(Untitled)

[themanclion]

Gene had been told to stay off his injured knee for about five days. Of course, that meant that he'd ditched the crutches as soon as he got upstairs and had decided that the next morning was the perfect time to take himself horseriding again.

So the morning after that, when he couldn't walk on the thing at all and had run out of Scotch upstairs, it

Comments

[middle_dubois]

There's a little girl of about eight or nine standing before the bar, reading the notice.

"What's a twat?" she asks, in a clearly American accent.

[themanclion]

Gene blinks down at her.

Oh God.

'Dunno if you're old enough to know.'

Mind you, it's not exactly a bad word. Compared to others he uses anyway.

'It's like an idiot, only a lot worse. Well. Quite a lot worse, anyway. Worse than bein' a ponce, probably.'

[middle_dubois]

"Oh, cool!" the little girl says, clearly committing it to memory. "Is it worse than the f-bomb?"

It would be so cool if it was!

[themanclion]

'F...bomb?'

Say what now?

'What're you on abou'?'

[bloody_awful]

Did somebody say "twat"?

Out from under a table crawls a young bloke who looks like he's wearing Johnny Rotten's castoffs. He smells like it too. He's obviously hungover and has obviously spent the night under the table.

He staggers up to the bar, lights a Silk Cut and mumbles, "Tea. Stewed. Double shot of Bushmills." He leans on the bar as if just saying that has exhausted him.

[themanclion]

'Bloody 'ell, mate. You look like I normally do on Sunday mornin'.'

Only he doesn't smell as bad. Well. Not often, anyway.

'Hair of the dog first, eh?'

The whiskey is easy enough to sort out. He sends a rat to the kitchen for the tea. He can't be arsed making it and it's awkward with only one free arm anyway.

[bloody_awful]

John looks at the crutch and grins. "Bloody 'ell mate, you look like I normally do on a Saturday night." He has a heavy Scouser accent overlaid with London. "'m stuck here, inn't I. Found myself here last night and the door disappeared. Figured I'd make the best of it." He blinks. "Wasn't a barman here before." He leans in and whispers. "I think the bar's alive."

(They may actually be from the same time period. Late 1970s?)

[themanclion]

Gene's from the early 70s but he recognises that the style of clothes this bloke is wearing is a lot closer to his time than anything he's seen other people wear around here. He's also British (if a Scouser, the bastard) so that automatically earns him favour points.

He leans forward a bit as well, as though listening and then a bit confused as to why something so obvious is being pointed out.

'Well, yeah. 'Sentient' they reckon. I dunno if tha's the same as bein' alive but its as close as. She's asleep at the moment though which is why muggins 'ere had to step in.'

He doesn't look all that impressed with this state of affairs.

'You new or somethin'?'

[diced_tartan]

Nicholas knows enough about Gene that he'd expected the guy to just ignore any injuries he might have sustained.

So when he sees the crutch, he quickly reassesses what he'd known about the fight. It was apparently worse than he's been led to believe (although, he still can't get two words out of Travis about the matter, so he's still not sure exactly what happened).

"Who started it?" Nicholas asks tiredly.

He sees no point in pretence on this matter.

[themanclion]

'He did.'

He is categorical about it. It also has the added bonus of being entirely true.

'An' no, I don' know why.'

(Not quite as categorical on this bit.)

[diced_tartan]

Nicholas shifts his jaw and swears in French.

"Mind telling me what happened?"

He's making a conscious effort to remain calm about this, and the result is sounding almost detached, as though he's interviewing a witness and not talking to the DCI who seems to have some stupid feud going with his brother.

[themanclion]

It is noted by Gene of course, and not welcomed. He doesn't appreciate being asked questions like that, particularly when he did nothing wrong.

'Mind a smack round th' head with this stick?'

He jerks his head at the crutch.

'Why don' you ask him? He'd know more about it than I would.'

[evilontheloose]

"So, I should start by paying double?" Jordan grin, taking a seat

[themanclion]

'Probably.'

He doesn't seem bothered by her particular brand of twatness today, though.

'You soun' like you can afford it anyway.'

[evilontheloose]

"Yeah, got a regular-like job, instead of only random evil-genius contracts." Which is always good,m regular income. "And I don't need to get stuck in an office."

"Boilermaker."

[themanclion]

He remembers that drink from last time, so it's no problem. He's more interested in hearing about this job.

'Doin' what?'

[i_got_vision]

So, a cowboy walks into a bar.

Well, bumps into it. And it's not his fault either; there's a stray toy on the floor that he half-tripped over. But the end result is the same: Butch leans against the bar and looks up at the specials board.

They're words, but they don't seem to make much sense.

"I'll have some Old Taylor, if there's any left," he says.

[themanclion]

...so, that'll be one tough old Manchester DCI, staring with his mouth dropped open, then.

[i_got_vision]

Not quite the reaction he'd been expecting.

In fact, it makes him a little nervous. He can't be wanted for anything here, can he? The law in Wyoming can barely handle the territory they've got; they certainly can't cover interdimensional bars. Although some of those railroad tycoons...

"Or Old Fitz," he offers with a bit of a grin. "Or whatever bourbon's handy. I'm not picky."

[themanclion]

'...reckon there'll be some Ol' Taylor back 'ere, yeah.'

Ahem.

He shuts his mouth and hobbles around, looking for it on the packed shelves. But mainly he's just thinking Butch Cassidy! and trying not to grin too hard.

'Yeah, 'ere we go.'

A double measure, just 'cos.