(no subject)

[twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com]

[OOM: There'll always be an England. It's just that eventually, it's REALLY going to suck.]

The door opens, and for a moment the ruddy-gold light of candles and lamps can be seen on the other side. Not for long, though. The blue-clad, bearded fellow who trudges through closes the door behind him.

And then stops, two paces in, and stares.

Quinn Abercromby hasn't got any words at all for this.

Comments

[creator_raven]

"I do not often take money, no. But Bar does."

He blinks.

"Also there are tabs, perhaps."

Raven wouldn't really know.

[twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com]

"Ah," says Quinn. "All right. Thought you worked here." He looks over at the Bar. "Where's the cashier? Barman, whatever. I mean who I pay."

[creator_raven]

"You pay the Bar, I think."

He waves vaguely.

"There is a spell, perhaps."

Beat.

"Also there are occasionally bartenders around. It is possible to talk to them."

[twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com]

"All right," Quinn says, coming to his feet. "Whatever you say."

It's not a disbelieving phrase. It's just that when denial passes, it tends to leave a certain amount of numbly mumbled acceptance in its wake.

"And I just... what? Go up and ask, and give it my money? Is there a, a... I dunno, a menu?"

[creator_raven]

"The first part is right, yes."

Raven's nod is sharp.

"And as for the other, you ask for what you want. Bar has very many resources, so."

[twoeyesonthesky.livejournal.com]

Quinn nods, and makes his way over in the Bar's direction, wondering all the while.