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born-to-it.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2009-10-26 06:43 pm
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Entry tags:
Re-entry
The door opens, and Donovan walks into the bar, backwards, talking on a big marrow-bone-sized late 1990s cell phone.
He stares at it when the other side doesn't answer, and only then realises he has stumbled into Milliways, and not where he was expecting to go.
He puts the phone away, sits on a bar stool, and flops dramatically over the bar herself for a moment.
"Oh, hi, glad to be back. It's hell out there," he murmurs to the long piece of sentient wood.
Then, he sits up straight. "A glass of tequila, neat, please!"
He stares at it when the other side doesn't answer, and only then realises he has stumbled into Milliways, and not where he was expecting to go.
He puts the phone away, sits on a bar stool, and flops dramatically over the bar herself for a moment.
"Oh, hi, glad to be back. It's hell out there," he murmurs to the long piece of sentient wood.
Then, he sits up straight. "A glass of tequila, neat, please!"
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And the drink order certainly earns him a raised eyebrow.
"Little early in the day for tequila, isn't it?" she asks. (It is for her, at least.)
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The tequila materializes on the bar.
[[OOC: Of course it's okay -- it's even excellent!]]
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That eyebrow doesn't go down, even as Cuddy sips her own drink - coffee.
"How so?"
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"I think I can wager a guess."
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Cuddy nods slowly. That may or may not be a ways away from -
"Where did you say you were from?"
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He grins, liking the idea.
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Cuddy nods again.
"Got it."
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And does not contain Anita Blake.
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Which, knowing Princeton, will be any day now, really.
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Cuddy might've deduced as much, what with him and this woman being in two separate places.
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At home, Donovan can't talk openly about what he is; here, he can.