milliways_bar | Entries tagged with doc scurlock

Sinthia can be found outside today, stance square as she faces down a paper target some yards away. She holds her pistol steady, breathing slow and regular, and she rarely misses what she's aiming at. Doesn't mean what she's aiming at is always the center of the bullseye, though; she's working on headshots at the moment.

The sound of a .45 caliber round being ejected forcefully from the barrel is hard to miss, though.

---

Later in the afternoon, she can be found inside the bar at a table, meticulously cleaning her pistol; she was silent while shooting, but now she's very softly humming to herself as she sweeps away powder residue and grease.

She looks almost comfortable as she works.

scurlock

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.

scurlock

The thing that you have to remember about doorways is that you have to appreciate the empty space inside the frame just as much as you appreciate the frame itself. Without the empty space, the doorway would not be a doorway, but a wall instead.

With a quiet click, the Front Door opens.

A patron near the doorway might catch a glimpse of the world outside before the man steps through it; trees in the distance, a horse tied to the rail of the front porch, a light rain falling. The man's clothes are damp, his boots caked in a layer of red mud that he'll track through the bar on the way to the counter.

The rats can complain all they want; the man doesn't care.

A bourbon appears on the polished surface in front of him before he even says a word.

Doc smiles.

Quietly: "I've missed you too, darlin'."

[OOC: Open indefinitely. Hey, y'all. :) ]

almosthonorable

The Ben Wade who enters the bar cuts a slightly leaner figure than he used to. Blame old-fashioned manual labor, and frugal living.

He's sweating and sunburnt beneath the brim of his beat-up brown hat, and he's counting himself damn lucky to've walked in. Here, he can pour iced water down his sawdust-dry throat.

At the counter, he's greeted with a napkin from Bar; his mouth quirks in a half-smile.

"Awful good to see you, too."

Another napkin appears.

"Thank you for holdin' on to 'em for me. I appreciate your safe-keepin'. Might be a while, yet, before I'll need 'em."

A third napkin.

"That so? Well, happy Mother's Day, Miss Bar. If you celebrate it."

Ben can't rightly say where his own mother might be. Or if she's above ground, now.

Still.

Even bad men love their mamas.

Which is why, as Ben pours himself a glass of ice water from the pitcher Bar graciously provides, he wonders, briefly, if that Bible she left his eight-year-old self with at the train station is still intact, somewhere — its spine and cover creased and cracked, maybe laying open on somebody's dinner table, or sitting shut and silent on a dusty shelf.

[ ooc: well, hel-lo — it's been a hot one and a half, y'all. open indefinitely! ]

[ tiny tag: cassian andor ]

visible_sariel

At some point during the twenty-fourth of local December, Sariel deposits a number of gifts with Bar. There's also a moment of quiet conversation after the packages vanish, but that could very well have something to do with gifts too, considering the minor flicker the tab board just went through.

((OOC: This post is open to reactions. My previous one is still open to threads. I needed to get this up as I'm elsewhere for RL holidayness from tomorrow morning.))

visible_sariel

Sariel - still without a door, still far off the calendar of her own world and determined to observe this reality's own - leaves a number of parcels with Bar during the evening.

( Captain Kirk )

( Dale Harding )

( Scurlock )

( Ellen Park )

( Leela Sevateem )

( River Tam )

( Turanga Leela )

( Will Scarlett )

( Yrael )

((OOC: Millitimed to Christmas Eve. This post brought to you by Chanter going offline from tomorrow mid morning to somewhere late Friday North American central time for RL Christmas.))

Tiny the other spacefaring Leela!tag: Turanga Leela (Futurama)

scurlock

The change in the weather and the trees should have been the first thing he noticed, but it wasn't. Half-asleep in the saddle, it's not until Cortez picks up the pace at the sight of the barn that Doc realizes that he's no longer riding through Washington Territory.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," he mutters. "About damn time."

He shakes a layer of snow from his hat and coat after dismounting from the horse; once he's made certain that Cortez is situated with fresh water and feed in a dry stall, Doc shoulders his bags and heads for the bar. He's not bathed in some time, his hair is shaggy and his beard hasn't been tended to lately either.

Lighting up a cigarette as he drops into a booth near the fireplace, he motions for a waitrat.

"I want dinner," he tells the rat. "Real dinner, none of that shit I've been eatin' the last six months. And a pot of coffee -- good coffee, if you please."

Doc drops a worn banknote on the rat's tray as it scurries off. He figures it won't hurt to tip from the get-go, after how long it's been since he's haunted these parts.

scurlock

Maybe you notice the Front Door open. Maybe you don't.

Maybe you notice that the man who walks through hasn't been here in what feels like ages. Maybe you don't.

