milliways_bar | First Entrance

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First Entrance

[ This day started as any other day. And then, Milliways... ]

The door opens onto a market scene, and the man who hobbles across the threshold looks like he's walked right out of a Robert Louis Stevenson story.

He's a man in his late forties, head shaved bald and a tattoo of arcane characters running down the left side of his face, from temple to jaw. His crutch is an ivory tusk, worked in scrimshaw, and anyone who cares to look can see that he's lost his right leg mid-thigh. On his right shoulder sits a scarlet macaw, her wings and tail feathers long and luxurious.

John Silver looks around as the door closes behind him, his eyes narrowed as he marks his new surroundings.

'Sweet Mother Mary, someone's magicked the Spyglass into a right respectable...'

His voice trails off as a mech standing two heads higher than his own strides past.

'Flint, I daresay we're not in Bristol anymore.'

[ tiny tag: "Long" John Silver ]

[~~I'm sorry, I have to call slow time, until later this evening. Something's come up. Thank you for tagging in!~~ And we're back online! Sorry for the delay. Open till it scrolls.]

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This is the first time the Knight working behind the bar has seen anyone new arrive to Milliways. It's a curious sight.

(Though the patrons often are, as the mech has proven.)

Lohengrin watches from his spot, waiting and wondering if the burden of explaining where they are will fall to him.

And hoping the man doesn't like complicated drinks.

It's second nature to gravitate to the bar, and Silver fixes the young man behind the bar with a baleful gaze.

His mouth twitches into a smirk, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

'A good day to you, young sire. Mind telling me just what's going on here? Yesterday when I went home, it was the Spyglass I left behind that door, and today, it's something else entirely.'

Lohengrin meets the gaze with his own hard look. Knights are not so easily intimidated.

"Good day," he greets back. "This place is Milliways. I've been told it is a tavern at the end of the universe. As for how and why we are brought here, I have yet to receive an explanation myself."

'End of the universe?'

He doesn't even hear the part about being brought here. He's still not gathered that he is no longer where he thinks he is.

He cuts a gaze back across at the door, his crutch making a distinctive sound as he pivots to lean against the bar.

'You mean t'tell me I stepped through a door and somehow... I'm no longer in Bristol?'

The Knight nods, briefly glancing over the bar at the sound of the crutch.

"Just as I am no longer in the kingdom where I'm staying while I'm here."

'Well, int that the most peculiar sight a man has ever seen.'

'Milliways, you say. What's this about -- being brought here?'

He's been pressed into service before, and is of the general opinion that service what pays so poorly it requires force for the persuasion of it, is service he'd rather not do. Especially as he has other plans.

"Wait until you see the window with the burning stars," Lohengrin says, wry. "I don't think we're brought here for any specific purpose, though I've been asked to tend the bar tonight."

The young lad isn't making much sense at all, and Silver's crooked grin might suggest as much.

'Well, that's all well and good for you. But I have my own tavern to tend to, my good man. You'll forgive me if I can't stay?'

He makes his way back to the door, and tugs on it.

It doesn't budge.

Lohengrin would be fine with the man leaving, if he could.

"I think I've heard about this," he says. "You might be Bound."

Silver grumbles, and turns back to the Knight, smiling as if he knew that's exactly what was going to happen.

'Never you mind that. I'll take a bottle of rum, if you please.'

He crosses the room quick as you please, fishing in a pocket for enough to pay for it.

'I didn't catch your name.'

"I didn't give it," he responds, finding a bottle and gently sliding the rum on the bar.

And he sometimes wonders if he should give it out so freely. But Milliways has proven time and again, even in his short time being here, that there are rules here different from the rules of his home.

Still, he waits to see if Silver expects a name from him after that reply.

'An' right you shouldn't. Wouldn't want anyone to mistake you for a gregarious fellow, now, would we?'

Silver pulls the cork out of the bottle with a twist, and sets it down again.

'You must be new at this. Where I come from, when a gentleman orders the bottle, he gets the glasses free of charge.'

"Gregarious doesn't fit into my work. Neither does my name. But as my instructions do not follow me here..."

