milliways_bar | (no subject)

[OOM: time, time, time / make time, give time, take time out / win time, cost time, the time of your life / spend time, sell time, the good times and the bad / kill time, zero time, all the time in the world / time watch, time travel, time to begin / time table, time square, can i fit you in? / time frame, time to go, time that you grew up / but tell me...how do you feel?

John Crichton, astronaut, stumbled in through the door, managing to catch himself on the edge of a table. He barely registers Milliways before he's whirling around to go back out the door...

...instead he hit a wall. "Shit! Frelling don't do this to me!"

Ah yes, the dulcet tones of Mr. Crichton's cursing! How the Bar must have missed that.

He placed a palm against the wood, sighing. She was out there, Aeryn was out there, and he was dead and all of this stuff was happening without him and he didn't have time for this.

(He has all the time in the world, here).

John leaned against the wall and sighed. Damn.

[OPEN FOREVER OMG, TAAAG MEEEE. OPEN TIL THE 28TH. YES. THAT LONG]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Wormhole shot me into alien space. No chocolate." John sighed. "My life was hell before I got used to it...better known as: I found this place."

"The hell's a wor — "

The wait-rat returns with the extra glass, and Ben takes the momentary distraction to pour some whiskey and slide it across the table.

"Take a seat and start over. 'Fraid you lost me at 'wormhole.'"

He stalked over and dropped into the chair, picking up the whiskey and sniffing it. "Big swirly thing that pulls you from one part of space into another."

"Sounds like a helluva good time."

Only not.

"Oh yeah. Mind-bendingly fun!" John sipped at the whiskey.

"Space."

Ben takes a pull from his glass.

"Guessin' you ain't exactly from 1865."

"Nope. 2000s." He set the glass down. "1865, huh? What's...going on then? I wasn't a good history student."

"You future-folks are all around this place," he half-smiles.

Mirroring John, he sets down his glass.

"Nothin' as excitin' as them wormholes, I'd wager. War Between the States just ended, though — if you're from Earth, that might be in your history books."

"Yeah, I'm from Florida. It is." John nodded. "Damn. That was...long ago."

Duh.

A one-shouldered shrug.

"Time don't really matter so much here, I'm learnin'."

A beat.

"Ben Wade, by the way."

"John Crichton." He smiled before taking another drink. "Pleased to meetcha."

"Likewise," he says, inclining his head toward John.

His eyes flick to the Front Door briefly.

"So what's goin' on out there, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"Well. I was cloned...and he died. And my girlfriend hates me and shit is hitting the fan and I...really don't need to be here."

NNNGH

" -- damn."

He lifts the bottle of whiskey and splashes more into John's glass.

John flashed a quick grin and nodded. "Thankya."

Chortling, "Ain't a worry."

Crichton seems to have enough of those.