milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Brandon's body falls away slowly as if the earth is reluctant to accept him. A thick stream of red cascades from the eye Harry shot in the too blueness of the sky scintillating with the splashed shards of glass. His gun is hot as he wipes the barrel leaving burnt red smudges on the handkerchief embroidered by his love, Sherry.

Brandon broke the Code of Iron. I had to do it. He was going to tell Big Daddy.

Harry stows his weapon and handkerchief in the pocket of his gleaming white silk suit and turns towards the elevator doors as it comes to a halt.

Brandon, why? Why did you choose Big Daddy over me? We were supposed to go all the way up together. Traitors must die Brandon, that is the Code. We were almost free.

The doors open and Harry steps quickly trying to cross to the liquor shelf by his desk before Lee or Bob drop in. His sharp blue eyes snap up from the floor before he has taken three steps...this is not his office. He spins to catch the elevator doors, and an unconscious sheen of sweat coats the back of his neck to match the roiling cold in his gut.

The door is gone.

A bar not unlike his hang-outs in the early days is spread out before him. Smokey, full of a motley sort. He takes a second handkerchief from his pristine white slacks, and wipes his brow and the tender spot around his right eye where Brandon punched him. Gathering confidence in a deep breath he smirks and strides across the room to the bar.

I don't know what the hell is going on but I'm gonna find out. Could be a trick by Volcano. Can't let my guard down.

To no one in particular his dry smoker's tenor fills the room, "Is there a phone a guy could use?"

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For a potentially dead man, he looks pretty content and really, he's only here passing through: he's been feeling like the lord of the manor lately but where there's a lord there's a lady, and the lady in his manor demands attention.

Giving it is no hardship at all; it's why he's got a bottle of wine and a fresh pair of glasses. The corkscrew's upstairs: he's no stranger to relaxation, although it's been a lot of years since he was quite this relaxed.

Still, this person's obviously new and he remembers what that felt like. He can take a minute to make a comment here.

"I don't think a phone will be of as much use as you think." Tucking the bottle under his arm, he gives the newcomer a closer look. "But you might want some ice for that eye."

"Oh hey that'll be great there pal."

Harry scans the newcomer up and down making a few assessments to get his footing: not packing any serious heat, good looking fella with a soft but strong voice. Not likely a hit man but better keep his guard up just in case. Something went wrong with that elevator but it isn't anything he can't handle.

Flashing his smirk he makes his way to the bar. His blue eyes meeting the stranger's and hand outstretched toward a seat.

"You want a drink while I am icing up my chops pal? I didn't notice this wallop was so bad. Guess I shouldn't kissed her without askin'"

A sore wink and a gesture to bar mark his quick steady stride. In his gut there is a boiling iceberg ready to burst in a steamy explosion. He pauses for just an instant then grabs and spins into a barstool.

That's nice. Being offered a drink, but he nods down to the wine bottle under his arm and shakes his head. "I've got someone waiting on me, but... if you've never been here before, the first drink is on the house."

Still, he doesn't want to start being rude all of a sudden, and Faye was... pretty relaxed

(that look on her face: if he could bottle it...)

when he left her to come down here, so she'll probably forgive him a little diversion, not that anyone should keep a hungry panther -- relaxed or not -- waiting too long. So he leans into the next bar stool over, setting those two glasses down to shake hands with the stranger.

"I'm Gren. Do you have any idea where you are?" His eyes move a little regretfully to the viewing window: the display there simply can't be ignored. It's a lot to explain and he's no scientist, but if he has to, he'll do his level best before bringing Faye her healthy Pinot Noir lunch.

Harry shoots out a slightly shaky hand and firmly pumps Gren's hand.

"Harry. Harry MacDowell of Millenion. I see you have a little bottled romance there good stuff too. I won't keep ya, but if the first drink is free I am buying bourbon on the rocks. In my experience it is never a good choice to keep a lady waiting too long, makes them cranky."

A brisk laugh is followed by a quick dump of a a hundred ryo on the bar for a tip. He grows quiet a second, following Gren's halting glance at the window.

"No, friend no idea where I am. But I do know where I am going."

He ends the sentence with a wink he instantly regrets. Harry pulls his silver and leather cigarette case from his jacket pocket sending his second handkerchief to the floor absently.

Lighting a smoke, he offers two to Gren. "One before and one after, eh? What is with that window there?"

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he absorbs the details: the money on the bar, the calluses on Harry MacDowell of Millenion's hand, the way he automatically assumed it was a lady he's keeping waiting. It wasn't so long ago he might have been insulted by that assumption, but not now. Not any more: love is love, whatever form it takes.

Wait.

Love?

It's a good thing he didn't say it aloud. This way he can keep it to himself. Fortunately, the stranger is a good distraction from that.

"No matter what I say you'll think I'm crazy, so I'm just going to say it anyway. Wherever you think you might be, you're not. This place is called Milliways and they say it's at the end of the universe." Before Harry can say anything, he holds up a hand against it. "Before you protest, take a good look around at the people and then, once you've done that, I'll tell you what's with that window there."

It seems like a balanced approach, and it feels fair to him.

