milliways_bar | (no subject)

Before

Of course, when one is expecting sunlight and, indeed, has taken the first step into the sunlight of the land that one has just finished freeing, it is rather unexpected to go from the first touches of said sun on eyes used to more than two days in the dim light afforded by aged and uncared-for electronics to the somewhat brighter artificial light of a pub.

Rather more disconcerting is the realization that ones boot is not crunching desert dust, but rather has landed firmly on the sort of flooring that suggests civilized workmanship geared more toward comfort and aesthetics than to utilitarian decor.

As she blinks the sun out of her eyes and looks around the dusty and grimy woman in the door makes a face which should not be unknown to most of those around: it is the "Where am I, and how did I get here?" look.

She turns, opens the door behind her, and looks out on the desert she was attempting to walk into. Thus reassured that she can, in fact, leave if she wants to she turns back to the bar and begins looking for someone who can explain what in the world is going on.

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Snow is good at explanations. She approaches with a don't-worry-the-weird-shit-happening-to-you-is-normal smile.

"Welcome to Milliways."

She offers a polite smile back and takes a final look around before looking directly at Snow,

"I assume my sort of arrival is not entirely out of the ordinary, then?"

And she waits, paitently, to find out as much as she's going to be told.

"No, certainly not. Milliways is the restaurant at the end of the universe. Patrons are pulled in here from all different times, places and dimensions. It's fairly standard to arrive here when you thought you were going somewhere else."

She doesn't respond verbally, instead nodding slowly while she attempts to take that in. Again she turns, opens the door to look out on the desert, and turns back to the bar.

"Such as outside. How likely is this to be a hallucination?"

Forty-eight hours sitting next to the button for a bomb, she is rather tired.

Snow considers this. She has faced it before, so an answer comes readily.

"You're really the only one who can make a decision on that. I'm not a hallucination, but even if I were I would likely say the same thing . . . it's certainly possible to sleep here, and if you think it unlikely that you'd be able to sleep in a hallucination it should clear things up. . ."

She does look quite tired.

"I think that 'Can I take a shower in a hallucination?' is a more pressing question."

She's covered in dust, and the grime of her two days, as well as a shawl which has dried blood on it.

Oh, Daniel, if there had been time and the place had been different. It was not, and is not, and hallucination or not it is time to put off these clothes and begin again.

Snow points to the stairs. She knows the feeling, she's been there several times.

"There are rooms upstairs, each with their own bathroom. You can get a shower and a change of clothes -- if you don't have any money on you, the bar won't have any problem starting a tab for you."

"We don't have a stable currancy right now."

Her voice is almost absent, cataloging that as one more thing which needs to be dealt with before she can hand over control to the next to come,

"I am not certain how I could pay a tab."

Needs must. She gives another nod, firmly as she has decided she will deal with that when it is time,

"Thank you. How do I get access to the rooms?"

Snow gives her a nod, walks over to Bar and sets a hand on her surface.

"Bar? A room key for the new arrival. Put it on the Joe Manco Memorial Fund."

A key appears. Snow takes it and hands it to Martha.

"Here. You don't need to worry about your tab now, it's covered. If you want to pay things back once your economy stabalizes, Bar will work everything out for you."

Better to phrase it that way, since some really dislike taking charity in any sense.

"Thank you. I will do that."

Martha is more practical than that, although Snow has no way of knowing this fact. Needs must is a large part of how she operates. She takes the key,

"I am sorry. My name is Martha Adams."

It's hard to make the call within the first few minutes of meeting someone, so better safe than sorry.

"Snow White. It's nice to meet you, Martha. And don't worry, there's certainly no rush on it."

"As in...?"

The question is not cut off so much as allowed to hang in order to avoid offense,

"There is no need for delay, either. It is vital that a stable economy be set up so that the country can begin to recover."

A slight twitch, from one who has clearly heard this many times before.

"Yes. Though the stories tend to become rather mangled in the retelling."

She nods, at this.

"Very true. But you're free to wait until it's reached a more favourable rate of interest, if you like, before repaying the tab."

"They all are, I think."

She says calmly,

"People love stories not for the truth, but for what they can relate to in them. That means that each person will change the tale just a little bit when they pass it on."

Another nod, red hair moving over her grimy cheeks and picking up some of the dirt and dust as it does so. Like your story, Daniel. How many people chased you, thinking you were larger than life? In reality you were a strange little monkey of a man.

Snow smiles. Finally, someone who understands.

"Precisely. And when they encounter the one that it's supposed to be about, all the changes that have been passed down the line will twist their expectations. . . we just need to remember that stories are stories, and people are people, and not to confuse the two."

[OOC:Apologies for the delay]

She nods in return, smiling back at Snow,

"And then the new changes become the old, and things move even farther out of sync with what is real. People become tales become heros become icons become myth."

"And the Fables will have their tales told until people lose any vague thought that they may have been real, that they may have lived lives of their own."

Snow likes her.

"And even then, the stories will still exist, because the stories mean something."

She hasn't quite figured out that this is the Snow White, but she has a child. She's thought about such things.