The Bar at the End of the Universe

[OOM: Tragedy strikes at the Species Restoration Project.]

The Door opens to admit the Ranger.

However, this is a somewhat unusual arrival for him. His normally pristine robes are dusty and smeared with blood. And, slung across his shoulders, he is carrying a dapple-grey foal which cannot be more than a few days old. It flicks its bottle-brush of a tail and neighs in suprise. Obviously, the scenery has changed far more abruptly than it is used to.

The Ranger is also quite startled by his arrival.

"I'm sorry, but I do not have time at the moment," he says in Bar's direction and turns around...to find a blank wall where the Door once was.

"..."

After a moment of staring at the wall, he turns once more and strides over to Bar.

"I will not even attempt to argue with you, my dear," he says as he gently sets the foal down. It staggers for a moment on its spindly legs before it finds its balance.

"But, since you have called us away from where we had food for this one..."

A couple of large bottles with elongated nipples appear on Bar's countertop. "Thank you," the Ranger says as he collects them. "I trust you had a good reason for this. I only hope it becomes clear soon."

The foal seems willing to be guided by a gentle hand placedo on its withers. Once or twice, her startles at a patron or passing wait rat, but calms when the Ranger gives her a certain look. In a few moments, the Ranger finds a quiet corner and settles down in a chair to offer the hungry filly the milk. As she suckles, he strokes her neck and ponders the question of why in Valen's name he's been brought here now.

He doesn't seem in the least perturbed by the fact that he's feeding a baby horse in the middle of a bar.

[OOM: The terrorists strike the Gevak colony...but the Ranger is ready. This OOM is rated E for "eeewwww!"]

The Door opens and an encounter suited person enters.

If you've seen this encounter suit before, it's pretty obvious that it's seen better days. All the flowing, metallic-cloth robes are burned and torn to shreds. They may even be smoldering somewhat. The ceramic-metal of the suit itself is scorched and splattered with blood and...is that charred flesh hanging off his shoulder plate?

Enter the Ranger...in dire need of a good wash-up.

He looks around as he enters and chuckles.

"Figures," he says.

The sun is nearly down out by the Lake. In it's fading, golden light, a pale figure can be seen leaping and whirling.

The Ranger has laid aside his robes once again. In his hands is a five-foot-long metal staff. A million years have passed and still Anla'shok are trained in the ways of the denn'bok, the Minbari battle pike. The staff might as well be made of straw given the speed with which he wields it against imaginary opponents.

He hopes that disciplining body and mind through pike forms will tame his rebellious spirit. He is focused on the flow of the kata, but his awareness stretches for some space around him.

Perhaps he might stop if someone came close to talk.

Some cultures demonstrate the state of grief graphicly with such actions as tearing one's clothes and smearing oneself with ashes or wearing some kind of special garb. The humans of the Ranger's time do not do that. But it would seem redundant if they did given the way a telepath's emotions can color the "atmosphere" around them.

And so there is a palpable aura of sorrow around the man as he stares out at the exploding starscape. His energy levels have not recovered much, but at least he's not having to hold onto his physical form with his metaphorical teeth and toenails.

Come try to cheer him up...or rub salt in his wounds if you're so inclined.

[OOM: The Ranger's friend sends him to his Ship for some rest.]

When the Door opens, it admits an exhausted though familiar figure who seems rather confused at being here. Oh, he knows Milliways. He just doesn't understand why in Valen's name he's here now.

I should go back. I'm not in any condition...

But turning around to even see if the Door is still there seems like too damn much trouble. Instead, he drops into the closest chair and leans his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands. He's tired...so tired. This is perhaps a little risky. A tired telepath sometimes can project unconsciously. In fact, any psychic would likely pick up on his dismal emotional state without him actively projecting.

It should make for interesting conversations. In the "Chinese curse" sense, that is.