Regardless, he's here now.

Doc ends up leaning against the bar, your typical trail-worn cowboy who's grateful to have found a watering hole after months on the lamb. His clothes are coated in a reddish layer of dust, and his beard is scraggly, his hair tied back to keep it out of his face. There's a scabbed over cut above his left eye and a scratch on his cheek, but otherwise he's free of bullet-holes or stab wounds.

"Whiskey, darlin'."

A tumbler appears, a double on the rocks. Doc smiles as the ice clinks against the glass. He hasn't seen ice since he left Bismarck. (Seven months ago.) He lights a hand-rolled cigarette and turns to survey the bar, as he leafs through a stack of messages that Bar delivered along with his drink.

He's looking for old friends, and maybe even some new ones.

[OOC: ...*sidles back in* Hey, guys.]

guppy_sandhu

Guppy hasn't got a lot of time before preparing for a very busy couple of days, but he drops off a collection of little packages at the tree. (Except for Gavroche who got his yesterday.) With each one comes a card the kids helped make and then copied.

( Enzo, Hannibal, Zhaan, Thirteen, Malcolm, Charles Xavier, Doc, Knox, any other medics/heroes/reducers of damage )

( Atton, Kate Barlow, Michaelangelo, Raphael, Sherlock, Will Scarlett, Gene Hunt, Ben Grimm, Javert, Teja, Amanda, Mia, Ginny, any other cops/heroes/fighters )

He also carefully deposits some presents Fry has been making from salt dough.
Some of them may take a little deciphering.

( Enzo, Hannibal, Charles Xavier, Atton, Kate Barlow, Mikey, Raph, Sherlock, Teja, Gene )

He hangs around a few minutes to check if anything is going on before heading back to the excited small people at home.

[ooc: Guppy and I have been kicking around for nearly nine years, we've talked to a lot of people - if you feel your pup is missing off this list please add yourself to the appropriate category, or if you have an overlap, pick one :)]

completederrand

Outside the Bar, somewhere between one blink of the eye and the next a horse and rider just... appear, cantering along the path by the lake. The young stallion is a lovely dark chestnut with a star on his forehead, and a rather distinctive white, perfectly circular markon one shoulder. After a few seconds the horse slows down and comes to a stop, turning to look enquiringly over his shoulder at his rider.

Eriond tilts his head a moment, and then smiles. "Well, if you really think so." And then they're off again, ending at the stables. He settles Horse into a stall with plenty of hay--really, Horse doesn't need a stall, but Eriond doesn't really need a bedroom. Doesn't mean it's not fun to stay in one sometimes.

After that he heads for the door into the Bar--and the moment he does, there's a small flash of light and a letter pops into the air, which he immediately catches. He reads, smiling and occasionally laughing as he walks towards the Bar and settles absently on a chair. After a moment he puts the letter down and lays a hand on the Bar. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Could I please have a glass of milk? And I'd like to leave a note for someone."

The milk appears, along with paper, a pen, a napkin with a smiley face on it, and a plate of cookies. He writes a quick note, then settles back to watch the Bar around him with interest.

(To someone looking extremely closely, he may occasionally seem to glow very slightly.)

souffle_girlek

Some people have a snack when they find themselves up late at night with no hope of going to sleep any time soon.

...

Some people break out the bowls and whisks.

Oswin's down in the kitchens in the middle of the night, making chocolate chip cookies.

With additions.

Those nuts were just sitting there, so clearly they needed to be toasted, candied, and added to the mix.

notabricklayer

Whenever McCoy has to use the infirmary, he tries to help out a bit before heading back to the Enterprise again - restock, tidy up, make sure the machinery was calibrated recently - things like that. So he's making himself busy now (even if he has no plans of returning to the ship in the short term, his door is unstable and Josiah's not getting off the hook that easily).

scurlock

It's been a busy weekend for Doc - after he'd come in the other night, Dr. McCoy had repaired the damage to his injured knee, and he'd spent the night in the infirmary to recover. The morning after, he'd been fitted for a brace to protect the repair work, given a schedule for PT, and strict instructions on what he was or was not allowed to do until his knee had finished healing completely.

Now, he's sitting downstairs at a table with a good view of the bar, looking out for any friends of his that he's been meaning to talk to. The waitrats have already cleared away his dinner, so he's working his way through a cup of coffee while writing some notes to people.

(If he doesn't run into them tonight, he'll leave them with the bar.)

The brace on his knee is hidden beneath the loose cotton pajama pants he's wearing - he's definitely dressed more casually and modern than he usual is, with just a plain black t-shirt in addition to the pants - and the exhaustion on his features has faded somewhat, thanks to two nights of solid sleep and some supplements Bones had given him to take to help him recover fully, but it's obvious that he's still pretty tired.

