First Entrance

[x_coriare]

The front door opens on a rather unsuspecting patron--in fact, she's never been here. She could have sworn she was opening the door to somewhere most certainly not a bar, and she stops on the threshold with brows creased in vague concern.

Things have been a whirlwind since she manifested, at her count all of five days ago. Sooraya doesn't really know what to make of there being a bar where there shouldn't be one, but she's no longer hiding as she had been, turned to sand and spread around the dusty complex she's staying in. It's taken those few days for her to open up a little to the culture around her with all the colors and textures it has--she's wearing a long tunic and relatively slim trousers in far brighter colors than she'd have dared to before. But it's cool, and her face is still covered.

It might be worth it to come in. Or she thought so until the door shut behind her and disappeared when she turned around.

Well.

Comments

[04_after]

Quatre catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye when she walks in. He smiles, and stands, adjusting his cuffs automatically.

"Blessed Eid," he says warmly, even though the chances of their calendars coinciding are slim. "Are you new here?" He speaks MSA, though with a trace accent that would be unplaceable to someone from the 21st century.

[x_coriare]

It's obvious that she lights up a little at that and smiles at him though she keeps her physical distance. "And yours, every year," she replies, in the same way that Christians do with 'peace be with you', though with perhaps a little more feeling behind it.

She's still got no idea where she is, but this is a good thing. People familiar with Islam in close proximity makes her hope there's some kind of understandable explanation for why there's a bar in the hallway.

[04_after]

He pulls out a chair at the bar for her, then settles back on his -- far enough so that he would not be able to touch her even if she sat easily, but not farther. He realizes he's estimating for a level of conservativeness that she might not reach; but she's in a new universe, and it's always best to be more polite than less.

"This is a restaurant called Milliways," he says, easily. "There are private rooms upstairs, if you ever need to spend the night, and the bar provides food to your specifications. People from many places come here, most from Earth but not all. There are very few Muslims; we may be the only two, though I imagine there must be more I've not met."

He pauses. "There's more to explain, but I can give you a moment to think if you'd like?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo's halfway through Starship Troopers, feet propped up on the table, when she comes in. He chances a look up, and a look at the garment is all he needs to know for introductions.

"Salaam," he says, turning his attention back to the book. "First drink's free. Doesn't have to be alcoholic."


After a while, he thinks to take his feet off the table, too, so that she cannot see the soles.

[x_coriare]

She blinks at him for a moment, and though she has very little conscious fear of men she doesn't know, she's a little apprehensive. Still, the fact that he moves and greets her politely is a point in his favor.

"Salaam," she replies, and though she's speaking not Arabic but Pashtun, Milliways translates it for her. "Can you tell me where I am?" Because she has little or no idea--a bar, yes, that much is obvious. But it also brings in a whole load of other questions.

[boston_bruiser]

"Milliways," he responds, turning a page. "Bar at the end of the universe."

He pauses halfway down the page - this is usually where the incredulity starts.

[x_coriare]

"At the end of the universe," she repeats. To her credit she's not incredulous yet, but she's really, really confused. She was just in someplace most definitely not the end of anywhere, and she doesn't know quite whether to believe this stranger.

"...How?"

[boston_bruiser]

He shrugs. "That's what I asked. -well, actually, I didn't, at first I thought it was a prank -"

He sets the book facedown on the table, stressing the already-ruined spine, and crosses his arms.

"-but the most I've been able to get outta anyone is 'magic'."

He does not care much for that explanation, but there it is.

[x_coriare]

She just seems to take this in for a long moment, and slowly moves away from the door--now a wall--and into the room. Magic is not an explanation that completely appalls her, but she's neither overly enthusiastic about accepting it so easily.

"But how did it come to be in the hallway? I didn't go near any bars. Or any people that might have..." Well. This is going to sound odd no matter how she says it. "...Put one here."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo gives a half-shrug. "Like I said - magic. 'parently, it can appear anywhere, almost anytime. Usually behind doors, though."

He nods to Bar. "People call her Bar. She's voice-activated, 'n can get you damn near anything, so long's it ain't illegal. You run a tab after your first order. People call me Voodoo."

[x_coriare]

"Her?" Sooraya asks, glancing to the bar and back to Voodoo. "Is she...is there a person that comes?"

[boston_bruiser]

"Nnnnnope," Voodoo says. "More magic. She got enchanted a while back or somethin'. Now she's sentient."

Beat.

"'casionally, she's gotta take naps and grabs the person nearest her for a happy hour shift, but I don't think that's what you mean."

[x_coriare]

"Oh."

Well that's different. She does move towards the bar, and hesitates for a moment back to Voodoo. "Thank you," she says.

