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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Eyebrow quirk.

"Does the seat come with a drink?"

She's a student. Freebies are her life blood.

"You bet," Cal says. "First one's on the house, second one's on me."

It would never occur to him to offer her one without the other. It's only polite, after all.

She grins.

"Cheers. I get to watch them being made, though."

Basic safety is basic safety, free drinks or no.

Cal considers this as he gets up.

"More or less," he says. "Uh, you'll see what I mean." He gestures for Martha to follow him to the Bar.

"I'm Cal Chandler, this is Milliways, and this" - he pats the wooden surface - "is the Bar."

He gets the 'uh-huh' look, patent pending.

"Yeah, I noticed. And, um, Martha." She gestures to herself. "Martha Jones."

Cal doesn't say anything.

He doesn't have to, really, because a napkin pops into existence on the Bar.

Welcome to Milliways, Martha Jones!

"...Whoah."

She stares at the napkin, then up at Cal, then down at the napkin again as she picks it up to examine it more closely.

"It knows my name?"

"She does, yeah," Cal says, discreetly correcting the choice of pronoun. "You did just say it. She can hear you."

Cal has seen evidence that Bar knows new patrons' names anyway, but now it not the time to complicate the issue with that.

"...She?"

"Yep. She acts like it, too."

He gives Bar an affectionate pat.

"You'll see what I mean once you've been here a few times. Anyway, she can give you whatever you need, long as it's legal and you're not gonna kill anyone with it, and you'll have a tab you can pay whenever."

Cal keeps forgetting to pay his.

"...Bit like my student loans, then."

She considers for a moment, then shrugs. She's either dreaming or in space: it's bound to count as five o'clock somewhere...

"I'll have half a pint of lager, then."

Her stomach rumbles slightly, a reminder that she wound up skipping lunch. "And, um, a plate of chips? Please."

The items appear immediately in front of Martha, fresh and appealing; the ~~fries~~ chips are accompanied by the necessary condiments.

"It's not exactly watching them getting made," Cal says, "but close enough, I hope."

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