milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Then there is me, that is Alex. I had just ittied back from some of the starry ultra-violence, and decided a cold milk-plus would by a dobby ending to the nochy, so Your Humble Narrator slides into a booth, and soviets a cold odin.

{OOC: I'm attempting to play Alex in first person, so this very well might be bloody shambles. :D}

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Oh.

Oh.

... damn.

Nick has no excuse. "Accident."

This makes YHN smeck. "Do you tolchok yourself often?"

"No," Nick says, scowling. "What language are you speaking?"

"Why," I govoreet, with a wry smile on my litso, "it's Nadsat, that is the heighth of teenage fashion. It's the way my droogs and I govoreet back at home."

Context clues, Nick thinks, brows furrowing as he listens.

"Nadsat," he repeats. "Never heard of it."

Sounds Russian, though.

I govoreet back to him, real polite, "I'm sure you haven't," and peet my moloko.

"You're not a nadsat," I govoreet, trying to explain it to the veck.

"... obviously," Nick says, arching a brow.

"Where are you from?"

I spin on my stool, to get a dobbier smot at this veck. "London, England."

A quick peet at the firegold.
"What metso do you come from?"

"Minnesota, America," Nick says. "1926."

YHN was like amazed at this, brothers. This veck is 20 something, but smots real starry-like for a young veck.

"Funny. You don't viddy 22."

"I'm not 22," Nick says. "I'm 33."

This veck really is bezoomny.

"Right, yet you were born in 1926?"

"No, I'm from 1926. I was born in 1892."

I don't pony anything this veck is saying.

"How's that, then?"

Nick blinks.

"How's what?"

"You were born at one time, and 'from' another. I don't pony."

"When I say 'from' I mean that's when I arrived here. It was 1926 for me."

YHN is still not ponying this cal. "Wouldn't you still get older, though?"

"... what?"

Time here is a strange thing, Nick knows this, but this fellow is just plain confusing.

"You should be over 50. Why aren't you starry, like old?"

What the cal.

"You can't stop time. That's unpossible!"

"Time's different, here. What year are you from?"

... a year without proper English, perhaps?

And brothers, believe or kiss my sharries, I don't totally remember. "Like, late 40's like, I think."

"Oh. Well, then, there you go."

I still don't pony, so I ask, "Will I like stay this way, this age in bar forever?"

"I don't think so," Nick blinks. "But time goes by different, here, than it does back in our homes. Some people stay here for months and when they go back home they've only been gone for a day."