"I'm Captain James T. Kirk." He extends a hand. "And...I can show you but as for explaining...it might take a bit of work. The Bar - it's called Milliways - exists...it's..." Odds are this man has no concept of relativity or temporal mechanics. "What year are you from?"
"Captain Morgan..." He tries not to show any sign of knowing the name. Termpraolyl speaking, you shouldn't recognize a figure from history, lest you tell him his future and thus change it. "I'm pleased to meet you.
"This is going to sound impossible, but I'm from over 600 years in your future. And the Bar is located much further along in history than that."
"Captain, I wish I were joking. But I'm not. Here, let me show you the Bar at work, at least. The first drink's free." He waits to see what Morgan orders. He has a pretty good idea, if the archetype is accurate. (An archetype set in part by a certain brand of rum that has long since ceased to exist, it's worth noting.)
The piece of wood is not thrilled to be called a piece of wood, but she's heard worse and thus produces a glass of unwatered but not extremely high quality rum.
"No, of course not. But...well, it's highly advanced technology, so in some ways it's like magic." Clarke's Law has become Jim's watchword in this place.
The captain frowns and nods slowly. The church will still probably look down on it, but in general, his entire profession was one big thing the church didn't like.
"As long as it's not sorcery." He says, and tentatively picks up his glass. "I'm a privateer, but I don't need to be having congress with the Devil on top of that."
Beside, the Devil would have given him a bigger glass, he's sure.
"From what I recall, being a privateer wasn't the worst thing, though." What he recalls, in fact, was that the privateers were heroes to whoever hired them. Not the idea, but a big step up from simple piracy.
The grin that crosses Henry's face is ghoulish. "Aye. Most of them are good, solid men. Salt o' the earth."
He finally drinks his rum and sets the glass on the Bar, much more gently than he usually would at such a place. "But I'm sure by your time my name and deeds have been lost to history. I'm not your average privateer."
IN fact, he'd only managed to not get in trouble by loopholes and well-planned, but horribly vicious and bloodthirsty attacks.
"You're in a bar called Milliways," he says very matter of factly and calmly.
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"This is a rather...unusual bar. There are bartenders sometimes, but...well, it can make the drinks without help." No, he can't explain, can he.
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That was. . .interesting. But, oddly convenient. "Care to explain that a bit? And do you have a name, good sir?"
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His demeanor is much friendlier now that he knows he's with a fellow seafarer, though James is too clean and well kept to be a real captain.
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"This is going to sound impossible, but I'm from over 600 years in your future. And the Bar is located much further along in history than that."
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"I'll have a rum, um, unwatered, if the piece of wood would be so kind."
He's trying his best not to chuckle at the trick.
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"Cheers," Jim adds though he's not partaking.
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He does goggle at the bar a bit, and seems extremely reluctant to touch the drink.
"Is it magic?" the question is asked in the same tone as 'should we exorcise it?'
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"As long as it's not sorcery." He says, and tentatively picks up his glass. "I'm a privateer, but I don't need to be having congress with the Devil on top of that."
Beside, the Devil would have given him a bigger glass, he's sure.
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He finally drinks his rum and sets the glass on the Bar, much more gently than he usually would at such a place. "But I'm sure by your time my name and deeds have been lost to history. I'm not your average privateer."
IN fact, he'd only managed to not get in trouble by loopholes and well-planned, but horribly vicious and bloodthirsty attacks.
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