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[ bending millitime since 2008 ]
[ april fools ] all scruffed up
justdidntseeit wrote in milliways_bar
Since she landed in Bill Pardy's body, Kate Warner has endured a lot of indignities.

Chief among them: facial hair.

She's a wo!man on a mission as she approaches the counter; she's got a Bar to see about an electric razor.

- - - - -

out-of-body experience

Ben Wade is on a stool at one end of the bar with a piece of pie and a cup of coffee, but he's not quite himself. He's still gimping around in Dan Evans' body.

He's taken good care of it, though.

He only lost the wooden boot once.

Maybe twice.

[ ooc: belated double-pup post to scoot these crazy kids back to their respective bodies, but not plot-locked in any way; open for decades! ]

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Dan Evans has taken good care of this body, too. He's fed it, cleaned it, and even allowed it a bit of a nap on a sandy beach.

Is that a tan?

He even resisted the urge to give the man a clean shave, not familiar enough with the contours of his jawline to trust a straight razor against the skin.

Downstairs, he's looking for...well, himself.

Dan Evans' face is pleased as proverbial punch; not only does he have delicious pie (even though he has no idea why the hell it's called "Derby" pie, he's not going to argue semantics against something with pecans, chocolate chips and bourbon), but he also has a certain sparkly pink gun sitting at his elbow, thanks to an earlier conversation with Miss Kate Warner.

Now, he just needs to find -- well, himself.

Which he will.

As soon as he's done with this slice of heaven on a saucer.

Ben's face lights up with a smile when he spots the pink ray-gun sitting at...his...elbow.

"Benjamin, if that gun goes missin' again because you're too busy with that dessert of yours, I'm 'fraid we might have to have words."

"That gun is goin' nowhere," Ben says around a mouthful of chocolate, pecans, and crust. "I got both eyes on it."

And it's mostly true.

"But if it decides to sprout legs and run away, I'm countin' on you to catch it."

"Reckon I'll still have the better shot, though I'm sure you're gettin' the hang of movin' around all right."

It's been awhile, and the learning curve is steep but manageable.

"Y'know, I do believe I have a new appreciation for you, Dan."

He wiggles his bum leg; the boot and the brace are fine -- well intact, anyway -- though the leather strap may bear a slight singe and suspiciously demon rabbit-like toothmarks.

"Take a seat, have a piece of pie like this one -- we'll celebrate."

He hauls himself onto a barstool, where Bar provides a matching cup of coffee and slice of pie without delay.

Dan twirls his fork in his fingers, then stabs it into the pie.

"Always wondered what that felt like."

A pause.

Ben's eyes flick to Dan's plate and back to Dan's face.

"Stabbin' a fork into a piece of pie?"

"I was thinkin' more along the lines of stabbin' Tucker in the side of the neck with these hands."

One corner of Ben's mouth twitches.

"Tucker," he says, and points his fork at Dan's pie for emphasis, "was a hell of a lot more insufferable than that."

A beat.

"Off-key, too."

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