crack
So Ellis walks into a bar because he's pissed at Hu. A panversal bar. And he drinks a little, because Hu is pissed at him. And then someone else who's in a similar situation walks in...
Language, Ellis. Tsk tsk.
Prompt by Lora, of course. Because nobody else ever makes requests. *emo tear* The prompt was for two unspecified people bitching about their relationships. Or something along those lines. You see, I belong to the 'point and squirt' school of writing. I get an idea/concept/character and go "...I like that." And off I go. I never have any clue what's going on, and on the rare occassion I think I do know what's going on, I am invariably wrong. I intended for this to be a cupful of fluff. It had other ideas. Who am I to argue?
Ellis disdained salt and lime when he was drinking tequila. He slammed the glass onto the bartop and curled his lip at the man behind the counter, who shrugged and slid the bottle to him.
A shadow fell over Ellis, who twisted on the barstool and looked up. A big, bulky man in a toy-soldier's uniform flopped onto the stool beside Ellis and tipped his head to the bartender. "Something strong and sweet," he said, "and a lot of it." He had a sharp accent, consonants that could cut you, vowels like water.
"You got the money for it?"
The big guy dug around in a pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, eyed them blankly, and threw several at the bartender, whose eyebrows shot up when he examined them.
"Thanks," the bartender said. Alcohol appeared.
Under ordinary circumstances Ellis was unlikely to have engaged anyone in conversation, much less resorted to anything resembling friendliness. But he'd had enough tequila that his feet were tingling and it felt like there was sunlight in his veins.
"The fuck are you wearing, and what's wrong with you?"
Large brown eyes, narrowed at present. Hair caught up in a tight plait. "My uniform, and it's none of your fucking business. And watch your mouth."
Ellis snorted into his drink, and had to wipe his chin. "How? Take my eyeballs out and turn them around?"
"Suit yourself." Big guy rubbed the back of his neck and tossed off half of whatever was in his glass. "I saw a man get his eyes put out once. The cords were this pinkish color."
Ellis raised his eyebrows. He shoved the bottle back towards the bartender. He'd had far more than he'd planned to allow himself. This weirdo might be as effective a distraction without the hangover and risk of a shitstained fuck of a backslide.
"Fuck of a job you've got."
Big guy shrugged and swirled the honey-coloured liquid in his glass. "Job's not much of a problem. Most'a the time. The others are a solid crew, never had any trouble with 'em. Aile, now--" He set the glass down and rubbed his forehead hard enough to shift the skin around. "Aile's something else. I thought everything was fine-- turns out Ailean's been unhappy for months and never said anything--"
Ellis let out a laugh like broken glass. He picked his empty glass up, swirled it out of habit, set it down. He fanned his fingers at the bartender, glad the place was so empty it almost echoed. "Water," he said. Flicked the glass with restless fingernails. "Wish I could say the jerk has a real gripe, but he's just an asshole."
A measured glance from the toy soldier, one that made Ellis remember people he'd rather not think about, people who were the reason Ellis always checked the exits and always sat backing a corner or facing a mirror. Ellis made the rat face without thinking and the big guy raised both eyebrows and choked on a snicker.
"That the best you've got?"
Anna was at Ellis's waist as usual. Ellis grabbed the hilt, but the other's reaction startled him into relaxing his grip.
The soldier-guy sighed. "Oh, come on. Have another drink and relax, willya? I'm much bigger than you, I'm trained, and I'm not in the mood for any bullshit. Name's Reammon, by the way."
After a long moment Ellis shook his head and shoved one hand through his bangs. Not too greasy, for a change-- Hu'd washed it for him, last week, before he'd lost his fucking mind. Ellis knew that was rich coming from him, of all people, but he was still angry. He'd walked out because he'd found himself reaching for the breadknife and'd realized with a gutclench of fear that he actually intended to use it-- not on Hugo, Hu could handle himself, always could. Ellis was ready to take a chunk out of his own hide if that was what he had to do to get Hu's-- to make him--
A hand, on his shoulder, rocking him almost gently. "Oy, rat-face. The hell?"
Ellis swallowed acid and groped for the water. He didn't remember the bartender bringing it. Fat fuck was otherwise occupied at the other end of the bar, filling frothy mugs for a couple of zitty punks who probably weren't old enough to drink. High-class establishment, this. Sticky floor, sticky bartop, grimy room-length mirror.
