milliways_bar | (no subject)

The front door of Milliways shimmers and not so much opens as unfolds. Beyond, a ragged crowd boiling in the Arrakeen sunlight. A cloaked figure groans and staggers backward, clutching his chest, as another buries a crysknife in it. As the hooded one reaches the doorway, he seems to divide in half, with one part slumping to the dusty ground and another taking a teetering step across the threshhold. The door shimmers again and is closed. Another dead messiah has walked into the bar.

Rather than falling like his vanished twin, the cloaked man turns, revealing that the crysknife has also disappeared. Realizing that he isn't injured after all, he finds with a shock that he's no longer blind, either. Searching the room with his blue-in-blue eyes, he mutters, "I don't know this place." Its smell is too clean, too wet, and completely devoid of the Spice. He instinctively searches within for the future pathways that he knows shouldn't be there, and sees no future. Pathways abound, but all of them end beyond these walls or curve upon themselves into the past. For a minute that stretches into several, he marvels at this.

Utterly lost, Paul Atreides goes to the nearest empty table and sits, staring at the menagerie around him with a measured awe. Somebody buy this man a spiced beer.

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"I think it was a long time ago, but now it's just an excuse to have parties and sweets and wear costumes."

She shakes her head.

"I can leave and go with other people to their worlds, I just can't go back to my own. And everyone can go outside on Milliways grounds."

She points to the back door.

Ah, his nose takes in more moistness. A lake, then. He can almost see it already. First things first.

"Do you have accomodations here? If I am meant to stay, I'll need to find a room of my own." The unkempt stilsuit under his cloak wasn't designed to be worn in this kind of environment, either. If he had to live out of doors, however, that would suffice.

"Yes, there are guest rooms. I used to live in the attic, and Raph stays in a tent on the roof. Just go tell Bar what you'd like and she'll give you a key."

She blinks.

"Oh, yeah, you probably don't know that yet. The bar is sentient. So are the rats."

Jeremy the wait-rat skitters by and waves at them.

Curiouser and curiouser. The Mouse salutes his cousin.

"I have heard that the Bar is her own master. There is so much here that's strange to me. Pardon me if I am too familiar; but you remind me of the young women of my home." Soft, yet not the schemers who seek the gifts of Emperors.

She smiles softly.

"You're not too familiar, Paul. Do I? What are your people like?"

He imagines a youth in training and discipline, with no understanding of its bitter fruits.

"The people of Caladan were happy. Most were content to have families and farms. Those who lived on the seas had no greater loyalty than to their mates. My family was of the ruling class, but I often wished that I could have been born a poor fisherman's son."

"It sounds beautiful."

Her smile is a little sad now.

"I always try to remember how beautiful life can be."

Serious though his mood, Paul sympathizes. He brings himself a little closer to her.

"You and I may have lost the lives we had, but we are not finished living. You have friends here and other worlds to see? Make those worlds beautiful with your smile and your friends can be your new family."

"Yes, I have good friends here. And my work in Sheol. That helps a lot. And now I have a new friend in you."

She beams at him.

He straightens with enough embarassment to betray the lost boy hidden in the man. Surely there is no illusion in this girl's acceptance.

"You honor me. May that honor be worthy of your service."

Another answer unasked for.

"Since you have work, maybe you can help me find an occupation. I'm not a person who is comfortable with his thoughts alone."

No illusions. Gretchen's a mostly open book.

"The honour is mine, Paul."

He's a true gentleman. She likes that.

"Well, you could ask Bernard if he needs another bartender. Or talk to Tim about working in Security. What do you do?"

"I was the son of a Duke, and much more besides; but that is all behind me, I hope. If I may help to keep the peace, that would be a welcome change. Tim and Bernard, you say. Are either of them the owner of this tavern?"

"Bernard's head barman and Tim is head of Security. The Landlord owns the place. Nobody sees the Landlord."

"A prudent fellow, I'm sure."

He can investigate that another time.

"I thank you again for showing me such ready acceptance, but I think after I bother one of the rat-servants for another fill of my wine, I will see about the rooms. Will you be here again soon? I can't think of a more pleasant person with which to share a breakfast or a walk outside."

She nods.

"I'm visiting more often lately, and I'll join you whenever I can."

Jeremy scuttles by again and Gretchen hails him over.

"But I think I should be getting back now. My father will be looking for me."

"If you have a problem with anyone here, Gretchen, come to me. My blade is in your hands if you need it."

She smiles and blushes faintly again.

"Thank you, my dear duke."