First EP

[god_of_talking_crap]

The door opens to admit a short ("dwarfish" has been used as an adjective...), attractive blond man on a cell phone, speaking in a New Zealand accent. "Hang on, Ty. Ty, you're breaking up...." He makes a staticy noise into his phone. "I...-ink... -osing you..."

And then he hangs up the phone and tucks it into his pocket, looking around the room with a grin. "Have they done a bit of redecorating, then?"

This is not the bar he'd thought he was visiting.



[ooc: Anders has some slightly godly powers. You can read about them here!]

Comments

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

There's a man behind the bar. Well, he's not technically a man, but he's male and washing up pint glasses, so it still roughly works.

When the small, obviously new person stops lying down his phone, Sahaal leans forward and clears his throat.

"The first drink is free."

That's always a good way to start the conversation, he's found.

[god_of_talking_crap]

Close enough to a man that Anders is going to just accept that.

He will also assume Sahaal is engaged in some sort of cosplay.

"I never turn down a free drink," he says, sliding onto a stool. "Scotch, neat, double."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Cosplay is probably the best way to explain the Roman Legion-esqe tunic and workman's trousers. And welding goggles.

It takes Sahaal a couple of moments more than he'd admit to remember what 'neat' and 'double' mean in the context of drink orders. More mundane alcoholic beverages aren't too common around here. He gets it right, though. Even if he's fighting the urge to add ice right until he slides the glass across the counter.

"So what brings you here, then?"

[god_of_talking_crap]

Anders lifts his glass and takes a good, long drink. "This isn't enough?" he asks, gesturing with his glass. "Is it new management in here or...?"

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"No. Same management as it's always been."

He smirks. "For most patrons here, and I include myself, it isn't. But, then again, the drinks selection is rather excellent."

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Just fancied a change of scenery?"

He's sure this bar used to be smaller...

"Why do you come to a bar if not for the drinks? Girls?"

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Again, Sahaal needs to a minute to realise what the man is on about.

"Girls? Of course not. And you would do well not to think like that during your time here. The female patrons have a... way with harm, shall we say?"

Then the seriousness drops from his manner, and the little smile returns. "In a manner of speaking. Is that enough of a scenery change for you?"

He gestures to the far window, and the End of All Possible Things behind it. Which is glowing a sort of red-orange tonight.

[god_of_talking_crap]

Anders arches an eyebrow, grinning. "Dangerous, eh? I do like a challenge." Nothing in his life has, as yet, managed to dissuade him from always trying in this particular arena.

He turns on his stool to see the window, and for a moment, he just...drinks his scotch.

There are some things that require scotch before they can be accepted.

"Don't suppose the second drink's free as well?" he asks, setting his empty glass on the bartop and sliding it over.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

The smile gets bigger, and slightly less pleasant. "On your head be it. Don't say I didn't warn you."

But, past the slight lechery, Sahaal's quietly impressed. Not many people have such a restrained reaction to the end of the universe.

"No, it's not. But we take whatever currency you have on you."

[god_of_talking_crap]

Anders is just going to keep his eyes on that window while he fishes in his pocket for his wallet and slides a stack of cash that probably covers his drink and a bit over the counter behind him.

"It's not, like, a film or something, eh?"

He's not not freaking out. He's just doing it very quietly. Deep down.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

None of the banknotes are familiar to Sahaal, but they look like legal tender, so he slots them in the register. That being said, he's never heard of the nation-state claiming to back them. New Zealand sounds like a suspiciously made-up name to him.

"No, it's real. Don't worry, the window is nearly a meter thick, anything less than a high-explosive tank shell wouldn't scratch it."

[god_of_talking_crap]

"And no chance you're hiding a tank in the kitchen?"

He's going to turn back around sloooooooooooooooowly. It's totally not because looking at the window makes the part of him that's Bragi feel a little too comfortable.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"All the tanks are down in the garage. Last time I checked."

