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scurlockWillow 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.
