milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Everyone's heard this one before: an elf walks into a bar...

It is a joke with, as they say, very little class and as such does not bear repeating. He steps in, dusts off his armor, looks around, and shrugs.

Ferelden is a very strange country indeed. But, this is of little concern to him. The room is ripe for conversation, pockets ripe for picking, and drinks ripe for consuming. Where is the harm in any of these things? It makes for a thirsty day's work, almost getting killed over and over, and even assassins (and especially those sworn to serve their former enemies) deserve their fun.

It might take a moment or two before he appreciates that this is not, in fact, the tavern he was expecting.

[OOC: Rebooted character, different player. If you have questions, see this post.]

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A momentary cloud passes over his face. Information is a valuable thing, one he does not care to be without. "Lakes and forests and mountains I know." One by one, he ticks off the items she speaks of. "Sparring goes without saying." That is evidenced by the sword and dagger at his back. "If I were to say to you what is a car? What is an elevator? What is a garage? then I would give myself away, would I not?"

Warily, he glances at that door. "I would have to say no, my fearless friend, I know none of those things."

It's only a moment before the smile returns. "However, I am confident when I tell you that I make a most willing student."

"They are vehicles. Metal ones. For ground transportation."

X pauses, looking for the most useful words. Conceptual descriptions are not her forte, but she will try.

"They move very fast. And they are heavy. An elevator is a method for transporting people and things vertically. To other floors. Sometimes it is better than stairs."

Beat.

"And a garage is a place to store vehicles. There are many kinds."

"Very well." The flurry of incoming information doesn't cause him much hesitation. "So let me see. A car is similar to a cart, only made of metal, like a sword or shield." That seems a bit excessive, but he is nothing if not open to new ideas. "An elevator is simply another type of lift -- they move through shafts, yes, on some sort of pulley system? -- and a garage is simply a stable for these vehicles, metal and otherwise?"

He's curious to see how well he has done on this impromptu test.

"Yes," X says, nodding once.

"But the garage does not have employees. Here. The stable does."

She offers a one-shouldered shrug.

"You can see it. If you want."

To say that he is suddenly wistfully yearning for the familiar while interested in the new would be a bit of an overstatement. Life has brought him many strange experiences. But above all else he is an opportunist.

"That would be a delight. I am always more than willing to experience new things."

Usually, that line is far more seductive than it seems to be at the moment. All things in good time, though. Of that, he is entirely confident.

"Okay," X says equably. "It is easy to do. In Milliways."

Elsewhere, too, but X has found that Milliways is an excellent gateway to other worlds, too.

It comes in useful on many occasions.

Then, flicking a glance between Zevran, the elevator, and the front door --

"We will not get lost."

In case he was worried. Sometimes people are.

His laugh is hearty, confident. "Of that I have no doubt. You seem to be a most excellent tour guide, my friend. Lead the way."

If this is a trap, so be it. It doesn't smell like one, however, and he has more than enough injury kits to get through anything short of a beheading.

And if that happens, at least he will leave a very pretty corpse.

X considers him carefully for several long moments, then turns and heads toward the elevator.

It is likely that at least 35% of her attention is on Zevran. Just in case.

Not that any of that shows on her expression, though it does reveal itself in the tension in her body. Then again, X is always tense (in Milliways, and elsewhere).

"You can still ask questions," she offers, stepping into the elevator and pushing the correct button. She'll hold the door open until Zevran gets in.

It is only polite.

He steps into the tiny room with only slight wariness, although he is keenly aware of a powerful hum, of lights coming from nowhere, of a door that simply opens without truly being there.

It is all very alarming, but he's masterful at not showing fear. The lifts he knows are made of wood and their walls bales of hay, for the most part, or stone in some cases.

He looks to X, every muscle in his body tensed lest danger present itself suddenly.

"Is this some form of enchantment?" Almost unbidden, his hand hovers over the glowing numbers.

X studies the wall panel, looking a little dubious.

"I do not think so."

She hesitates.

"But it is possible. I am not good at magic."

Good at, good with -- whichever. Both.

The walls glow as if laced with lyrium. He thinks it may in fact be an enchantment, but he is willing to take the answer at face value. One thing he has learned well is that he likes people readily enough, loves them less easily, and trusts them least of all.

There is an oddness to the lovely X, though, and while it should put them at odds, it instead puts him at ease. Perhaps it is a dangerous decision to make, to be at ease with her, but she strikes him as being particularly straightforward.

It is almost is if she has no ability to lie and for one who thrives on deception, that would seem to be something of a perfect balance. If he is wrong about her, he will discover that soon enough.

"Very well, then. I am ready." For anything... as always.

X only lies when it is relevant to the mission, and her mission in Milliways is always to protect people.

Elsewhere it can be a different story.

At the moment, for instance, she flicks a look at Zevran as she takes her fingers off the 'door open' button.

"We will go down. You will not fall."

Then she pushes the button for the garage, and the doors close.

Elevator going down!

The reassurance seems hardly necessary: he is generally light on his feet. But as the doors slide shut -- is it a trap after all, he wonders? -- the entire thing starts moving.

As it should, he reminds himself, it is a lift. Perhaps a magical one, but a simple lift nonetheless. His hands do not twitch for his weapons; he simply waits out the trip.

And does not fall.

"The ride is smoother than I expected." No hand-pulley here, he is certain of that. Inwardly, he might be sweating the experience but that, of course, will never show on his face.

X's nostrils flare. The biochemical markers of fear and apprehension are not a mystery to her, most of the time.

But she says nothing.

"Yes. I do not know who built it, but it is very effective."

Then the door opens out onto the garage.

There are cars. Rows of them. They stretch as far as the eye can see, and likely farther.

