milliways_bar | (no subject)

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A young woman in a labcoat walks in, her nose buried in a medical textbook as she bites her thumb thoughtfully.

When the change in noise from where she's come from registers, however, she looks up. Eyes go wide.

"...Oh my God. Who the hell put a bar in the students' lounge?"

Welcome to Milliways, Miss Martha Jones.

[OOC: Martha is currently just pre-canon! She's completely free to tag by everyone and anyone, but all I ask is that nobody mention the Doctor to her, please.]

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"...You are joking, right?"

Expression or no, Martha can still hold out a little hope. Maybe.

He shakes his head.

"It's actually really cool," he assures her quickly. "And um. A bit to get used to at first, but it's nice enough that you'd find you might like it.

"The Bar even gives you your first drink for free."

If that serves to be reassuring in any way.

Maybe she's been hit on the head.

Maybe she's actually still asleep and this is a particularly weird dream.

Maybe she's actually in a bar in the students' lounge. At the end of the universe.

Okay. Find logic. Make sense. Deal. (Or wake up.)

"...If it's gonna turn up randomly in the middle of the hospital, all the drinks should be free."

He laughs a little at that.

"Yeah, but then I reckon this place'd be closed down shortly after," he says thoughtfully.

"Erm. If it's even possible. I mean, it's been here forever - as far as anyone really knows."

"What is it?" Martha asks. "Is it ... I don't know, alien or something?"

"Well, I think it's magic," says Albus, as though he's something of an expert on such matters.

(He is.)

"I don't think there's any other explanation for it ... though I guess some people have um. Alluded to it being alien."

"...Okay." Right. Deal.

Brightly, "So, you said something about drinks?"

"Yeah."

He smiles.

"I can't have any - Bar knows who can and can't legally drink - but if you're um. Old enough, she'll let you. And you can order anything you want to eat or drink."

"Right. Okay, I'm in Wonderland or whatever."

She tips her head for a second, considering. "Half a pint of lager and a plate of chips, please?"

She'd get something a little stronger, but she does have to go back into the hospital eventually. Hopefully, at least, and that thought makes her spin around.

"Wait, how do I get back out?"

"Your door?" he supplies, gesturing towards the general vicinity of said door-location-type area.

"If it's still there, I mean. Which - for most people it is for the whole time you're here."

If it's not, there might be a little more explanation needed.

"There's a door there. How do I know if it's mine?"

She walks over, opens it and pokes her nose through into the hospital for a moment before withdrawing and closing the door again.

"...Okay, that answers that. So. You said drinks?"

He smiles, waiting patiently.

"Oh. Right."

On the bartop is Martha's lager and chips, waiting for her. It might also be noted that there is no one actually behind the counter.

"I'm Albus, by the way."

She jumps.

"Where did that come from?"

"The Bar," he says, gesturing vaguely towards the mahogany tabletop.

"Er. She's sentient. Which is why we haven't got a tender at the moment. Sometimes there are bartenders, though."

Pause.

"And um. If you see a rat scurrying about with a vest on? Those are waitrats. They serve too. They're a bit like our house elves from home."

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