"You 'right? What's got you flashbacking like that? Ah, none of mine, forget I asked. Drink your water."
Ellis snarled halfheartedly, but he did want the water. He gulped a mouthful, swallowed the lukewarm mineral dirty-pennies taste of it, hoped it'd stay down.
I'm leaving, Ellis thought. "I'm leaving."
"Oho? Go on, stand up. If you can make it to the door on your own I'll pay your tab."
"Paid it already," Ellis said, and flipped him off. He stood, wobbled, and braced both hands on his barstool. "Ugh."
Big guy-- Reammon-- muttered something that was mostly vowel and chugged from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with one thumb, then wiped his hand on his trousers and stood.
"C'mon, I'll haul your useless ass somewhere. Hell if I'm going home 'till Aile's asleep, anyhow."
Ellis stood and drew his shoulders up, looked up to meet a gaze that was nothing like Hu's -- not brown enough, not gooey enough. Eyes like rocks, this one had. Or old manure. Ellis intended to say something along those lines but everything fritzed and his next coherent sensation was the sprinkle of cold water and the heavy, wet feel of air that's mostly fog.
"Awake now?" Reammon said. Ellis shook his head and felt gravity waltz in rings around him. Fuck. He'd lost all his tolerance. Weirdest drunk he'd ever had, then, to lose all of his balance and none of his coherence.
"You call this coherent?"
The fuck? I didn't say anything, Ellis thought, and the shoulder he was leaning on shook.
"Ha! Yes you did. Here-- we're outside. Pick a direction."
Ellis let out a garble of sound, coughed, said "Not going home."
A sigh, and Reammon hefted Ellis so that they were hip to hip, one brawny arm around Ellis's waist to hold his weight.
"We'll walk then, 'till you've found your head."
Ellis didn't intend to talk, but his mouth seemed wired right to what passed for his brain. Fuck of a time for this to happen, he heard himself slur. Fuck of a time, two days after Hu told me he was worried about me relapsin', right after we both thought everything was sorted--
"It's never sorted, never." Ellis couldn't place the accent, but the voice had a rich rumble to it. Couldn't scream for fuck, Ellis wagered, but he could probably sing alright, if you were into that crooning shit. "Every time I think everything's fuzzy and warm and I've finally figured out exactly how to handle Aile and keep 'er happy, something'll 'come up'. Wish he'd talk to me, instead of at me... told me he didn't want to bother me, that it wasn't my problem. Like hell. Aile's mine, I love her, so every single thing is mine, whether it's fun or not!"
Ellis mulled that over for a moment. The pavement was a heavy black, shiny under the rain and streetlights. Bright stars, too many colours, but pretty like the sparkles that came after a migraine. Managed to work his mouth deliberately, a little: "Is it a he or a she? 'Cause if you can't tell the difference--"
Reammon craned his neck and cocked an eyebrow. "I thought they meant the same thing?"
Ellis wrung a laugh out of his throat, ratty sneakers slapping in the puddles, shattering reflected stars, reflected streetlights like tiny suns.
"Not really. Fucking idiot. Y' crazy or just stupid?
"Buggered-up language. Aile makes me do crazy things, has my head all churned up."
They passed through a floating cloud to Somewhere Else, ended up on a rough hill in a high wind, long slim grassblades bending silverly. Overcast sky, the sun somewhere behind the clouds, the wind was warm. Reammon dumped Ellis gently into the grass and settled beside him, feet spread and planted, elbows braced on his knees. Ellis flopped onto his back and slung an arm over his face. The grass had a thin, heated-hay smell to it. The solid presence of the hill beneath him, steady, but something between his ears was waltzing on light feet.
No sound for a while but wind through the grasses and Reammon drumming his fingers. Eventually he said, "This, uh, jerk of yours-- doesn't hit you, right? You were fast to go for that knife."
Ellis would've liked to have seen the big guy's face, but he was too busy laughing-- a harsh screech of sound that continued until his gut ached and the dizziness almost took him. He managed to sit up and wipe his streaming eyes.
"You don't know anything. You have no idea--"
Hand on his shoulder again, the ball of the joint fitting into the other's palm. "You're a loony. I ought to drop you in the pond!"
