milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Samantha's inna bar...atta booth!!

No paperwork this time, but a chocolate milkshake and what looks like a fingerprint kit and a remote control. She's cataloguing fingerprints, dog prints, hamster prints and cat prints off of the smooth back of the remote, for Tim.

Come and chat. Just don't knock over the powder.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Remiel needs no further invitation, and does, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

"That's very good of him -- it's not the most pleasant of fields, or so I've gathered."

"Yeah, but he enjoys it." Sam grins over at him, writing down names next to the samples on the paper. Samantha, Andrew, Mom, Tim and what looks like various animal names.

"I'm Samantha." Sam looks up and sticks her hand out to him.

"It would certainly be interesting."

He shakes the offered hand, smiling warmly.

"Remiel. Been here long?"

"I come here at least every week. I used to be Bound, and I was here for like...a month and a half. Then I went home, and was gone for four months, though it was just a week here..." Sam shakes her head and finishes the last fingerprint, marking it Andrew.

She looks up. "How about you?"

"A month or so, I think. Time's never really been an issue with me." One thing about being immortal. "Probably why I enjoy this place so much."

That, and confusing people is fun, although he'd never admit it.

"Well I'm glad you enjoy it. I hated it my first few weeks. I really wanted to go home." Sam puts the stuff in the bag.

Remiel nods.

"I can see how not being able to leave... would be a dampening on the whole thing. What sort of home do you come from -- if you don't mind my asking?"

"A...happy one? If somewhat weird." Sam nods.

The angel laughs softly at that. He hasn't gotten the hang of Milliways slang.

"Fair enough. A little strangeness makes the world turn 'round. Unless it's here, in which case, it does a lot more than that..."

Sam nods. "That's so true. Milliways is sooooo strange."

"I think that so far I've met some of the more normal-looking residents and visitors -- but the different worlds aspect, that's an entirely seperate animal."

He grins impishly.

"Same here. Not many furry animals or aliens I've met...a lot of people from another galaxy though. All the same other galaxy that is."

"From the same? That's unusual. Nice, though, if they all know each other. It'd cut down on Bound loneliness."

Of course, he should talk; there are a bunch of angels in the Bar.

"They do know each other...but a lot of them are from different times so it's weird." She shrugs. She and Andrew are from the same time, and really, that's all that matters.

"Oh. Well. That could be... awkward."

Remiel grins and imagines his own galaxy.

"'When you get to that theatre, Mr. Lincoln, duck.'"

Sam giggles. She shouldn't. It's not funny.

But it is. "That would've been nice for him to know before walking in..."

He grins broadly.

"Well, if we see him, we can warn him, then. Although I don't know how I'd start that conversation."

"Hi Mr. President...uh, duck when you get in the theatre?"

She giggles again. "I think he'd give us one of those what the hell expressions before running away..."

Remiel tilts his head, laughing softly.

"Oh, he'd run away, all right, but you know he'd be very honest about it."

"Wait, it was George Washington who was honest I thought. Or is there some quote I can't remember that Lincoln said?" Sam bites her lip, eyebrows raised.

"I think mortals have that phrase... 'Honest Abe?'" Remiel squints at the ceiling, pondering a moment. "Yes, I think that's it. He was my favorite united states president, anyhow -- good sense of humor."

"Oh you're right." Sam scrunches her face up. "I feel stupid. Sorry!"

She pauses. "Mortals? Did you...know Lincoln?"

Remiel grins. "Hey, your math continues to avoid me."

He shrugs, then. "Personally? Oh, no -- but I wish so, perhaps. Of him, sure, there... was a lot of activity there, during his presidency. A little hope, although not a lot of it..."

He has a special place in his heart for optimists and idealists.

"What are you?" Sam asks, fascinated.

Is there any subtle way to put it?

"I'm an, ah, archangel," Remiel grins, perhaps a tad embaressedly.