The Bar at the End of the Universe

[Here, Milliways! Have an EP from someone who hasn't really been around for the past few months! >_>]

The front door opens with a quiet woosh! and in strides a slightly beat-up looking Maxwell Smart. He's not really bruised or bleeding, but his suit's torn in a few places and he kind of looks like he's been rolling around in someone's fireplace.

There is also a very large cloud of dust, followed by the sounds of a woman scream-coughing at him. "Max, you idiot! Why — " coughhack "Why did you — where are you going? Eighty-Six! HEY!"

He nudges the door closed with his foot and starts laughing, then runs a hand through his hair to shake some ash out of it.

There really isn't anything quite like falling through a heating duct and landing in an old, (luckily) disconnected furnace with your partner.

Your partner, who spent half the mission yelling at you.

Your partner, who thought wearing white today was a Good Idea.

Ah, schadenfreude.

If anyone needs him, he'll be at the bar, making friends with a big glass of fruit punch.

(Though the narration would advise anyone with asthma or allergies to stay away from him, as every little movement he makes sends a bit more dust into the air. He's like Pig-Pen!)

[tiny dusty tag: Maxwell Smart
tiny fellow spy tag: Chuck Bartowski]

On some wall, in some part of the bar, two large, heavy, virtually apocalypse-proof metal doors appear.

There's an awful lot of noise coming from the other side of these doors.

clickclickclickthunk

clickclickclickthunk

That's the sound of a series of a few other equally impressive metal doors closing and opening.

The sound grows closer, closer —

— and suddenly stops.

"Hey!"

The voice coming from behind the wall sounds very exasperated.

"Stupid giant hunk of metal, why don't you ever — "

thunk

" — OW! Son of a — "

clickclickclick

After a few seconds, the doors on — in? — the wall open with a clickwooshclick, revealing a hopping-on-one-foot, paperwork-toting Maxwell Smart on the other side.

As soon as he looks up, the hopping ceases and his arms fall, limply, to his side.

Now, there are roughly 34 highly classified (and marked as such) CONTROL documents strewn across the floor in front of him... and he hasn't noticed, because he's too busy wondering what the hell happened to CONTROL headquarters.

They never had a bar! Sure, they joked about it, but Max never thought they'd actually go through with it...

To no one in particular, he says, "Oh, this is real nice. Thanks for sending out the memo, guys. You can't pretend the e-mail server's down forever, you know! Jerks."

[tiny tag on the prairie; Maxwell Smart]