milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Agent K strides into the bar with the trace of a smile on his face (which is pretty much a big grin coming from him). His Suit is looking especially sharp tonight thanks to a thorough dry-cleaning, MiB-style, involving several cleaning solvents from a half-dozen planets.

Of course, he only needed to get that done because two hours before he was covered in the guts of three formerly eight-foot-tall Glow Worms. Now they're all shorter by a head. And there's also the part where they're blown to bits.

But don't worry. They had it coming.

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There are two other men in suits nearby. Theirs, however, have that special shine that clothing only gets when it's been worn every day for ten years. Or thirty years. Or fifty.

"Look at that flash bastard, eh? Looks like he used ten kinds of starch on his suit."

"Had a reason, can't you smell it?"

"Yes, point. But even so, it's a bit of overkill."

"Kill. Heh."

"If you got it, flaunt it, gents," K says as he strides by.

"So, what sort of creature did you kill?"

A small girl of around twelve or thirteen accidentally hits his foot with a mop.

- and then nearly falls over in horror. She hit a grown-up's foot! A scary-looking grown-up in sunglasses! With a mop!

"They're called 'Glow Worms.' Think an eight-foot tall, worm-shaped alien with teeth and an attitude."

~~Fortunately for her, K had his neuralyzer recalibrated tonight too, so he's not in the mood to use it.~~

"The shoes are already polished, Darlin', but I appreciate the gesture."

"Sounds like our kind of fun. Doesn't it, Mr. Vandemar?"

"It does indeed, Mr. Croup."

"That sounds interesting in general, actually. If we buy you a drink, will you tell us the rest?"

"Not much more to tell. Not yet, at least. But you can hear what there is, fair enough."

K leads the way over to Bar.

"I'm so sorry!" squeaks Duck, and bobs a bow.

"- did I get your foot wet? I'm really sorry, I'm so clumsy, I'm always doing things like that -"

"What's your poison?" Croup grins a rather horrible grin. "Hopefully metaphorical, although you can never be sure."

"You seem pretty pleased with yourself," calls what appears to be a green puppet.

K probably knows better.

"Don't you worry yourself about it, kiddo. I'm in a good mood tonight, and no harm done, anyway."

Because it would probably take Mount Doom to put a scuff on those shoes anyway.

"Bourbon," K replies, and orders something from Bar's top-most shelf. "The true nectar of the gods."

"Well, I'd have to say I a--."

K stops dead in his tracks, and--here's a first--he's eyes look ready to bulge out of his head.

"I think that the necter of the gods was . . . necter, actually."

"- say, that's really nice of you."

Duck still looks incredibly embarrassed, but she gives the man a bright relieved smile. KAY HAS MADE A FRIEND.

"I'm Duck! Uh - do you want me to get you a towel or something? For your shoe?"

K shakes his head. Ahh, the gullibility of the species.

"That's only what they thought, Tiger. But then the gods could hardly know any better. No good Kentuckian would tolerate a deity coming across the state line. Couldn't risk him declaring alcohol sinful and then keeping the year's stock all too himself."

Gods. You've really got to keep your eye on that type.

Cthulhu grins, though how he does this with tentacles is anyone's guess. His reputation precedes him! How nice.

"Yeah? Why's that?" He's a little smug, tentacles wiggling up and down as he speaks.

"Personally, I prefer cocktails. Especially the ones with creepy names that you should only serve on Halloween."

"I like blood."

"You like everything."

"Oh, I think it'll be just fine, don't you worry." It's been safe in the Swampmines of Duxor VI. It's not going to have any problem here.

"I think I'd be more interested in knowing why exactly you're putting a mop to the floor. You don't look much like a Loompa."

"...You look more fluffy than I'd have expected," K squints hard.

Truth be told, he never did trust "fluffy" much.

"Oh - I'm supposed to be cleaning the practice room," Duck explains, and gives the mop an extra swipe.

"Um, except I don't think I'm in the practice room now, but then I was surprised and dropped the bucket and now I gotta clean it up! Um, I don't know what a Loompa is . . . am I supposed to?"

K shakes his head. "Now you can't just put out something like that. 'Blood'? You've got something there that needs to be unpacked."

"Let's say you've got a taste for Terran varieties..."

No, that's not K's sort of thing, and if either man was on his Earth, K might have to bring them in. Or worse. But everyone's friendly here, right? So:

"But then one day you find yourself on Drachmar IX and figure, hey, why not sample the local vintage, well...,"

K looks at them Significantly.

"You'd be in one hell of a fix then, wouldn't you?" he concludes, with the air of a man genuinely sad to see just how bad that whole situation had gone.

Croup chuckles. "We can't be killed. We're roughly five million years old, you know."

Vandemar grins and licks his lips. "Human blood is good. Human flesh is better."

"Don't you start, Mr. Vandemar, please. At any rate, that's rather firmly against the rules."

"'M hungry."

"Yes, I know. You're always hungry, you've been hungry since the Ice Age, and you really don't have to tell me every ten seconds." Croup rolls his eyes.

"Practice room? Well, no, I think you're a little away from there just now."

"You remember stepping through any Doorways just recently?"

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