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
"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.
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"I doubt your species should be havin' alcohol regardless, but I promise...I'll be fine."
He's drank much worse.
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"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.
no subject
"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."
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"Good. Good. Bad for Doc. Stinky." His attention gets distracted by the sushi and he grabs one.
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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.
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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."
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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.
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It seems like the perfect place for a nap!
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He opens his mouth to protest, but then closes it. There won't be any harm done if Puffy decides to borrow it for awhile.
So he goes back to his dinner, while Puffy does whatever he plans on doing to make himself comfortable.
no subject