milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: shock'd (*wink*)

(no subject)

As Anton Vowl gasps his last, his first sight is that of not a light, but of a door. His hand grasps a doorknob not of his own volition, and swings it outward to grant him a vision of what is within.

His first opinion is that of shock. "What? My soul's passing brings it to a bar, a pub? No choir? No pitchforks? What sort of post-mortal vista am I caught in?"

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Hullo. What brings you to Milliways?

"Milliways?" says Anton. "Is that what you call this? An odd location to stay for all infinity. All souls pop in to this bar upon passing?"

It looks as though it is only souls who should, who pass through. Bar is particular about who pops in...

"Bar. An odd way to talk about God. But it looks as though all our world's rabbis and friars had got it all wrong."

Bar.
*Points*
Also, Landlord. It's how it is at Milliways.

"Ah. A bar. Can souls drink? Or is this a torturous purgatory in which drinks spring up but a man cannot satisfy his thirst?"

Drink as you wish. May I buy you your first round?

"As I own nothing, having only just 'bought it', that is, as a man might say, 'savvy'."

I am sorry for your loss. How did it occur, if you don't mind my asking?

"It was an assassination by kin. But that, I shall talk about soon. First, a drink."

Ask away.

"For now? Anything. Oh... anything. A soul's passing is traumatic."

I would think so.

*Looks at Bar*

A dry martini, s'il vous plait.

Anton jumps back in shock as a dry martini pops in out of thin air. Attaining control again, his arm grasps it.

"My thanks, madam. I'm sorry, though, for I am a boor; I had not told you who I am. Anton Vowl. And you?"

I am Euterpe, muse of music.

"Ah! A musician. And not just any, but music's originator? I honor you, Lady."

Music's curator, truthfully.

"A minor distinction. Though I might put across shock that such a traditional myth would crop up in such an untraditional location. What sort of laws hold sway in this twist on what I had thought to find upon my passing?"

No laws of mortal man. The laws of Milliways follow our Landlord's will. It is simply as things occur. I am at Milliways, for no obvious goal, but that our Landlord wants it so.

"And who is this Landlord, this man in back of a curtain, for whom all mortals act as tools?"

Not as tools. Our Landlord is Main Administrator of all things. God, in basic words.

"But all mortals act as tools for God. Is this guy hiding, or is our Landlord among us?"

I don't think our Landlord is a bar patron. I think our Landlord looks in on us, but stays out.

"A pity. I admit to curiosity as to his motivations."

As do I, but it is not my position to ask that.

"Truly? I thought man would pick up that sort of wisdom upon his passing. Is all dogma thusly so unsound?"

I did not pass away. I cannot pass away, music is immortal.

"Oh! You mistook my words, Lady. I was not talking about you."

I am sorry, I mistook you.

"No harm, no foul, madam."

Good philosophy.

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