ways_back_room | Friday DE: Test Drive meme

An older women in a charcoal gray suit enters and stops a few steps past the front door.

Looking around, she says, "What ever this is and whomever is doing it, I do not accept unscheduled meetings. You must make arrangements with my assistant."

"Yeah, that'll happen."

The eyeroll can practically be heard in the speaker's voice. Reaper seems to be regarding her from behind his mask as he lounges at a table, one booted foot resting on an adjacent chair.

[ooc: I don't mind at all. = ) I do need to eat lunch though, so will be slow for half an hour.]

Elayne arches an eyebrow at the speaker, not even wondering about the mask or odd feeling they gave her; the perks of working with demons, golems, zombies, gods, and other constructs. Inhaling sharply, she steps forward to face him. "Very well, since I am already here, what is the nature of the case? I am not agreeing to accept it, but I will listen."

She must come from an interesting world to not be flustered by neither himself nor randomly showing up here.

"No case," he says, voice droll. "Sounds like Milliways thought you needed a break."

He raises the arm not strewn across the back of the chair and fans his clawed gloves at their surroundings.

"First drink's free."

She holds her pose for a few moments before shrugging and making her way over.

"As long as it is understood that by accepting this drink, I am under no obligations and have made no agreements beyond accepting the free beverage, up to and including actually drinking it."

Agreements and contracts are big things in her world.

"Is there a specific drink or do I get to chose?"

"Sure," he says, still droll. He makes no move to remove his foot from the chair. She strikes him as the sort that wouldn't sit on something that just had his boot on it.

"Your choice. Bar's a magic AI and serves everything."

And he'd be right about that. She could use magic in a variety of ways to avoid anything left from his boot, but why waste power?

"AI?" she asks, claiming a stool near his table but at the bar. "I am not familiar with this acronym."

"Artificial intelligence. What we call something that can think for itself but isn't organic on my world."

One shoulder rolls up in a shrug while one clawed finger slowly taps on his table.

"Heard her called a construct, too, if you're a magic sort."

Ah, different worlds are at play here.

"I see, thank you." She is familiar with constructs, both with and without consciousnesses. Turning to face the Bar she orders something called Iscari rum with a thanks, before turning back to face him. "So magic is foreign to your world then?"

"And not foreign on yours," he notes, tilting his head at her slightly.

"Milliways is neutral ground, by the way. No outside business in the bar." He nearly singsongs it but he figures it needs saying with all her lawyer talk.

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It has been a long and frankly ludicrous day, so George is happier than he can say to find a bar. Now if he can only work out how to get a drink...

Edited 2018-01-27 12:18 (UTC)

A man, mostly average in height and looks with brown hair and a swarthy complexion, approaches the bar and leans against it facing George. He's dressed in gray and black (tunic, breeches, boots, and a cloak) and wears a rapier and a couple of daggers at his belt (there's more cutlery about his person but he is very good at hiding it).

There is also a small dragon or wyvern like creature showing far too much awareness on his shoulder. The creature is yellow or golden and is swinging its head about as if watching the man's back.

"I believe you just speak your order and the bar manifests the drink," he says with a friendly smile. He's seen it happen but hasn't done it himself just yet. He
s just waiting for someone else to try it so that he can watch to make sure it's safe.

"My, that's a very dashing-" He means to say sword but then there's a dragon to consider.

"Manifests the drink? Well, that's fascinating. I must try it." Because a drink would be rather helpful right now.

He orders a whiskey sour. A very specific whiskey his brother's lady friend brought back from America. "Well, isn't that marvellous!"

Boss. You should order something too, so you don't look suspicious. the little dragon-like creature known as a jhereg sends to the man's mind via their witchcraft link.

Good point, Loiosh. I'm not drinking it though. Not until I'm sure it's safe. the man sends back via the same link.

Gee, Boss, why didn't I think of that?

Shut up, Loiosh.

