milliways_bar | (no subject)

Gaeta wasn't expecting to find a door this soon. Part of him, despite knowing (and knowing of) several people from Galactica who'd successfully reached Milliways, may have even expected that he wouldn't find a door at all after leaving Colonial One.

That could account for a lot: the way the door rocks backward with the full weight of Gaeta's shoulder behind it, the galley tray in his hand, the more casual civilian clothes (gone is the suit; gone, too, are the layers of someone living in a cold climate), the mildly dumbfounded expression as he stares around the room. After a moment, he heaves a sigh and makes for the nearest open seat -- in this case, one at the bar. His tray drops onto the bartop with an unceremonious clatter.

"Can I please at least finish my frakking dinner first?" he asks a beat later, too tired for the curse to carry any real heat. He gets no reply except a second napkin with a long string of zzzzzzzs scrawled across it, and so, with a quiet exhalation of, "Fine," he gets up and makes his way around the bar.

Eventually:

HAPPY HOUR
Hot Lunch
Coffee 43
After Dinner Mint

EXHIBIT A: A meal from Galactica's galley.
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(Here sits his unfinished dinner beneath the chalkboard.)

Offer suggestions to make it edible & drink half price.

It looks, for the record, like globs of something that might be mashed potato substitute, a bowl of wilted and depressed-looking greens, and a sickly-colored soup.

[tinytag: trudy chacon]

[OOC: ffffff. My body does not want to respond to pithy back room threats, alas; I am crashing and crashing hard. Mea culpa for bailing an hour early -- however, new tags are very much welcomed, and all slowtimes will be picked up!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh."

Judging from the continued blankness, it's still not ringing any bells.

"Yeah, I'm fairly sure we don't have any of that."

(Or regular ice cream, come to it. The last pint of that was likely eaten within three months of the attacks.)

"That sucks. If you have to have gross food, you should at least get ice cream."

"Maybe somewhere, somebody's still making it," he remarks, with a doubtful note to it.

And a regretful one. Gaeta may not have much of a sweet tooth, but it's hard not to miss ice cream even a little bit.

"They're not making ice cream?!"

Shock and horror!

He shrugs.

"Hard to get fresh ingredients in space," he points out, rather dryly.

"Oh, well, yeah, that's why they make the dried stuff. But, on Earth? Or are you from Earth?"

...Well, at least he doesn't have to feel vaguely guilty about assuming everyone he meets is from Earth, if they're assuming the same thing about him.

A bit more level: "No, I'm not."

Well, the odds are in favour.

"Where're you from, then?"

If he says I'm from Picon, it might lead to oh, where's that? or what's it like? or why can't you just get supplies from there, then?

Gaeta decides rather abruptly that he doesn't want to discuss the Colonies like that, especially with -- well, it's just better to err on the side of caution, maybe.

"Galactica's my home. That's the name of the spaceship," he clarifies half a beat later.

"Yeah, but... you weren't born on it, were you?"

Who knows, maybe he was.

Sorry, Gaeta, you've run into a naturally curious one.

"It's where I live now," he repeats, a bit firmer this time.

Ah. Yes.

"Okaaay."

And the awkward is back.

Well, that lack of awkward was nice while it lasted.

Briefly, Gaeta glances down at the bartop, debates apologizing, and decides against it. He tries, though, to offer the next best thing.

"But no," he says, with the same levelness as before. "I wasn't born there."

Enzo has gotten the hint not to ask for further details.

"I'm sort of from Earth," he offers. "I mean, my system's on Earth. But I've never seen our actual Earth, from outside the 'Net. I've been to other Earths, but not ours."

Silently, Gaeta offers up a quick thanks to the gods for that.

After a quick nod, "Is...that something you do a lot, visiting other Earths?"

"Well, not all the time, but when I can. Mostly my girlfriend's, but I've visited a few others."

Huh.

"Is your girlfriend not a, um..."

He casts his mind back to the terminology Enzo used.

"A sprite?"

"Uh-uh. She's half-human, half-ghost."

You've heard stranger, he reminds himself.

"I see."

(He really, really doesn't.)

"We met here."

Nooooo, really?

Gaeta never would have guessed.

"How does that...work, being half human and half ghost?"

Seriously, how?

"I don't know," Enzo says honestly. "I mean, I know the output, but not how it works works. Her parents understand it, but they're mad scientists."

"I guess you'd have to be to figure that out," he mutters.

Sort of like the old novelty mugs reading You don't have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.

Gaeta glances down the length of the bar, attention caught by another patron beckoning to him. He turns to Enzo. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Oh, no, I'm good." Must not keep the bartender from his duties. "It was nice meeting you!"

To his credit, Gaeta only hesitates for half a beat before saying, pleasantly, "You too."

Another quick nod, as he starts to move down the bar.

"Have a good night."