Tom's been in the mood to come to Milliways more often, and he's had the time, by some sheer miracle. It's interesting to meet new people, after all. And the scotch is so so good.
He notices the woman looking for a bartender.
"Good evening. You might have better luck hailing a waitrat. Shall I call one over for you? I need a drink anyway."
"I've gotta find a waiter just to get served at the bar, around here? Shit."
Count on her mind to make things more complicated than they need to be. Excuse her for being less than polite, at the moment. She thinks she's going nuts.
"No, you're simply in Milliways. Welcome, madam, to the bar and restaurant at the end of the universe. No doubt you walked through a door and found yourself here? That's how most newcomers arrive. I promise, you're not mad, and the first drink is on the house, so really, it could be worse."
The rat returns, balancing a tray. Tom takes both drinks and hands the whiskey to Dahlia. "Cheers."
Dahlia takes her glass with something of a death grip, raising it weakly and then downing a significant portion of the stuff. By the time she sits the glass down on the bar, she's shaking her head.
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Tom Riddle, Lord Ostium of the House of Arch, and I assure you, I'm not a hallucination. Nor am I a- buffer, is it? You did get the Brit part right, though. You're from America, yes?"
If not quite a Traveller, he's not quite a buffer, either.
"Call me Tom. I steer clear of the prancing, and if I showed up in the House of Lords, I wouldn't be visible to Topsider eyes. I'm from the Underside, the place where people who fall through the cracks end up. But I was originally from the Wizarding world."
He laughs as he sips his drink.
"I know it sounds bizarre, but you'll meet people from stranger places here. I assure you."
"The little stuff counts. Magic's magic, and a dash salt is bloody brilliant in certain protection charms. 'Wizard' is just a name to classify someone who channels it."
"Indeed. Oh, I suppose I should tell you the rules, since you're new. Um, no violence in the bar - Security will throw you in the cells for that kind of thing, no intimate relations-" He blushes slightly at that, recalling a time when that rule was most definitely not enforced, "-and no business, either. This is neutral ground."
He chuckles. "At least we try to keep it that way."
Her eyebrows go up a little. Apparently, she's decided to pretend that all of this is real, until the drugs wear off. Or at least to play along as if she's pretending.
"Isn't any worse than the bars back home, then, I guess."
He notices the woman looking for a bartender.
"Good evening. You might have better luck hailing a waitrat. Shall I call one over for you? I need a drink anyway."
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Count on her mind to make things more complicated than they need to be. Excuse her for being less than polite, at the moment. She thinks she's going nuts.
"Well, fine, call one."
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"Bar is temporarily out of commission. It happens occasionally." He beckons a passing waitrat.
The waitrat skitters over, and Tom leans down to address it. "A scotch please, and for the lady-" He turns to Dahlia, smiling reassuringly.
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She says this in a very dumbfounded, stunned way, because...uhm. Rat. Taking drink orders.
"...I must've really hit the stuff, this time. Shit."
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"No, you're simply in Milliways. Welcome, madam, to the bar and restaurant at the end of the universe. No doubt you walked through a door and found yourself here? That's how most newcomers arrive. I promise, you're not mad, and the first drink is on the house, so really, it could be worse."
The rat returns, balancing a tray. Tom takes both drinks and hands the whiskey to Dahlia. "Cheers."
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Dahlia takes her glass with something of a death grip, raising it weakly and then downing a significant portion of the stuff. By the time she sits the glass down on the bar, she's shaking her head.
"Hallucinating a buffer Brit, too. Christ."
The glass comes back up for another drink.
"I'm Dahlia, by the way."
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She nods, deciding not to argue over Tom's reality and buffer-dom. No point in fighting when she's right and he's a figment of her imagination, right?
"Lord Ostium? So...you're some kinda noble? Prancing around the House of Lords and stuff?"
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"Call me Tom. I steer clear of the prancing, and if I showed up in the House of Lords, I wouldn't be visible to Topsider eyes. I'm from the Underside, the place where people who fall through the cracks end up. But I was originally from the Wizarding world."
He laughs as he sips his drink.
"I know it sounds bizarre, but you'll meet people from stranger places here. I assure you."
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But, while she's still here...
"Wizarding world?"
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It's fun with exclusionary categorization of others time!
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She doesn't snicker that much, really!
"There's magic, where I'm from. Lots of it...little stuff, like you throw salt over your shoulder to get good luck. No wizards, though, sorry."
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"The little stuff counts. Magic's magic, and a dash salt is bloody brilliant in certain protection charms. 'Wizard' is just a name to classify someone who channels it."
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"Guess that makes sense. Kinda."
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He chuckles. "At least we try to keep it that way."
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Her eyebrows go up a little. Apparently, she's decided to pretend that all of this is real, until the drugs wear off. Or at least to play along as if she's pretending.
"Isn't any worse than the bars back home, then, I guess."
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