[boston_bruiser]

"Yuuuup," he says, picking the Heinlein back up. "Anytime."

[lifethatisscratched]

The young Kanien'kehá:ka boy seated by the entrance sympathizes with your plight, Sooraya.

"That happened to me, too."

It might mean he's dead, he reflects. He hopes Javert is wrong, but he's determined not to cry in the meantime. Mother wouldn't want that.

[x_coriare]

It takes her a minute to clue in on the boy, and she crouches down to be more at his level, though she still doesn't remove her veil. While he's nowhere close to puberty thus to strictly necessitate her wearing it, he's in a room full of people who don't fit the same description.

"What happened to you? The door vanished?"

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton nods, once. "This was my mother's longhouse. But I haven't been able to go back yet."

He averts his eyes and twiddles his thumbs.

"I met a man who said people only come here if they're dead. I hope I'm not. But I haven't been able to prove him wrong."

It has proven detrimental to his emotional state.

[x_coriare]

"I know I'm not dead," says Sooraya.

She's pretty clear on that one, though she really doesn't wish to explain it, not even to a young child. Chances are he wouldn't understand it any more than she does--and she doesn't understand it a whole lot herself yet.

"Do you feel dead?"

[lifethatisscratched]

He shakes his head. "I didn't feel dead when I entered. I feel the same now."

He looks Soorya in the eye, his hands pinned beneath his hamstrings.


(Morpheus had not mentioned the veil in his brief description of Islam.)

"Why are you wearing that?" he asks.

A beat.


He bites his lower lip.

"I'm sure you're very pretty. If that's what you're worried about."

[x_coriare]

Her eyebrows raise at that, clearly surprised. "Why do I wear which part?" she asks. It's not like she hasn't got some idea of what he's talking about, but if he's referencing anything other than the fabric covering her nose and mouth she'll be pleasantly surprised.

[lifethatisscratched]

His answer is simple.

"That part," he says, pointing to the veil. "I've never seen anything like it in the valley."

[x_coriare]

"I wear it because I want to," she says simply. "I appreciate the modesty it affords me. Not everyone wears them, but I like to."

[lifethatisscratched]

"Oh."

A half-beat, then:

"My people don't wear anything like that."

Another half-beat, then:

"I am Kanien'kehá:ka. From the valley."

[x_coriare]

"I think you're from a very different place than I am," she says. "But it's alright if your people don't wear anything like it. They don't have to."

She smiles, and the veil lifts gently across her cheekbones. "My name is Sooraya. I can't say I've ever heard a name like yours before."

[lifethatisscratched]

He nods. "Most people here haven't. Most of their names are shorter than mine, but Mother says every name means something special."

He bows his head and twiddles his thumbs. "One of the meanings for mine is 'life that is scratched'. Mother says she gave it to me because I was very sick as a baby, but that I am stronger for having gone through that."


He looks up, making eye contact with Sooraya.

"What does yours mean?"

[x_coriare]

"It means princess," she says. "Or gem, something precious. Did your mother wait very long before she named you?"

[lifethatisscratched]

He shrugs. "A few months. My people do not force a name on someone, but instead wait for a name to present itself."

[x_coriare]

"I would imagine that it works well for names like your people have."

[lifethatisscratched]

He nods. "I think it does. My mother tells me that her parents waited a year to name her."

He pauses and frowns as a thought strikes him. "She's never told me what hers means, though."

[x_coriare]

"I'd like to know her name, but I don't know your language, so I wouldn't be able to tell you," Sooraya murmurs. "But it is a very pretty sound, anyway."

[lifethatisscratched]

"Her name is Kaniehtí:io," Ratonhnhaké:ton says, pronouncing it kahn-yen-ti-EE-o. "But she doesn't like it when I call her that, I think. Mostly I call her Mother."

[x_coriare]

"No, most parents like their children to call them mother, or father, I think. My mother's name is Mirah, but I don't call her that."

[lifethatisscratched]

Ratonhnhaké:ton nods, twiddling his thumbs again. "Mother doesn't talk about Father much," he says. "Just that he left us before I was born. Sometimes I wonder what he was like."

He looks back up at Sooraya. "What is yours like?"

[x_coriare]

"My father?" she asks. "I've never met him, and my mother doesn't talk about him."

[lifethatisscratched]

"Oh," he says, simply.


"Then I guess we have that in common."

[no_more_hiding]

[OOC: Sooraya! Someday when I have more brain I'd love to toss a young Hank her way, if you don't mind crossing the streams.]

[x_coriare]

[ooc: Not at all! Have fun, I'd love to thread with Hank!]