milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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]

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David. David's a vault. He makes a mental note.

And then tries to imagine Sherlock here. He'd probably love it, from what he's seen of him.

'No one knows who decides the people who get to come here?'

He'd like to know that.

He also hopes he's not going to be subjected to any singing of the musical theatre variety, because boooooooring.

Endless hospital soap opera? Not outside the realm of possibility, and easy enough to discover.

'Spreads panic?'

How extraordinarily useful. And he chuckles, keeping the awkwardness.

'19th century French people seem to becoming a theme of this conversation. Do they bother you that much?'

Bother. Entertain. Annoy.

'I guess you can hope. If it's bad enough that you're forced to fight-'

He sounds aware that when things get to that state, things are pretty desperate. In reality, Jim loves it when things get shaken up, and war's good for that. Particularly in his line of work. One of his lines of work.

"Whatever happens, the time of the elves is at an end. It will be the race of Men who will have to continue the fight against the Darkness, once we are gone," he says.

And again, there are multiple emotions woven into his voice. Love. Worry. Sorrow.

'...oh.'

Jim's quite capable of discerning every emotion, and he observes them one by one as if they've been pulled out of a tangled ball and laid openly on a slab. He tilts his head as he mentally examines each one and leaves it behind as uninteresting.

'Do you mean you're dying?'

He knows the answer is no, but the character demands he ask.

Elrond shakes his head, seemingly not bothered by the question in the slightest.
"No. But our time in Middle-earth is over. We will return to the Undying Lands and leave the care of the easy of the world in the hands of Men."

And yes, he does have doubts about the wisdom of that decision. Sometimes.

He shakes his head, smiling guilelessly.

'A horrible decision, really.'

"I am sure they will rise to the occasion should the need be there," Elrond says, calmly.
For he is also loyal.
At least when he is conversing with someone he hardly knows.

'Yeah, but-'

He chuckles out an uneasy laugh.

'Well OK, if they're a certain kind of people...but can you imagine guys like me being left in charge of a place?'

All this is kind of said in jest, the easy banter of a conversation when meeting someone new. It just sounds like things to say, rather than anything he's given any serious thought to.

Elrond looks at him. Really looks at him.

And then he slowly says, "Yes, I think you could manage," and while it might sound like the reassurance of someone taking a casual remark at face value, there is also a hint of - uncertainty perhaps.

He told Javert, that he can see the hearts of Men. And he can. At least when they are Men like Javert.
But this Man. There is something about him that he cannot quite see.
But this is Milliways, so it likely means nothing. Or little enough.

Still.

It is odd.

'Thanks for the vote of confidence, but yeeeeah, I still think it's a bit misplaced.'

He pretends not to notice the scrutiny, of course. He's a very good actor. But he doesn't miss that hint of uncertainty at all, and he adds another mental note next to Elrond's name.

Elrond puts his impression aside.
For now.

"Most of us are capable of greater feats than we think possible," he replies.

"There is rather a lot of them here at the moment," Lecter says. "You can't throw a brick without hitting one. They are definitely a factor at the moment."

'Yes, that's true.'

It really is.

He hesitates just enough to give the impression of not knowing what to say, before adding, 'lets hope we never have to find out, yeah?'

He'd do very well. For himself, not necessarily for anyone else.

So, he'll read the book again. It won't take long, and even if he never ends up meeting any of them, it'll be good to refresh his memory regarding people who are around this bar a lot.

'And you? Did you bring any friends with you?'

"Three other people from my world are here," Dr. Lecter says, "but for all of them, their reality has already forked off."

This is new. He looks carefully blank.

'What does that mean?'

He does hate having to ask that but at the same time, there's a thrill of novelty to it.

"It means that their world already differs from what I remember as my story. One whom I remember having died beyond any doubt, for example, has already crossed beyond her cut-off point with the help of Milliways."

'This place can alter things for each person, and create a whole new-'

It's not a question, it's a statement he's speaking out loud to himself. Well. The thought of changing things has crossed his mind of course, but each person creating a differing alternate based on their reality? He's well familiar with the many-universe theory of course, but to find proof, to see how it can be made to pass...

...well, his thoughts are stretching on and on, and that's usually a dangerous prospect.

'Interesting,' is all he says.

"Quite."

A corner of his mouth twitches. Just for a second, if that.

Then he straightens up, and nods his head at the dodo.

'How do you even know when it's done? Nothing to compare it to, and all that.'

Elrond nods.

"At least not due to conflict and strife," he agrees.
For realizing that one is capable of more then one thought - that is not a bad thing. Mostly.

"I do know when a roast of any size or kind is done," Lecter says, smiling. "The rest is a question of scales and thermometers."

"I don't know, I'm afraid. You might ask around for Gavroche, he's been here longer than anyone else I know If anyone's going to know more, its him."

'You sound like an expert in food.'

He did not in any way, shape or form, know that already. Nuh uh.

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