milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Ah so, here is the recovering alcoholic hippie, in the bar, at a booth, with real food. Yeah, totally. He's eating it very, very slowly, but he does have what appears to be a ham sandwich. And tea.

And a really big, really old book, compliments of ~~Nearly Wristless Rod~~ Roderick Usher.

He is also playing with a spoon, twirling it in one hand lazily.

Please annoy.

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Miniver would stab them with his magic quill. Hey, for all he knows, maybe it DOES slay monsters, in addition to writing in all sorts of interesting shades of ink without his particular knowledge or consent as to what color it will use next!

"Which old kingdom?" Miniver asks, sipping his tea with a rapt expression on his face.

"Umm..." say the Bright Shiner. "The Old Kingdom. North of Ancelstierre and the Wall. You probably haven't heard of it."

Monsters of the sort in the Library aren't really... killable. That's why they're there. Contained but not killed.

This is why Miniver does not deal much with monsters.

"Those are pretty names, though," Miniver muses. "That's where you're from?"

"Not originally, but it is where I was before I found Milliways."

He grabs a napkin, asking Bar for a pen and ink (he remembers to thank her, too, which is important). He begins to draw a map, labelling each place in rather spidery writing.

"There is the Clayr Glacier, where their great Library is, and Belisaere, the capital, and the River Ratterlin, and the Abhorsen's House, and the Wall. The Old Kingdom."

"Ooooooh." Miniver studies it. "Did you like living there?"

"No."

Hey. It's succinct.

Miniver frowns. "Why not? Was there a war or a plague or an unjust King or something?"

Yrael grins, suddenly. "No. I was imprisoned there for a very long time, and the place only holds bad memories for me now. I do not go back very often."

He was, one might say, one of the monsters. Only, not so lucky as to be one of those imprisoned in the library. He was put into servitude.

"Ohhh. Man, that really blows. I see why you'd hate it. Sort of like why I don't want to go home. Fishkill was a prison and the factory was worse, but warm. Why were you imprisoned?"

Miniver imagines Yrael must have done something terribly heroic and daring and been locked up for upsetting the unjust lords of the place...

"I refused to help my elder siblings strip the power from other creatures like us in order to imprison my little brother."

And thus save Creation. :D

Miniver considers that. And eyes Yrael.

"Hey!" he exclaims suddenly. "Are you like a god or something?"

Yrael shakes his head. "That is a term from other worlds than the one from which I come. I am one of the Nine Bright Shiners. The Eighth, technically."

"Well... you are pretty shiny," Miniver agrees solemnly.

"Why thank you," Yrael says, drily. "You aren't so bad, yourself."

He sips his milk. "This isn't what I really look like, anyway, but I am not supposed to show what I really look like in the bar unless I absolutely have to. Things tend to catch fire and people go blind."

Miniver blushes at the compliment.

"...Oh dear. That's not a good thing, really, no. But you're always white, right? Like how Asar-Suti is purple. Well. At least you match everything, whereas Asar-Suti would have some problems if he wanted to wear plaid, or something."

"I can wear any color I want, really, but I actually have to go out and get clothing for that. I only really own two...one shirt, now that one got ripped up by an idiot with a huge sword the other day, and one pair of pants, and a leather jacket. These," he gestures to the all-white clothing he is wearing, "I just create when I take on human-shape."

"Classy," says the man wearing clothing no Salvation Army would take as a donation. "Hey. So. If you're wearing real clothing, and turn into a cat, does it get, like, absorbed into your flesh, or does it just drop and you have to claw out of it?" He makes a clawing motion at the air.

Yrael snickers. "No. I just let it unmake itself again. I hold physical shape, including my own clothing, through force of will."

"Maaaaan," Miniver says, "it must be sweet to be a god-thing. Like, you never get cold! Because you can just MAKE anything you need. How groovy is that? Hey. Can you stop wars by force of will? Cuz, if so, I know a world that'd be willing to hire you for said service."

"I have never tried to stop wars by force of will," Yrael says, amused.

He tends to stay out of wars. It's what got him imprisoned in the first place.

"I doubt that I could. I am not that kind of thing."

"But you could like, magic everyone into like... rubber suits filled with treacle." Miniver does not, technically, know exactly what treacle is, but he read about it in a book and it sounds terribly British and must therefor be a good solution. Like tea. "Or! Paint a giant... something... on the MOON, so everyone is too busy worrying about how something got painted on the MOON to fight!"

Miniver feels that if he had been a god, the world would be a much better place in SO many ways, many of which directly involve such abstract concepts as "treacle" and "mauve" and "divine right monarchy" and "French cheese."

Yrael grins at Miniver. "I do admit I like how you think."

He is amusing.

"But what if I do not like treacle?" It is far to sticky, anyway.

(ooc: It is 3:15am. Mun gocollapsy. Slowtime?)

[ooc: Sure thing!]

Miniver gives this matter Deep Consideration, for all of up to 20 seconds.

"Well," he reasons, "you wouldn't be the one in a rubber suit, would you?"

"Yes, but there would be nothing but treacle to talk to, and that would be boring. Also, it would ruin the books."

He tilts his head.

"Everyone but librarians into treacle. Libraries are no place for war, anyway."

There, the world is quiet. Perhaps.

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