Waking up...

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

There's a creaky measured tread from the stairs as a lean young man in hard-wearing and hard-worn clothing comes down from his room. There's a hat cocked back on his head and a thin blonde beard spread over his cheeks. The poncho and the gunbelt he left upstairs.

Joe treads over to the bar and glances at his tab. The gold peice he'd handed over would have been worth about twenty dollars in Sante Fe and it looks like he's been offered a fair exchange. After two shots and a bed for the night he's down two dollar and a half. Fair enough, for the service, he guesses. Time to put a bigger dent in that though, his stomach tells him.

"Uh, bar? You know what the Last Breakfast at Millie's in Kansas City is?" he rasps. There's no reason to assume it will, but no real reason to assume it won't either. It does.

A thick earthenware plate appears, then a bed of flapjacks, a layer of home fries, then a steak in the middle of this nest. Two fried eggs go over the steak and a rasher of bacon over the eggs. A thick cut of ham on one side of the heap, grits with syrup on the other, and a huge hunk of bread with butter and a pot of thick bitter coffee round things off. A minute later, a mug, a fork and a steak knife appear next to the plate.

He watches five dollars spin off his credit with no regret whatsoever. He's starving. "And cigarillos, please." A cellophane pack appears, nothing he recognizes, but when he pops the carton open he knows what he's looking at. An ashtray and matches have also conveniently shown up.

[OOC: A bit of wish fulfillment... had all 4 wisdom teeth out just recently and I'm going nuts on bananas and pudding.]

Comments

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

Flash sees the man at the bar. But what to make of him? It's one thing to see a western, to watch Gunsmoke or Maverick or sit with your father and watch Shane and High Noon on a rainy Saturday. It's another to see the real thing. And to see it here.

The face...it's like Eastwood, but it's not. It's as if Eastwood and Cooper and Arness were gathered in one body and left out in the sun for far too long.

Well, no need to be unfriendly. Besides, he thinks, I can outrun any bullet.

"Good morning."

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

"Mornin'" The bounty hunter takes a slug of his coffee. The fella facing him is eatin' breakfast too, so maybe he just didn't dress for breakfast? Hard to say about the mask, though. "My dad usta have a pair of long drawers just that same color."

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

"So did mine. Comes in handy in midwestern winters."

How do you talk to a man from the 19th century? Guess you just treat him like a man, period.

"My name's Flash. You new here?"

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

"Name's Joe. That I am. Blew in last night and spent the evenin' upstairs. You a regular?" He extends a hand.

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

He takes Joe's hand. Some grip. Guess you need that for those old guns.

"Not quite a regular yet. Been here about a week. I could try to answer your questions, but I have to warn you that I don't really understand Milliways yet."

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

Good handshake. Hard fella, he could see that, for all that he wears silly drawers to breakfast. "I got some answers last night. Leastways, some advice and directions. Mostly, don't hurt the goddamn bar." He shovels a good-sized chunk of steak-and-everything else into his mouth. "You dead? Or can you come and go?"

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

One thing is true: cowboys really do eat like cowboys.

"Hmmm. You did get a lot of answers. I think I'm dead, but I also haven't tried to leave yet.

"And you?"

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

"Same here. All I got told was, there's some people here who're dead. Saw some other people leave though, so I reckon they ain't. I was lost in the desert when I come through, so if I ain't dead I was dyin'." He slurps up more bitter coffee and decides the change the topic.

"So where do you come from? You said your kin lived out West?"

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

"Midwest, actually. Grew up in Iowa, lived in a place called Central City. In Missouri. But - and I know this is going to sound odd - I lived in a later time that you. I guess in your day Missouri and Kansas were still near the frontier."

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

The bounty hunter cuts another chunk out of his breakfast and takes his time chewing it. Lot to deal with. Of course, he had suspicions, but there it is out in the open: he's a relic of the past to these people. Swallows.

"Yep. Lotta trails used to start outta Kansas City. That's where I ate this skillet the first time, in fact. Cowboys get it 'cause it'll be their last real breakfast for a good while." He says cowboys in a way that implies he isn't one. He doesn't think of himself as one. A man who spends his life following cows along is only a step above a man who spends his life watching grass grow, to his mind. That is to say, both of 'em are a damn sight better than a banker. "Th'War gets in the way of a lotta that these days, course. I was born in Kansas myself. Spend most of my time out further though. What's your trade?" This one's no cowpuncher or dirtfarmer, he suspects.

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

Okay. Joe is one who takes labels seriously, and clearly has issues with "Cowboy." What is he?

"Guess you would call me a lawman.

"The war? The Civil War?"

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

"Yeah. Lawman, huh? Law's another thing been shot to hell by the war. All the little towns, cut off on their own. Keeps me busy." Courtesy dictates he give his own profession, and since he doesn't intend to practice it here, there's no reason not to. "I guess I'm what you call an agent of the courts myself. Bounty hunter, in other words." He pushes the empty plate away and goes for one of the thin cigars.

[silverageflash.livejournal.com]

"There are worse things to do."

He pictures the freelance lawmen of the westerns, men like Shane. He sincerely hopes this Joe is cut from that cloth, and not like the loose cannon bounyty hunters of the 20th century.

{OOC: Gotta scoot. Good meeting you.}

[joewithnoname.livejournal.com]

[OOC: You, too.]

[fairest1.livejournal.com]

[OOC:*sympathies* Had mine yanked this summer. You need to stick with stuff that could theoretically be consumed through a straw but doesn't need to be since they don't want you causing suction . . . ]