http://tokilltherose.livejournal.com/ (
tokilltherose.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2006-12-01 08:04 pm
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There was a test-opening of the door.
Once more, it wasn't his apartment. But at least it wasn't the mirror library. It was that bar again, and he could handle the bar. The bar wasn't some creepy place courtesy of grandma. So Steve let himself in, looking around. He wasn't sure if he recognized anyone or not, but if this place was going to keep being there instead of his apartment, and it wasn't eating him, he may as well get used to it.
Once more, it wasn't his apartment. But at least it wasn't the mirror library. It was that bar again, and he could handle the bar. The bar wasn't some creepy place courtesy of grandma. So Steve let himself in, looking around. He wasn't sure if he recognized anyone or not, but if this place was going to keep being there instead of his apartment, and it wasn't eating him, he may as well get used to it.
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Such as it is, he's playing catch. Bouncing a ball against the wall nearest to his own nonexistant door with reasonably decent coordination. Please pardon him if he annoys you?
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Okay, he can deal with that, he thinks. "So, uh... Having fun?" he asked, closing the door behind him.
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Dammit.
Holding his nose, Matt swore before setting the ball aside, "...Kind of. I'm running out of things to do here."
Pause.
"...You must be new?"
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His hands come away with tiny streaks of red, "...Aww dammit." Hell of a first impression Matt.
Matt grabs for a napkin, "..Thanks though. Um-"
He pins up his nose, holding his head back, "....God, sorry-I'm not usually this out of it man." He really isn't, "...Second Time in the bar?"
Anything to get attention away from the innattentative cop with a bloody nose.
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When a wet cloth in a small plastic container appeared, he was surprised. "Uh. Okay. Thanks," Steve said to thin air before heading back, cloth offered. "Here, didn't mean to distract you..."
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"...Dude. You didn't distract me. It's easy to distract me."
Pause.
"...I mean-It's okay. I mean really. Meeting new People's always better then bouncing a bar off the furnishings." he pins the washcloth up against his nose, his voice now humorously...squeaky, "...I'm Matt Parkman. I'd shake hands but-"
He shrugs helplessly and grins from underneath the towel.
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"...Sure." Matt's voice still squeaks, but at least he's cheerful, "The waitrats are moderately nice to me. Bar herself thinks I'm kind of a nuisance, but yanno."
He grins, "What d'you do Steven?"
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Matt nods sympathetically, "...Never experienced. Sorry man. That's got to suck. Any particular reason? Hiring freezes? Bad luck in certain fields?"
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...The sad thing is? In Matt's world? He could almost buy it. Although it might have a different cause then in Steven's world.
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"...There's no such thing as ghosts."
Poor Steven's probably used to that reaction.
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Only way Matt can think of to explain it delicately.
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Not really.
"Although I... really have to wonder if you've ever really encountered a house that eats people."
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Matt doesn't want to think about that, "...I'm...psychic. Telepathic. Not like...see the future psychic just read the thoughts kind of psychic. I got a bad buzz from a thought a guy named Ray Stanz had. You'd be surprised at the memories that people leave behind."
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"I know a few psychics, actually. Pam was... a touch-know. Vic was precognitive. Nick was a mindreader. Emery is a postcognitive, and Annie is telekinetic, and Kathy's an automatic writer. I'm... uh... Rose Red makes me telepathic."
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That the inquisitive stare makes him take note of. Watch the cop try to wipe it off.
"....Did they just come into their abilities? Wake up with them one day?"
Matt's question and train of thought is interrupted, "...The house makes you telepathic?"
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"Well, I don't know how some of them got their abilities. Annie was born with them - I know that much. I was as psychic as a rock before I went into Rose Red, but I turned telepathic after I'd stayed there for a while. And I've not had it again since I left."
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He draws in a snotty breath. See! fine! and at least it's stopped bleeding.
He shrugs, "I bounce."
He listens intently to the descriptions, "...Probably not the same universe then. I've been trying to find folks from my own time to talk to. ...Although...I entered a house...
He thinks on this, rubbing his wounded nose with a finger. Hmmm..
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He shudders.
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Serial killers who can take the heads off of people, using their thoughts.
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