[OOC: Botherable, and post will be open until his next one!]

scurlock

The forests of that cover the expanse out behind the bar are similar enough to those found on the southern edge of Colorado that when he and Nova first cross over the threshold into the end of the universe, Doc doesn't really notice any change - it's the horse that senses the shift first. The animal quickens his pace in the general direction of the stables, and it's only once Doc catches sight of the lake through the treeline that he realizes they've wandered into Milliways.

He'll blame the trepidation that had been plaguing his thoughts for the last several weeks out on the trail for his distraction - Colorado wasn't his ideal choice for where he'd liked to have been headed, but given the way the list of states he was wanted in had grown over the last few years, uncharted territory was his only option that remained.

It's with an automatic series of motions that Doc stables his horse and ensures the animal is brushed, fed, and watered - he checks the rest of the stock as well, though it isn't with his usual attention to detail that he does so. He puts up all of his tack and shoulders the one bag that contains what little he's been traveling with, then heads for the bar once he's secured the barn for the night.

He walks slowly along the path that winds past the lake, his steps deliberate - a little too deliberate, though unless a person were to be familiar with Doc's mannerisms one might just think he was tired. To his friends and those familiar, however, they might notice the stiffness in his right leg and the tension in his upper body that would indicate that he's walking a little bit wounded, tonight.

(At least there are no open bullet or stab wounds to deal with, this evening?)

Doc makes it to the back door and heads into the bar with only a bit of hesitation - he really just wants to get a drink and head for his apartment in the staff wing, but knows he likely won't get away with just a bottle of bourbon if Bar has anything to say about it.

So he can be found tonight at a table near the doorway that leads to the infirmary and staff hallway, with a tall glass of water (iced) and a shorter glass of bourbon (straight), as well as a meal of slow-cooked beef with vegetables, mashed potatoes, and biscuits on the side.

[OOC: Botherable, and feel free to have your character catch him either outside on his way back in from the stables or while he's in the bar having dinner - he may not be the best conversationalist right now especially to those he doesn't know, but I don't mind tags from new pups. :) Open through the week.]

realmrsreynolds

Impromptu old lady behind the bar.

Happy Father's Day, Milliways!

All dads drink half off.

It would be free, but well...someone's got to charge something around here, after all.

[ooc: open until probably after True Blood.]
[edit: closed to new threads. <33 night!]

thefirststark

Three days ago, Howard awoke to the news the invasion had begun. D-Day. At last.

In the hours and days since, it's been hard to keep focused on SSR business. He - and everyone else at the base - is anxious for news of the Allies' advance. And for news of the Howling Commandos. For the moment, HYDRA seems less important. Despite at least four lectures from Colonel Phillips reminding the staff otherwise.

And all the while, Howard finds himself wondering about Stark Aviation's contributions. Bombers and transport planes carrying paratroopers. Despite the company name, landing craft. Even parachutes. He knows it will be weeks or months till he learns how well all materials with his name on them fared. But that doesn't make him feel less anxious.

So once again, Howard treats to the Bar. This time, he gets a drink and then heads outside. Into the quiet and sunshine. The gloom of England and the distant rattle of war are, if not forgotten, diminished for the time being.

scurlock

He's sitting at a table with a good view of the bar, taking time to look through a pair of leather saddlebags that sit on the tabletop; anything that he intends to take with him when he heads out tomorrow morning needs to be checked over. His knife needs to be sharpened; the boxes of ammunition need to be inspected; his foodstuffs need to be packed away so that they won't spoil; maps need to be examined and a route plotted.

At the moment, he's got a pair of his corduroy trousers spread out, and is working on stitching a patch into the side of the right thigh, mending a good-sized tear.

There's a bourbon on the rocks sweating at his elbow as he works; he's finished half of it so far, but give him time. He'll get through it.

[Open until I say it's not; I'll be putting Doc out for some OOMery soon and this is your chance to catch him before he heads out.]

aaaaaaaagh_sky

Ellen probably really ought to have known about the massive role dogs have played in human history and how useful they are to mankind in general, but when you spend the first nineteen years of your life in a closed set of steel boxes where the only animals you ever see are roaches as big as human babies that have a tendency to bite faces and eat valuable supplies, well... mmyeah, no, not so much. Fortunately, Dogmeat was perfectly happy to demonstrate, and still is. This is why Ellen is now settled in at one of the better-lit tables, having arranged a few of the nearby chairs in a kind of pen formation. Dogmeat and baby Marie are the current occupants of the pen. Marie is doing her best to figure out this whole 'stand up from a sitting position' thing, using the nearby chairs, or Ellen's leg, or sometimes Dogmeat himself to pull herself up. Dogmeat... is looking long-suffering, but putting up with it.

