milliways_bar | (no subject)

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demeter

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One of the greatest pains (in a 'well, that's a relief' sort of way) for any patron with a tendency towards falling long distances is suddenly falling through the door. Which is what happens to this particular new person.

He goes tumbling through the door, grabbing onto the floor and then backflipping off it and swinging from rafter to rafter, before gravity rather harshly reasserts itself and he realises that the direction he was moving in has changed.

He hangs there for a moment, looking a bit foolish, and then drops to the ground, looking very confused. Not just because of the strange disorientating trick that the door played on him, but also because he came from a tomb, and bars in tombs are ... not unheard of, but still strange.

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"Indeed, sir. One cannot help the image which one's creator chose, or that others find it peculiar," the creature answers. "However, one can help one's manners. And so: welcome to Milliways, sir."

"Of course," the Prince says faintly. "Thanks for the welcome. Milliways is a bar?"

Beat.

"In a tomb?"

"Or on a ship," says the creature, "or any one of a number of other places. The door does have a bad habit of appearing at different times and locales depending on who's to be the next visitor, I'm afraid."

Blink.

"Sorry, you're going to have to run that one by me again."

"The door," the creature patiently says, "isn't always in the same place. It appears or disappears more or less at random, and can admit almost anyone or anything. When you found the door, it was clearly in a tomb. When I found it, it was aboard a ship."

"Oh, okay," quick feel around the back of his head again, "a ship on the sea?"

It seems like a good question to ask.

"Alas, no," says the creature. "One that travels between worlds. The trips are a bit longer."

"I might note, by the way, that the first drink one orders here is free as a matter of course."

"Oh, that's fortunate." He means, in this instance, the drink.

"Is it weird that the stuff about a ship traveling between worlds actually makes me feel less insane than I did a few seconds ago?"

"No, I don't think so," the creature says. "It's simply one more extraordinary thing, really."

"Usually I'd say I'd had my share of extraordinary things for the day, but I don't think that'd help much."

"Most likely not," the creature agrees. "Although I shall do my best to be as un-extraordinary as possible, if you like. I doubt it'll make much difference, but one ought to at least try."

"I wouldn't want to impose on you like that. You've already been very helpful, after all, it seems unfair to make you try to be un-extraordinary on top of that."

"Thank you, then," says the creature calmly. "May I ask how I ought to address you, sir? I, for the most part, am called Vergil."

"You may. I might not give you an answer," the Prince grins.

"Fair enough, then, sir," says Vergil. "I shall reserve the question for another time when you are more off your guard."

"Wow, I didn't think that'd actually work."

"My people seldom answer questions when spoken to by the other races of our worlds," says Vergil. "I'd be in a pretty poor position if I were to press such an issue with someone else, wouldn't I?"

"A little."

"There you have it, then," says the creature. "On that note, this place has three rules which were explained to me on my arrival, and I feel obligated to relay them to you. No violence inside the Bar- if you simply must engage in combat, do take it out the back door. No old business or grudges to be pursued from outside. And clothing is to stay on in public for members of species which actually wear clothing."

"Sounds simple enough."

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