(no subject)

[souffle_girlek]

The Bells of Saint John are ringing...

A girl with a laptop a somewhat lost expression stumbles into the bar as she searches her pockets, trading the computer from hand to hand as she does. See, the problem with hitching a ride with a 900-year-old alien with two hearts and a time machine is you forget to bring your purse, and there's a definite risk of not having your metro card.

And then her feet hit the uneven wood of the barroom floor.

And then she looks up.

And promptly backs up against the closed door with an expression that's definitely closer to panic.

"No, not again..."

Comments

[hasthehighground]

Clint looks up at the words, then stops. If he hadn't met Clara, the Victorian woman who looked like Oswin, he'd assume this was her -- eyes wide and shoulders drawn up in nearly an exact copy of Oswin when he's seen her on the edge of panic.

But context is everything. He doesn't stand up, but he does turn towards her a bit from his stool at the bar (just a few paces in from the door).

"What do you need?" he asks, voice calm. Even if this is Oswin, there's no harm in assuming she's not.

[souffle_girlek]

She focuses sharply at his voice. There's someone else here - this is new. She doesn't know if new is good, or bad, or... just new, but she just doesn't have enough information.

"I... I don't know where I am." She doesn't remember, now, how many times she's shouted those words in the last twenty-four hours. Too many times, she's sure. And here she is again. "I just... I don't understand. I don't know where I am." Her pitch rises because not only does she not know where she is, she doesn't know if the Doctor's coming, and if he's not coming...

Yeah. Not a good thought.

[hasthehighground]

Clint's eyes widen as she speaks, but otherwise his face doesn't show his concern. He breathes. "You're in Milliways. It's a restaurant and inn. The door behind you will take you back where you came from."

Pause.

"What's your name? I'm Clint."

[souffle_girlek]

Oddly, that seems to steady her. She has a place, and an identity, and a way out. That's good. That's really good, and a step up from what she's been dealing with lately.

"Clara." She replies, as she tries to steady her breath. "Clara Oswald."

[hasthehighground]

Okay. Another one.

(She looks younger, and her hair is different. He assumes other things will be, too, once he's actually met her instead of just tried to talk her out of panic.

He won't tell Oswin about this one, for a bit; wait until he has enough information to create a working hypothesis. Run it past Natasha.)

"Good to meet you," he glances to the side, to look over the bar quickly, then back to her. "The rats are waiters, and the Bar materializes things, if you'd like a coffee while I go over the rules."

[souffle_girlek]

"Oh God, yes." She isn't sure what to do with 'materializes things', but the Doctor never got her a coffee, and it sounds like a better option than rats. "My day has been tragically coffee-free."

She comes away from the door (with only the barest hesitation, it's a bar, she can work with bars) because he seems... very calm about everything. And she'd never met the people who'd made the last twenty-four hours of her life completely mad - unless he fails to have a back to his head, she'll be okay.

[hasthehighground]

"That is a tragedy," he says, and smiles slightly. "One coffee for Clara, and I'll have a refill."

His cup of decaf refills where it is, and a mug pops up near Clara with her preferred coffee type.

[souffle_girlek]

She squeaks, faintly, jumping back a half step in surprise. She reaches out cautiously to touch the mug, pulling her hand back quickly after a touch, her eyes wider when yes, that mug is real, and hot.

"Well. That's." She blinks at the coffee, slowly reaching out to collect it off of the bartop and cradle it, because it smells heavenly. "Weird."

[hasthehighground]

Clint nods, because there's not really anything to add to that.

"The rules are pretty simple. No violence is tolerated, though there is some lenience for self-defense. The security staff wear silver badges, but they're only guaranteed to be present in here. A woman named X is on the security team, and she's fairly trustworthy."

He takes a drink of coffee.

"They don't have an age-limit for who comes here, so the other rule is to keep your clothes on," he smiles, and shrugs. "There're rooms upstairs, if they're needed."

[souffle_girlek]

Her expression is pained. So pained.

"Today is making me feel prudish. This is ridiculous." She grumbles at her coffee mug, because seriously, first it's the alien with the snogbox, and now it's the nudist bar.

[hasthehighground]

"If it helps, I haven't seen it need enforcing. Where're you in from?"

[souffle_girlek]

"London - I was actually hoping I still had my oyster card on me when I came in. My... ride left without me."

Ride, alien rescuer/stalker, whatever. She still hasn't decided how she feels about this.

[hasthehighground]

The hesitation before 'ride' is noted. It could mean a lot of things, though.

"I guess jerks are universal," he says. "I'm from California, 2011."

[herr_bookman]

Click! And now some little weirdo has just placed a disposable camera on a counter top, where it immediately disappears.

"Hello," he says. "You probably want me to explain where the hell you are."

[souffle_girlek]

She flinches at the sound, and gives him a wide-eyed glare that'd be more effective if she wasn't attempting to press her way backwards through the wood.

"I don't know where I am." Over the last twenty-four hours, she's been taught the terror of those words.

[herr_bookman]

Autor frowns. "Before you came here, or now?"

[souffle_girlek]

She manages to steady her breath enough to glare properly.

"Now. What is this? Where is this?" She has to choke down the question that rises again.

[herr_bookman]

Oh, good, there she is, he thinks.

"You're in a magical bar," he says, and his gesture holds so much 'duh' in it, he doesn't need to say it aloud. But then his smirk softens. "It's called Milliways. Some people use it as a vacation spot, but a lot of people think of it as a home."

[souffle_girlek]

... Neither of those sound terrible. Neither of those sound like people trapped. She.. can deal with that. Better. Anyway. Better than the option.

"So how did I get here? How did I get from the middle of London to... here?"

[herr_bookman]

London again? he thinks. Interesting.

"You came through a door," he points out, shrugging. "Some people are pulled. Some people die first. This isn't Purgatory, but most of them call it home, until they leave."

He nods to the entrance to his own world. "Check your door, though, to make sure it's not locked."

[souffle_girlek]

Her eyes widen almost comically before she whirls in a flurry of long dark hair to tug at the door. The empty cafe beyond is... reassuring. If very odd.

She shuts the door again, and eyes the strange boy.

"And they speak English here?"

[herr_bookman]

Autor grins at her. "Some of us do, but," he says, "certains d'entre nous parlent français. The reason you're hearing English is because of a translation spell--and no, I can't tell you who cast it or how it works."

[souffle_girlek]

The French earns a nose-scrunch of confusion - she hasn't studied French since school, and really hasn't had any occasion to use it in the last year.

"A spell? Like... magic?"

[herr_bookman]

"The bar is magical, yes," he says. "And Bar"--and here he pats her affectionately--"is even sentient."

He turns to Bar to demonstrate. "Might I have a pot of tea--and an extra cup, please?"

And, well, there they are.

[souffle_girlek]

She squeaks, faintly, and briefly clutches the laptop to her chest protectively.

But then she's skittering around the bar, running her hands over the wood, ducking down to see below, her computer abandoned on the bartop.

After a moment, she pokes her head up over the edge of the bar to eye him curiously.

".... If its sentient, am I feeling it up?" It's important.