(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

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[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.

[i_got_vision]

Butch Cassidy, in the flesh. Not the most physically imposing of outlaws, but that was never his thing anyway.

"Wonderful," he says, "thank you. It's so nice being able to go up to a bar and know you're getting what you paid for, and not half a glass of water. Or who knows what else."

It's why he prefers Fannie Porter's place to other establishments, back home. She knows and likes him, and his drinks are always what they're supposed to be.

[themanclion]

'Well, if th' bar's ripping people off, it's nowt t'do with me. I jus' pour the stuff when she tells me to.'

He can't help it. He offers his hand over the bar.

'Gene Hunt.'

[i_got_vision]

"Never had a bad drink here. Place this fancy, though--nobody'd come back if the drinks were bad. Or the food."

He's had more experience with the drinks than the food here, but has had no complaints on either account. Better than he's ever had at home--though of course, he has to say, not as good as his mother's cooking. But you can't fault a man for being biased.

"Butch Cassidy," he says, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunt. Been in an accident?"

[themanclion]

Gene would entirely agree with him. No one cooks like a bloke's own mother.

'You an' all.'

He just bites back the 'I know' when the man introduces himself. It's not the done thing here, he knows. But still. Butch Cassidy!

'No, no accident. Got in a scrap with some little tosser tha' decided he didn' like hearin' the truth.'

And then he ignored the doctor's advice but whatever.

[i_got_vision]

"Well, I hope you won," he says, raising his glass by way of salute. "Sometimes people need a little sense and truth knocked into 'em. You try talking, but they don't listen, so..."

He shrugs lightly, and takes a sip. He'd rather do things without fighting, but some men are just stubborn. Look at Harvey Logan.

"And I hope you heal up quick, too."

[themanclion]

'Always do.'

Yeah, Gene fights all the bloody time. It's only really here that anyone comes close to winning.

'People are stupid most of the time. 'course, folk aroun' here don' always appreciate the direct approach but tha's their problem.'

He cleears his throat and acts casual.

'So, uh. What d'you do? An' what year you in from?'

[i_got_vision]

"Haven't had any trouble here yet, myself. I like it that way."

Aside from the fact that he can't exactly go home right now, he's just pretty easygoing in general. His work is his work, and nothing more.

"I've got a ranch out in Wyoming--nothing fancy, just some horses and pastureland. It's 1897, springtime. How about you?"

[themanclion]

Nothing fancy? That's only Gene's idea of heaven.

Or. Well. His second idea of heaven.

'Doesn' sound bad,' he allows.

'I'm from 1973. Manchester. It's spring an' all which means it jus' soddin' rains all the time.'

In the interests of full disclosure, he adds;

'I'm a copper.'

[i_got_vision]

"Manchester, huh?"

He grins. "My grandfather--well, he was from London, but he lived in Manchester for a few years when he was a boy. Never been there, myself--and 1973? I doubt he'd recognize it anymore either."

It's probably a lot cleaner, for one thing.

"Must be hard work, keeping the criminal elements off the streets. Especially in the city; it's hard enough out in the territories."

...for which he is thankful.

[themanclion]

He grins too. Just because...well. Of who he's talking to.

Even if the bloke is, technically, a scumbag.

'Yeah, they keep us busy. But most of 'em aren't the sharpest tools in th' knife drawer so sometimes it's just a case of knockin' their doors in.'

For once though, he doesn't want to talk about his work.

'You been comin' here long? There's a few about from your sort of time.'

[i_got_vision]

"Been here a while, yeah. I've spent most of it drinking, playing cards or walking around outside--never seen country quite like that, outside here. I haven't met many people from my time yet; most everybody seems to be from the future. But I've been on the lookout for a friend of mine who might wander in. Who knows where he goes when he's off by himself? Could be here, for all I know."

[themanclion]

'Who is it?'

He's net a fair few people. But if it's who he thinks it might be, then no, he can't help him.

'Loads of folk from the twenty first century an' beyond, here. But there's a bird in your line of work - Kate Barlow - an' a couple of cowboys an' all. Doc Scurlock an' Ben Wade. An' Billy the Kid's supposed t'come in sometimes though I never met him.'

Yet.