(no subject)
This time, the view of the dying universe only makes Jim cringe a little when he opens the door and finds himself in Milliways instead of his mother's Inn. The solar surfer is under one arm again, and once the disaffected scowl is safely covering the expression of "UNIVERSE DYING OH NOEZ," he makes his way to the bar and leans his flying machine against it.
"Powdered spheroids," he mutters to himself, waiting for service. After all, his mom's not here to tell him not to ruin his appetite with sweets so close to dinner. He's barely finished speaking when a bowl of something that looks remarkably like powdered donuts appears on the bar's surface.
There's a pause as Jim considers it, looks under the bar, looks behind the bar, looks above his head, and fails to find anything suggesting automation.
Still, that's what he thinks it is, so he adds, "And a Procyon dark brew," and looks at the space next to the bowl of not!donuts. Nothing happens, because Jim is still underaged, and therefore interplanetary alcohol is not for him.
"Aww, come on."
"Powdered spheroids," he mutters to himself, waiting for service. After all, his mom's not here to tell him not to ruin his appetite with sweets so close to dinner. He's barely finished speaking when a bowl of something that looks remarkably like powdered donuts appears on the bar's surface.
There's a pause as Jim considers it, looks under the bar, looks behind the bar, looks above his head, and fails to find anything suggesting automation.
Still, that's what he thinks it is, so he adds, "And a Procyon dark brew," and looks at the space next to the bowl of not!donuts. Nothing happens, because Jim is still underaged, and therefore interplanetary alcohol is not for him.
"Aww, come on."