There are children and women in veils and sheep at tables. Sometimes the people here are different shapes and sizes and colors and while he doesn't keep track of the phases of the moon, he's heard there are werewolves frequenting the place. If Harry takes a good and careful look at the patrons, the whole end of the universe thing might sit more easily for him.

Harry takes a moment as the inward look leaves Gren's face. This guy took in every bit about me with a single hand shake. Could be useful. Helpful, generous, and informative. Very nice. Obviously has connections here, commands the space he's in, too.

Harry does as he is told sipping his just arrived bourbon. Yep. There is a little kid in one corner, a nun with a snake face, and what the hell is that?

A minute furrow of fear threatens to make its way across his brow, but he beats it away with a solid crunch of his ice. This place is weirder than the necrolysation lab. The sharp cold is bracing in his mouth along with the taste of his own blood and the sting of bourbon.

Who would have thought, after coming so far, for so long he would have to start on the bottom all over again?

A scant slice of anger behind his eyes is directed at the unfamiliar around him. This is no way to be free.

"Ok so I just walked into Bouncing Bob's Bar and Sideshow, and it is at the end of the universe, and I am a nobody. Again. Right?" The anger gives way to a wry curling smile and a flash in those depthless blues.

"Well then, I just gotta get back on my feet," he places a piece of cracked ice on his swollen eye, the sting gives him clarity," and make my way to the top of this place too."

He takes a drag of the cigarette and takes a sip before exhaling, swallows then exhales a smoke ring tinged in bourbon.

"So what's with the window."

Wow.

He can only think of one other person he's known who was this competitive, and he certainly hopes that Harry, who has to get back on his feet and make his way to the top here, is nothing like Vicious.

But if there's one thing he knows, it's that sarcasm makes a good mask for fear and why not? He'd be afraid too. This place is completely unknown and beyond that, it's just... strange. But he nods to the window regardless of his thoughts; a question's been put forth and the least he can do is answer.

"I'm no scientist -- just a musician -- but they call it the universe destruction viewing window. There's all sorts of elemental activity going on out there. I've been here... close to two years and I'm still not sure I believe that the universe is destroyed and recreates itself on a daily basis, but whatever's out there sure puts on a good show."

As if it's listening (and that would be a first, he thinks) and wants to confirm his words, a violent streak of green lightning crackles across the length of the window, disappearing into a purple cloud.

That was a good one.

"A musician, eh? You sing? Or do you play an instrument? I used to play the ukulele until it got taken by that bastard at the orphanage."

Harry's cold blues peer into the dumbfounding display. His hand shakes a little and he instinctively looks at the floor. He grabs and pockets his bloodstained handkerchief too quickly. He shoots a look at Gren to see if he noticed the slip. If he did it didn't matter to him. It is like... Those eyes are just like Brandon's. No...Brandon has black eyes. Had. Brandon had black eyes.

He polishes off the drink and raises his glass for a refill, having never seen the bartender.

"Gren, I gotta tell ya, for being about the strangest place I have every been to, and that I gotta tell ya is sayin' somethin'. It is nice. Universe Destruction Viewing Window? Looks expensive."

His cool is wavering. Every time he looks around he feels like everyone is staring at him. And not in that adoration kind of way he covets. No, they are looking at him like he just shot his best friend...

He crushes the thought with the folded but of his cigarette in the ashtray. His shake is down to a trace, and he looks up at Gren smile at the ready.

"Sorry pal, this is a bit much to take in at once, and I have had a pretty damn rough day. You have been very kind, and I always repay a kindness as I receive them so rarely."
He offers his card and another hand shake, this time with his odd, non-wet with ice hand.

"You every need anything ever, you let me know. I really appreciate the leg up, and I always keep my word."

The shake of his head is small and subtle, but his lips curve into a smile. "I haven't done anything." If his small kindness of his -- all he's done is share a bit of information -- is worth all these thanks, then perhaps Harry deserves a break: he won't tell him about the possibility of being stuck here like he is.

"You know, Harry, if you're tired and hurting, you can get a room here. Take care of yourself, not have to go back to whatever happened out there. Just ask the bar for a key. She'll give you one."

He pats her surface fondly before picking up those two wine glasses again. "And if you're short, well... you can always run a tab. The place is very forgiving." And honestly, Harry looks like he could use a night's rest.

Of all people, he knows how it feels to need some rest in a nice, safe, quiet place.

"Good luck."

It is important to thank those who have helped you, even just the tiniest bit. Everything is a gift should you impart it on someone else. Some day he will have the power to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. To truly be free. Gren's eyes are a deeper shade of blue. Everything is a bit clearer now. That is a gift as great as, Sherry's love, or Brandon's Loyalty, or Lee's wit, or Bob's information. Knowing you are in a place, for a reason even if that reason doesn't make sense is worth thanks. To know there are still rules to be learned and if needed broken, is a gift worth thanks. And if this place is as forgiving as Gren says it is then it is a gift worth more than a man's life.

"Thanks. I think I will get a room. I'll take that luck and raise you ten," a wink, "and good night, you better hurry Beethoven, she is bound to be cranky now."

He waves as Gren moves and asks for a towel and a key. Sleep. Yeah that is what he needs. Brandon's body falls away in the melting ice cubes in his glass. He'll pack it in for now and come back ready to knock'em dead tomorrow. Just like he said he would...with Brandon.

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