milliways_bar | Entrance Post

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Entrance Post

Pre-Milliways

The door flies open and anyone in the vicinity will probably notice that things have suddenly got very loud. Some kind of dance beat fills the air and there's a rolling wave of heat, created by a club full of people dancing in close proximity.

A young man enters backwards, still jumping up and down with his hands reaching high, still looking up at the stage where the DJ is doing her thing. And then he swirls suddenly and..

...his eyes are unnaturally bright, the smile a bit too wide. It doesn't disappear when the door closes behind him, cutting off all sound. He doesn't seem to notice. He just stares around him, still grinning, sweat glistening on his skin.

And he laughs.

'If they've let me into the VIP room, I hope to fuck I can smoke in here.'

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Pyro blinks, but thinks it's better not to comment. This guy looks somewhere around his age, so even if he's just a human, he might as well make nice. Allies are good in a strange place.

Pyro vaguely remembers one of his teachers at Xavier's saying something about the US and Russia during World War II, and how they got along before the Cold War. This he dismisses as irrelevant, since the prof-- Storm, was it?-- went on to spew some of her pacifist propaganda.

Respect for mutantkind won't be won through pacifism. Rights for mutants must be earned by force.

He shrugs, and falls back into his "random working-class Joe" persona.

"Hey," he calls to the hyperactive young man.

The head snaps round, perhaps a bit further than it should, though the grin stays in place.

'Hey man.'

When he walks he practically bounces, almost like he's still dancing.

'Gotta say it. What. The fuck?'

"What the fuck what, man? What the fuck is here?"

Well, obviously, people are here. People and tables and a large rock-like thing that talks and a bar that Pyro doesn't yet understand.

He also doesn't quite understand the new guy's question... hence the asking for clarification.

Arms are spread wide and he looks to the ceiling.

'What the fuck everything!'

And then they sag, slapping his thighs as they land loosely, bouncing off jeans that hang low. His gaze is returned to the other young guy. Still grinning.

'Or more pertinently - where did the party go?'

"Party..." Pyro mumbles, then shrugs. He's starting to get the impression that the door, whatever else it does, acts as some sort of portal drawing people from everyplace.

Aloud, he says, "Sorry. Don't know about any party. Before I wound up here, I was trying to outrun a police dog. Thought I'd run into the library."

Then he adds, "That's what the loud music was from? A party?"

'Police. Assholes.'

He leaps onto a chair, crouching on it and suddenly pointing at the guy.

'You're not a cop. This isn't a police station. Or a library. And I was in a club dude, there weren't any cops there. Not wearing fucking uniforms anyway. Who're you then?'

Jimmy? Is high.

Pyro steps back, alarmed. When the guy doesn't do anything more than point at him, he relaxes slightly. Best not to provoke the high guy any farther. He seems to have a short attention span, and might be tweaking.

"Yeah, assholes," he agrees. Then he remembers that the kid asked "who're you?"

That usually means giving the other person your name.

But how to answer? He could give the name his mother gave him, John, or he could give his real name. The first might sound like a lie, the second would arouse the kid's suspicion.

He orders a bottle of water from the bar for the kid, and holds it out in his hand.

"I'm lost," Pyro says.

Jimmy nods and takes the bottle, staring at the label.

'Aren't we all, baby.'

His focus shifts off the water and he puts the bottle down abruptly, laying palms flat on the table and leaning forward to stare into the guy's eyes. His head tilts and he seems to be scrutinizing him, intent as only the very high can be.

'You want some help with that?'

Pyro's confused.

"Help with what? Being lost? No thanks."

In case the kid's forgotten, he adds, "Better lost than with the police hound after me."

[[OOC: can we wrap this, at least for now? I've got somewhere else to be, unfortunately. Slowtime is also an option.]]

He nods wisely and suddenly snatches the water up again, pulling the top off and drinking greedily. When he needs to breath he just tosses the still-open bottle over his shoulder and pulls a pack of smokes out of his pocket.

'Better most things than having the hound after you dude, better anything. Smoke?'

If he's upset about his offer not being taken up, it doesn't show. He's forgotten about it anyway.

[OOC: Slowtime works for me but if you want to wrap it, go ahead. Thanks for tagging! :D]

Pyro nods, and takes a cig. He doesn't light it, but sticks it behind his ear.

He doesn't smoke often, but he likes the smell of tobacco. Maybe he'll save it for later, or trade it with someone else. Whichever's necessary at any given moment.

[[OOC: Whatever works with you. I'm back, anyway.]]

Jimmy lights his with suddenly precise movements, and a cheap plastic lighter, the kind you can get for ten a dollar. It's black, and disappears rapidly into the pocket of his jeans. After one drag of the cigarette it's almost forgotten about, used instead to emphasise words in his rapidly moving hands.

'For an hallucination, you're pretty fucking strange. Normally you'd be green, or a talking dragon or some shit. Or a walking tree, saw one of them once and it was wild, man, but that can fuck you up, y'know? off the wall, but you're not and what'd you do to get a fucking dog chasing you anyway?'

If it seems odd that Jimmy would talk to someone he believes isn't real - when, it's what he does, at times.

"I'm not a hallucination," Pyro tries to explain. He gives up, figuring anything more would be lost on the boy. It seems he can't really remember anything much for a significant length of time, anyway.

If it comes back to the blonde's mind a day later, a week, a month or, fuck, even a year later, it isn't Pyro's problem anymore.

To answer the kid's question, he says, "I'm alive. For some, that's enough."

He considers burning out the kid's cig for emphasis, then decides not to do. Cigarettes don't make the best flares anyway, at least for the uninitiated.

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