The Bar at the End of the Universe

*claps hands for attention*

Gentlebeings and Ethereals, allow me to welcome you to Monday night happy hour here at Milliways. As many of you know, it's my night off, so as soon as I run down the specials, I am going to retire to a corner of the bar and see if you can manage to spend one night without wrecking it.

Discounts tonight are on the on-tap beers, to celebrate the repair of the kegging system, as well as Atlantean wine, since we seem to have gotten a new shipment in, a very good vintage I'm told. Regarding food specials, Gil informs me that the vegetarian menu has some excellent stuff on it tonight, including some teriyaki tofu that he's been working on perfecting all week. Don't look at me, the kitchen is his domain.

If that's all, I'll just retire to my corner with my pint. Try not to kill anyone, eh?

Good evening all, and welcome to Milliways Happy Hour. Here's hoping for a pleasant but nonviolent Saturday evening, eh?

The specials tonight include some excellent vodka we've acquired; neat, on the rocks, or mixed -- the vodka martinis are especially good.

Gil's had about enough of working the fryer basket, I think, so our food specials dontsayanythingcrowley include some excellent cobb's salads, chicken salads, and fruit salads. They have some meat in them, anyway.

A note to all animals of the predatory sort, please refrain from hunting rats in the kitchen, as Gil's is the only one who knows how to work some of the equipment. Also, if anyone knows what to do with the angel *points at an angel propped in a corner with "What do we do with this bugger" on a sign nearby* please speak up; winner gets free drinks.

Sirius is under the bar, hooking up the last of the kegs after re-wiring the kegging system (he has yet to find a problem) when he realises it's almost noon; Gil should be about done with any lunch preparations, and he suspects he's going to need a competent hand with the process of disposing of an angel.

Besides, the man did say it was weighing on his mind. Perhaps it'll be cathartic. Sirius suspects Gil could use some catharsis; he quite likes the faun, but poor Gil does seem slightly high-strung sometimes.

"All right then, rat?" he asks, passing the rat working the fryer and tickling her behind the ears. She's in the gingham apron today, which she seems to particularly like; she squeaks and dumps a fresh, hot batch of paradoxes into a draining basket. Sirius isn't sure how one fries a paradox, but she seems perfectly confident.

He stitched up the angel into a sailcloth sack with a bible and, for good measure, a few rocks at his feet; that should be enough to take him down to the depths of the lake, where hopefully he will rest peacefully. Sirius can just about heft him over one shoulder, but not in a boat, not without tipping over, and besides, Gil's good with food transfiguration.

Because they do need a boat.

"Hi, Gil!" he calls, grabbing a potato boat waiting to be filled with bacon and cheese and double-baked. "Up for a bit of a boating expedition?"

A howl rises up out of the talking, laughing, flirting crowd -- a low-pitched but loud howl, primal. Not rage or sorrow; it sounds vaguely like wolves on the hunt. Pleased. Almost a call to arms.

Sirius is at the heart of it, baying at the waxing moon, laughter in his eyes; his shirt is unbuttoned and his tattoo seems to pulse with each howl.

He whoops at the end of the last one and begins to run barefoot, Kassandra half a step behind him; his shirt flies away as it did the first time he saw the lake, and he flips off the rock precipice that rises a few feet above the deep water, diving clean. Kassandra, no less nimble, an island girl at heart, dives after him.

Others are already running to do the same by the time they hit the water; by the time her chiton and his jeans have been tossed up on the rocks, they are not alone in the moonlit lake.

*Walks into the bar looking incredibly cheerful and incidentally well-groomed.*

Ladies, gentlemen, and assorted nongendered ethereals, welcome to Milliways' Happy Hour. It's a little earlier than usual because tonight we've arranged a picnic party out back, at the lake behind the bar. You're all invited to attend; the usual special happy-hour prices apply, just order from the bar and you'll be served.

We do hope you'll come out back and have a cold one with the rest of us, however. *winks* There may be skinny-dipping later, or so I'm told.

[For the sake of space, shifting scene here.]

Behind the bar and beyond the scrubby paved lot is a glittering lake, glowing slightly in the light of the setting sun. At the far end, a giant squid is sunning itself; near a little grassy hill next to a small patch of dirt-sandy beach, small waves ripple up and lap at the feet of those already lounging with their drinks and sandwiches. Dozens of lawn chairs, loungers, picnic benches and tables are arranged haphazardly, and fairy lights are strung everywhere. In addition, a bonfire is going, with the promise of freshly grilled steak in the offing.

The water is cool and clear and deep, perfect for diving and swimming. As for the rest, there is food, conversation, a nice view, and a phonograph with a pile of records next to it.

Sirius walks into the crowd, stopping to bend and have a word with people occasionally, and grins at Gil as he takes a bottle of Harp's from a bucket of ice near an enormous pile of paper-wrapped sandwiches of every kind imaginable.

"Great job, Gil," he says with a grin, and then waves to Regulus, who is laying out several large cuts of raw meat, while looking around for Kassandra's cream-coloured chiton in the crowd.