http://trurabblerouser.livejournal.com/ (
trurabblerouser.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2006-03-26 03:05 pm
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He walks down slowly, as if not quite sure what'll be there. When one is newly dead, one fears heading down far more than one fears heading up but he does in fact make it to the main bar. Another few steps gets him to the bar counter proper and then he's ordering a meal, neat as you please, and taking the bites slowly as if afraid they might disappear as readily as they appeared.
[ooc: in and out due to groceries and parentals, but I'll answer your tag]
[ooc: in and out due to groceries and parentals, but I'll answer your tag]
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It takes him a moment to realise why the other man looks so familiar, but he shortly smiles and nods in his direction.
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That's true enough as far as it goes, and far safer than anything else, really.
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"I wouldn't know who that might be, sir, as I've just come in from Yorkshire," true enough, though not exactly a full explanation. "But you're probably mistaken. I've been told I've a face that could fit a few men."
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Hey, he could be wrong. Wasn't like he hadn't met Errol Partridge and Sharpe both, after all.
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"Matthew Truman, sir."
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Wells shakes the hand. "Pleased to meet you," he says. And to recognise you, he thinks, though he's not saying that any time soon. "Welcome to the Bar, anyway. How's this place treating you?"
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"Thank you, sir. And so far, it's treating me well enough. I've at least found a familiar face upon entering and I'm sure some can't even say that. Better than the alternative, I say."
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A crooked grin.
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"Settling in?"
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"It'll serve."
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"You were going to explain some things, now that I'm feeling a bit more like a man?"
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He's at something of a loss with that.
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