(no subject)

[just_cant_lose]

 

As entrances to Milliways go, this is one of the more unprepossessing. A man stumbles through the door in slacks and T-shirt (a particular brand of underwear showing above his waistband); despite the fairly well-groomed hair and care with his appearance, he still seems a little crumpled and ungainly. The door swings near someone, and he instantly apologises before standing almost straight and looking around.

(Interesting.)

 

'...oh. Um.

...oh.'

Well, this is new. Jim likes new. 


[OOC: Note on playing with Jim here. If more than one person tags, could we please only have one intro thread? Anything after the first will find him either sitting a little nervously at the bar, or gazing in wonder out of the observation window. Thanks! :D]

Comments

[sunbaked_baker]

The someone caught near the door - a red-headed young woman in a bright green t-shirt and purple jeans, covered by a sunflower-dotted apron - reacts like one used to dodging sudden movements of people near her, gently swinging the balanced tray of baked goods out of harm's way with a minimum of fuss and a faintly wry smile.

"No harm done," she assures him, intending to continue on, but Rae then notices the staring.

"...First time here?" the woman asks the faintly rumpled young man, lightly.

[just_cant_lose]

'Uh...yeah.'

He smiles, and it's nice enough. A bit nervous and unsure.

'It depends where here is? But I've never seen it before. Sorry. The door didn't get you, did it? Sorry.'

His voice has a slightly nasally depth to it, but it's clearly English.

[sunbaked_baker]

"You're not the first to be surprised by the door, and you won't be the last," the baker smiles, settling the tray of baked goods against her hip in an easy movement. Her accent sounds American, though she would argue it is Independencian.

"This is Milliways, the bar at the end of the universe. It... likes to surprise people sometimes. Likes to show up without warning in doorways that don't normally lead to bars, for example. People come here from all over."

[just_cant_lose]

Well, now.

Well well.

His eyes roam over everything he sees in a perfect guise of nerves, a half-smile on his lips that only makes him look more awkward.

'I'm...sorry? The end of the what?'

Window. Space. A bar in the hallway of Barts. Clearly non-human entities moving about. And this woman; earnest, friendly, clearly a baker, clearly telling the truth.

So, a bar at the end of the universe.

That is sexy.

[freedom_is_grey]

There's the sound of dog toenails on wooden floorboards, followed by a wet nose pressing against Jim's hand.

Briefly.

"Liranan," comes a woman's voice from behind him, chastising the enormous brown warhound standing next to him. "You know that's not the way we say hello."

Ysalwen is slim, dressed in purple and grey mage robes, with a staff strapped across her back. Her hair is white and elaborately braided, her eyes are brown, her ears are sharply pointed, and she has a dark spiraling tattoo around her right eye.

She's also laughing, maybe a little embarrassed. (Probably not.)

"I'm sorry. I hope he didn't startle you. But he likes the view out the window."

[just_cant_lose]

'No, no, not at all.'

Not much startles Jim. Not even a non-human female, because he's too busy taking in every detail.

On the outside, his face goes 0_0!

'I mean no, sorry. I just...I only just came here, and I...sorry.'

Staring, yeah. In his mind, searching for something to attach this new information to - and for the first time in a very long time, coming up with almost nothing.

[freedom_is_grey]

"You don't need to apologize. I haven't been here that long, myself. But a tavern is a tavern, for the most part, or so I find."

She laughs again, quietly, and nudges Liranan away from Jim just a little. Mostly so the dog can actually jump up against the window and press his nose to the glass.

"I wonder if that's why this place looks as it does."

[heard_of_her_now]

Victoria has entered from one of the innumerable Christmas parties she is always invited to, and is thus superbly gowned in red.

She smells of perfume and champagne, and sways just slightly as she moves, as if she's had - not one too many, but just about enough.

(She has always been terribly proud of her drunken stumble.)

She's still holding a half-full champagne flute (Murano, naturally, and Moet & Chandon) when she bumps into him near the observation window.

"Oh!" Smiling. "How clumsy of me."

(The champagne glass is perfectly steady. Art is one thing, but spilling champagne is another entirely.)

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh. No, sorry. My fault, probably.'

His self-deprecating smile is perfect, and his art in this scene comes from the impeccable timing of the pull-away-and-turn from the bump, though he could have avoided it by moving earlier.

Nice dress on her. Steady hand: not as drunk as she looks. Not as drunk as she looks: could have avoided bumping him at all.

'Are you OK?'

His accent is flawless London, with a strange depth and almost nasal quality. Tired, clubber's eyes, Sherlock called them when they just met, and he's still in the gay get-up he wore for his benefit.

[heard_of_her_now]

Honestly, the one occasion she has to leave the Sig-Sauer behind...

(It doesn't exactly go with the dress. Which isn't the same thing as saying she's unarmed.)

"Oh, I'm quite all right, thank you." She smiles at him as she assesses him: sober, mid-thirties, English(?), expensive clothing. Not an obvious threat but not quite right, either.

"Terribly sorry." A rather rueful smile. "Christmas, you know..."

