milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Merriman has settled into a chair near the fire, book in hand and the day's newspaper tucked under one arm. But the fire seems to be more interesting than the book, most of the time.

Those who come close enough might notice a little paper poppy carefully pinned to the lapel of his suit-jacket.

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'Indeed, Mr Murry,' Merriman replies. 'There are a few other rules for this place, most of which should be fairly self-explanatory. No violence within the bar itself. No sexual intercourse or nudity within the bar itself. Not a rule that you think would be violated often, but it is there for a reason.'

He keeps his expression overly neutral, and continues. 'And no "business" within this place -- which most often means that if your worst enemy should walk through that door, neither he nor you would be permitted to continue your quarrel so long as you both remain here.'

". . .I have to wonder what sort of place I've stumbled across that requires a set of rule like that."

'Considering some the patrons this place attracts, you may find yourself very glad of the rules one of these days,' Merriman says, a note of warning creeping into his voice. 'Not everyone here is what they seem to be.'

A small wave of his hand, indicating the bar and everyone in it. 'It keeps the peace, for the most part. Or at least keeps the anarchy to a manageable level.'

He raises his eyebrows and nods. "People often aren't."

Merriman nods, and a flicker of light that may not be entirely a reflection of firelight glints in his gaze.

'Ah, yes, one further thing,' he says. 'The door through which you entered...can you still see it? As in, is it still there?'

He glances back towards the door.

"Yes. Should I not be able to?"

'You should, but some cannot. It is known here as being Bound, when you either cannot see the door or it will not open for you. No-one is certain why or how it happens, but as a general rule the door will open again after a time.' One corner of his mouth quirks. 'One of the inexplicable mysteries of this place.'

He frowns. "I see. Thank you for the advice, Professor."

His expression clears, and he nods to the poppy pinned to Merriman's lapel. "Veteran's Day, right? Or -- Rememberance Day?"

One hand reaches up, absently, to touch the little paper flower. 'Yes. Remembrance Day. For both the dead and the living.'

Charles nods. "And then, he said, the angels run/ To see the poppies in the sun."

He smiles slightly. "Wrong poem, I know."

'The devil has not any flower,/ But only money in his power,' Merriman quotes in turn, thoughtfully. 'Though I would say that the devil tends to have more than money to hand, at times.'

"Yes. But the angels are well-equipped, I'd say."

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