milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Here's a face that hasn't seen the bar in a while. Helena walks into Milliways, taking a seat at Bar with a pile of papers and a red fountain pen.

Ordering a gin and tonic, she sets to making notes on the papers. These bloody so-called editors were as bad as Charles, making changes to her work.

Definitely botherable.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There is a tall man in black at the bar, with an axe, looking grim and medieval.

He nods at Helena. "Greetings," he says.

"Good evening, sir." Helena nods at him with a slight smile. She crosses out another line on her papers and sighs to herself. "If you do not mind me saying so, you seem quite pensive this evening."

"I always am," says the axe-man. "It is my nature; also, I am part of Security in this place, and there are ever things to be pensive about."

"Is it a very tough place to be Security in?" She caps her pen, and puts it down, thoughtful. "I know it is not necessarily the safest place, but are there that many rule breakers?" She has seen a couple altercations, but precious little else.

"Not even that many that would break the rules," the axe-man says. "But as this place is the hub of all strangeness that one may imagine, there are ever new and inventive ways of breaking the rules, or of being irksome and leaving us to wonder which rule was broken. There is one that comes here who can shed and re-grown limbs, and whose sneezing is a fearsome weapon - for example."

"Oh, bollocks." She blinks a few times. "That would be a problem. It would be quite difficult if one's sneeze were dangerous. It is not something that one can truly control."

A pause. "I apologise, I do not believe I introduced myself. I am Helena Wells, I do not believe we have spoken."

"Indeed, we have not," the Security axe-man says. "I am Teja, son of Tagila; I was the last king of the Ostrogoths in Italy and died in battle, on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius, in the year 552 of Christian reckoning."

"Quite a lot earlier than even my original time." She smiles. "I was originally from what was called the Victorian Era in England, but due to one thing or another, I ended up in America in the twenty-first century."

"One would assume that happened through this place?" Teja says, having seen often enough how some people would change times or worlds, moving to those of others they had found in this place. He himself wash so far from doing that, now.

Ivan's sitting at the counter staring into a glass of wine in his uniform with the collar undone, life feels out of his control.

He looks up when Helena sits down and starts to edit, "Who's getting all the red ink?"

"Me, actually." She looks up, and makes a face. "I have written a book, someone has edited it, and I am not amused with the edits."

"Do you have to follow all of them?"

Editing is never fun but its something he does often in his job, sometimes its a real pleasure.

"I am not certain. The last time I wrote a book was quite a while ago, and publishing is very different now." She shrugs. "I at the very least wish to interact with the editor on some of these changes."

"Oh publishing, all I know about that is from a friend who wrote a history book. I spend my time working on reports and memos, which aren't as interesting."

"Oh? What sort of history did your friend write?" She smiles. "Reports and memos might not be that interesting, but they can be quite important."

A charming smile. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Helena Wells."

"Barrayaran history, that's the planet that I'm from. Captain Ivan Vorpatril, good to meet you. Yes, they are but they can have their bits of fun too, its wonderful to tell someone how they messed up in the proper language,"

He smiles in return, he doesn't know a lot of authors.

"Not a place I am familiar with, unfortunately. However, as people have pointed out, there are many worlds which converge here. It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain."

She laughs, brightly. "Oh, I have written quite a few reports in my time, and have had reports written for me, telling me in no uncertain, albeit sometimes quite snarky terms what I should have done differently."

"Its great when you can manage to get some barbs in, but I've had a few officers who didn't appreciate them. Its a planet in the Hegen Hub."

"My former partner loved to tell me in reports what I should have done differently." She chuckles to herself. "He loved to point out that if I had not been so reckless we would not have almost died." Ironically, he did actually die when she wasn't there to help.

"Hm. I have not studied the stars as much as some, but that is not somewhere I am familiar with. That does not mean much, however."

"I'm from farther in the future than most people here, so few people know of where I'm from. Oh, my mother is always doing that and I've had a lot of commanding officers who took great pleasure in it,"

He's lost track of how often he's had Ivan, you idiot yelled at him.

"Ah. That would make sense, in that case. It is currently twenty-thirteen back home for me." For now.

"Wooley was a dear. He just liked to have his amusing moments."

"I've had some who were nice and I try to be nice when its merited when I critique other officers."

"I'm sure that your criticism is warrented." A pauses. "What sort of military branch are you in, Captain?"

"Ops, I'm the aide-de-camp to an admiral. What sort of books do you write?"

"Science-fiction. This one is about time travel, actually. I'm certain that some of the things I have written about would be old hat for you, or cute historical ideas, however they were fascinating to think about in my time."

"That's not possible in my time, which is probably for the best. We can freeze the dead but that's a different issue."

And here's a face that likes your face.

(He likes a lot of faces.)

And also gin.

(A lot of gin.)

Gliding past her like a wraith cloaked in cigarette smoke and black leather, he settles on a nearby barstool, glass of aforementioned gin in hand.

"Guten Abend, Fraulein," he greets her in a low, velvety tone. "May I ask what has you so industrious tonight?"

She looks up from her papers with a large smile. "Guten Abend!" Her accent is not the best, a bit too English, but it is not terrible. "I am revisiting edits on something that I have written."

His red-tinted lips part in a feline smile at the returned greeting in German.

"Indeed? And what have you written?" he asks with curiosity, tilting his head to peek at the pages marked up with red ink.

She smiles, turning the papers slightly. "It is a science-fiction novel about time travel. A sequel, actually, to an older work." There's a smirk on her face, teasing, almost daring him to ask about it.

He raises his eyes to hers.

"Science-fiction," he repeats, intrigued by her expression as well. "A genre with which I admit I only have a passing familiarity. Fortunately, I have no doubt that you will be able to broaden my horizons. Do tell me what your novels are about, my dear, you have my rapt attention."

Hopefully "botherable" includes a tolerance for the sudden nearby high-pitched hum behind her. Fortunately, the hum is brief and replaced with the skidding of sneakers. Should she turn around, she'll find a blond teenage boy that wasn't there before.

Sorry. Someone just learned how to teleport and is still getting used to moving around.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only