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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'Even you?'

It sounds like he finds this hard to believe. Elrond is pretty distinctive.

'...oh.'

He acts surprised, and suitably awed. And laughs in his head, because wow Eric, do you not think Viking is written in every line of you?

'And these days?'

He laughs.

There's a hint of rustling leaves and tinkling brooks in that laugh.

"Especially I. So much here is unlike anything I have ever encountered before. Patrons and objects alike."
He sounds as if this is the most wondrous thing.

"These days I own a nightclub," Eric replies.
"In the States. Down South."

"Fangtasia."
He smiles.

That laugh is impressive. He vaguely wonders whether he can sub tracks in: venom, for instance, or rage. Far more useful for day-to-day situations.

'If you don't mind me asking, what are you? You must have seem men before, yeah?'

No one knocked themselves out coming up with that name, did they? Jim pulls a tab of gum out of his pocket, puts it on his tongue and smiles.

'Sounds like fun. If clubbing's your thing.'

It is usually not his thing, but he's had to endure a bit of it recently. Just to get the right effect.

"I am Elfkind," Elrond replies readily. "My name is Elrond Half-Elven because I count both Men and Elves among my ancestors. So I have mortal kin."

Truth be told, Ginger came up with the name. Though Eric still thinks it was Pam.
It was in the old days though. She was - better functioning then. Ginger.

"It's a place where the curious go to mingle with vampires. A little less - safe than your average clubbing, I should say," Eric replies, breezily.

"Damn straight. I'd offer to try it, but you said you came from work."

"Do come along," Hannibal Lecter says. "You are quite welcome to have a try."

'So, you're mortal? But an Elf?'

He mentally runs through the pages of a couple of books in his head: he hasn't read them since he was a kid, but he's a smart chap, Jim.

Well. That's interesting, for once. He has a vague spark of hope that it might remain so.

'Curious about what?' he asks, in the tone of voice that suggests he can understand where such curiousity might come from.

'Oh, I don't know about that. Looking at it might be enough.'

(Looking at it is never enough.)

He stands up, and runs his palms down his slacks in a show of awkwardness.

'Lead on, MacDuff.'

"About what it feels like to be wanted by a powerful immortal who can snap your neck like a twig, I'd imagine," Eric replies. "Or about what death feels like and if they'll be able to resist its pull. Or maybe just if being bitten truly is the most exquisite experience one could possibly have. Who knows? I don't bother asking."

Elrond shakes his head.

"My line is given a choice. To be counted among Elves or among Men. I choose to be counted among the Firstborn, so I am not touched by sickness or old age. My brother chose to be counted among Men and so he lived a Mortal life and died a Mortal death."

He tells it calmly, but there is a hint of sorrow in his voice. Longing.

'...yeah, it probably wouldn't go down too well if I came back drunk to the middle of a work day.'

Though hey, there's no reason for him to work there any more now.

'Speaking of which, I should really get back to it. Don't want too many awkward questions about why I took a four-hour lunch.'

'Wanted?'

He laughs shortly, though it cuts off nearly at once as if he's worried about giving offence.

'I mean...do they really want them? Us? Y'know...mortal people.'

"Time's stopped out there, you're fine."

"Does the wolf want the deer?" Eric says in a low, intimate voice.

With a bow, Hannibal Lecter leads the way into the kitchen, taking up his apron from where he left it, neatly folded over a chair.

It's a large, busy, professional kitchen largely populated by large rats.

On one of the gas hobs, there is a huge pot and a somewhat smaller saucepan; in the big pot, the huge bones of an enormous bird carcass are gently boiling.

That hint is a siren to a man like Moriarty, even without having read any books at all. Jim looks sympathetic, even though his privately thinks the brother is the fool. But then, what would immortality do for anyone? He's almost dead of boredom as it is, and he's barely halfway through a normal-sized existence.

'I suppose...if it was his choice, he would be happy enough with it?'

He says this in the voice of someone who is guessing at the right answer.

'Yeah, but only to e...oh.'

Well, that's a whole different kind of want.

The rats get his attention, briefly. He saw them in the main barroom, but carry things is different to actual cooking. But hey, Jim's not squeamish. He looks into the big pot and pulls a face.

'Bigger than I thought.'

He's never thought much about the dodo. It's had its day. The world's over it.

'...sorry, it's what?'

"When you go out it'll be the same moment as when you came in."

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