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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'Yeah, that'd be...do you not just order by asking?'

But he does follow, hands stuck in his back pockets for a second, then wringing together before being allowed to drop to his side.

'I'm Jim, by the way. Thanks for - y'know.'

"You do, but you don't have to wait for anyone to be standing behind the bar. The bar can serve for itself. Except for those times when it's taking a nap - then there'll be a bartender," she explains.

"No problem, Jim," the baker smiles. "It's good to meet you. I'm Rae. What would you like to drink?"

'The bar-' a slightly anxious chuckle, '-sleeps?'

Definitely new. An explanation for how that could work doesn't spring easily to mind, and it's a sensation so novel that his smile is, for a second, entirely genuine.

'A pint of bitter? If it does that. That'd be good.'

A pint of bitter, on a napkin to prevent condensation-rings on the woodwork, appears before him.

"And a cup of jasmine tea for me, Bar?" A fragrantly-steaming cup on a matching saucer appears promptly on the counter. "Thank you."

'That is...that is amazing.'

It really is, though behind the wonder on his face his brain is running through endless scenarios of how. A fictional bar at the end of the universe is one thing. An actual pint - real, undeniable - that one can drink is another. Where did it come from? His fingers twitch with the desire to understand, but he covers this by picking the glass up, with one of those near-silent huffs that people use instead of words at awkward moments.

'Well. Cheers!'

"If it makes you feel any better, no one ever really gets completely used to the place - there's always some surprise or another," she smiles, wryly, lifting her her teacup in a mirror-movement.

"Cheers," she agrees, and drinks.

'Is that right? What sort of thing goes on, if you don't mind my asking?'

He is very interested in what she might say. Very.

"I hear someone kidnapped a legendary figure known as Santa Claus from here, a few weeks ago, in an attempt to take over Christmas, and there was mistletoe that rooted anybody who walked under it to the floor until they were kissed," she says, figuring she might as well start with the most recent weirdness. She says 'Santa Claus' as someone not really familiar with the figure's significance.

"Occasionally there are minor epidemics of odd illnesses that might make you compulsively rhyme, or hallucinate that you're an entirely different person. Or, sometimes free food that has been left out might spontaneously turn you into something else or into a differently-gendered body for a few days. At holidays such as Halloween, April Fools, and Mardi Gras, sudden and unexpected - and compulsory - costume-changes have been known to occur. The library upstairs may very well be infinite, and the forest will turn you around if you go too far into it. There are fire-breathing demon rabbits in the woods, and weres are known to hunt out there during the full moon... I don't know how your world is with sentient non-humans, but there are also vampires who come here. They are... patrons, as much as anybody else."

Although more of a pain in the neck. So to speak.

"Those are just the things that I can think of off the top of my head. There is definitely more, though."

Edited 2014-12-29 22:35 (UTC)

....ohhhhhh, he is going to like it here. It's all he can do not to grin, so he doesn't try to stop it but instead turns it into one of wide-eyed amazement, with a hint of disbelief. A soupcon of wonder. The slightest hint of hapless curiousity.

'Do they just happen? I mean, is there any way to protect yourself? Sounds like at least some of that could be pretty embarrassing.'

And can one make things like this occur? He'll have to look into it, if there's good enough reason.

"It... can be embarrassing, sometimes," she'll admit, with a wry grin. "But for the most part, the patrons just roll with whatever comes at them, even if things get weird. Don't know of any way of protecting oneself against some of the weirdness that goes on, though. Staying indoors on the nights of the full moon is usually a good way to avoid being attacked by weres."

Rae shrugs a little. Most of the rest either happen to you or they don't.

"Would you like a cinnamon roll? They just came out of the oven a little while ago." The pastries on the tray are, in fact, humongous, warm and gooey, and smelling of melted cinnamon-sugar and vanilla icing.

He wants to go and play. He wants to go and plaaaaaaay.

He smiles instead, and turns his gaze to the cinnamon rolls.

...OK, subterfuge aside, those do look good, and smell better.

'I would. I have some money-' he digs his hands into his pockets to grab for change, pulling a handful of silver out.

'How much are they? I've never seen any that big in England - I suppose it's normal in America, though.'

She has an American accent, but he didn't miss the way 'Santa Claus' sounded alien from her mouth. Having just got here, he's not sure what that means - there could be any number of explanations why she's not used to speaking those words - but it is unusual.

"Nah," Rae waves away the money, settling one of the warm, gooey pastries onto a plate and offering it to him, with fork and napkin. "You're new. Call it a free taste-test."

