each slice has a small cascade of buttery-sweet crumble topping, and is still quite warm from its time in the oven.
The Bar, helpful as ever, manifests two forks and two napkins, one pair of which appears at Doc's elbow even before Sunshine fully reaches the counter.
"I'm pleased with how this one turned out," she admits, as she returns. "Sometimes the crumble wants to bake too quickly and gets too brown." Not this one, though, from the looks of it. It is still golden and crunchy and promises to be a perfectly sweet counterpoint to the tart blackberries and cherries within the pie.
no subject
"Jesus," he laughs under his breath, placing his napkin in his lap. "If that tastes even half as good as it looks, which I'm certain it does...I can see why the church ladies get beat every time y'enter a contest."
He picks up the fork as she slides the plate over towards him.
"And why your customers might revolt if you tried to make a run for it."
no subject
She gestures with a fork, smiling. "I have been known to ask the helpful Milliways' patron base to help me taste-test new recipes from time to time."
You know, just in case he'd be interested.
The pie itself is still warm and fragrant from the oven. The crust is flaky and tender and yields easily under a fork, the crumble topping a crunchy and buttery counterpoint to the cherry and blackberry filling that holds all the sweet-tart brightness of early summer warmth.
no subject
He's had a lot of pie over the last few years.
Nothing compares to this, as he takes his first bite and his eyes involuntarily slip closed for that perfect moment of enjoyment.
"...oh, wow. You are good." He finally says, once he remembers how to speak again.
no subject
"Sounds like you approve."
Because that kind of enjoyment, the moment when people take their first bite of something she made, with her hands, and are able to forget any worries or tiredness they may be experiencing - the worldly concerns fall away and they just sink into a pure moment of bliss - that is why she bakes.
The hours are long and the monetary compensation is laughable, but the looks on people's faces, caught up in deliciousness she made - that's all the payment she ever really wants.
no subject
He's sticking to basic sentences and phrases at this point, because this pie is just that damn good. Between the texture of the crust, the crunch of the crumble on top, and the mixture of flavors that can only come from fruit which is truly fresh and in-season, baked to perfection...anything else would likely require too much effort on his part.
"It's been quite a time since I've had anythin' with berries just this perfect."
It's been a long winter, and the bounty of summer is still long on the horizon in Montana.
no subject
A yellow napkin with a smiley face appears before her on the counter.
"Fine, fine, 'magic' it is," Sunshine grins, fond.
no subject
No offense, Bar. Magic or no, Sunshine still had the reins on this baking project.
no subject
"You'll apologize to the church ladies on my behalf?" She lifts her eyebrows inquiringly as her grin returns - she isn't entirely without smugness, "I didn't mean to upstage their recipes from worlds away."
Not entirely, anyway.
no subject
What the church ladies never know won't hurt them, anyway.
Even if Doc wishes damn near everyone in Willow Creek could try this pie.
no subject
"Pie is on my mind lately for multiple reasons, really," she adds, after a moment of thought. "I'm trying to recreate a recipe for a friend of mine here, for a pie that seems to have passed out of popularity - out of common knowledge, really - some sixty years before my time. To the point where even I had never heard of it before he told me about it."
"I've been doing some research in the library here, and will likely be doing test recipes sometime soon."
In case hed be interested in taste-testing.