milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Mouse is in the bar
Why is his mun not asleep?
This question is dumb

He's back from Antar
I think maybe you missed him
Or just didn't care

Today he has pie
Or maybe "tonight he has"
I really don't know

Please come talk to him
Because I think that I might
Be going crazy

[ooc: slowtime ow sleep thanks.]

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A tall blonde woman is sitting at the bar drinking coffee, wearing a standard government-issue black suit. She's looking over some papers, drinking coffee, and looking very much like an Agent.

She pauses a moment in her reading and looks in your direction. Then does something altogether creepy.

She subtly sniffs the air. Almost as if she's taking in your scent.

Jesus Christ, that's freaky. Goverment-issue black suits equal bad times for the Mouse man. And by 'bad times' I mean 'death.'

Mouse may be trying to make the distance between them greater using only his mind.

It may not be working.

Perhaps creepier, perhaps not, when she notices that she's making the young man nervous, she smiles sheepishly and quickly looks back down at her papers.

Since she's not actively trying to kill him, Mouse continues to eat his pie, occasionally glancing over to make sure that, yes, she is still not trying to kill him.

Mouse is a tiny bit paranoid.

Indeed, she continues not trying to kill him. Though she does glances over now and then, probably accidentally making him more nervous by trying to check is he's still creeped out.

Mouse reminds himself that he's already dead and that he can't die again.

Or can he?

It would probably be best for him to concentrate on his pie. But unfortunately he continues to be nervous. That's what happens when you have a bad experience. A bad experience with DEATH.

Maybe he'd be less nervous if she actually said something. At the very least, it might not make him think that she's looking at him like a piece of meat.

Meat. Dammit. Stop thinking about his meat.

"Hi."

She tries a friendly smile.

She doesn't sound like an Agent. Score one for relief.

"Uh, hi."

No, in fact, she sounds like she's from Tennessee.

"Sorry, I..."

She glances over him, noticing that he's far too skinny anyway. Not enough meat on his bones. Her gaze quickly goes back to his face.

"I'm... Jean."

That's briliant, Jean. Have you tried going out in public lately?

Yes! Scrawny! Please, no eating or whatever Jean does with meat. Mouse begs you. Plus, he's already dead.

"Mouse," he says. "Nice to meet you." Except for the part where he has a thing about people in government suits and can't get over the fact that his instinct is to run.

Polite conversation, now.

"You too. How long have you been" dead "here?"

Mouse thinks. "Since, uh... February bar-time. You?"

"Probably about the same time. Though I've been gone for a while. Old Gods showed up. Made me hesitant to come back."

"Um, Old Gods?" It's probably pretty clear Mouse doesn't know what she's talking about.

"Um. Extremely powerful beings who seek the destruction of all life. And supposedly, looking at their true faces drives you crazy."

"... that sounds pleasant."

"Not really. There was one here. Thought I'd make myself scarce for a while. They don't like my kind very much... though, honestly, they don't like anyone."

Mouse frowns. "I'll try to avoid them."

She smiles.

"Good plan. The one I saw was a really tall Egyptian-looking guy with black skin. If that helps."

"It might," he says.

"I, uh. Assume you're not from my world?" It's an invitation for the same old explanations.

"I actually have no idea. But probably not. Earth, 1990s. It's not very specific, in the grand scheme of dimensional travel."

Harper was over at his two tables, tinkering. When he spotted Mouse, he lifted his goggles and stared at him for a full minute.

"Weird."

It was like looking at himself, when he was fifteen, only Harper was much better looking.

He is not fifteen! Really!

Mouse glances over at the staring guy.

If Mouse was ever going to grow up, he would probably look a lot like this. Which... okay, weird is probably the best word for the situation. But what can you do?

"Hi."

That's one option.

Okay, now for the next awkward step.

"Want some tequila?"

...Actually, that wasn't that awkward. Hooray for alcohol!

"Sure." Because who doesn't love tequila?

"Seamus Zelazny Harper, ship's engineer and general guy from the future," Harper said. He didn't hold out his hand.

"And you like looke you came from the sort of shithole I grew up in."

"Uh, Mouse. Dead freedom fighter and programmer," he says. "I'm from Zion, I guess. Last human city, under the earth, that kind of thing. It was, uh... 2199-ish. I think." He doesn't know.

"Last human city? Aliens take over," Harper asked, pouring some tequila into a glass. He drank straight from the bottle himself afterwards. It was almost empty anyway.

Mouse takes a drink. "The machines, actually. We, uh, don't have aliens."

"...be thankful for the machines. Or at least as thankful as you can be for any sort of doom. Our aliens are technically human. Genetically enhanced, but human. And robots must be deadly--I'd know as I build 'em--but I doubt they can be as cruel as people," Harper said. "In my 'verse, Earth's enslaved by the Neitzscheans--genetic super-men. And other aliens--the Magog--make raid on the planet to eat everybody they can catch and lay their larva in their stomachs. While they're still alive. Isn't that cheerful?" A big fake grin.

"See, I just got shot. Which, while not fun, sounds a lot less painful than being eaten and getting larva in the stomach."

"Ouch." Harper winced sympathetically. "Can't exactly, ah, say I can sympathize, but I have come pretty damn close a few times. Have you ever been held hostage by a anti-tech cult? That's always fun."

To his credit, he did seem geniunely good-natured about it--largely because he was. He'd been beaten senseless and terrified, but he was alive and anything he walked away from he had a habit of joking about.

He downed some tequila, grinning slightly.

"Anti-tech cult?" Mouse blinks. "Can't say I've ever run into one of those. Or cults in general. We mostly had agents and sentinels to deal with back home. Which were bad. And, you know, deadly." He takes another sip of tequila.

"Oh man, it was this bunch yahoos that thought technology was evil, because the cult leader's dad got himself splattered with some tesseracting device he made. This guy was psycho--he injected a girl full of nanites--industrial ones used to strip ships' hulls--to torture her and prove how technology was the great Satan," Harper said. "Guy was a piece of freaking work."

Mouse shakes his head. "Crazy." He drinks some more tequila. "So you're a ship's engineer? What kind of ship?"

"The ship of ships--the crown jewel of the hopefully-soon-to-be-resurrected Commonwealth--the Andromeda Ascendant. A Glorious Heritage-class heavy cruiser. She's a beaut, she really is. We're talking 40 ELS missile tubes, 12 PDL 50Mw turrets, 12 AP cannons, 36 RF-42 Centaur tactical fighters, 76 RA-26 Shrike strike fighters, 12 AF/A-29 Phoenix atmospheric attack crafts, 16 ES-115 Oracle heavy sensor/attack drones, 8 ES-14 Janus light sensor/attack drones, 6 Radiating Counter Measure generators. And don't get me started about the sensors," Harper said, as if talking about a woman's boobs. "And the ship's AI's really hot. I made her a android body."

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