(Untitled)

[bloody_awful]

A bloke walks through the front door, whistling, his hands in the pockets of a rumpled trenchcoat. He sits at the Bar and orders a pint. Before him appears a perfectly poured pint of Guinness and an ashtray. He lights a cigarette and leans back happily

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[blueeyedjohnny]

A small piece of ash drops into his beer from the rafters above.

Corporal Johnny looks down to see what he hit, then jumps down next to John, cigarette carefully helds as he lands.

"Sorry, got your beer with my ash. Let me get you another one."

[bloody_awful]

John looks at the guy, looks at his beer. And shrugs, and chugs it. Then he hands the empty glass to Johnny with a grin. "Cheers, mate."

[blueeyedjohnny]

Johnny grins and gets him a fresh one anyway. He switches cigarette hands for a moment to extend his hand.

"Corporal Johnny, Borogravian Light infantry. And newbie. Nice to meet you."

[bloody_awful]

"Another John? I'm John as well. S'truth, they should start numbering us." Although he's being quite pleasant, John does not offer to shake hands. "New here? Have you heard the spiel yet?"

[blueeyedjohnny]

Johnny doesn't seem bothered by the lack of handshake, and puts it down to his own fingernails. He grins.

"Common name here, yes?" He has a thick accent, similar to Russian, but not. "I've always been a Johnny, even to the officers. My surname is Private so calling me Private Private would have been confusing."

He nods, taking another drag of his cigarette. "I must not fight or have sex in here, yes? And I must pay my tab or wash dishes."

[bloody_awful]

"Ah, you're stuck here, then? Not such a bad life, really, and there's more to do than wash dishes if you can find the work. But the next round's on me if you want one. Fag?"

Don't worry, he's just offering a cigarette.

[blueeyedjohnny]

He shakes his head.

"No, not stuck here, as far as I know. But there is more food here than home, so I am... refuelling. And yes please, on both counts."

He takes the cigarette, and since he already has one lit, puts it in a pocket, which squeaks. He puts it in a different pocket, pulls out a tiny bit of bread, and puts that into the first pocket.

[bloody_awful]

John raises his eyebrow at the squeak, but doesn't comment. Instead, he says, "Good to see another smoker around here. You can expect any brat in the place to walk up to you and complain about it without so much as a how-do-you-do, but they're easy enough to smack down." He cocks his head. "Do you believe in magic?"

[blueeyedjohnny]

A cough. "I have smoked since I was fourteen. Nobody has complained yet."

Johnny nods.

"I am from the Disc, everyone knows of magic. Are there people who do not then?"

[bloody_awful]

John rolls his eyes. "Dozens of them. Worlds of them, with no magic at all. Those are the ones who have a hard time adjusting. But in your case I suppose you already know what I call the Unspoken Rule: there are things here who can blow your head off your shoulders with a click of their fingers, so be careful who you piss off."

He pats the Bar. "Sweetheart, give us two pints? On my tab." Two perfectly poured pints appear. John offers one to Johnny. "Here, try this. Breakfast of champions."

[blueeyedjohnny]

"Thank you." he sips it. "This is very good."

A smirk. "Yes, I think I met one the other night. Fortunately the rules of this place were enough to prevent him doing so."

[bloody_awful]

John grins. "Well, in truth the no-fighting rule is really more of a no-baggage rule. You can't go around staking vampires just because you're a vampire slayer back at home, get it? But there have been dust-ups in the bar aplenty. Nearly burned the place down myself back in the day, though that was a long time ago. And an accident," he says pointedly. Then smiles again. "Mind if I ask who you met the other night? I could use a laugh."

[blueeyedjohnny]

A hand wave.

"Some purple god. Strange, short man. Took offence after I considered eating one of the rats." A shrug, emphysising his current skinniness. "I hadn't eaten in three weeks, and they are considered good food back home."

He reaches into the squeaking pocket and picks a small baby bird out, cupping it carefully in his hands.

"And I didn't want to have to eat this little one. The privates would not have forgiven me."

[bloody_awful]

John shrugs. "Don't know the purple fellow, but yeah, the rats work here, so don't eat them. Especially since the bloke running the kitchen is a sweet little fellow who'll cry like a girl if you do, and that'll ruin the cooking."

At the sight of the bird, John stares for a moment and scratches his head. "Ah, nice ... bird you have there. Friend of yours?" Hey, around here you never know. "If you and him want something to eat, I'll spring for it."

[blueeyedjohnny]

A grin. "Thank you, that would be great."

He pauses for a moment, trying to think how to explain it in Morporkian.

"The bird... is like dwarf bread. It keeps the men going. Because if they don't find food, they will have to eat the bird."

[bloody_awful]

John leans back and lights another cigarette. "Well, mate, I'm impressed. You've just said something I haven't a clue about, and that doesn't often happen. Are you saying you keep the bird in your pocket so you won't eat it? Bloody hell. Have I got the snack for you."

He pats the bar again and says, "Sweetheart, I think we need a plate of paradoxes." On the bar appears a basket lined with paper, containing... fried things. Like chips or onion rings, but not really.

John pushes the basket toward Johnny with a grin. "Speciality of the house. Have a go."