Still snickering, Ellis said, "What pond? And..." he'd've stopped talking but the tequila rewiring was still in effect. And fuck if we could be further away from normal. We don't hit each other much anymore. Not that I'd care. The hitting is a tradition going back more'n twenty years-- wonder if I should punch him for our anniversary--
"I'm sure I could find a pond somewhere." Reammon's voice was cautious now, as if the branch he'd grabbed had twisted around to look at him with steady eyes.
Ellis curled up around the wobble in his gut, then sat up, scarecrow limbs in a tangle. Wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist and gave Reammon a glare. "Don't go all sensible on me, fucking tin soldier. Don't tell me 'oh if you're miserable, you should leave'. You're on an island and the water's full of sharks-- doesn't matter what you think of the island or how you think it'd be different somewhere else, it won't be, swim as far as you like with sharkteeth in you and when your feet finally touch sand again it's the same damn island, same fucking place. It's the only place in the world, so it doesn't matter what it feels like --"
Reammon didn't say anything and the silence dragged on, wounded, leaving a trail of blood through the grass. Ellis eyed the profile, a face carved by a generous hand. Reammon was watching the wind move the grasses out over the downs, overcast sky shedding warm yellow light. Ellis wondered why he wasn't talking, hopefully his mouth would fucking obey him now.
Eventually Reammon heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders. "Crazy little civilian, you are. Head's allll tangled. That's yours to deal with, you and your ...whomever. I feel a little better about Aile and me though. I'll get her a book and something shiny and take her on a picnic so she can yell at me. He'd started talking, so I just need to let it flood out and we'll be okay. I just need to convince Aile I'm not going anywhere ever, and the only way to do that is to stay, and stay, and stay."
During all that Reammon had levered Ellis to his feet, a little steadier now but still far from stable, and had set out along the crest of the hill. The long grasses rasped along Ellis's jeans, Reammon's uniform, and the wind moved the endless expanse of it like a sea. Cloud of Somewhere Else, eventually, they ended up back near the bar. Ellis gestured down a darkened street with his chin and concentrated on matching his stride to Reammon's. The pressure to talk was gone, there wasn't anything left-- nothing Ellis needed to say, though another time it could be fun to tell Reammon what life was like, watch his face scrunch up with confusion or disgust.
"Bah," Reammon said, the next time Ellis stumbled. "I'd carry you if I thought for a moment you'd let me. Eat something when you get home."
Ellis curled his lip. "Fuck off. Drop me in the gutter then."
"Idiot. I can't do that."
Ellis turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow. Reammon shrugged.
"You call me a toy soldier, but this uniform means something. Means I'm supposed to look after people; doesn't matter if they don't want me to, or didn't ask; even if I don't want to, it doesn't matter."
"And people call me fucking insane..."
"There are many kinds of 'fucking insane'," Reammon muttered, and hefted Ellis a little more solidly against his hip. "Mostly because insane puts out."
"Heh."
The apartment for Prize, on Earth street, was smaller and rattier on the outside than most would expect. Inside it was a chaos of tarnished beauty and accidental art. Ellis fumbled for the key long enough that Reammon got impatient and batted him away, slid a large hand into Ellis's pocket. Unlocked the door; it opened onto a bedroom with a neatly-made bed.
"Fuck, he's awake," Ellis said, and tried to pull away.
"Oh, don't be an idiot. Go tell him he isn't allowed to talk, and fuck him. Problems don't seem near as bad after a good fuck. Talk it out in the morning."
Ellis thought about it, thought of Hu, gasping frantically into Ellis's shoulder, hands white-knuckle clenched on the points of Ellis's hipbones.
"Morning's going to suck," he said eventually. Reammon shrugged.
"They usually do."
Ellis hesitated, trying to find his balance, until Reammon turned a little, gave Ellis a rough half-hug, and then dumped him onto the bed.
"Outta patience, rat-face. Good luck. I'm going home to kiss Aile into forgiving me."
Ellis rolled his head back, flipped Reammon off. He got a one-shouldered shrug in response, a quirked almost-smile.
Samuel Ellis did not say thank you, nor was he friendly, nor did he make friends. He nevertheless found himself saying, "Seeya, asswipe."
Reammon waved. "Sure thing," he said. "Bar's not going anywhere."
