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andrew wells

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*Andrew Wells is in the bar for the first time in a while, sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, looking thoughtful.*

*Whether that thoughtful look is because of recent events here, or recent events in his own world, or the book he's reading, is anyone's guess.*

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That couch across from Andrew? That one that used to be empty company? Isn't anymore.

Jo drops on to it, without really looking at him, throwing her boots up on the far armrest and settles into drinking a beer.

*He glances up, registers the presence of another probably-human, gives her a vague wave, and goes back to his book.*

Jo registers the movement enough to tilt her head and glance up.

Hands busy on her beer, she says, "Hey."

*He half-lowers the book again, blinking up at her.*

Hi.

There's a tired uncertainty, she glances back too.

Down to his book, then back up to his face.

"Good read?"

Oh, yeah.

*Enthusiasm! He dog-ears the page and holds out the book to show her the title.*

It's Larry Niven. Short stories and novel excerpts and nonfiction essays, and he's good.

Well, he's certainly enthusiastic, which gets an amused quirk to the edge of her lips.

"What're they about?"

Lot of different things. Mostly hard science fiction. Niven's one of like three or four writers in the world who can actually write believably alien aliens, and he likes playing with astronomical weirdities like neutron stars, quantum black holes, that kind of you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you.

*He sounds resigned.*

Jo's eyebrows are raising as he adds each new term or idea.

He's lucky she hasn't snorted by now. The beer bottle is saving that one.

"Never been my subject. Sorry."

Sorry. I tend to think everyone I meet is a science-fiction fan.

*He says it ruefully, not with the cold overpoliteness of the line's originator in "The Fourth Profession" -- but there's no way he can resist the quote.*

*Even if that story's not in this Niven collection but in the other one.*

"S'okay." Jo shrugged against the couch cushions and took another pull of her beer, crossing her feet.

"You can go on reading if you want. I won't be insulted."

*He shrugs.* Eh, I can read anytime.

I'm Andrew.

She glanced back up and he gets a small bit of grin.

"I'm Jo. Those things come in handy in your world?"

... what, science fiction?

*It's a bit uncertain; he's really not sure what she's asking.*

Jo nodded.

"Yeah. Aliens, black holes, stars, the works?"

Bartending the end of the universe seems to make it plausible to make even the strangest lists sound nonchalant.

Only in the way where it stretches your imagination. Which always comes in handy. Helped with adjusting to this place, lemme tell you.

*A vague wave of one hand indicates the room in general, and perhaps the Observation Window in particular.*

Jo doesn't glance over, couch back inna way, but lets her gaze stay on Andrew.

She gets the reference. It's not one of her favorite things in the room.

"Could see how it might be helpful. What's home like then?"

Um, early early twenty-first century Earth. New York City. No aliens.

*He sounds a bit wistful about that.*

Closest thing we've got is some breeds of demon.

That causes some movement. She rolls on to her shoulder looking over, propping her head up with a hand on her cheek.

She looked unsurprised or freak out by it.

"What kinds of demons?"

*A beat.*

Lots of kinds. Um ... pretty much all of them corporeal, most of them not inherently evil, none of them so far as I know actually fallen angels ...

*He's ticking off points on his fingers by this time.*

Jo's face went from impassive to a wrinkle of confused skeptical. Her eyebrow raised, even as her hands fiddled with her bottle.

On purpose. Very much so.

"Not evil?"

Not all of them, *he stresses.* Some kinds, though, yeah, evil.

Though even with them you get oddballs. Like, um ... there's vampires who aren't good guys really, I mean they don't have souls or anything, but they'd just rather spend their nights with a good book and a bag from the blood bank instead of killing people. Like, not morally opposed to killing, they just ... don't think it's fun.

*He shrugs.* Like the man said, you get weirdos in every breed.

Jo's not lost her skeptical, even if she concedes.

"Met one of those here. Some walking dead guy named angel."

......except he had called himself a Champion.

Jo was pretty sure chump or crazy man fit better.

-- Oh! No, Angel's different, he's actually a good guy. He's got a soul.

It's a tragic story, really.

Jo's brows are up once again.

Very oh, really? inquisitive expression.

Not that she has super faith in some she's never talked to before. But she's got time and he looks if not really willing then at least quite able.