He trails off with a shrug before saying, "My name is Lohengrin."

At the mention of glasses, Lohengrin takes another glance around behind him and manages to find something suitable.

"This is the first time I've ever worked in a tavern, much less a tavern as strange as this. The whole place is stocked with alien foods and machinery."

'Lohengrin.' The man smiles proper, and offers a hand in greeting. 'The name's John Silver, and this here's Flint.' The bird isn't even paying attention to the man behind the bar. She's watching something in the rafters.

He takes the glass, pours himself a generous measure, and takes a sip. It is very good, indeed. Not a hint of gunpowder or other less savory aromas.

'So you were pressed into service then? Lad, I've been in taverns from Singapore to Syria, and 'tis the same all the world over. Food. Drink. Women, sometimes, if you're lucky. And music, which this place seems to be lacking.'

He's looking around again with a weather eye, marking the exits, and anyone or thing that might look like the constabulary.

He takes the hand with a firm shake, a smile forming on his own lips, and then gives a nod towards the macaw.

"Food and drink are in abundance and I've seen plenty of women here. As for music, I haven't heard any played but there is a piano."

The Knight doesn't know anything about the karaoke machine. And the less said about the television monitors, the better.

'A fortepiano?' He's stumbled into a fine establishment indeed, if they leave such a valuable instrument just out in the open for any fool to abuse.

Silver's eyes are still taking in all the strange details of the place, trying not to think too much about escape routes. There doesn't seem to be any immediate threat to life and limb.

'Lohengrin, my good man, you'd tell me if I was dreaming, wouldn't you?'

He's seen enough strangeness to last one man a lifetime, but apparently there's more in store.

"I would if I thought it even remotely true. I'm not sure about your imagination but I know I couldn't divine over half of what I've seen here."

Noriko has, among other things, a very wet head of braids and beads as she comes into the bar ~~imagine something between this and Bo Derrick~~, and John happens to be the first thing inside the bar she sees.

She's not taller than he is, nor is she entirely mechanical, but she does have bright steel-silver arm covers that tend to catch the eye. "Now that's a big bird."

'Aye, and she bites, so mind your...'

Silver pauses as he takes in her costume. Now he's a well-traveled man, and has seen decadence and debauchery in many forms. But this is a new one in his book.

'...fingers,' he finishes, giving her a smile. 'M'lady.'

He gives a nod of his head, trust she'll forgive him for not bowing properly, what with the crutch and all.

"I make it a point not to touch strange men's birds," she says, deadpan as she nods back. "Just in case."

Noriko looks John up and down, finding his attire strange but somehow recognizable, like she should know what it means by how it looks. "I'm no lady. Not nearly old enough." And mutants like her are rarely ladies.

'And yet you have the wisdom to keep your hands to yourself. I've known many a man who never learned such a valuable lesson.'

He adjusts his weight on the crutch and offers a hand.

'John Silver, at your service.'

"I try." Usually that's less of a problem than it would seem, given the electric current even now running through her--though it won't shock John. It just tends to deter those people that know about it.

"Noriko Ashida, and it's good to meet you. I'm going to assume you're new?"

The charge seems to be making the bird fluff up. She stares at Noriko with one wide, fearful eye turned towards her.

'There, it's all right girl. She's just a lass. No need to get your feathers all mussed, there's a girl.' He raises a hand, and the bird graciously accepts a head pet.

'It's been a long time since I been new at anything, Miss Ashida. But you'd be right in assuming I hadn't been here before today. In fact, when I last went through that door, twas to my own inn, and not to this place.'

The minute the bird looks at her and Noriko glances up, she snatches her hand back like she's burned. "Sorry, didn't mean to shock her."

Literally and figuratively, even. "I meant new to the bar. 'Cause...yeah, unless you just came from a costume party we're pretty far removed in time and location. You own an...inn?"

He keeps one hand on the bird for a moment, until it's assured that she's all right. 'Don't mind her. She's a tough old girl, ain't ya, Flint?'

