(no subject)

[readsthearticles]

The man who comes through the door staggers for a step or two, looking drunk--or looking like someone who didn't expect to shift so abruptly between sea and land. He makes a remarkably quick recovery, though, and threads his way to the bar, looking only mildly dazed. (Okay, not so mildly dazed. Just plain dazed.)

It's a good thing the Bar has a welcome pamphlet waiting right there for the newcomer. With a glass of rum. It's going to take a stiff drink and a lot of reading to make sense of what just happened.

Comments

[irish_vagabond]

Cassidy is slouching at the bar, a hand curled 'round a whiskey bottle, watching some kind of...octopus soap opera?...on the television.

"--Nah, she's your spawn, don't do it, mate!" he says at the TV. "Ahh, Jaysus, seriously? That's how you treat your own flesh an' blood? Oh, that's cold, that's cold."

He takes a swig of whiskey.

As he does so, he notices the large man with the pamphlet, his eyebrows going up a little. He hasn't seen one of those since he himself first got here.

"Oh, hey, you're new here, eh?"

This time he's addressing the man.

[readsthearticles]

"Yeah," the big guy says, not looking up from the pamphlet for a moment. Then he properly notices that he's being spoken to, and raises his eyes. "Yeah. I guess you could say that."

The pamphlet says in no uncertain terms that this isn't a dream. But that's...kind of what something in a dream would say, isn't it?

[irish_vagabond]

"Oh, cool," Cassidy replies with good cheer. "Ain't often that I meet first-timers."

He slides over a couple barstools and offers the man a tattooed hand to shake. Actually both his arms are covered in the seemingly random inked images.

"Welcome to Milliways an' all that. Name's Cassidy. Where're you comin' in from?"

[readsthearticles]

Yeah, all right. He shakes the man's hand, sizing him up while he does. Tall, skinny, Irish. Nice work there on the tattoos. Billy hasn't gone in for much of that himself, but he can appreciate solid work. (Which, by 1715 shipboard standards, Cassidy's definitely is.)

"The Walrus. On the way out of the cabin, must have hit my head."

(The undreamlike feel of the handshake does trouble him a little, but he sets that aside for now.)

[irish_vagabond]

It's a hearty handshake, to be sure.

"What, is that is ship?" Cassidy asks as he takes in the man's clothing and not quite being able to place him. He himself is going for a rather timeless grunge look consisting of an old t-shirt and baggy sweatpants.

"If you're blaming a bump on the noggin for the sudden appearance of a pub on your ship, I'm afraid you'll hafta rethink that, mate. Your door, there? It's a portal that actually brought you to the bar at the end of the universe. A bit of magic, a bit of science, who the hell knows how it works, I sure don't, I just come here through me own door, too, like most others you'll meet. An' hey, the Bar herself, she already gave you a drink on the house. It's a nice way to cope with the onset of shock and/or confusion, I think."

A hearty ramble, as well.

[readsthearticles]

"Right. Yeah. That's just what it says in the pamphlet here. There's a magic portal that brought me to the tavern at the end of the universe."

Oh, you know what, fuck it, just...just fucking smile and nod, Billy.

"Well. That's great. So you're coming here from Ireland, or you've been around a bit?" He can't really place Cassidy's clothing either, or anything but the man's accent. (Billy's got his own period-piece-TV historical grunge going on: loose coarse-woven shirt, miscellaneous beads and bracers and other bits of weathered leather. The big dagger shoved in his belt might stand out a bit.)

[irish_vagabond]

"There ya go, see? There's lots of shite here that straight-up defies any sort of logical explanation, so don't even waste your energy. Basically the quicker you take things at face value, the better off you'll be. Eh?" He grins crookedly and takes another swig of whiskey straight from the bottle.

"As for me? No, no, I left Ireland a long time ago. Livin' in America now, traveled all over, moved from city to city. Right now I've stopped in a little town in Texas." Tilting his head at him, he then asks, "What about you, where's your ship at?"