Sahaal favours the man with a deadpan look. He's telling the truth, but the new patron doesn't know that.

[god_of_talking_crap]

"There's a garage as well, is there?"

He can deadpan back. Or, well, it's a smirky sort of deadpan, that gives no indication of how seriously he's taking the bit about the tanks.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Mm-hmm. It's below us, accessible through the cargo lift behind and to your left. The halls have practically every vehicle you could ever wish for. Don't ask me how they got there, though."

The deadpan lifts, replaced by the serious, slightly laconic tone of someone conveying simple facts.

[god_of_talking_crap]

"How big is this place?" He looks around. It...looks like a normal bar.

You know. Except for the external destruction.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

The Night Lord shrugs. "No one's quite sure. Parts seem to go on forever, and Outside is almost certainly some sort of pocket dimension. From what I can find, Milliways is built inside a hollowed-out asteroid, but there's no reference to its size anywhere."

And that's not even mentioning the sections warped by magic, or that have thrown the laws of physics out of a metaphorical window. The fact that it looks like a normal bar just makes everything else even stranger.

[god_of_talking_crap]

He's going to take another drink now. A long one.

"So, one quick question," he says. "If I step back out the door, will I be in Auckland again? Or...I don't know...Asgard or something?"

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"If this Auckland is where you came from, then yes. You'll go back through and come out exactly where you came in."

At least, that's how it works for Sahaal. Sometimes the door changes, but the less said about that, the better.

[god_of_talking_crap]

Anders leans back a little to look his bartender over. "I'm guessing you didn't come in from Auckland, then?"

Cosplay seemed way more likely before that window.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal shakes his head. "No. I came through over a year ago, from the 41st Millennium. I've never heard of your Auckland."

Very few people would be able to cosplay a mix of Earth clothing and off-duty Astartes Legionary. If that's any consolation.

[god_of_talking_crap]

"I'm honestly not surprised we don't last another two thousand years," Anders says, though he's more than a little surprised that anything does.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Perhaps you don't, I wouldn't know. This place doesn't link times, it links universes. Some mundane, others not."

While that's not a good way to break the multiverse to someone, Sahaal struggles to conceptualise it at the best of times. Basic explanations are the best he can give this poor bastard.

[god_of_talking_crap]

Anders holds up one finger like he's going to ask a question, then he seems to think about it a moment longer and nods.

"Actually, that makes sense. Ta."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Of course. It's no problem."

Sahaal pauses. Behind his welding goggles, his eyes defocus, thinking of what to say next.

"I'm Sahaal." he says, holding out a pale hand lined with scars, "Who might you be?"

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Anders," he says, taking the hand and shaking it firmly. It's a businessman's handshake, firm and decisive.

"So 41st millennium. What's that like?"

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal shrugs. "A war-torn hellhole dominated by a totalitarian empire and foul, corrupting gods that I'm glad to have left behind. What about this Auckland of yours?"

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Beautiful beaches. Decent women. People jump off buildings for fun."

He shrugs. It's not his fault his home is better.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Jumping off buildings? Is that a sport, or do you just have a high suicide rate?"

He's genuinely intrigued. Chalk it up to centuries of being an assault trooper who jumped out of dropships on a normal day.

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Mostly sport," says Anders, who has never once thought to wonder what the suicide rate in Auckland is. "I reckon a few get roped into it for a stag do."

Sounds like a waste of a stag do to Anders.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Sounds fun. I might have to try it some day."

Of course, Sahaal doesn't really get out of Milliways much, so that probably won't ever happen.

"What's a stag do?"

[runningred]

Jay chuckles, sipping his coffee and reviewing the blue prints he has spread out in front of him. "That's one way to end a boring conversation."

[god_of_talking_crap]

Anders grins. "You'd think he'd catch on after a while, but no."

Gesturing around the room, he adds, "Have they remodeled?"

[runningred]

"Depends." Jay shrugs. "Have you been to Milliways before or do you think you're in a different bar?"