Which was of course a blatant lie. The panversal bar could and did move, but it was always there when you needed it.
-END-
Language, Ellis. Tsk tsk.
Prompt by Lora, of course. Because nobody else ever makes requests. *emo tear* The prompt was for two unspecified people bitching about their relationships. Or something along those lines. You see, I belong to the 'point and squirt' school of writing. I get an idea/concept/character and go "...I like that." And off I go. I never have any clue what's going on, and on the rare occassion I think I do know what's going on, I am invariably wrong. I intended for this to be a cupful of fluff. It had other ideas. Who am I to argue?
Ellis disdained salt and lime when he was drinking tequila. He slammed the glass onto the bartop and curled his lip at the man behind the counter, who shrugged and slid the bottle to him.
A shadow fell over Ellis, who twisted on the barstool and looked up. A big, bulky man in a toy-soldier's uniform flopped onto the stool beside Ellis and tipped his head to the bartender. "Something strong and sweet," he said, "and a lot of it." He had a sharp accent, consonants that could cut you, vowels like water.
"You got the money for it?"
The big guy dug around in a pocket and pulled out a wad of bills, eyed them blankly, and threw several at the bartender, whose eyebrows shot up when he examined them.
"Thanks," the bartender said. Alcohol appeared.
Under ordinary circumstances Ellis was unlikely to have engaged anyone in conversation, much less resorted to anything resembling friendliness. But he'd had enough tequila that his feet were tingling and it felt like there was sunlight in his veins.
"The fuck are you wearing, and what's wrong with you?"
Large brown eyes, narrowed at present. Hair caught up in a tight plait. "My uniform, and it's none of your fucking business. And watch your mouth."
Ellis snorted into his drink, and had to wipe his chin. "How? Take my eyeballs out and turn them around?"
"Suit yourself." Big guy rubbed the back of his neck and tossed off half of whatever was in his glass. "I saw a man get his eyes put out once. The cords were this pinkish color."
Ellis raised his eyebrows. He shoved the bottle back towards the bartender. He'd had far more than he'd planned to allow himself. This weirdo might be as effective a distraction without the hangover and risk of a shitstained fuck of a backslide.
"Fuck of a job you've got."
Big guy shrugged and swirled the honey-coloured liquid in his glass. "Job's not much of a problem. Most'a the time. The others are a solid crew, never had any trouble with 'em. Aile, now--" He set the glass down and rubbed his forehead hard enough to shift the skin around. "Aile's something else. I thought everything was fine-- turns out Ailean's been unhappy for months and never said anything--"
Ellis let out a laugh like broken glass. He picked his empty glass up, swirled it out of habit, set it down. He fanned his fingers at the bartender, glad the place was so empty it almost echoed. "Water," he said. Flicked the glass with restless fingernails. "Wish I could say the jerk has a real gripe, but he's just an asshole."
A measured glance from the toy soldier, one that made Ellis remember people he'd rather not think about, people who were the reason Ellis always checked the exits and always sat backing a corner or facing a mirror. Ellis made the rat face without thinking and the big guy raised both eyebrows and choked on a snicker.
"That the best you've got?"
Anna was at Ellis's waist as usual. Ellis grabbed the hilt, but the other's reaction startled him into relaxing his grip.
The soldier-guy sighed. "Oh, come on. Have another drink and relax, willya? I'm much bigger than you, I'm trained, and I'm not in the mood for any bullshit. Name's Reammon, by the way."
After a long moment Ellis shook his head and shoved one hand through his bangs. Not too greasy, for a change-- Hu'd washed it for him, last week, before he'd lost his fucking mind. Ellis knew that was rich coming from him, of all people, but he was still angry. He'd walked out because he'd found himself reaching for the breadknife and'd realized with a gutclench of fear that he actually intended to use it-- not on Hugo, Hu could handle himself, always could. Ellis was ready to take a chunk out of his own hide if that was what he had to do to get Hu's-- to make him--
A hand, on his shoulder, rocking him almost gently. "Oy, rat-face. The hell?"
Ellis swallowed acid and groped for the water. He didn't remember the bartender bringing it. Fat fuck was otherwise occupied at the other end of the bar, filling frothy mugs for a couple of zitty punks who probably weren't old enough to drink. High-class establishment, this. Sticky floor, sticky bartop, grimy room-length mirror.