[is_the_motion]

"Underpants." Bonnie points out, from near the bar, with beer.

[just_cant_lose]

'Um. Yeah?'

He turns around a little further, and pays attention to his own backside.

Well alright, they are a pretty lurid shade of neon green, but he had to be sure Sherlock would notice them. There was no need, probably. The man notices everything.

Jim's a fan.

[is_the_motion]

"Is that the latest fashion?" Bonnie asks, winking at him.

[myshootingstar]

Minx comes down from her room in the late afternoon, returning a couple of game console disks to the bar. Even dressed down in yoga pants and a baggy hoodie, and leaning a leaning a little heavily on a stick, she's strikingly beautiful. She smiles to him as she asks for a few more games and some snack. "Hi."

[just_cant_lose]

Wow. She is beautiful. He gapes like an idiot for a moment, then gives an awkward chuckle and rubs at his arm.

'Hi.'

[myshootingstar]

"I'm guessing you're new? You have that slightly stunned, it hasn't sunk in yet look." She offers him a hand - her skin silk smooth and her nails perfect, someone who looks after herself almost insanely well. "I'm Miranda but most people call me Minx."

[cook_the_rude]

A gentleman in his late forties or early fifties comes out from a door that seems to lead to a kitchen; he is wearing rolled-up shirtsleeves, a plaid waistcoat and a paisley tie.

He smells faintly of a very good bespoke cologne, and rather more overtly of cooking -- roast meat, sautéed vegetables, the like. He's patting the waist of his clothes as if smoothing out the creases from an apron he just took off.

His eyes -- which are a deep but not light brown, making them almost maroon -- glide over Jim where he's sitting at the bar, and he puts on a slight, polite smile.

"Good afternoon," he says, his accent between American and indefinably European. "You're new, aren't you? Welcome to Milliways."

[just_cant_lose]

By the end of afternoon, he has picked apart the nuances of that accent - he knows about the root and structure of Eastern European languages, their origins and effect on accents. He has spent rather a lot of time in Serbia and the Czech Republic. Poland and Lithuania. Russia. France. Jim is a guy that gets around.

'Is it written on my forehead?'

He smiles goofily. His own accent is English, strangely deep and nasal, and it would take a practiced ear to notice that it's not the one he grew up with.

'Hi. Were you cooking?'

[cook_the_rude]

The accent will sound slightly Baltic, with French mixed in somewhere, if Jim listens to it for a moment longer.

"It's rather obvious from the way you are looking at everything," he says. "And yes, I was making a fricassée from the last of the leftover roast dodo from Christmas."

Roast dodo. As you do.

"I'm Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

[onceaviking]

Eric approaches the bar and leans on the counter without paying any particular attention to the guy sitting there already.

He says, "The usual," and an amber glass bottle with a somewhat cheesy label - black, red, the name 'TruBlood' in faux Gothic script - filled with a dark liquid appears and a glass.

Very tall, very pale, blond. Broad shoulders, a sleeveless top that shows off his brawny arms.
Tight black clothing.

For the truly observant. No visible pulse. No breathing. No sounds.
He pours his drink.

It looks like blood.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim is truly observant. Jim notices everything.

And his head rings with silent glee, even as he says - silently - no. You are kidding. Amazing.

This might be the most brilliant thing to happen in...oh, the last thirty minutes or so. But he paints on an expression of mild horror and slightly more intense fascination, and leans forward with it wrapped around an awkward smile.

'Uh...'scuse me? Is that...blood?'

His accent is English. He's well-groomed, but still a little crumpled. He looks like the type that might notice a tall, blond, broad-shouldered man in a bar.

[onceaviking]

Eric turns his head and looks at him.
His eyes are blue (ice-blue) and the rims are red.

He turns the bottle with two fingers so the label is clearly readable.
"No," he says. "It's fake. Look. Says so, right there."

He taps on the word 'artificial' with one finger.
He's got long fingers. And really big hands.

He smiles. Nice, even teeth. No hint of anything odd, like fangs.
"I'd vastly prefer if it was though."

He looks new. He acts new.

[starrydome]

It's winter both at Milliways and at home and thus Elrond enters warmly dressed in layers of wool and a fur-lined hood.

He heads for a table close to the Observation Window and sets about shedding several layers, pausing only to order warm tea from a passing waitrat.

The outer layers, cloak, fur lined hood, knee length tunic, are all made of dark brown and dark grey wool. The fur is rabbit, a pale grey cloud framing his face when he enters, and shedded as the first item.

His long dark hair is pinned back behind his ears.
They're gently leaf shaped.

His inner tunic is made of silk. Pale lavender, trimmed with delicate embroidery. Vines. Stars.

His boots are heavy leather, as is his belt.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim...does not stare at all. Or at least, only as much as his character would, which manifests as a glance, a wide-eyed double-take, and then a awkward laugh.

Elrond. All right then. All right.

[starrydome]

Elrond looks up at the laugh.and smiles.

It's a kind smile on a face neither young, nor old.

His eyes are deep and bright and ancient.