milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Oh hey, so it turns out that guy was right! If you have a Milliways napkin in your hand, you can find the door to the tavern pretty much anywhere you want it!

This, Mac reckons, could be interesting!

Milliways, you may have a young man in yellow, entering through the front door in a manner that started hesitant, and is now a confident stroll, somewhat as if he owns the place.

One day, Milliways. One day.

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The door that Mac has just entered through is not the only door in Milliways. There's the door to the Staff Corridor, the kitchen door, the Lake door, the elevator doors, and of course....the door that just appeared out of no where in one of the walls.

Well, it's not really so much a door as it is the outwards swinging of one section of wall. Through the new archway pass five small figures in overalls and leather jackets.

"Do do do do do de do do do do do do do do do"

Oh yeah, they're also singing.

There are small orange people singing.

Mac glances up and around to see if anyone else has seen these people. they don't look that out of place, after all.

What he does want to know, however, is where that door came from.

"Hey," he calls cheerfully over to them.

As per usual the Loompas walk in a line according to their overall rank in the group.

Dreads.
Glasses.
Idol.
Hat.
Braids.

None of them seem to be paying any attention what so ever to Mac.

Well, accept maybe Braids. But then, he did always a questionable attention span.

Well, now they've ignored him, he's just interested.

He came into the bar partly for a peach. He's acquired a peach now, and tosses it in one hand, up and down as he strolls in their general direction, tracing a direct interception route.

Will they pay attention to hi if he's in their way?

Not so much, no.
They turn on a dime to avoid him, and don't even bother to look up in his direction. They are like human roombas.

Only little, and orange, and apparently surly.

All save Braids, who again breaks formation and gives steps out of time. He might even steal a glance up at this stranger with the peach. But someone would have to be really paying close attention to pick up on that.

So, question that needs to be answered.

...Does Braids want a peach, or is he going to let it fall helplessly to the ground?

Fresh Food.
On the floor?

NOT ON HIS WATCH!

There is precious little the Loompas, as a group, hold sacred. Fresh food is one of the few things that makes the cut. It's what lured them into Wonka's clutches, and it's what he used against them for years to keep them in his servitude. So it's on pure instinct alone that sends Braids diving for the peach, leaving him behind as the other Loompas turn a corner and disappear.

Mac grins triumphantly and sits down so his head if more strange-orange person height.

"You want it? There's more where that came from."

The bar.

He takes a step backwards, bringing the peach in close for protection.
Braids looks from the peach up to the strange man, and back again.

There's more than a bit of fear behind his eyes.

Fear of Mac? Nonsense! Look at his big innocent grin.

"What, you think I'm going to renege on my peach promise? I wouldn't give it away just to take it back."

You know who else had an innocent, almost child-like grin?

THE WONKA.

Braids opens his mouth to hiss....and it just keeps opening, splitting his head nearly in two.

o_O

Now, Mac doesn't want anyone to think he's a coward, but he's still new at the Milliways thing and Leo's not hear to make everything fastastico!, and this is kind of weird.

He scootches back.

"OK, OK. You can keep the peach. I was just going to ask you about the door."

The many rows of teeth disappear as Braids closes his mouth. Still hugging the peach he takes another step backwards, but doesn't flee.

His head tilts to one side, as if silently asking, "Which door?"

Mac nods at the empty patch of wall the orange guys came in from.

"Well, it's not there anymore. But I saw you fellows using it."

Realization dawns.
And apparently it's an amusing dawn.
Braids smiles, though not all the way...because that would be creepy.

He looks to the empty patch of wall that Mac is gesturing towards, then he points at it, looking to make sure this is the spot the other guy is talking about.

"That's the one."

Cheerfully, but with a raised eyebrow that suggests Mac doesn't want to offend the little guy, he leans back on his hands.

"Is that a trick anyone can learn?"

He shrugs, but...curiously? Hasn't lowered his pointing hand.
He moves it slowly along the wall, stopping every centimeter or so.

Braids is curious as to what's so special about that particular panel, that isn't as interesting as the rest of the ones that make up this room.

Eyes wide with wonder and understanding, Mac looks from the wall to Braids.

"There are lots of them?"

He nods back.
Of course.

"Where do they all go?" Mac wonders out loud.

Braids opens his arms wide.
Everywhere.

"Really?"

Mac looks again at the mystery door. And then at his new friend. "That's hwo you get around, is it?"

Nod.

Braids then lowers his arms, and with his empty hand reaches into one of the pockets of his overalls and pulls out a pocket knife. In adult human hands it's a small thing, but Braids is roughly the size of a Kindergartener, so it appears huge and unwieldy in his hands. None the less he opens the blade and uses it to cut the peach in half. He then offers the half without the pit to Mac.

Mac almost refuses, but he changes his mind and extends a hand to take the offered half-peach.

"Name's Machiavelli," he says. "Friends call me Mac."

That's good to know.

He looks left.
He looks right.

A rolling bass line comes from no where.
"My name is Braids."
It's amazing how a guy this small can muster up a voice that sounds exactly like Les Claypool.

You know? Of all the weird things about this place? That is hardly ranking.

"Braids, huh? Good name. You and your friends live here, Braids?"

The tune changes.
Quite a bit, actually.

"Our house. In the middle of the Bar our house."

"Must be good," he muses out loud, in the tone of voice of someone who isn't sure if it is good or not. "You keep busy?"

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