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Sariel hasn't quite given up keeping track of just what the time difference is between her home dimension and Milliways, but it's a close thing. When was the last time she was here, in relative terms? And how does that equate to... oh never mind. She'll figure it out later.

For the moment, a certain Starfleet ensign is ignoring the calendar near the back door in favor of a basket of paradoxes (Bar's idea), a seat by the fireplace, and a...

Wait a second. Since when does the fireplace burn magenta? And are those silver sparks?

((OOC: Car keys! Open for anybody, though. Fair warning for slowtime due to work, North American CST, from 7-ish to roughly 5:30 this evening.))

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Bossuet hasn't had the paradoxes yet. He's in another of the fireplace seats, surreptitiously eyeing the young woman and her meal over the top of his book, when the fire catches his attention.

"Ah--Mademoiselle--is it supposed to do that?"

She's nice. She'll share. Give her a second.

"Not generally," is the answer. "At least, I've never seen it do so before." That basket of paradoxes is getting set to one side, in favor of a more careful look at just what might be burning. If someone's added chemicals to the fireplace...

The fire has Lesgle's attention also, more than the paradoxes. He puts down his book. "There are chemicals that color flames..."

He has Science Friends.

"Yes," she says, "there are. I've never heard of a combination that would turn flames magenta and silver simultaneously, though that doesn't mean one doesn't exist." The base of those flames is getting a careful look now. Maybe she expects a charred packet of something to be smouldering there?

Darnitall, Jim, she's a pilot, not a chemist.

Bossuet hunts around for the poker. Presumably the fireplace has one, though he's known establishments to keep them where rowdy intoxicated young patrons can't get at them. But it's a useful sort of thing if you need to fish someone's chemical experiment out of the fire.

The mun is just going to giggle for a minute or so. Beg pardon.

Is that the poker over there? No, wait, that's someone's abandoned walking stick. Probably not the best thing to be prodding at the fire with, unless you want a do-it-yourself torch on your hands. ... Hmm.

Sariel, for her part, has abandoned her chair and her paradoxes in favor of kneeling nearer the fireplace and peering more intently at those flames. "Someone may actually have thrown something in here..."

"I expect they did. They generally do." At least, in his experience. He eyes the walking-stick, decides against it, and looks over on the other side of the fireplace. Yes, very good, poker and tongs.

Armed, he approaches. "Do be careful. --See anything?"

"They generally do throw things into the fire?" Sariel glances up, slightly puzzled. "I don't see anything at the moment, though that doesn't mean there isn't visible evidence." Pause. Glance back at the fire. "Wait. Could that be something related?"

Is that a fragment of unburned wrapping she's just spotted?

((OOC: My apologies. I was out all weekend due to RL. Back now!))

The fire gets an interested look from a tale, pale-skinned man. He has the build of someone intended by Nature to be skinny all their lives, although there's more bulk to his shoulders than one might expect. Possibly the crowbar he's wearing through his belt the way a more medieval man might wear a sword has something to do with that. His hair is a short, messy russet, his goatee somewhat darker; there are faint scars around much of his hairline, as if something repeatedly tried to grab hold only to be pulled off. There's a good deal more significant scarring around his right eye- or, to be more accurate, where his right eye used to be. He wears a patch over that socket, which makes it somewhat awkward for his thick-rimmed, thick-lensed eyeglasses to stay on.

Overall the effect is of a mathematics teacher who has repeatedly been chewed on by somebody's dog.

Or possibly a chemistry teacher, since he glances over at Sariel and says, "Did you add something to make it do that?"

"No," is the slightly bemused response. "I was beginning to wonder if someone had added chemicals to it. Variety or varieties unknown, if they have." Beat. "Have we met?"

They have, in fact. Over logical societal philosophy, among other things. Whether or not Gordon was minus that eye at the time... the mun can't honestly remember.

"Possibly," says Gordon. "I'm trying to recall. It's not working that well."

He makes a rueful face and adds, "Twins. I don't get much sleep. It doesn't make for good memory.... either way, my name's Gordon."

"And my chemistry is slightly rusty," she says, also a little rueful. Beat. "Are they younger children? I imagine that would make for sleepless nights, if so. According to my parents, one was exhausting enough at a young age."

