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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Quaritch decides to take a bit of a chance. He asks the Bar for an liquor that he'd enjoyed some years before but that was out of production and had been for some time. The drink appears on the bar, and Quaritch picks up the glass and sips it.

"Wow. Didn't think you could get that anywhere."

"Here, you can. Don't ask me how the Bar does it, but... any kind of food and drink you can imagine, if it exists somewhere, Bar can provide." She orders a martini herself: lemon drop.

Quaritch continues to sip on the drink, looking a combination of impressed, surprised, and perhaps slightly perplexed at the Bar. "Don't think I caught your name, ma'am."

"Oh, I will set it upon you again." She moves closer, looking up at the man with a mischievous smile.

She loves this part... "I am The Devil."

Blink. "The Devil?"

Cue one incredulous colonel looking at his drink as if the thing just bit him. "Right."

She moves a bit closer, her voice going for the sultry effect. "Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub. The Prince of Darkness." Then she winks. "Well, the Princess of Darkness, anyway."

"You may call me Eshara. A certain Greek prince kindly saw fit to bestow me a name, instead of all the titles I have."

"Ok...Eshara..." Another sip of the drink. "I'd always thought of the devil as a guy. You know, in a nice suit with a mustache?" Like most depictions of him, at least.

"So.. you think priests and poets did not a good job of describing me, then?"

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