First Ballad

[singthesong]

A door opens, and a man enters the bar.

He's dressed casually, jeans and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and there's a guitar slung across his back. The Balladeer swings it around to his side as he comes to a surprised halt, in an easy practiced motion that looks like instinct.

This isn't entirely unheard of; goodness knows the little piece of existence he calls home isn't especially stable. He's walked out of Maryland, 1865 right into New York, 1901 more times than he can really count. But this is different. He doesn't recognize this, and it doesn't quite seem to belong the way the other places do. There's no music to it.

After a moment of thought, he turns on his heel and opens the door again, just cracking it enough to stick his head through inquisitively. Yep. Everything's still there on the other side, just like he left it. If he went back through and tried the door again, would this place still be here?

Shrugging to himself, the Balladeer shuts the door again and goes to sit at the bar instead. It's not like he was doing anything important anyway - why not?

Comments

[not_his_pa]

(OOC: *waves* I'm ceitfianna from the back room and adding another yay to the Sondheim/Assasins' group! I'll be sleeping at some point but I'm here now.)

Life at the ranch has settled down and William's taking the chance to rest and see about getting some new books.

He looks over when he spots the guitar, at first glance, he thought it might be a rifle and takes another sip of his coffee as he rubs his face. Too many days in the saddle are getting to him, "Are you new, sir?"

[singthesong]

Oh, darling, please don't ever tell him you thought he had a rifle.

"Yeah," the Balladeer replies with a smile, looking around in interest. "Something like that. What's going on here?" Please don't tell him a president is about to come visit this place; he'd like to have a seat and maybe a drink for a few minutes first.


(( No worries! My sleep schedule is wild and unruly. ))

[not_his_pa]

"Not much tonight. This is pretty quiet for Milliways, which is at the End of the Universe. Where'd you come in from?"

Then he looks around, there don't appear to be any fights and the normal number of odd creatures and things going on.

[singthesong]

He waved a hand vaguely. "I was just out for a walk between places. Things on the other side of there get a little fuzzy...but the last stop I made for sure was somewhere in Virginia. 1865." You know, he's never really thought about it, but that sounds weirder when he says it out loud to someone who isn't actually involved in the whole thing.

Oh, well. The fact that he's talking to this guy at all means there's a fair enough chance he's gonna go gun somebody down at some point. That would be his life. "How about you?"

[not_his_pa]

(OOC: His canon wasn't exact on dates so I handwave.)

William smiles since most of the time people aren't from anywhere near his time, "Arizona Territory, near Bisbee if you know of it."

Then he names a year near to 1870. And William's come close to gunning a few men down, but didn't pull the trigger on Ben Wade in Contention.

[runningred]

Jay comes bounding up from the garage, dressed in a fairly similar look only with added engine grease. "Bar, beautiful lady. I need a 450B carburetor for the Norton and a shot of coffee please love?"

He smiles to the Balladeer as his things appear on the counter. "Hey, hi? How you doing?"

[singthesong]

"Hm?" The Balladeer glances up, having briefly been distracted by the spontaneously appearing car parts. And coffee! "Fine, fine! I have to say, this has been one of the better places to show up. Can I get a coffee, too?"

This is directed to no one in particular, because he doesn't really know how that happened, but he beams down at the bar as the coffee appears in an almost-correct show of gratitude. "Ha! Definitely better."

[runningred]

"I take you're new here? Welcome to Milliways. Anyone given you the intro speech?"

He holds out a hand, realises it's covered in grease and wipes it on his shirt first. "Sorry, I'm Jay."

[singthesong]

"Nope! Just walked in, haven't talked to too many folks yet." The Balladeer nods over his shoulder, back towards where the door was. No one's followed him in yet. Maybe they would sooner or later; he isn't gonna worry about that now.

He takes the hand without any concern for engine grease. "They call me the Balladeer, sometimes." Honestly, the conversations he had tended more towards "hey, you", but he liked the Balladeer best of all the things he'd been called. It had a much better ring than 'the Guitar Guy'.

[street_sparrow]

"You took that very well for your first time", Gavroche says with a grin. "If it is your first time."

[singthesong]

"Here? Sure is." The Balladeer grins right back at the kid - who is probably old enough to resent being called "kid", but how many young people does he ever get to talk to? "But it's not that bad in here. Could be a lot worse!" There hasn't been a single gunshot!

