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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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.

'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.

"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."

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.

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."

Edited 2014-12-29 20:20 (UTC)

"The universe," she says, sympathetically. Rae remembers how it is, first finding yourself suddenly far away from home. "I'm not sure where you came in from, but you're not there now."

"If it makes it any better, tradition states that a newcomer's first drink is free. Some need it, too - it helps with the shock."

'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.

"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."

'...yeah, I think a drink might be a really good idea, actually. I mean, I'm not much of a - the odd pint here and there, you know, but-'

He watches someone's lips move over at the bar, reads the word Atlantean, and things from a book read long ago click into place.

'I was just in London. In a hospital. I work in I.T. I don't know how I opened a door to...here.'

Edited 2014-12-29 20:34 (UTC)

"You opened a door - this place did the rest," she replies, wry. "Milliways chooses who gets to come here, by some odd logic of its own."

"If you'll follow me over to the bar, we can get you that drink and I can tell you about ordering from the bar."

Since there isn't a bartender in sight.

'You mean...kinda not like a pub at all? Only-'

He gestures around helplessly, the epitome of a slightly awkward Englishman in an alien place.

'-with beer, and stuff?'

"Well, I was thinking more as a dirty, weird-smelling place that sells alcohol you don't know the name of, is packed way too full of strangers that your mother wouldn't speak to, and has a rotating cast of cats, dogs, rats, and probably bats, if you climb the stairs high enough. Or find a chimney."

Confidingly --

"Maybe I've visited too many taverns, now I think of it."

'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?"

'...if you put it like that, then-'

He dissolves into an uneasy chuckle, and his eyes flit around the place again. They've been doing that a lot since he arrived, and not just because its part of the disguise.

'I think maybe I haven't been to enough. But I don't know any in London that sound like that.'

'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!'

"Considering I don't know whether London is a city, a country, or a planet, I don't think any explanation or guess of mine will shed any light on the differences."

She laughs again, smiling and tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I'm Ysalwen Surana. Not that that's likely to make anything clearer, either. Except maybe future conversation. In a way."

"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.

'Oh, I'm sorry. I suppose I shouldn't assume...I mean, I can't even guess at where you might be from.'

No more than twenty guesses, anyway.

'London's a city. The capital city of England, which is a country on Earth.'

He says this in an entirely helpful voice, but his eyes are sharp in order to catch her reaction.

'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.

"Earth seems to be a common answer, here, though you sound about as Fereldan as I do, which has begun to seem odd, here, I'll admit."

Dalish sound Welsh and Irish, Orlesians are French, and Antivans are generally Spanish.

Qunari and Dwarves are American or Canadian. Not both.

"What kind of a country is England?"

'Sorry, what's...Fereldan?'

Usually when he asks what something is, it's to cover that he already knows it. This time, it is not the case. He observes the sensation from a distance, almost admiring it.

'Oh, and I'm Jim. Didn't mean to ignore that bit. England's...y'know, small. It's part of an island. Nondescript, these days.'

Boring. For the most part.

"Fereldan is the word for people from Ferelden. It's my country. Well, not mine, but it's the country where I was born. Denerim is the city. I grew up on Lake Calenhad, however, in the Circle Tower there. It's called Kinloch Hold officially, I guess, but I never bothered."

Liranan turns his head and barks once, loudly. He caps it off with a growl.

Ysalwen does not like the Tower. At all. He remembers.

"Only part of an island? That sounds -- tiny, I'm sorry to say. Huh. Are they all humans, the people who live in your England?"

Edited 2014-12-29 22:08 (UTC)

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