"You 'right? What's got you flashbacking like that? Ah, none of mine, forget I asked. Drink your water."
Ellis snarled halfheartedly, but he did want the water. He gulped a mouthful, swallowed the lukewarm mineral dirty-pennies taste of it, hoped it'd stay down.
I'm leaving, Ellis thought. "I'm leaving."
"Oho? Go on, stand up. If you can make it to the door on your own I'll pay your tab."
"Paid it already," Ellis said, and flipped him off. He stood, wobbled, and braced both hands on his barstool. "Ugh."
Big guy-- Reammon-- muttered something that was mostly vowel and chugged from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with one thumb, then wiped his hand on his trousers and stood.
"C'mon, I'll haul your useless ass somewhere. Hell if I'm going home 'till Aile's asleep, anyhow."
Ellis stood and drew his shoulders up, looked up to meet a gaze that was nothing like Hu's -- not brown enough, not gooey enough. Eyes like rocks, this one had. Or old manure. Ellis intended to say something along those lines but everything fritzed and his next coherent sensation was the sprinkle of cold water and the heavy, wet feel of air that's mostly fog.
"Awake now?" Reammon said. Ellis shook his head and felt gravity waltz in rings around him. Fuck. He'd lost all his tolerance. Weirdest drunk he'd ever had, then, to lose all of his balance and none of his coherence.
"You call this coherent?"
The fuck? I didn't say anything, Ellis thought, and the shoulder he was leaning on shook.
"Ha! Yes you did. Here-- we're outside. Pick a direction."
Ellis let out a garble of sound, coughed, said "Not going home."
A sigh, and Reammon hefted Ellis so that they were hip to hip, one brawny arm around Ellis's waist to hold his weight.
"We'll walk then, 'till you've found your head."
Ellis didn't intend to talk, but his mouth seemed wired right to what passed for his brain. Fuck of a time for this to happen, he heard himself slur. Fuck of a time, two days after Hu told me he was worried about me relapsin', right after we both thought everything was sorted--
"It's never sorted, never." Ellis couldn't place the accent, but the voice had a rich rumble to it. Couldn't scream for fuck, Ellis wagered, but he could probably sing alright, if you were into that crooning shit. "Every time I think everything's fuzzy and warm and I've finally figured out exactly how to handle Aile and keep 'er happy, something'll 'come up'. Wish he'd talk to me, instead of at me... told me he didn't want to bother me, that it wasn't my problem. Like hell. Aile's mine, I love her, so every single thing is mine, whether it's fun or not!"
Ellis mulled that over for a moment. The pavement was a heavy black, shiny under the rain and streetlights. Bright stars, too many colours, but pretty like the sparkles that came after a migraine. Managed to work his mouth deliberately, a little: "Is it a he or a she? 'Cause if you can't tell the difference--"
Reammon craned his neck and cocked an eyebrow. "I thought they meant the same thing?"
Ellis wrung a laugh out of his throat, ratty sneakers slapping in the puddles, shattering reflected stars, reflected streetlights like tiny suns.
"Not really. Fucking idiot. Y' crazy or just stupid?
"Buggered-up language. Aile makes me do crazy things, has my head all churned up."
They passed through a floating cloud to Somewhere Else, ended up on a rough hill in a high wind, long slim grassblades bending silverly. Overcast sky, the sun somewhere behind the clouds, the wind was warm. Reammon dumped Ellis gently into the grass and settled beside him, feet spread and planted, elbows braced on his knees. Ellis flopped onto his back and slung an arm over his face. The grass had a thin, heated-hay smell to it. The solid presence of the hill beneath him, steady, but something between his ears was waltzing on light feet.
No sound for a while but wind through the grasses and Reammon drumming his fingers. Eventually he said, "This, uh, jerk of yours-- doesn't hit you, right? You were fast to go for that knife."
Ellis would've liked to have seen the big guy's face, but he was too busy laughing-- a harsh screech of sound that continued until his gut ached and the dizziness almost took him. He managed to sit up and wipe his streaming eyes.
"You don't know anything. You have no idea--"
Hand on his shoulder again, the ball of the joint fitting into the other's palm. "You're a loony. I ought to drop you in the pond!"