[street_sparrow]

He's easy with it! Two of his friends still half-think of him as a ten-year-old.

"It's pretty peaceful", he agrees, "until it isn't. Gavroche Riddle."

[singthesong]

"Gavroche Riddle." Yes, this is definitely all very new, isn't it? He'dve remembered a name like that. "Nice to meet you," he says, stepping forward to offer a handshake in lieu of a name. "Seems like that describes most places, really. What happens here in particular?"

[damncompass]

"Yeah, it does that." Joshua looks up from the file he's reading. "Sneakiest interdimensional space that I've come across. Nothing too worrisome, though. Just a bar with some excellent booze."

[singthesong]

"Oh, yeah?"

There's been a pretty remarkable lack of violence and/or threatened violence already. He's a little impressed. The Balladeer shrugs off the guitar and lays it carefully on the bar, before vaulting the counter to start poking through its stock like he owns the place.

"Not every day you come across one of those," he comments idly as he does, as if to explain why he's taking immediate advantage. "Can I getcha anything?"

[damncompass]

"Bars with good booze or interdimensional spaces?" Joshua raises an eyebrow at him then really realizes what he's doing.

"You might not want to do that. Bar's mostly-sentient. She'll get what you want if you ask nicely, but if you piss her off, I've heard you'll eat soggy fries or something similar for a week. Granted, I dunno if she'll give you a menu. Just literally whatever you ask for you can get."

[singthesong]

"Bars!" The Balladeer replies cheerfully. There's only one bar that sticks around, and bar is a bit of a strong word for it. Anyway, it's not the drinks that really matter - it's the company.

The follow-up, though, has him straightening and looking properly at Joshua, with the first actual surprise he's shown at all of this. "A sentient bar." Well. He looks down at the counter for a moment, eyebrows raised, then cautiously reaches out to pat it. Okay then. He can work with that. "Right. Sorry about that...bar."

A little more sedately, he just walks back around to where he'd been. It's probably rude to jump over sentient bars, right? And we can't have that. "So. How'd that happen? There's gotta be a pretty good story there."

[ostro_goth]

There is music, but it is different.

There is a man in early medieval clothes, all black, playing a small harp by the fireplace.

He briefly looks over at the Balladeer while he plays.

[singthesong]

Well, that sure is music! The Balladeer grins and strides over, but he's too polite to interrupt another performer - he'll just sit himself down nearby, watching with a mixture of delight and curiosity. Those clothes certainly aren't anything modern, by any of his definitions.

This really isn't Kansas anymore, is it?

[ostro_goth]

"Greetings," the medieval man says, looking up from his harp when he finishes that melody. "I have not seen you before in this place."

[singthesong]

"Nope. Just walked in." The Balladeer tilts his head, indicating the door. "What is this place? If you don't mind my asking."

[mr_gaeta]

His morning PT session's done, Gogo's been fed and walked, and the communal Milliways kitchen isn't too crowded. Today seems like a good day to try out a few new recipes.

Or it did, until a bag of flour got offended and exploded in Gaeta's face.

(No, really. It had a few choice things to say about Gaeta's mother when he tried to open the bag. It was very disconcerting.)

Spattered with white powder from the waist up, Gaeta limps out of the kitchen, pausing to rummage behind the bar for a spare dishcloth. "Morning," he says, resigned, when he spots the man with the guitar.

[singthesong]

"Morning!"

The Balladeer leans against the bar with a wide smile. He's honestly not even pretending like he's not laughing at the whole thing. Still, he fishes into a front pocket and comes out with a handkerchief, offering it out. "You look like you've been having fun." He has absolutely no idea who this guy is. How exciting!

[mr_gaeta]

"For a given value thereof." Dryly amused, he accepts the handkerchief. "Thanks."

Gaeta scrubs at his face and hair. The shirt's probably a lost cause for now; he makes a few futile passes with the cloth before returning to his forehead. "Never a dull frakking moment back there."

[singthesong]

The Balladeer just grins, leaning to try to see where Gaeta came in from. "Guess not. What's this place called, anyway?" For the moment, he was just sort of assuming that the man who came out from behind the bar was, indeed, the bartender.