He has a feeling it's not, like, a cruise ship or something.

[childofrebellion]

Cassian's working on his datapad and notices Billy's approach, he tries to keep an eye on any new patrons. When he's given a pamphlet, Cassian heads to the counter to get a refill on his caf and says. "That helping?"

He has a blaster at his hip, he's in his black leather jacket as he's currently on a planet where he needs to look the part of a down and out pilot.

[readsthearticles]

"Yeah," he says automatically. Sure it's helping. "The rum is, anyway."

You wouldn't see anything exactly like Cassian's outfit in Nassau, but still, there's a look to him that's familiar to Billy, even down to the blaster--though he's giving it a considering look. Never seen a gun like that.

[childofrebellion]

"Its good rum. Where did you come in from?"

He notes how his blaster is getting a longer look, so he's guessing this man's from a place with a different technology level.

[readsthearticles]

Billy's got a very serious-looking knife in his belt, but he's wondering if he's under-armed. Still, this guy doesn't seem like he's looking for a fight. "About a day out from Nassau," he answers. "What about you?"

[childofrebellion]

"Monhudle, mining planet. Day out, what kind of vessel are you on?"

The way he walks seems like someone who doesn't spend a lot of time planetside. Cassian never looks for a fight, but he knows how to find them, they can provide good distractions.

[readsthearticles]

"She's a full-rigged ship. We carry various goods." It's a non-committal answer; he's a little hesitant to casually announce his career of capital crime. "Did you say--mining--"

what now?

[curlytop]

George, who missed the welcome pamphlet himself, is a few seats down, and he watches the entrance with a sort of muted glee. He's never seen someone arrive for the first time before.

He nods to the man. "You all right, mate?" His accent is Scottish, his build very tall and reasonably broad, and his smile friendly and easy.

[readsthearticles]

"Yeah, fine." ...No, not really. "Just great. Nice...tavern here."

He eyes the guy, wary but not defensive.

[curlytop]

"Aye. It's a lot to take in," George says, with a smile like someone who's had to take all that in as well.

"I'm George," he says, offering his hand. "George Lovelace."

[readsthearticles]

Well, all right. "Billy," he answers, friendly enough, and shakes hands. "Where you coming from, George?"

[curlytop]

"Well," George says. "That's...a little complicated. I'm from Scotland originally, but I was in Idris when I, ehm, came here."

He really doesn't want to freak out the new guy with the whole 'Hi, I'm dead' speech.

[readsthearticles]

"Idris." He shakes his head. "Don't think I know it. I sail out of Nassau."

[runningred]

Jay wheels a very black motorcycle in from the gardens, shaking off red, full face helmet as he crossed to the bar. "Coffee please, love." He asks the bar before nodding to the newcomer. "Hey. How's it going?"

[readsthearticles]

Okay, that's pushing the limit of things Billy can just roll with, even in a dream. The helmet, the motorcycle...nope.

".........Yeah."

That's how it's going.

[runningred]

Jay sheds his jacket, bulky and slightly armoured and lays it over the back of a chair. Beneath it he's wearing a sleeveless tee, his arms and scars showing.

"I take it you're still processing. I'm Jay, the bar's resident mechanic. If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask. It can be pretty wild, the first time around."

[readsthearticles]

"...Yeah."

Okay, right. Dream or not, time to stop gaping. "I'm Billy. Where are you coming from?"

[runningred]

"Singapore, at the moment. But I'm from the East Coast of America originally. 2008 if that helps."

[readsthearticles]

Singapore doesn't ring a bell--they're in a bit of a lull in the early 1700s, and Billy hasn't spent much time in that part of the world anyway. But "east coast of America" gets a slightly amused smile. "All up and down the coast, then?"

("Two thousand eight" doesn't even sound like a year to him, so that one hasn't sunk in yet.)