[ 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."

[remindmeof_me]

"Fair 'nough," says Shephard. "I dunno how fast these pups'll go from wrigglers to football size, which is about how big Mrs. Wilson here was when I first brought her home. Might as well wait and see. Young pups're a lot of work'n time'n all."

[almosthonorable]

He cants his head slightly.

"How long've you been workin' with Mrs. Wilson?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Nigh onto a year now," says Shephard. "This's her first litter. Had to take her out'n tie her up near a wild pack when she went into heat."

[almosthonorable]

Ben studies Mrs. Wilson with two critical eyes, attempting to judge her current state.

"How many you think she'll pop out?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Dunno. There were four or five pups the same age in the pack when I found her, though," says Shephard. "So might just be around that many."

[almosthonorable]

"Well, I'd love to meet the little meatballs when they get sprung." Ben lifts the nearby coffee pot, and offers to top off Shephard's mug. "Gotta be a sight to behold, I'd think."

[remindmeof_me]

Shephard nods and holds his mug out for the refill. "I'll let you know soon as I have 'em to show," he says. "I dunno if they even have the sealed eyes like dogs do, seein' how their entire front end is eyes."

[almosthonorable]

Ben absorbs this with a slow nod.

A pause, then: "Any relation to ... bullsquids, did you say?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Naw, no relation," says Shephards. "Bullsquids're about the size of a pony. Two legs, though. Tentacles on one end, big, nasty tail on the other with a bone hook that'll rip off a man's leg with one good strike. Fuckers spit acid and attack or hump fuckin' near anything that moves."

He digs into one of his pockets and comes out with a strip of thin but tough yellow-green skin with a few grayish spots the size of nickels.

"This is hide from one I killed a while back."

[almosthonorable]

Ben studies the skin with interest, putting it to a beast of approximation in his mind's eye, courtesy of Shephard's description.

"Sounds like runnin' across a real ray of sunshine," he says. "I'd say those things make crossin' a diamondback out in the desert seem like a piece of cobbler."