Ellen? Ellen is reading through a pile of painfully technical documents. Toxicology reports, autopsies, medical case writeups, things like that. Ugly business, and she doesn't understand half of it, but she got some medical reference texts and dictionaries from the Bar to make it easier for her to at least try and grasp the material.

She could be distracted, but don't try to get near the dog or the baby, or it will go Poorly.

awesome_binomial_theorems

There is a boy, some fourteen years old, entering the bar, stopping, frowning, and looking around, taking in his surroundings.

(The boy in question is attired in the rather ragged fashion of a young, working-class Victorian male, although the clothes are all a little ill-fitting, either too large or too small, on his generally gangly and awkward frame. He has a split lip, bleeding knuckles, and the beginnings of a black eye, because some things will never change.)

After a few moments of soft swearing, he tries the door. Locked. With a scowl, he heads towards the Bar.

Botherable.

scurlock

[staff apt. #4:

should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and days o' auld lang syne.

warnings for dark subject matter, swearing, bad habits.]

scurlock

The last few days, since Christmas Eve, have been strange - he's felt as if he were detached from the universe a bit, moving through Milliways and his daily routine (up early to work with the horses, breakfast, the afternoon spent either in the stables or elsewhere on the grounds, then supper and time spent either in the main bar or in his staff apartment) on autopilot. (Or, as would be more fitting - like a ghost.) And with the New Year's holiday rapidly approaching, he's making an effort to busy himself with chores and tasks, in an attempt to keep his mind off of things. (It's a rather poor coping method, but one he's nearly perfected over the years.)

Doc enters the bar from the staff hallway tonight, freshly showered and his beard neatly trimmed - much needed after having taken Lionheart out for an extended ride earlier that evening through the snow-covered woods. Stopping by the Bar, he receives a pound of coffee with his order (from Sariel; he pens a thank-you note and asks Bar to make sure she gets it) as well as a ticket (from Guppy; he selects the 'donate livestock' option) and he gets the promised cupcake in return.

"Give the cupcake t'the next young'un who comes up t'order from you," he says, patting the counter - the frosted treat vanishes. "And if you'd please, I'll take an order of biscuits with gravy, an' a side of grits. An' a piece of ham, if y'would, Bar."

He takes his 'dinner' at the counter, and once he's finished, he retreats to the back porch with a bottle of bourbon (Bulleit) and a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes. He strikes quite the figure, stretched out in a rocking chair, heavyweight black duster layered over a more-modern hooded sweatshirt, jeans and boots. There's an extra (empty) glass sitting beside the bottle on a small endtable; his gloved fingers are wrapped around the other, with a lit cigarette resting between his lips.

It may be cold out back tonight, but it helps to draw his focus away from his thoughts, if only for a moment.

[OOC: Catch him either inside at the counter or outside with the bourbon; open through the weekend to new tags.]

visible_sariel

At some point during the day, Sariel leaves a number of Christmas presents for Captain Kirk, Charles Xavier, Dale Harding, Demeter, Ellen Park, Leela Sevateem, Noriko Ashida, River Tam, Scurlock, Turanga Leela, Will Scarlett, and Yrael.

scurlock

you saw my pain, washed out in the rain
broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
but you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
and you knelt beside, my hope torn apart

but the ghosts that we knew, will flicker from view
and we'll live a long life

so give me hope in the darkness, that I will see the light

k_in_black

Agent K is at the bar, enjoying a glass of Eli Lockhart's finest bourbon, and minding his own business until somebody decides to help him mind it.

[And unless he gets Milli-timed into this disaster in the making.]

scurlock

Earlier, the door opened to let in a patron, who took the relative quiet of the bar as an opportunity to slip through the main room unnoticed. After a check of the stables, which including looking in on all the stock and ordering a batch of supplies, he'd gone over some paperwork and his 'mail' at the bar (including the note from Will about the falcon residing in a quiet stall, which he probably should have bothered to check before coming across the bird on his own) and then headed upstairs.

When he comes down tonight, he's dressed warmly, and finds an open booth with a seat that will put his back to the wall and give him a relatively good vantage point of the room. The chill in the air and the few months he's spent out in the 'real world' are motivation plenty for old habits to flare back to life.

He places an order for a mexican hot chocolate and pulls a small notebook and pen from his pocket, and begins to write - though most of his focus is on the room around him, and not the words being inked onto the page.

[Open until I say otherwise, thought with being moved, I'd try to refresh a quieter voice...]