milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There are a lot of things that Col. Miles Quaritch has gotten used to seeing on Pandora. A non-exclusive list includes large animals grabbing his men and eating them; men suffering from all sorts of new and deadly poisonings from the native wildlife; tall blue creatures shooting arrows that can occasionally knock through bulletproof windows at just the right angle and speed; and all sorts of other things which we need not go into detail about here.

One thing he is not used to seeing is the Mess Hall transformed into a bar. It might occasionally devolve into being a pigsty in his opinion (particularly if whomever has KP isn't on the ball or is looking for trouble), but a bar is...quite unexpected. So as soon as Col. Quaritch comes through the door into a very unfamiliar room that is in place of a very familiar one, he draws his gun and reaches for his breather unit.

"What the hell sort of joke is this?"

(Tinytag: Miles Quaritch)

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"No natives! 'Least, I ain't met any sayin' that they've come from here. Always other places. And no one's tried to kill me yet, sir."

Pause.

"One thing, y'can...still see the front door, right, sir?"

There's a glance back at where he came from, and Quaritch nods. "I can."

Thank fuck for that.

"Good. I'm told that sometimes it can vanish, which means you're, uh, stuck here until it comes back. Never happened to me, but."

Which would, of course, suggest that she's been here enough to be comfortable.

"Okay, sir, this is the Bar. She's an AI, 'cept sometimes there are 'tenders. Mostly just her, though. And she can bring up anythin' you order, unless it's alive or a weapon."

This would explain the peach in her hand - back on Earth, a real peach would cost her something like a month's salary. On Pandora, there are no peaches at all.

Now he takes note of the peach. "You mean that's real, too?" He did not expect to walk into a produce market on top of everything else. "I'm going to check something..." Quaritch says.

With that, he steps back to the door, opens it, and checks the hall. Nothing there is out of place. Stepping back to Trudy, he shrugs. "Well, nothing in there is out of order, so I don't think we've completely lost our minds..." And with that comment, he steps up to the Bar, orders a very expensive and out-of-production bourbon (straight, of course), and takes a drink.

Trust him...he's planning to go back to Earth either extremely old and unable to fight anymore or not at all, and he'd prefer the latter. With the pay he's getting for his posting, he can afford this.

He can go check Hell's Kitchen - she's going to stay here, claim a seat, and starts her peach. Her nice, lovely, real peach that she possibly enjoys just a little too much.

"Nosir," she agrees when he comes back, swallowing her mouthful. "And time stops while we're here."

Quaritch sits down at the table opposite her. He seems more relaxed (translation: Not about to kill anything that looks vaguely dangerous) now, with his drink in hand. "I didn't think you could get this anywhere..."

"Welcome to Milliways, sir."

"This normal?"

Pause.

"Normal, sir?"

"Yeah. Like the wildlife out there trying to kill us."

"Milliways normal," she says, the way she might say 'Pandora normal' after having to duck and weave to avoid aerials predators.

Quaritch orders some strawberries, just out of curiosity to see if he can. They appear, and he picks one up and bites carefully into it.

After a moment, he realizes that he doesn't really remember what one is supposed to taste like.

Trudy hasn't ever had a strawberry in her life, so she eyes the fruit curiously. Still, she has her peach. Her wonderful, wonderful, damn-near-orgasmic peach.

"Good, sir?"

"It is." Pause. "I once had one, when I was a kid." He's got a few decades on her; they were probably still available in some numbers at the turn of the century, even if they were getting expensive then.

That shifts her glance from the fruit to the Colonel. "Momma used to buy us peaches, for Christmas. But never had a strawberry." She lifts her free hand up, and the pauses.

"May I, sir?" she asks, gesturing to the small bowl.

Quaritch nods in the affirmative. "Feel free." He's...in a much better mood right now than he was not too long ago, to put it lightly.

"There's also an outside, sir," Chacon says, picking out a strawberry and inspecting it. There is more than a little childlike glee to her, which she is fairly bad at hiding.

"Um, it's-" she pauses, strawberry in hand. "Like old Earth. All green with trees and breathable air and shit."

"Breathable air?" Quaritch isn't sure if that is a joke or not. "You're serious?"

"Yessir."

Quaritch whistles. "Thought you couldn't find that outside of Antarctica anymore."

She grins. "Well, we ain't in Kansas, sir."

Quaritch smirks and rolls his eyes. "My line, Chacon." And he downs the rest of his drink.

"Read it in a book, sir."

Quaritch smiles back. "Same one I read it in?"

She grins at him. "Must be."

Right, strawberry.

Okay, these are good.

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