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Sam's in a corner booth, tonight - one that commands a good view of the bar proper despite being so out of the way, because old habits die hard - with quite a spread of newspapers in front of him.
He'd balked when the Bar presented him with the stack, especially since it seemed to be about politics. He's always found politics boring, as he missed the era when it was acceptable to put a contract on one's opponent or a leader you didn't like, and debates are quite frankly boring, when all people do is attempt to reason out the issues at hand.
But then he found out this was about Earth politics, and that stuff turned out to be fascinating. Seriously, why doesn't Bistort get messy elections like this?

(The answer, as with most things, is A Wizard Did It. Maybe now that Mizzamir's dead things will shake up a bit; after all, it'll be the first election he hasn't been around to supervise.)

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"Hey," calls the bald guy seated at Bar. "You got a Sports Section you don't mind partin' with?"

"Er."
Sam has to shuffle through the papers for a few moments, before finding the sections in question. He has... no idea where to start with what these people are wearing, but presumably the other man will.
"Three of them, apparently. You're welcome to as many as you like."

Raph half shrugs before sliding off his stool and making his way over towards the man...and the papers.

"Ain't seen a baseball write up in a freakin' dog's age, but I'll take hockey or football too. Hell, at this point anything'll do."

"Couldn't tell you what any of these are talking about," Sam admits. "The Bar gave them to me, I think more with the front page in mind."
In any case, he's been far too interested in that to dig into the rest.

He's flipping through the papers now, but pauses a moment to crane his neck to take in the front pages.

"Meh, that's just what they want you to read. Real news ain't gonna be found there."

"Whether it's real or not, it's definitely more interesting than the politics I usually hear about."
Seriously, all those attack ads sounds like a refreshing change of pace.

"Gotta admit, not havin' to deal with all that crap is one of the benefits of not livin' back home no more."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Ugh it was terrible. Took over every damn station on tv with their yammering about numbers that no one cared about unless it was around November. The poor got poorer and the rich got richer, an' no one was doin' a damn thing about fixin' anything.

I ain't got the patience for it."

"Oh, trust me, polite, well-reasoned debates about the issues at hand get extremely dull before long. I'd love to see something like this."
(Whether he'd kill to see it happen depends, of course, on whether he were there to scoop up the contract.)
And then something gives him pause. "What's a teevee?"

"Who said anythin'bout well reasoned?"

Raph finds a proper sport section and begins flipping his way through. He doesn't notice he does it, but he sighs happily.

"TV? It's a uh...box of light that shows moving pictures it..."

He pauses, blinks, and then shakes his head.

"There's one just above Bar, to the side of the Tab Board."

"Every debate I've ever heard about has been well-reasoned. It wears thin."
He turns to look. "Oh, is that what that thing is? What's it for?"

"An' that's why I try to steer clear of as many meetin's as I can."

Raph might also be flipping through looking for the comics now.

"Entertainment, mostly."

Sam shrugs. "This does give me hope that things will get more interesting going forward."
All told, it'd be hard for politics to get more boring.
"How is staring at a box entertaining?"

"I told you, it's got moving pictures that...you know what? This is one of those things that really works better in context."

Raph turns on a dime and returns to Bar, he comes back with the remote control and offers it to Sam.

"Press the red button."

He does.

Unfortunately, whoever was last watching left it on that channel that tends to marathon Tentacles of Our Waves.
"...........What in the Fates?"

Raph turns and looks up.

"Ugh, not this shit again."

"You know, I think I won't ask."
Sam presses the red button again, and the screen goes dark. "So... it's a bit like scrying?"

"Sort of? Only you don't gotta be high or otherwise altered for it to work. Though...it helps."

It's possible Raph might be mistaken as to how scrying works.

"I rather doubt you need to be... altered to watch someone from a distance."
Magic is far from Sam's strong point, but 'altered' doesn't sound like something Mizzamir would have put up with. Nor Valerie, for that matter.

"Wouldn't know. I steer clear of that stuff more'n I do meetings."

Sam shrugs. "Magic's hardly my strong point, and I intend to keep it that way."

"It makes my skin crawl."

Sometimes quite literally.

"More than one bad experience with the stuff."
Nearly being brainwashed and temporarily losing the core of your identity will do that.

"You too? I swear I'm allergic to that stuff."

"I wouldn't call it an allergy, as such, but... in my experience, mages tend to think they know what's best for everyone around them."
Even Valerie did it; it's just that her motives her much clearer.

"Ugh, you ain't just whistlin' Dixie there, my friend. Witches," he says with a long suffering sigh and an eyeroll.

"Never let a wizard run the world. They don't know when to stop."
For the time being, Sam's more than happy to let that stand for all of them. Yes, things are hectic in Natodik right now (and isn't that a hilarious power vacuum to watch unfold), but the fact remains that the people trying to fill it are, by and large, Mizzamir's apprentices. He's not counting on someone who didn't fully believe it if left to their own devices coming out on top.

"It's that reason alone that makes me glad we got precious few o' those back where I'm from."

A wry smile crosses Sam's face. "Lucky for you, then."

"I wouldn't go that far. Where we ain't got one thing we got others just as bad in abundance."

"Well, then you don't also have a lot of mages making it worse," Sam points out. "It could be worse."

"It usually is," he says with a shrug. "This mage-laden home o' yours got a name?"

"The world as a whole, I don't think so. Mizzamir tried to give it one, but I'm hardly going to take his word for it. I'm from a town called Bistort, in the Six Lands. You probably haven't heard of it."
Unless he's met Cata, anyway. Their world is decidedly under-represented next to most here.

"Can't say as any o' that rings any mental bells, no."

Sam shrugs. "I'm not surprised. I think there's only one other person here from my world."

"Used to be that way with me as well, then my entire family decided to up and show up. Move in, actually."

"I don't have any family to show up. None that isn't dead, anyway."
He's aware of the possibilities in that regard, and... well. Short version: If it's his mother, fine; if it's Mizzamir, Sam will kill him again.
He'll find a way.
"I can think of a couple of friends of mine that would enjoy the place, though."

"Best to keep your eyes peeled, just in case."
It's a sentiment that works well for both the living and the dead.

"Yeah, I've a few that'd love to come here as well, but...not everyone can see this place as it turns out."

"Oh, I have been." In Mizzamir's case, anyway. His mother, if that dream from last year is anything to go by, would be a much less unpleasant surprise.
"Maybe they will find it, in time. You never can tell around here."

Maybe they will find it, in time.
Raph chews on that for a few. He tries to imagine Abigail and Casey adjusting to Milliways, and vice-versa.

It's enough to give the guy a headache.

"No, no you can't."

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