http://philotic-jane.livejournal.com/ (
philotic-jane.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2005-12-27 10:03 am
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It's that blink of an eye, the moment in which one is not really certain what one has seen. Was there really someone at that bar stool a moment ago? Probably. People can't just appear in this place, right?
There's a familiar-looking blonde woman at the bar. This isn't necissarily the blonde woman you're looking for, however. Jane is relaxing for once. Perhaps she's ignoring the problems of her 'verse for once. She's in a good mood. Talk to her!
There's a familiar-looking blonde woman at the bar. This isn't necissarily the blonde woman you're looking for, however. Jane is relaxing for once. Perhaps she's ignoring the problems of her 'verse for once. She's in a good mood. Talk to her!

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"Good morning, Va-"
It's about there that his nose catches up with him and he freezes, then looks closer.
"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."
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"Well, then greetings. I am Doctor Hank McCoy, but most just call me Hank. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?"
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"Are you a self-actualized being then? Or were you created, or born?"
His eyes shine with curiosity.
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"Intriguing. An interesting origin indeed. It is a most definite pleasure to meet you."
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"I hope it is not an unwelcome one. I am a Doctor, a scientist, an inventor, a soldier, a diplomat, and a teacher. Though most of what I do is the Doctoring and the teaching."
He waves a hand around Milliways.
"Most of what i do is related to studying life and how it works."
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So, a twin? Why not? It seems common enough.
"Good morning."
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"Have we met? I mean, there seem to be two of you, and I think I met one of you quite some time ago, but even if we met, I'm afraid I don't recall your name.
"I'm Barry Allen." He extends his hand.
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"So you're a solid holographic projection? Or some kind of android?
"And what's an ansible?"
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Unfortunately, it's not cooperating. The needles are all spastic.
He looks up as the red arms twitch and stagger around, and failing to spot an Endless or something else of that nature, glances at the blond woman. "Er, miss?"
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And then he blinks, because the neuron that handles clerical duties for all his other neurons got really really drunk and delivered today's inspiration particles to entirely the wrong set of other neurons.
"Outside," he says carefully. "That, I assume, is your universe's equivalent of E-level hyperspace, or at least has some kind of fundamental connection to the collective subconscious of the intelligent entities of the Galaxy? Or am I misreading the situation entirely?"
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