'Nay, I've been to no masquerade, Miss Ashida, I assure you. I am the sole proprietor and cook for the Spyglass tavern, port of Bristol.' It takes him but a moment to catch her meaning. No one ever accused John Silver of being a dullard. 'What -- year is it for you?'

He's heard tales of men who lost years on the open ocean. More likely it was their minds they'd lost, he thought, but then, he's never been one to question too closely.

"Two-thousand twelve."

That may seem kind of unbelievable, but then she's not really anything like a woman of his time. Not even close. "I meant electric shock. That's what the gloves are for," she says, wiggling her fingers with the faint squeal of metal plates shifting. "I absorb and channel electricity--lightning? It doesn't hurt humans, but I don't know about birds. Never really touched them." She's certainly never touched a macaw before.

His eyebrows rise, but that's the only outward display of concern.

Maybe he didn't hear her right. More than two hundred and fifty years hence? That can't be right.

'Miss Ashida, your sweet countenance is more than enough to strike a man down where he stands. What need have you to cast lightning from your fingertips?'

He's dreaming. That must be it.

"I'm a mutant. I didn't ask to be able to do it--" And then she realizes her explanation might have given the wrong idea. "The gloves don't allow me to channel the elctricity, I do that whether or not I'm wearing them. The gloves prevent me from electrocuting you or anyone standing within twenty feet of me."

She always has trouble with people pre-Edison, because it's so difficult to relay the idea that most everything--air, water, land, even people sometimes--has an electric charge that she can feel. (She has no idea what to make of the flattery, and so she'll try to come back to that one later. Maybe.)

His eyebrows rise in an expression of understanding, never you mind that he barely understood a word of what she said.

'Ah, I see.'

His weight shifts onto his crutch, and he casts a gaze around the room again.

'So you mean to say, I walked through a door, and into the year, two-thousand and twelve.'

There may be a slight note of disbelief in his voice.

"Ah, no," she says. "More like you walked through a door and into a bar where all worlds and times meet, and in the one I came out of it's two thousand twelve."

Because that sounds more realistic.

"That, sir, is right and true. This is not Bristol." A place he hasn't thought much on in many years. "Though what is actually takes a bit of explaining.

The somewhat shabby looking man is nursing a rum.

Gibbs is a familiar face. Not that he's ever met the man before, but when one runs in the circles John Silver does, one knows one's own like the back of his hand.

Silver makes his way over to where the man sits, and maybe that smile has a touch of relief to it.

'I was beginning to think Alibe had slipped me one of her powders. Sure as that woman is beautiful, she has a touch of the fever now and again.' He gestures to his brow, giving Gibbs a warm smile. 'Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister?'

He holds out his hand in greeting.

"Gibbs. And I assume that you're one of the Brethren?" He shakes the man's hand, and will count his fingers after.

"Sad to say, though, your woman's powders can't bring you here. Wherever here is. I can't say with any authority anything other than that you're in a place called Milliways.

"And that the rum is good."

'John Silver.' He takes a seat across from Gibbs, propping his crutch against the table. 'And I've never heard of this Brethren you speak of. What say you tell me all about it over a glass of rum.'

Silver fishes in a pocket and comes up with enough to pay for a round.

'Milliways. Are we still in England, at least?'

"No, we're rather far off. The way I understand it, we're not anywhere anyone can explain." Or at least in a way Gibbs can understand. "Truth is, this place is magic.

"And when I said Brethren, I mean pirate," he says a bit more softly. Safe haven or not, he rarely makes such declarations loudly.

'Pirate! Me?' John scoffs, true amusement playing across his weathered features. He is as innocent as the day is long, just ask him, he'll tell you. 'I am no buccaneer, Mister Gibbs. I am but a lowly innkeeper. And sometimes, sea cook, should the pay be good enough.'

'Magic, you say?' He leans in close, his eyes narrowed. 'Tis mighty strong magic indeed, that can steal an entire inn and replace it with another. Though from what you tell me, 'tis I that have been stolen away, and not the Spyglass.'

'Stolen away.' The parrot sees fit to pipe up, her voice just as quiet as theirs.

Gibbs won't press the issue. In Bristol, you would need to be very cautious.