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Milliways? Funny name for a bar. Last I was here, it was called...Lotus? Dahlia? Some kind of flower."

He just thought of it as "the bar down the street from work."

[runningred]

"Bar at the End of the Universe." Jay points to the Observation window. "More multiverse pocket dimension than most bars but the beer is always cold."

[god_of_talking_crap]

"And that is really all that matters," says Anders, who wasn't even listening to most of that statement.

[runningred]

Jay chuckles and nods to the bar. "Beer first, explanations later. And don't worry about the fact there's no-one at the bar. The bar's alive and a lady, who should be treated as such. Just ask her for what you want."

[god_of_talking_crap]

"I always treat a lady like a lady," Anders says with a grin that suggests his definition of 'lady' is either very broad or very narrow. "What's on tap here, eh?"

[runningred]

"Anything you can think of to ask for." Jay shrugs. "But there's an Australian beer I quite like." He orders a pint for each of them.

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Cheers," Anders says, lifting his glass in a salute before taking a sip.

Once he's satisfied with the beer, he says, "I'm Anders, by the way. Anders Johnson."

[runningred]

"Jason Todd. But everyone calls me Jay. I'm the bar's mechanic in resident."

[god_of_talking_crap]

"The bar needs a mechanic?" Anders asks, head cocked.

[runningred]

"Depends what you're into. And what you need. I do everything from custom motorcycles to... well, high end combat equipment."

[god_of_talking_crap]

"Yes, but why?" Anders asks. "It's a bar not a speedway."

[runningred]

Jay grins. "Yeah, but it has one hell of a garage!"

[death_gone_mad]

A red-haired, sun-kissed woman enters via the bar room's back door carrying two heavy looking burlap bags over her shoulders and wearing a purple sun dress.

When she gets to the actual bar, she places the bags on the countertop along with several small greyish round stones. "There is your share with something extra for you."

The bags and stones vanish and the woman speaks again. "I'll take my usual order of provisions and a Slayer's Respite while I wait," she seems to say to the bar. Bar answers back with a glass mug full of a greenish tinted ale.

"Ah, there you go," says the woman before sitting on a barstool and getting started on quaffing the beer.

It is then that she hears and then sees the short man. Or tall dwarf. Its not usual that they are this pretty. She's sure she hasn't seen him in here before, but then again she has been avoiding coming inside. The holidays in here are just awful. Either way she isn't going to give him the introduction speech. She's awful at introductions; she is better at saying goodbye.

And this guy is horrible at goodbyes, judging by what he did with that communication device.

She realizes she's staring, and decides to turn it into a half-hearted You're in the wrong bar, mate glare then checks the rest of the room, to see if 'they', whoever they are, haven't actually redecorated since the last time she was here.

She looks back at him and gives him a comical looking shrug. It's sometimes hard to tell, if you are in the habit of looking in the wrong directions. One of the hazards of divinity is that you can occasionally do so.

[god_of_talking_crap]

This guy is excellent at goodbyes when he doesn't care about the person on the other end of them. Ty, on the other hand, is family. So Anders has to pretend to be nice, at the very least.

New decor aside, Anders is in need of a drink. Dawn has been yammering at him all morning about how she doesn't want to stand guard while a team of workmen paint a vodka company's logo on the side of a volcano, and he really had to get away from there. Every time he tried to calm her down, she'd leave the room and come back fuming in an hour.

He spots the bar and heads straight for it.

Aaaaaand he's being watched. When he catches her eye, he smiles, slow and confident, and subtly changes his course to slide onto the stool next to hers.

"Hello, I'm Anders."

Because what exactly happened to the bar is clearly of secondary concern.

[death_gone_mad]

She smells like cocoa, sweat, and smoke. Sorry, she hasn't even thought of taking a shower or bath yet.

She looks down at Anders with raised eyebrows. "Hello, I am Sarah. Do you come here often? I don't recognize you, but I haven't been coming here as often as I used too."