"Ensign Sariel Rager, USS Enterprise, and I'm fairly sure we have met." Give her half a second. Aha! "Contact with non-Terran civilizations." She sounds a shade triumphant. "And was there a chess match involved?"

"Two and a few months," says Gordon. "And very, very active. All the time."

Well, it's more Hope than Eli who's like that, but she's enough for the two of them.

"There might've been. I play when I can," he says. "But yes, the contact thing- that sounds familiar. Probably the Vortigaunts, if I was in a good mood at the time."

Sariel's expression is half grimace in sympathy, half smile. "I couldn't manage that," she says instantly. Beat. "I remember discussion of Vulcan philosophy? A civilization whose beliefs are based on logic rather than emotion."

She's guessing the clarification won't hurt, in this case.

((OOC: Apologies. RL swept me away all weekend. Back now!))

Gordon nods. "I remember the Vulcans," he says. "They're a little hard to forget."

(Thank you, Leonard Nimoy.)

"Alyx and I probably couldn't manage with the kids if it weren't for several family friends and a lot of service robots," he adds. "I seem to recall the Federation's not that big on machine intelligences, but the ones we have aren't too bad."

"They are," she agrees amiably, "very hard to forget." Especially when actively serving with at least one. Thank you, Selar.

"Service robots? No, that isn't something the majority of the Federation commonly sees, at least not in everyday life outside of specific workplaces." whoa, hang on a second. "Yours are self-aware?" Somewhat startled look. "That's highly unusual in my universe."

"Not fully. Wadsworth can speak English and has what sounds like emotional responses, but the woman who gave him to us says he's not actually self-willed, just well stocked with expected responses," says Gordon. "He's incapable of taking initiative that isn't defined in his household assistance program imperatives. And D0G has about the personal awareness and independent action capacity of a Labrador retriever, although Alyx tells me he's got the vocabulary and English comprehension of a seven-year-old human child. I'm... not sure about Cablehoof. That one comes from a civilization that uses partly organic tech."

The mention of partially organic tech gets a frown out of Sariel. "Do you know the common name of the last civilization you mentioned? It's unlikely to be connected with a species known in my universe, but given our interactions with them..."

She has to ask. And doesn't that just imply a whole lot of things about whatever species she's thinking of?

((OOC: I say sorry, and quite a lot. My muse utterly deserted me. Seems to be back, now. I'm up for continuing if you are, though if you'd rather leave it, that's okay too.))

"They're called trolls," Gordon says. "They're from a planet called Alternia. Humanoid, grey skin, yellow-orange horns, black hair, yellow eyes. A couple of them are patrons here from time to time."

((OOC: I"m good with it if you are.))

Relieved not-quite-a-sigh. Maybe it shows, maybe it doesn't. "Utterly unrelated to the species I was thinking of," she says, and the relief in her voice is a little more noticeable. "I've never seen anyone here who fits that description, and none of the horned races known in my universe share those colors."

Horned and grey, maybe, but the yellow-orange aspect is a new one.

Wait just a second. "I vaguely remember a notice about partially organic technology that also mentioned someone with horns. Could that be related?"

"If it was in all caps and talked about a system called T-Minus, then yes, that was them," says Gordon. "Karkat Vantas is the troll who gave us Cablehoof, as well as handing out the T-Minus units to people around here."

"The name... only sounds vaguely familiar," she says, "but the capital letters--yes. I do remember that."

Pause. "I admit, I avoided the technology being offered. Fusion of--ooh!"

Sorry, Gordon. Blame the momentary distraction on a burst of renewed silver sparks from the fireplace. "Someone must have added something there."

((OOC: Mun is yawning like a fool, but still very much game for threading once she zonks for a few hours. <3))

"I can't help but wonder if those fish organisms have anything to do with it," Gordon says. "Not that I'm seeing them at the moment, but there's fish-like creatures that seem to live in the fire. Who knows what kind of gases an entity like that might put out."

Thoughtful look. "Wouldn't someone have noticed and reported a reaction like this before, if the fish were involved? They've existed in the fireplace since I've known it, and presumably much longer."

It's a fair question. Also--hey. Is that a fragment of as yet unburnt paper amid the flames? Maybe somebody really did make a chemical addition after all.

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