There are planes, too, somewhere. And helicopters. And spaceships. X slips out of the elevator and over to the side, to provide Zevran with the most unimpeded view possible.

It is only polite.

Tactile by nature but not immune to surprise, he lets out a laugh. Objects like these? He has never seen them, and to fully absorb what they might be, his hand goes out to the nearest vehicle. Cars, she called them cars.

"How do they move?" Cautiously, he peers in through one of the windows. Controls he does not recognize but that remind him only marginally of a ship. It's been some time since he was on one of those; a memory of Isabela puts a smile on his face.

"These items, these are your cars?"

They seem... uncomfortably small. Some of them, at least, and the wheels are not made of any substance with which he is familiar. It is almost soft.

"There is an engine. It drives the rotation of the wheels."

She pauses, studying the particular vehicle Zevran is looking at.

"Direction is controlled by the front wheels. For this one."

Beat.

"Motorcycles have two wheels."

She looks to the left, toward a short row of two and three-wheeled vehicles.

"I like those."

Cars, motorcycles, garages, elevators: it would be too much for the average city elf. Fortunately, he has always considered himself an Antivan first, a member of the Crows second, and an elf third. He is what he is, and the physicality of that can never change. As such, it doesn't merit too much consideration, unless he feels like needling a human or a dwarf and then all bets are off.

"It would seem that I have a great deal to learn." The sea of strange-looking vehicles is so far beyond his comprehension that it becomes meaningless, while at the same time the information is folded away to think about later.

After a drink or two or three, perhaps. Even then, he will remain unconvinced he has not fallen under a sort of enchantment.

"Motorcycles." He moves to them, rests a hand on what has to be the seat. "How does one stay upright on them?"

There has been nothing in his experience to prepare him for this sort of thing. In a moment or two he will have had more than enough for one night, he is certain of that.

"Balance," X says. "And speed. They go very fast, too."

X is good at both.

"I can show you."

Beat.

"Sometime."

Maybe a later time, really. If he comes back. (Sometimes people do not.)

With a shake of his head, he laughs. "Sometime, I would enjoy that very much." Not tonight, however confident he might seem on the outside. "Tell me what other surprises this place has in store or -- perhaps not. Perhaps that is best saved for another day."

He would never admit that his head is spinning, even when it is, unless he were in the heat of battle with a healer nearby to take care of things. This place, this stable for cars, it has a dank and enclosed scent that does not please him.

"You have heard the saying, no doubt, 'one step at a time?' I have learned much tonight." If he is still incredulous, he cannot blame himself. Later, he will undoubtedly decide much of it is simply his imagination toying with him. He takes a step back toward the elevator.

"Are there stairs?"

X thinks about that for a second, then shakes her head.

"There are no stairs on this level. We will have to take the elevator."

She moves to slip through the door, once more holding it open for him.

Buttons are handy for that.

"I am here a lot. When you have more questions."

Beat.

"If you come back."

"You have doubts that I will return, my disbelieving friend?" This time he leans back against the wall, casual, but careful not to catch his weaponry against anything. "I would be a fool to let a place like this slip through my fingers." And Zevran Arainai is no fool.

He may or may not inform his fellow party members of its existence. Then again, they may already know: he's only joined them today and is at a marked disadvantage, being far less familiar with Ferelden than Morrigan, for example, and likely Alistair as well. As far as the Warden is concerned, well, he is still trying to figure her out. He heard the stories, of course, but he's never been one to believe everything he hears.

Only the parts that make the most sense.

When the doors open again, he is the one to hold the doors. If this is the way things are at this place, he might as well grow accustomed to them.

"After you, friend."

"Sometimes they do not," X offers, studying Zevran for a moment before exiting back into the bar proper.

It's louder there than in the garage. A lot louder.

It takes her a moment to adjust.

"But I think you are not stupid."

Thus far, anyway!

"It will be okay."

Of this he has no doubt. "Things always find a way of being what they are, do they not?" In the din of the tavern it begins to sound like so much talk, but it has, in fact, been the story of his life.

Things are what they are, and cannot be anything else.

"One more question for the lovely lady before I take my leave. You say that sometimes people do not return. Is there a way -- or perhaps more than one -- that those who do return use to ensure their arrival?"

In his world, one simply opens a tavern door and walks in. There is no thought about it, no worry that one might expect one place and find themselves in another. Part of him, he is surprised to find, craves that level of familiarity. But part of him most decidedly does not.

"Yes."

Whether this is an answer to his first question or his second question, X does not make clear.

It is probably not relevant.

"My Security badge works. For me. And people who can teleport do not have difficulty. I -- "

Here she hesitates, flicking a look at the front door.

"Doors to Milliways sound different. To me. Sometimes other people can tell, too."

She is not sure if that helps. Bruce did not seem to think so.

It is no matter that the answer she gives helps him... no, not at all. And yet it does. He's got a keenly-honed sense of touch and while he did not feel anything strange when he opened the door to this tavern, perhaps he has not been at his best today. It is not often he lets himself become as fatalistic as he did earlier.

And yet there was still a thrill that went along with it. Not knowing the moment of one's death is perhaps the greatest gift life can offer. He had suspected it would be his turn, that he would know that feeling of surprise followed by dismay followed by understanding followed by acceptance that he has seen in so many of his victims, but no, it was not to be. And he is delighted to still be alive.

"It is not possible to predict what one does not know. Perhaps had I known of the existence of this place before my arrival, I might have anticipated it. As it stands, I now know what to expect where before, I did not. Maybe that knowledge is enough."

It is a theory, and not a bad one if he does say so himself. The door might sound different or feel different or even smell different, but he will not know until he knows. And perhaps next time, he will be more prepared.