milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Nick Fury strides into the bar. His step barely falters as he crosses the threshold. He turns slightly to head through the crowd toward the bar proper.

He is smiling.

"Drinks on me tonight," he tells Bar. "It's been a good day."

(The name 'Big Boss' appears on the tabs board.)

[OOC: Off to sleep. I can't guarantee a speedy pick up of tags, but leave one if you like.]

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X blinks at him.

Twice.

(The second time might be in reaction to the new name on the tab board. Some people are ridiculous.)

Then she slips out of her chair and moves in his direction.

"That is unnerving."

Beat.

"Hello."

"Hello, X. Good to see you again." He gives her a respectful nod.

"What's unnerving about a man in a good mood when he has a right to be? There's nothing more natural."

"It is the teeth," X says, matter-of-factly.

"And the alliteration."

What?

"I am allowed to ask? Why you are happy."

Maybe one of his young relations had a birthday.

Stranger things have happened.

His grin only gets wider. He does have nice and shiny white teeth.

"We have just completed a mission. One I've been working on for a long time. And it turned out even better than I thought it might."

X tilts her head, studying him for a second or two.

Then --

"That is probably good."

Beat.

"I have been babysitting."

"Have you." He eyes her, pretty clearly imagining this, and finding it amusing. "I bet you're the best babysitter those kids have ever had."

"There was a dragon. And an interstellar rift." X allows.

"And the Collector. He is a jerk."

A pause.

"I do not know how many other babysitters they have had. The Richards children."

"Doesn't matter," he says. "You're very good at what you do, so I'm sure their parents approve. But I be they think you're cool."

"Most children like me," X says.

It's once again matter-of-fact.

(Mostly.)

"I make sense."

He doesn't laugh. "I can see why they would. Tell me about the dragon."

"Valeria built an interdimensional temporal window. They wanted to pet a dinosaur. I said no."

Obviously.

"Then there was a malfunction. And a dragon came through. We tried to run, but it grabbed the children. I followed."

She shrugs, one-shouldered and quick.

"It was harder to talk to than Norman. But it -- stopped. Eventually."

A pause.

"Dragons are very rational. And humans taste better when they are annoying. Or wearing tin cans. I have heard."

"I can't say I ever expected dragons to be rational, until I came here. There's a young one who apparently visits the bar. She's very polite."

He shakes his head. Fantasy. What can you do?

"Polite is good," X offers. Carefully.

"You like her?"

"We only met once, so we're not best friends. But she seemed pleasant enough. Willing to talk about herself and her world, which is the standard you get judged by, around here."

"It is more interesting than the weather."

Not least because the weather is largely irrelevant.

And often rainy.

"Ain't it just. I never could figure why whoever it was chose Scotland to pattern it after."

His voice gives it a little scornful twist.

X considers this for a second.

Then --

"Maybe it reminded them of home. And they were dead."

It's possible.

"The lake is good for the squid. And the mermaids."

"...I knew about the squid."

X does not reach out to pat his shoulder.

"The mermaids are useful sparring partners. If you ask."

Beat.

"And if you can hold your breath."

"I can. But not as long as you can, I'm sure. Do they have a distinct fighting style?"

"It is unlikely," X acknowledges. "If you are human."

She pauses, then, considering the specifics of his question.

"They are as distinct as human styles. But I do not know if they are as varied. The population sample here is small."

Beat.

"I can make introductions. If that will help."

"Huh," he says, contemplative.

"Nah, I doubt I have the time to really try and learn anything. Wouldn't mind maybe seeing a demonstration sometime. Knowing something like that might come in handy."

X considers that for a moment. Or maybe two.

"That is not impossible. But it will still require introductions."

Because that is polite.

"And a wetsuit."

"Maybe later."

X does not laugh.

Or smile.

She does, however, study Fury for a second or two.

Then, carefully -- almost as if she is asking a question -- she reaches out to pat his shoulder.

Once.

If he will let her.

"Okay."

There's someone watching him.

Well, that's a bit silly, Fury's a striking figure, of course people are watching him. But in particular, there's a young woman in an MTC uniform watching him curiously. It's entirely possible she's never seen anyone like him, ever.

Judging by that uniform, it's very possible.

He raises his one visible eyebrow at her. "See anything interesting?"

"Oh!" She starts, remembering herself - her fair skin does her no favors when it comes to disguising her blush of embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm being quite rude."

"It takes more than 'rude' to ruin my day," Fury says, deigning to smile again. "And since I doubt you're an assassin in disguise..."

"Ah, no." She's not entirely sure she could kill someone in the heat of the moment (or if they're invaded, God forbid), never mind as an assassin. "I'm Sam. Samantha Stewart, I'm a driver with the MTC."

She does get to say that for today, at least.

"Pleased to meet you, Sam. Call me Nick." He holds out a hand for her to shake. "Where are you stationed?"

"Hastings... well. At the moment. I'm afraid I'm being called back home, so it won't be for long." But she dredges up a smile when she shakes his hand, firm and direct. "What do you do, if I can ask?"

The smile morphs back into a grin.

"What do you think?"

She tilts her head to the side, studying him thoughtfully. He's not in uniform, but there's a sort of a military bearing that she's gotten entirely too used to seeing. Of course, the lack of uniform could be an American thing - the accent, at least, she thinks is American. It doesn't quite sound like what she's heard in movies, but that doesn't mean much.

"... American military, something... special forces?" She hazards, taking the chance.

"They've been training you up right, then. Good."

He doesn't bother to confirm or deny her guess.

"Bar, get this young lady whatever she wants to drink, won't you?"

"Oh! Well, thank you, sir, um, just tea for me, thank you." Her supply at home is getting preciously low, and she's already had a pint tonight - much more and she'll be hungover tomorrow, and that won't go well at all.

"Coffee for me, then."

Both drinks (and their accoutrements) appear promptly on the bar. Fury deigns to put a little cream in his.

Sam usually drinks hers straight, but here in the bar, it seems ridiculous to not use some sugar, and cream, since they are so precious at home.

Heavens, it is good.

"Do you come here often, sir?"

He quirks a tiny smile. "Not so often. Time is a strange thing with Milliways, and if I used it to its full potential, well. I'd be a little concerned about the time differential back home."

"Could be where all of the old fairy stories come from - people aging decades in a night, and all of that." She suggests with a grin.

"Could be," he says. "Most people who come here say it's like they never left, once they get back. But I don't care to take the chance."

"There is an idea - it'd be dead useful in a bombing raid, and you won't have to listen to those horrid sirens." Sam feels she could really get used to the idea of Milliways as an air raid shelter.

Fry, who was at the bar with a spinning top, glances at the man, and then sees the tab board change.

"Are you a bigger boss than Mikey?" he asks.

Fury also takes a look at the tab board before raising his eyebrow at the kid.

"Not here," he says. "It's an alias."

"Is that like your super hero name?"

He coughs.

It's definitely not a laugh.

"Kinda like that, yeah. You got a superhero name?"

"My name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu but I like to be called Fry." Fry says. "I guess I'd have to earn being a super hero."

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