milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a dazed, much out-of-it Vala in the bar.

Seated in a booth, nursing a glass of Atlantean, he is staring off into nothing. Not brooding. Not pensive. Just... a bit off.

He would not mind distraction and company, though.

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The stranger stares back, head tilted.

"Am I doing something distasteful?" His voice is oddly monotone.

"You are humming."

And for Námo, it is easy for him to not appreciate most forms of music outside of what the Ainur can conjure.

"Why is that bad? You aren't reading or trying to listen to anything."

Non-Therans confuse him.

"Do you not like the X-Files?" he hazards. At least he's trying to understand. Laura, he feels, would be proud of him. "If you don't, I'll be happy to hum something else."

"What," he asks, "is an X-File?"

"It's a TV show," he says blandly, not disposed to offer any commentary on it, since he hasn't been asked to.

"If you don't know what it is, why do you dislike it?"

"I do not know what a TV is," he remarks. "It is not that I dislike it. Your humming was merely distracting."

"Distracting you from doing nothing?"

This is polite for Ethaniel, really. The concept of courtesy is still a bit beyond him.

"If you get irritable over people distracting you from that, I wouldn't want to see you get distracted from something serious."

His eyes narrow.

"No, I was thinking. Perhaps you have heard of the activity?"

"I'm a lot better at it than you humans." Modesty? Not Ethaniel's strong suit.

Nor is identifying any type of non-human besides reptiles and fellow Therans.

"Perhaps if I were a human, such a thing would offend me."

His smile is cold.

"You're not a Theran," he says matter-of-factly. "I don't know what you are, though. I figured you were human by default." He shrugs. "But that doesn't always work around here. It's weird."

"No, it does not always work that way. I have made the same mistake on several occasions. I am a Vala. A creation spirit, I suppose you could say. I am often called a god or a deity."

Headtilt.

"What is a Theran?"

"I've heard a little bit about...religion," he says. It's a concept he hasn't quite wrapped his mind around yet, though it's been explained well enough. "I didn't think gods really existed, though. I thought people just made them up to make themselves feel better. But I mean, I didn't think Harry Potter existed either, until I came here."

He shrugs.

"A Theran. Someone from the planet Thera. I didn't really intend to get stranded in Canada when I came to Earth, but my ship crashed."

"You learn something new each day," he says sweetly. "Gods exist. Canada. Someone dear to me is from there. He seems very pleased to be from there."

"It's a nice country," he says happily--although it's difficult to tell, with that dull monotone.

"Do all gods exist? I can't see that working, really. Too many of them."

"Various worlds, many universes, I am sure many of us exist. I would discount nothing after coming here."

"Huh." This is news to him. He finds it intriguing. "You don't fight with each other a lot?"

"There are quite a few gods here I call 'friend'. Asar-Suti is one who is a very close, dear friend who is a dark god from his own world."

"It must be uncomfortable talking to humans, though, right? If they worship you? Unless you want them to."

He shrugs, sipping his cocoa.

"I don't know any other Canadians here. How many are there?"

"The Men do not tend to worship us, and the Elves long ago ceased seeing us as much special since we walk among them often. I do not find being what I am as causing discomfort with humans."

He smiles.

"I only know one Canadian. And he is dead, so he cannot return, as much as he may wish to."

Ethaniel winces. "I hate talking to dead people." He still hasn't gotten over his serious hangup about that. "Like every other person I meet here is dead. It's..." More wincing. "If someone dead that I knew showed up here...bad enough that it's that jerk who looks like me. That's..."

He shudders.

"I am the Vala of the Dead," he explains. "It is my Duty to call and Judge the dead."

Headtilt.

"Yes. You do look like Lee, now that I think on it."

"Yeah, but you don't send them back when you're done with them, do you? Jeez..."

He rolls his eyes. "I get mistaken for that guy all the time. I hate it. Next time it happens, I'm just going to wear a sign. 'I DON'T work for CTU, I'm just your friendly neighborhood alien, bugger off, thank you.'"

"I send the Elves back, but the Men wait until the next Song."

He smirks.

"I would not mistake you for Lee. He is prettier."

The only Elves Ethaniel has heard of are the cookie-making kind, hence his confusion, which is quickly replaced with irritation.

"How is that possible? We look exactly alike. He's even copied my hairstyle."

Oh, Ethaniel. 'Haven't had a trim in six months because you've been on the run from the Canadian police force' is not a legitimate hairstyle.