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Alana Bloom takes a long time to screw up her courage. She tells herself that she's only leaving a note--just an inquiry, really--and eventually gathers her wits and figures out what she wants to say.

To whom it may concern,

My name is Alana Bloom, and I have frequently suffered harassment at the hands of one Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He is from my world and often tortures me about events from there that occur in his timeline--specifically my future. Does this count as outside business?

I appreciate any advice you care to impart on this matter. Thank you for your kind attention and quick response.

Dr. Alana Bloom

After she drops the note off at the bar, Alana takes a seat there. Bar offers her a latte, and she sips at it gratefully while waiting for someone from Security to respond, her knee jiggling.

[OOC: Open to all, and open forever.]

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"Agreed, boredom is a real problem here," Alana says, not without sympathy. "If you find a way to relieve it, let me know. I've done Sudoku--math puzzles--but those only go so far."

"Just as I have tried reading. I have read every novel my friend Ariadne Oliver wrote, even the ones she wrote after my passing. And many others, novels and biographies works such as this.

"But after a while, the words blur together. It almost makes me long for the radio or the cinema."

"Surely you can order radios from Bar? Though I don't know if you'd be able to tune into stations," Alana says, puzzled. "I've never thought about that before. I know you can order films from Bar and devices to play them on, but it's not the same as experiencing the cinema, I realize."

"If these devices are like the one above the bar, it would not be the same, not at all." Though it is a far sight better than the television that existed before the war. "And the cinema was not the theatre."

"The cinema wasn't the theater?" Alana says, tilting her head. "Forgive me my ignorance, but what were they?"

"The cinema is the films. The theatre is what is live. And is often of a better quality." To him cinema is melodrama, or cheap comedy. Theatre is Shakespeare, at least sometimes, or Moliere or Voltaire. (Though on two occasions, it was Ariande Oliver's novels reduced to something unintelligible.)

"Ah, I see," Alana says, nodding thoughtfully. "I'm sorry I didn't make the distinction. Did you often attend the theater?"

"A few times a year, back before Captain Hastings moved to Argentina. We would see some musicals, and some fine plays. Noel Coward's work was most interesting." That feels like it was a lifetime ago.

Alana eases into a smile. "I haven't heard of Noel Coward. What made his work so fascinating?"

"His works are very witty and often funny, but he does not flinch from showing people as they are, instead of creating the stick figures." He appreciates anyone who refuses to hide from the world behind glib and childish fiction.

"That's admirable," Alana says, beaming at him. "I shall have to read some of his work. Thank you for the recommendation. Perhaps when I leave here and am settled, I shall have to take you to the theater in my world."

"That would be most kind, though I have not thought about what the future offers.

"And you are clearly from my future, judging by the clothes and the technology you speak of." Fashion has changed greatly in ways anyone, not just a great detective, would notice.

"Yes, if you're anywhere near the Great War, I'm far past you," Alana says, nodding thoughtfully. "I come in from 2013."

"Far past me, though my death was not long after the Second World War." And he is rather relieved that thus far no one has told him of a third such war. "But the world you come from is not doubt vastly changed from the one I died in, and the one I was born to."

"Vastly changed is right," Alana says, not unkindly. "Has anyone told you about the internet?"

"I do not know that term." Indeed, few had offered much detail of anything.

[ooc: offline till tomorrow night.]

"Do you know about computers?" Alana says, tilting her head. "The internet is a network of billions of people connected together. You can access vast stores of knowledge or opinions, purchase items to be delivered to your home or business, or watch videos or listen to music."

[OOC: See you then!]

"My, such a thing! The people I knew at...a special location during the war would be most impressed that their computers became such a thing." He was privy to some information about Bletchley Park's "bombes" but even dead, he won't talk about such privileged information. "The police, I assume, use this network?"

"I'm sure they do," Alana says, lacing her fingers together in front of her. "The police all have websites--virtual places which tell people what businesses are about--which have their phone numbers and addresses, just in case someone needs to find their physical location. And public records are searchable on the internet."

"But surely they use such networks of information for research. And to share information with each other and not the public." That is how police always work, at least up to a point.

"I'm the wrong person to ask about the inner workings of police forces," Alana says, not unkindly. "But I suspect you're right, and they do use such information on an inside level."

"Ah. Pardon me for such questions. But my friend Inspector Japp would undoubtedly say, once a copper, always a copper." Poirot's impersonation of a lower class if successful Scotland Yard detective is rather imprecise.

"Don't worry, I wasn't offended," Alana says, easing into a smile. "They were good questions; they made sense in context. I just wish I could answer them better. I suspect Bar could get you a computer connected to the internet of someone's world, so you could see websites belonging to police forces around the planet."

The great detective thinks on this. "Non. I think for now, I should take the hint and remain retired. And perhaps explore this Internet some other time." Technology, while useful, was never his thing.

"Let me know when you do," Alana says, smiling again. "I can probably walk you through it."

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