"May I have some klava?" the man, one Vladimir Talos, inquires and then sighs as the hot, coffee-like beverage is served in a glass. "And of course, it's severed in the drageran way. I guess I'll have to let it cool, unless you could...?" He trails off as Bar gives him a cloth napkin to wrap around the hot glass.

"So thoughtful, don't you think?" the man, Vlad, says to George. No, he hadn't forgotten you.

[ooc: I'm fine poking this through the week if you are.]

"To be honest, dear boy I'm not sure what I think. I'm not entirely certain I'm not dreaming." He gives the dragon a little, almost sad smile. "Or gone quite mad."

A young woman in modified kung-fu robes comes through the door, holding a handkrrchief up to her face to staunch the blood from a cut lip. Almost immediately, the condition of her face was forgotten in favor of her current location.

Perhaps Lydia struck her harder than she thought?

"Pappa..." Her accent is light british as she tries to find the older man. "Since when has a tavern been part of the property?"

The nearest pub was four miles from home.

Edited 2018-02-08 02:38 (UTC)

There's a young woman sitting back in a big leather chair, her combat boots propped up on the coffee table in front of her. She looks up from her issue of Fight magazine and smiles slightly.

"I'm guessing since never," she says. "Unless your dad's Landlord of the Bar at the End of the Universe.

The feet being propped up gets her attention; she has yet to see a young woman that rude in public. On the other hand, she was hardly in a state to talk on appearance, given her own sweaty and slightly bloodied form.

She did find herself admiring the woman's boots and imagining the damage they could inflict.

"I would hardly call him that. Longbourn is hardly the beginning, middle or end of the universe, certainly not anywhere worth setting a tavern in." She continued to study the room. "Are those..actual fish in the fireplace?"

Good god, she must've really injured her head. None of them actually meant to injure eachother during a sparing session, but accidents did happen.

"Well, you're about a trillion lightyears away from Longbourn, so the location isn't really a problem," Cassie says.

"They're...kind of fish, I guess."

Her location had yet to change even after a minute, and no one was calling her back through the door. How no one noticed a tavern in their home..well, she supposed mamma and Lydia might not care, but Mary, Jane..her father especially would take note.

"And just..where are we?" The woman was a stranger, so she could think of no reason why she would lie to her, but that was no guarantee.

Carefully, she moved towards the table the woman was seated at, moving as though a single step and the entire place might dissolve.

"It's called Milliways," Cassie says. "A pocket realm - a kind of tiny, bar-and-forest-sized universe at the end of all the other universes. You've been brought here by some kind of magic."

Beat.

"Before you ask, no, I don't know who built this place, who keeps bringing people here, or why they chose to bring you here."

The way and manner of her tone told Elizabeth more than what she even said out loud. "The you speak, you have given such a speech before."

It wasn't a question, more of an observance.

She turned over her shoulder, once more noting the door behind her; it was still there, surely some time spent with the person wouldn't make a difference. "That sounds almost like one of the novels my younger sisters enjoy," She took a seat at the table. "and yet it all seems real."

By now, the blood at her lip had stopped enough for her to set down the handkerchief. "My name is Elizabeth Bennet." This was another woman after all, she didn't have to be so formal, but strange or not, she felt she had to introduce herself.
S

"Yeah, just a few times," Cassie says. "A month, for as long as I've been coming here. Bar likes to take in new strangers without asking."

Cassie nods, touching her fingers to her head in a kind of informal salute.

"Cassie Cage."

She felt herself smile, liking the young woman's ease of manner that seemed to lack pretension.

"You mean this place is sentient?" Of course, how else would it seem to collect her as it had.

She looked down at herself. "I do not suppose there are rooms here as well? I really do need a place to wash up." She'd been through worse states while training in China, and she could certainly tolerate it, but that didn't mean she had to enjoy being in sweaty clothes.

"Yeah, and she's a bit prone to mood swings sometimes," Cassie says. "She's nice most of the time, but she's a real bitch when she isn't. She usually asks before she turns you into something else, but I'd tip well if I were you, just to be sure."

She points to the counter.

"You can ask her for a key directly. Every room has a place to wash up in it."