milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Look!

There's an Ermengarde sitting at the bar with a cup of tea, people-watching and humming what could well be a Christmas carol under her breath. If you look very closely, you can just see the snowflakes melting in her hair.

Come say hi. You know you want to.

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Rod is very much in the habit of people watching. It's how he fills his notepad full of notes. A glass of whiskey sits next to him as he writes down notes in one hand and holds a cigarette in another.

He's quite deep in the act of writing.

Perhaps drawn by the deepness of said writing, her eyes settle on him and she cocks her head, watching. Ermengarde, gasp, is intriuged. She is also, however, very British, so instead of jumping right in with a 'What are you writing?' she settles instead on:

"Good evening."

Rod stops writing long enough to glance him, grin, and say, "Hello. How are you this evening?"

"I'm lovely, thank you. It's been snowing," she pauses to let the wonderfulness of such a thing sink in. Okay, so in London snow turns into muck and slush withint seconds, but still. "And yourself?"

"Busy," he says with a slight smirk, still writing. "Too busy to stop and enjoy the snow, I'm afraid."

"Ah. Well, it might not even be snowing where you come from."

A pause for tea-sipping purposes.

"Are you writing someting interesting?"

"Actually I'm taking down notes for something I will write later. This place really gives you a full range of things to write about."

She laughs. "Yes, it does rather. If someone were to write it all down it would make a fantastic story. Is that what you are doing?" she adds eagerly.

"Yes. Writing stories."

Weird inter-dimensional stories, but, you know.

"Oh, are you an author?" Further intrigue.

"More like a narrator. I observe things that happen in my environment, and then I commentate on them, if you will."

"So then like a journalist? Articles and editorials?"

He shook his head, grimacing a little. "It's...difficult to explain what I do, exactly."

"Well," she laughs slightly, "you could always try, and then if you fail we can go on to other matters."

"If I told you I was the narrator of small portions of people's lives, would that make sense to you?"

Ermengarde bliiiiiinks.

"Possibly, yes."

Nobody said the Twilight Zone would make sense.

"That is what I do."

Twilight Zone + Milliways = weirdness squared.

"And is it... um. A nice job?"

"It has its perks."

She laughs, still rather baffled. "And do you commentate often?"

"I do."

He doesn't add that he's invisble when he does this. Because that could bring on more headbreaky.

It would indeed be wise to avoid headbreakage, though it is worth noting that on her first visit Ermengarde bumped into a friend as she was ten years ago. Most weirdness tends to pale in comparison after that.

"Why do you do it though? Was it a choice of profession, or...?"

"You could say that I was born into it."

Vagueness is love.

"Following in your father's footsteps?" She is more than a little baffled. And bafflement and vagueness are OTP

"...as I said, it's difficult to explain."

"Well, I shall not force you to explain if you cannot."

"It was not my intent to confuse you."

That was just an unfortunate side-effect.

"It sounds like a bewildering thing. Confusion is only to be expected."

"When you come here you must expect confusion as par for the course."

"Does one ever get used to it, I wonder?"

"I can assure you: whoever says that they are used to it is lying."

"So I've been told. How long have you been coming here for?"

"Several months now. I mostly come here to socialize and write."

"And I'm afraid I shall have to leave you to your writing," she says, glancing at the clock over the bar and slipping off of her stool with a smile. "It's been lovely talking to you. Good night."

"Good night," he replied, then returned to his writing.

[ ooc: np! sleep well. :) ]

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