"These are Cinnamon Rolls As Big As Your Head, a Sunshine Special. Don't know if you could find them in America. You can only find them at Charlie's Coffeehouse, where I work, in Independencia."

"That's... another thing about the bar. People come here from all sorts of different worlds, and different versions of worlds. And different times, too. I'm from an Earth, but its history is a lot different from some other versions I've heard of here, and the names of countries tend to be different. I'm from New Arcadia, Independencia, in early 2004."

'...?' he says, with his mouth full of cinnamon roll.

Because Jim - this version of Jim - digs right into pastries that look like this, and then make an embarrassed chuckle at the icing that's managed to get on to his chin.

'Oh,' he says, when he's wiped it off with the napkin. 'I'm going to have to spend half a day on the treadmill to get rid of this.'

He continues to eat it anyway, mentally calculating the calories and removing them from the meals he was going to eat for the rest of the week so that no extra running will have to be done.

A second and a half later, with that squared away in his head, he asks his question again.

'How's that possible?'

Rae smiles at his enthusiasm for the cinnamon roll.

"Who knows? The only answer I've got is 'magic' - which I know doesn't fly as an answer in some universes. But how else does an inter-dimensional bar that sometimes appears behind doorways in different universes, worlds, times, et cetera exist?"

"There are a lot of hypotheses about How It Works and What It All Means, but they're nothing more than that."

'...magic.'

He sounds amused, and disbelieving.

Internally, the notion angers him. Magic? Certainly worth investigating. But it's cheating. It's unfair. It...could be an interesting challenge.

'There's no such thing as magic where I'm from.'

"You're not alone in that," Rae remarks. "Some worlds have it, some don't. Mine happens to have it, along with a bunch of other stuff most worlds don't get."

They don't know how lucky they are.

"Oh! And before I forget - there are three rules to being in the bar. Just to help keep the peace, you know? First, no violence in the bar. Second, no outside business in the bar. And that's not the selling-cinnamon rolls type business, but the war and vendetta and nemeses type business. Thirdly, no public nudity or lewd behavior. There are rooms one can rent, for all that."

He looks kind of embarrassed about the rules - like, does he really seem the kind of guy who'd get naked in public? - and is definitely too hapless to have any kind of vendetta or nemesis to speak of.

'I don't think I've ever been in a fight in my life. And I've never been thrown out of a bar either. It should be fine.'

He bites some more cinnamon roll, watching her for a second. She's from a world with magic, so she warrants it.

'What's the other stuff most worlds don't get?'

"You'll be fine, either way." She grins wryly, but the Yeah, well, I'd never been in a bar fight before coming here either stays unsaid.

"My world has magic, but not the three-wishes-or-fairy-godmother type." They get all the mangling and malevolent types. "We've got Others. Which are sentient non-humans. Vampires, various kinds of demon, weres of all sorts, fallen angels, djinn, ogres, wights, incu- and succubi, fairies, and all those other Others. All sorts, plus all the part-blood Others," she shrugs, making a whatcha gonna do? face.

Jim can think of at least twenty things he could do with this information, and that's without trying. He can think of many more ways it which it would be a whole new challenge - one he might lose, which only makes it more interesting - but of course, none of this shows.

'That sounds...a bit much. But maybe it's OK if you're used to it?'

"Not that okay, really," Rae replies, apparently looking to be nominated for the understatement of the year award. "Something of a socio-political nightmare, to be honest."

Even aside from the massive loss of life.

It may make her a horrible person, but she is sometimes jealous of the worlds without them.

"What's your world like? You're from Albion - ah - England, right?"

It must be chaos. He loves the thought.

In response to her question, he just shrugs.

'It's boring.'

Not a lie.

'I mean, by your standards. Everything's very organised. Everyone's human, which helps I suppose. I don't know. People go to work, have kids, exist, die. Nothing very exciting.'

To put it mildly.

"I suppose anything one is used to is 'normal' to that person," Rae says, smiling slightly, not mentioning how many refugees from Albion have settled around New Arcadia since the Wars. "You'll certainly find excitement here."

"Generally people here are pretty friendly, and remember what it was like to be new here, so they're open to any questions you might have," she grins, finishing her cup of tea. As she sets the cup down, it disappears back into the Bar. "I've got to sell the rest of these cinnamon rolls before they go cold, but I'll likely see you around."

He watches the spot on the bar where the cup disappears long after it's gone, letting her words go in and then back out again.

'Oh. Yes! Of course, sorry. I'll see you around - thanks for, y'know.'

He gestures around at the place.

'I'd be lost otherwise. Appreciate it, Rae.'

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