[ happy hour ]

[almosthonorable]

Ben Wade is greeted with a handful of surprises when he enters the bar.

One is delicious.

Another is unexpected, to say the least

Comments

[remindmeof_me]

"You know," says the fellow in Marine Corps fatigues as he makes his way up to the Bar, "I ain't normally the sort to mix liquor'n wake-up juice, but shit if that bourbon coffee don't sound like a good idea just now."

Something down by his feet makes an oddly electronic-sounding mrrryip? noise.

"You be quiet, Mrs. Wilson. You ain't gettin' nothin' but water, not in your condition."

[almosthonorable]

"I can tell you it's better than a good idea, friend," Ben says, and snags a clean mug for the coffee.

Over his shoulder, as he pours from the percolator: "And just water for the missus?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Yes please," says Shephard. "Down, girl. Ain't no way in hell I'mma let you hop up on a stool just now."

There's another vaguely electronic noise, this one faintly disappointed. If Ben looks over the Bar he'll see something that looks like a ... okay, at this point it no longer looks like anything, but there was a time when that creature was described as 'Satan's own stripey Christmas ham'. Kind of hard to call something that obviously pregnant even remotely ham-like, though.

[almosthonorable]

Ben offers up an impressive mug of bourbon coffee; he slides over an assortment of sugars, along with a small pitcher of cream.

"And one water, comin' right up for -- "

He spots the Mrs. Wilson in question, and goes very still.

"She's a ... beauty."

Read: What in the hell.

[remindmeof_me]

The houndeye hoists herself up on her lone hind leg to get a better look at the human. She has to lean her forepaws on the Bar itself to keep her balance, though.

"Aliens," says Shephard a little gloomily. "I ain't seen a real dog on my side of the door in I don't fuckin' know how long, but if it runs in packs like a dog, barks like a dog, pisses the carpet like a dog'n takes orders like a dog, that's good enough for me."

[almosthonorable]

"Mrs. Wilson," Ben says, as serious as he can manage in the face of a ball of meat moving under its own power, "it's a pleasure."

He holds up a clean, empty glass for Shephard's inspection, followed by a bowl.

"Is there a ... preference we're workin' with, here?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Bowl'll do fine," says Shephard. "Her mouth's on the underside. I'd have her show you, only she's in the family way these days'n her balance ain't what it used to be."

Mrs. Wilson drops back down to all threes and hops awkwardly from one forepaw to the other.

"That there's as close as she gits to waggin' her tail, seein' how she ain't got one."

[almosthonorable]

Ben fills the bowl with fresh, cool water.

"I tell you what, soldier, that is a world of entertainment you've got for yourself, right there."

[remindmeof_me]

"Marine," corrects Shephard with a crooked smile. "Adrian Shephard, sergeant-major, United States Marine Corps. Year's 2021, back home. At your service."

[almosthonorable]

"Sergeant-major," Ben repeats, tipping his head in acknowledgment, "Ben Wade. I'm a little bit behind your time, out of 1866."

His eyes flick to Mrs. Wilson.

"Since you said aliens, I'm assumin' you've got space travel goin' for you?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Not exactly." Shephard scratches at his nose with one thumbnail. "More like- shit. Y'know how there's a shitload of different worlds'n dimensions and fuck all like that comin' together here? Back home we got scientists who fucked around a li'l bit too fuckin' hard with that shit'n got us in a whole goddamn world of trouble 'bout twenty years back. Tried to build some kinda machine to let 'em teleport from one place to another or somethin' an' what they did instead was tear time and space a whole goddamn metric fuckton of new assholes. Mrs. Wilson's kind here'n a buncha other species came through 'em. Her kind ain't all that bad, they're just wildlife'n they don't bother folks long as they ain't hungry or nothin', but there was other species that did a shitball of damage. Kinda went downhill from there."

[almosthonorable]

"Moses in a basket," Ben says, mostly to himself.

"I dearly hope that ain't somethin' I should be lookin' forward to in my particular future."

[remindmeof_me]

"You just keep an eye out in New Mexico," says Shephard. "Happens at a place name of Black Mesa. Ain't too far from a town name of Espanola, which I think might be around in your day."

[almosthonorable]

Ben's eyes narrow a fraction in thought, and he nods.

"They're buildin' up the railroad around there, I do believe," he says. "I appreciate the warning."

A beat.

"But, hell, if the trade's gettin' a pack of Mrs. Wilsons runnin' around ... "

It'd almost be worth the collateral damage that would ensue after a tear in the fabric of space and time.

Almost.

[remindmeof_me]

"Shit, if that's all you want I c'n arrange that for you," says Shephard. "Least if the pups live, anyways. Or if I c'n grab a wild pup or somethin' next time I'm out after bullsquid."

[almosthonorable]

Ben is torn.

"Now that would be somethin'," he says. "But I don't know if I'd be the best at care-takin' for a pup, out on my side of the door. I'm about to start workin' a job with some long days, and I'm not so sure how kindly my boarding house would take to an alien meatball."