"Stolen away is as good a way to put it as any, Mister Silver's parrot. Er, and Mister Silver." Curse Cotton and his strange bird! "But if you can still see the door you came through, you can return to Bristol."

Silver's gaze pans back in the direction of where he entered. The door is still there.

'Her name is Flint, Mister Gibbs. And she thanks you for the courtesy, don't you love?' The bird turns at the sound of her master's voice, but gives no other signs she understands.

'How long have you been here, if I may be so bold as to inquire?'

"I've come and gone for three years or so. The door follows me. On land. At sea. Though it didn't go with me to Singapore for some reason." Which is just as well. The hard part wouldn't have been taking leave of that mess. It would have been returning.

There's a red-head in jeans, tanktop, and apron (plum purple, lime green, and sky blue, respectively) at a nearby table, arranging a tray of various baked goods for sale.

"About as far away from Bristol as anyone can manage, actually," she affirms with a slight smile for the man who had just walked in. "Welcome to Milliways."

What on earth a good English lass like herself is doing wearing so little clothes in the middle of a tavern, he has no idea, but he's not about to take the Puritan's stance on the matter.

And a baker's daughter at that. He blinks at the size and array of the sweets laid out. This may not be the first time Sunshine's pastries have taken precedence over the other wonders of the bar, but we'd wager it certainly won't be the last.

'Milliways, you say.' He looks up into her face, and gives her a warm smile. 'Forgive me for forgetting my manners, Miss? John Silver, at your service.'

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Silver," she says with a smile. "I'm Sunshine."

The baked goods on the tray, fragrant and warm, come in as many different sorts as the scars that mark Sunshine's skin. Most are simply scrapes and scratches, faint. Some are slashes, one a bite. One just below her collarbone was most certainly made by a knife - it crosses the thin burn scar that loops her neck like a long necklace. All are well-healed, though some are newer than others.

"Sorry if the bar took you by surprise. It does that, sometimes."

The scars don't even register to him. In his world, everyone who's survived their first year of life has scars. Not even someone as beautiful as she is gets a pass. Life in his world is hard.

'It does, does it? Just -- appears, out of the blue, no rhyme nor reason to it?'

The bird on his shoulder quietly mutters, 'Rhyme and reason, rhyme and reason.'

"If there's rhyme or reason, I've yet to see it," Rae answers, with a wry smile for the bird. "People come here from all over - different places, different times, different worlds. It's... a crossroads, or a meeting place, but not like any other. Neutral territory."

"And one's first drink is free," she adds.

His eyebrows rise and his chin drops.

'Now that's a courtesy indeed, and one I will gladly avail myself of, Miss Sunshine. I don't suppose you'd care to join me?'

If adventure is going to come snatch him up off his doorstep, the least he can do is enjoy the view while he's off galivanting.

'Different times you say? Night and day, perhaps?'

He may be a bit baffled by the whole thing, as much as he's trying to pretend he's not.

"Night, day," she grins, "evening, morning, and afternoon, too. What's your where and when? I'm from New Arcadia, in the country of Independencia, on Earth, currently July 27th, A.D. 2003."

"A drink would be appreciated; it gets hot in the kitchens with the ovens on full-blast," Rae replies. And it'll be an opportunity to introduce the idea of a bar that serves itself.

'A drink for the lady, then, barkeep.' He doesn't really notice that there isn't a barkeeper.

'Where, that's easy. The port of Bristol. England.' She sounds like a Yank, but he's never heard of this place, Independencia.

'The when... two-thousand three? That's --.' He shakes his head, bewildered. There are very few things that can stump John Silver. This date discrepancy is one of them. 'The when of whence I came, 1757.'

"1757's a biiiit before my time," Rae replies with a slight laugh. A generously sized cup of tea (jasmine, just how she likes it) appears on the countertop. Bar knows Rae needs the caffeine this time of day.

Bar is awesome like that.

"I've never been to England, though from what I've gathered here it corresponds to the county of Albion, in my world. What would you like to drink?" she adds, sipping her tea.

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First Entrance

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