milliways_bar | (no subject)

A young man, in his late teens or early twenties, bursts through a door into the bar. He wears a short linen robe, and has a round shield on his left arm and an iron longsword in his right hand. His shoulder-length brown hair is damp and messy, and his face is the very picture of a young, hotheaded minor commander on the warpath.

Until he sees the lights inside the bar and the patrons inside, that is. He stops his arm midswing and stands still, then begins to tremble. He whirls around and reaches for the doorknob, but it dissolves and the door disappears into the wall before he can grab it. Then he looks around wildly, looking for something, anything, familiar. Not finding it, he falls to his knees and looks down at his chest, searching for the fatal wound and seeing nothing but his slightly bloody shoulder.

"May the man who slew me meet his own death this very day!" he cries, and waits for his judgment.

(Prince Amnon would probably really appreciate knowing that he's not dead, merely stuck in a bar at the end of the universe. Or maybe he wouldn't, but a terrified 19-year-old with a sharp sword and the belief that he has just perished at the hand of a faceless enemy is a potential safety hazard.)

(OOC: Mun is gone as of 11PM Central Time)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, here is another nineteen-year-old warrior. Admittedly, Mordred is dead and wearing a leather jacket with pinstripped pants and his smoking, but he's got the sword and the leather armour from his Camelot days.

"Oh, do put that thing away before I arrest you, boyo," he drawls, nearly mockingly.

Amnon's expression hardens a little bit, and he's almost successful at hiding his shaking hand behind his shield. He's not the only one, then... although he's pretty sure that the fighter before him was not one of his soldiers. "By whose authority do you come?" he asks. He doesn't put the sword down, but he does pull it back closer to him.

"Head Barman Bernard's because, Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore."

Beat.

"Welcome to Milliways, Bar at the end of the universe. You may be dead, you may be not, but either way there are rules."

"I am not Dorothy, whoever he is," Amnon says. He thinks about things for a moment; if he's dead, then there really isn't any point in defending himself, and if he's not, then something very strange has happened, something never relayed even in his father's wildest tales. He reluctantly sheathes his sword, but his eyes narrow, as though to say I shall remember this. "And I have never heard of Milo - Mili - Milliways? The citadel of Gath was here but two minutes ago!"

"She and...you know, just forgot it. Culture reference you won't get."

His lips twitch.

"Like I said, you're in Milliways. Came through the front door, though what's behind it is your world/time/etcetera."

"The door that is no longer there." He looks over his shoulder, and puts his shield down. Still no door that he can see. "I cannot stay here, for my men need me to lead them against the citadel. If you would show me the other way out, then I shall depart in haste."

"No door? Then, boyo, you're Bound. In lots of cases, though, no time passes outside."

He risks a quick glance at his wrists, half-expecting to see some ropes magically appear on them, but they don't. Amnon starts to figure out what is meant... that he's bound to this strange place, not necessarily with bindings. He nods slowly and takes a deep breath. "What is the purpose of this place, then?" he asks. "And from where do you come?"

"Purpose? Good fucking question. No idea. I'm from Britain. Britannia."

One brown eye squints. "Britannia... that would be on the west side of the sea, would it not?"

"Depends where you are."

"I am... I come from the city of Jerusalem, and was born in the city of Hebron."

"...huh. Okay. I think you might actually be from a previous time to me and not be related. Congratulations. I'm Mordred. Mordred Ambrosisus."

Amnon smiles for once. He knows how that is... it seems that half of the officers in the King's army are his cousins or half-brothers. "I am Amnon, firstborn of David the King." The smile passes from his face, though, and he looks puzzled. "Did you just say previous time? We are called not only from all corners of the Earth, but from different seasons as well?"

"...pretty much."

Amnon is silent for a moment while that sinks in. "This is very strange," he says. "I have heard of crossing oceans, but never crossing years in shorter times." He sits down at the end of a nearby booth and tightens the knots on the bandage at his shoulder.

"I believe the term is "fucking Milliways."

(OOC: GTG. Slowtime or end thread, either way is fine... I'll should be back for a little while tomorrow in the afternoon.)