Still snickering, Ellis said, "What pond? And..." he'd've stopped talking but the tequila rewiring was still in effect. And fuck if we could be further away from normal. We don't hit each other much anymore. Not that I'd care. The hitting is a tradition going back more'n twenty years-- wonder if I should punch him for our anniversary--
"I'm sure I could find a pond somewhere." Reammon's voice was cautious now, as if the branch he'd grabbed had twisted around to look at him with steady eyes.
Ellis curled up around the wobble in his gut, then sat up, scarecrow limbs in a tangle. Wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist and gave Reammon a glare. "Don't go all sensible on me, fucking tin soldier. Don't tell me 'oh if you're miserable, you should leave'. You're on an island and the water's full of sharks-- doesn't matter what you think of the island or how you think it'd be different somewhere else, it won't be, swim as far as you like with sharkteeth in you and when your feet finally touch sand again it's the same damn island, same fucking place. It's the only place in the world, so it doesn't matter what it feels like --"
Reammon didn't say anything and the silence dragged on, wounded, leaving a trail of blood through the grass. Ellis eyed the profile, a face carved by a generous hand. Reammon was watching the wind move the grasses out over the downs, overcast sky shedding warm yellow light. Ellis wondered why he wasn't talking, hopefully his mouth would fucking obey him now.
Eventually Reammon heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders. "Crazy little civilian, you are. Head's allll tangled. That's yours to deal with, you and your ...whomever. I feel a little better about Aile and me though. I'll get her a book and something shiny and take her on a picnic so she can yell at me. He'd started talking, so I just need to let it flood out and we'll be okay. I just need to convince Aile I'm not going anywhere ever, and the only way to do that is to stay, and stay, and stay."
During all that Reammon had levered Ellis to his feet, a little steadier now but still far from stable, and had set out along the crest of the hill. The long grasses rasped along Ellis's jeans, Reammon's uniform, and the wind moved the endless expanse of it like a sea. Cloud of Somewhere Else, eventually, they ended up back near the bar. Ellis gestured down a darkened street with his chin and concentrated on matching his stride to Reammon's. The pressure to talk was gone, there wasn't anything left-- nothing Ellis needed to say, though another time it could be fun to tell Reammon what life was like, watch his face scrunch up with confusion or disgust.
"Bah," Reammon said, the next time Ellis stumbled. "I'd carry you if I thought for a moment you'd let me. Eat something when you get home."
Ellis curled his lip. "Fuck off. Drop me in the gutter then."
"Idiot. I can't do that."
Ellis turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow. Reammon shrugged.
"You call me a toy soldier, but this uniform means something. Means I'm supposed to look after people; doesn't matter if they don't want me to, or didn't ask; even if I don't want to, it doesn't matter."
"And people call me fucking insane..."
"There are many kinds of 'fucking insane'," Reammon muttered, and hefted Ellis a little more solidly against his hip. "Mostly because insane puts out."
"Heh."
The apartment for Prize, on Earth street, was smaller and rattier on the outside than most would expect. Inside it was a chaos of tarnished beauty and accidental art. Ellis fumbled for the key long enough that Reammon got impatient and batted him away, slid a large hand into Ellis's pocket. Unlocked the door; it opened onto a bedroom with a neatly-made bed.
"Fuck, he's awake," Ellis said, and tried to pull away.
"Oh, don't be an idiot. Go tell him he isn't allowed to talk, and fuck him. Problems don't seem near as bad after a good fuck. Talk it out in the morning."
Ellis thought about it, thought of Hu, gasping frantically into Ellis's shoulder, hands white-knuckle clenched on the points of Ellis's hipbones.
"Morning's going to suck," he said eventually. Reammon shrugged.
"They usually do."
Ellis hesitated, trying to find his balance, until Reammon turned a little, gave Ellis a rough half-hug, and then dumped him onto the bed.
"Outta patience, rat-face. Good luck. I'm going home to kiss Aile into forgiving me."
Ellis rolled his head back, flipped Reammon off. He got a one-shouldered shrug in response, a quirked almost-smile.
Samuel Ellis did not say thank you, nor was he friendly, nor did he make friends. He nevertheless found himself saying, "Seeya, asswipe."
Reammon waved. "Sure thing," he said. "Bar's not going anywhere."
Which was of course a blatant lie. The panversal bar could and did move, but it was always there when you needed it.
-END-